#or I stay up rethinking the plot
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littlecrow4 · 1 month ago
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OK! Just watched a tutorial on “how the fuck do I work ao3” and I think I got the basics down so LETS GET DOWN TO BUSINESS!!!!
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taurasiluvr · 5 months ago
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YOU TOLD ME YOUR NEW MAN DON'T MAKE YOU NUT, THAT'S A DAMN SHAME──BUECKERS⁵
how you can help palestine
★ been thinking about this concept for a while, idk why but i love this trope (yall we know i do...) anyway... here it is!
 ⠀ ── ⠀warnings ;; nsfw under the cut, mdni. smut with plot, a lot of cheating (on r's gf), fingering, scissoring, oral (r. receiving), descriptions of not very fulfilling sex.
 ⠀ ── ⠀word count ;; 2.5k
 ⠀ ── ⠀ry's notes ;; also i feel like i need to add this quick little note... I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING GUYS. THIS IS FICTIONAL LMAOO
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"she just... doesn't do it, for me, you know?" you sighed as you pulled your drink closer to your chest, taking a sip of it before leaning back into the couch. "she's sweet and... funny but..."
but she can't make you orgasm. you couldn't bring yourself to say it, it was embarrassing.
paige let out a small laugh as she looked up at you from the floor. "can't make you cum?"
you cringed at her use such a vulgar word but yeah, she couldn't make you cum. you smiled down at her before nodding slowly. "yeah," you whispered back.
you and paige had a brief friends with benefits about a few months ago but called it off because you wanted a relationship and paige didn't. however, you guys both agreed to stay friends because you valued each other's company too much to let go completely.
paige smirked as she threw a fry into her mouth. "well, it's not exactly rocket science, you know. maybe she just needs some guidance."
you chuckled, shaking your head. "yeah, but it's not just that. it's like... there's no spark, no chemistry."
"you only feel that way cause she hasn't made you cum, have you told her... you know, what you like?" paige asked teasingly as she looked up at you, her lips still curved into that damned smirk.
you rolled your eyes, your face flushing slightly. the thing is, no one knew you in an intimate level like paige ─ she's the only one that's managed to give you an earth shattering, breathtaking orgasm.
you sighed, feeling the weight of the conversation. "no, i haven't told. it's just... awkward. plus, it won't make a difference."
she's too small, too delicate, too dainty for your own liking. her fingers don't stretch you out how paige's used to, they move awkwardly and she certainly has no idea what she's doing with her damn tongue.
she doesn't circle your clit, doesn't push your hips into the mattress, doesn't absolutely wreck you with her strap (that she hasn't even bought yet)...
"y/n? earth to y/n?" paige chuckled before she snapped a finger in front of your face, drawing you out of your thoughts.
you felt your soul jump out of your body as you turned to meet paige's amused gaze. she could practically read all your dirty thoughts as you squeezed your thighs together, feeling a wave of frustration and desire wash over you.
paige's knowing look only made it worse, and you couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh. "sorry, just... got lost in thought," you muttered, avoiding her gaze.
paige leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "lost in thought, huh? care to share with the class?"
you rolled your eyes, but the blush creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. "it's just... she's so different from you. in every way. and not in a good way."
paige's smirk softened into a more understanding expression. "look, it's okay to have preferences. but you owe it to yourself to be honest about what you need. if she's not doing it for you, maybe it's time to rethink things."
you sighed, knowing she was right. "i just... don't want to hurt her feelings. she's really sweet, and i don't want to come off as ungrateful or shallow."
paige shrugged, taking another fry. "it's not shallow to want a fulfilling relationship. and if she's as sweet as you say, she'll understand. maybe she'll even be willing to learn and try new things."
you nodded, appreciating her perspective but still feeling a bit unsure. "yeah, i guess so. it's just... hard."
paige gave you a reassuring smile. "hey, whatever happens, you've got me in your corner. and if you ever need a refresher course on what you like..." she trailed off, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
you laughed, the tension easing slightly. "i'll keep that in mind, paige."
──
"yeah, just like... just like that," your breathing was heavy as your girlfriend's tongue delved into you, her eyes completely focused on you. "focus on... my clit,"
she was so eager to please, it was almost endearing. key word: almost. all you could think about right now was paige, you didn't have to mutter a word and she knew exactly what to do and how to do it. plus, she was the more... dominant one.
her tentative licks and hesitant movements only amplified your frustration. you couldn't help but compare her to paige, whose confidence and skill left you breathless every time.
"yeah, that's it," you encouraged, trying to guide her as best you could. "just... a little more pressure."
she complied, but the lack of confidence was palpable. your mind wandered back to those moments with paige — the way she effortlessly took control, her assertive yet tender touch, the way she seemed to know your body better than you did, better than anyone did. it was maddening.
your girlfriend's eyes flicked up to meet yours, seeking approval. you forced a smile, trying to mask your disappointment. "doing great," you lied, hoping she couldn't sense your lack of enthusiasm. you let out a soft whimper for good measure, your girlfriend humming in approval.
as she continued, your thoughts drifted deeper into memories of paige. you remembered the way she would press your hips into the mattress, her fingers working you expertly, her lips curling into that confident smirk as she brought you to the brink again and again.
that damned smirk, god.
your breath hitched involuntarily, and your girlfriend mistook it for a sign that she was doing something right. you felt a pang of guilt but couldn't shake the fantasy that had taken hold of your mind.
"keep going," you murmured, though your thoughts were miles away. you closed your eyes and imagined paige there with you, her presence overwhelming and intoxicating.
you missed her fingers, missed her tongue but most importantly, missed her.
and suddenly, the sensations began to blur, your girlfriend's efforts merging with the vivid recollections of paige. your body responded more to the memory than the reality as your girlfriend's pace quickened, her eagerness evident. paige's voice echoed in your mind, commanding and reassuring, guiding you to that sweet release...
you finally came, letting out a soft moan. your body convulsed for a moment as your girlfriend moaned against your bundle of nerves, causing vibrations to go through your whole body.
your girlfriend's face lit up with pride, but you couldn't shake the bittersweet taste of the moment. she had tried so hard, but it wasn't enough. it wasn't paige.
when the post-nut clarity finally came, you were left only with your thoughts and the lingering guilt. it wasn't cheating... right? your girlfriend climbed on to your lap as she began kissing you, her excitement evident.
what the fuck were you gonna do now?
──
"how tall is she again?" paige whispered into your ear as her hands found their place at your hips. she was behind you, and you could practically feel her smirk.
both of your gazes were on your oblivious girlfriend, talking to one of your friends. you were at a houseparty and the tension between you and paige was palpable. you couldn't help but be drawn to her, even as your girlfriend mingled with the others, completely unaware of the charged atmosphere between you and paige.
"she's 5'3"," you whispered back, feeling a shiver run down your spine as Paige's breath tickled your ear. her hands on your hips were possessive, grounding you in a way that felt both thrilling and dangerous.
"she's cute," paige murmured, her fingers gently tracing circles on your waist. "she hasn't made you cum yet?"
you swallowed hard, her words hitting you like a ton of bricks. "it's complicated," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.
paige chuckled softly, her lips brushing against your ear. "doesn't have to be. you know what you want. and i know how to give it to you."
your pulse quickened, your body responding to her proximity. paige had always had this effect on you, and being so close to her now, with your girlfriend just a few feet away, made it all the more intense.
"paige, we can't..." you started, but the words felt hollow even as you said them. you weren't sure if you were trying to convince her or yourself.
"why not?" she challenged, her hands sliding up to your waist, pulling you closer. "you deserve to be with someone who makes you feel alive, who knows how to touch you, how to please you."
you closed your eyes, struggling to ignore the fire Paige was stoking within you. "not that simple," you whispered, though deep down, you knew it was.
paige turned you slightly, forcing you to meet her gaze. her eyes were dark, filled with a mix of desire and determination. "it is that simple," she insisted. "you just have to decide what you really want."
your girlfriend's laughter floated over from where she was chatting with your friend, a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside. You glanced over at her, feeling a pang of guilt. she was sweet, caring, and had done nothing to deserve this.
but as paige's hands tightened their grip on you, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull she had on you. the history between you two, the unmatched chemistry, and the way she made you feel — like you were the only person in the world — was impossible to ignore.
and that was how you ended up in paige's dorm, her knuckles deep inside you.
your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but your body knew exactly what it wanted. paige's fingers moved with expert precision, hitting all the right spots, driving you wild with pleasure.
"fuck, paige," you gasped, your back arching as waves of ecstasy coursed through you. she smirked, her eyes locked onto yours, her dominance evident in every calculated movement.
"see?" she murmured, her voice low and filled with satisfaction. "this is what you need. someone who knows your body, who knows how to make you feel alive."
you couldn't form a coherent response, your mind too consumed by the sensations she was eliciting from you. your breath came in ragged bursts, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you. paige leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear before pushing her lips into yours.
you moaned into the kiss, your hands finding the back of her head to pull her closer. "you're mine," she whispered into your lips, her words sending a shiver down your spine. "no one else can make you feel like this."
you knew she was right. the connection you shared with paige was intense, undeniable. as she brought you closer to the edge, you couldn't help but think about the decisions you needed to make.
your climax hit you hard, a tidal wave of pleasure that left you breathless and trembling as you cried out loudly, louder than you've ever been with your girlfriend (and that's by a long shot). paige held you through it, her fingers slowing their pace as she watched you with a mixture of pride and possessiveness.
paige pulled her fingers out of your pussy only to push them into your lips, earning a moan from you. you sucked them clean as she watched you, the cocky smirk still on her lips. she pushed you onto the bed, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. her body hovered over yours, her dominance clear in every movement.
"so fucking hot," paige murmured, her voice low and filled with desire. she leaned down, her lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. you could taste yourself on her lips, the taste making your head spin.
as she deepened the kiss, her hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch with a familiarity that sent shivers down your spine. her touch was both demanding and tender, a perfect balance that only paige could achieve.
breaking the kiss, paige's eyes locked onto yours, her smirk widening. "not done with you yet," she said, her voice dripping with promise. "shit, i needa cum too, right?"
she pushed your legs apart and spat into your pussy before she settled herself in between them perfectly. her fingers found your swollen clit, still sensitive from your previous orgasms. the mix of pleasure and pain made you gasp, your hips involuntarily bucking against her hand. paige's eyes gleamed with lust and satisfaction as she watched you squirm beneath her.
she finally moved her hand and began moving herself against your pussy, a loud groan leaving her lips. she pushed your legs further apart as she began bucking her hips against yours. the sensation was magical — both of you were so wet, combined with her spit — the friction was electrifying.
your moans filled the room, mingling with Paige's groans as she ground herself against you. the heat between you was intense, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your bodies.
"fuck yeah, feel so good," paige growled, her eyes locked onto yours with a fierce intensity. her movements became more urgent, her hips bucking harder against you.
the sensation of her slick folds sliding against yours was almost too much to bear, and you felt yourself edging closer to another climax. you reached up, grabbing her hips to steady yourself as you matched her rhythm. the connection between you two was palpable, an electric current that only seemed to grow stronger with each passing second. paige's breath was hot against your skin as she leaned down, her lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.
your tongues tangled together as your bodies moved in perfect sync, the pleasure building to a crescendo. paige pulled back slightly, her eyes dark with desire. "fucking cum for me," she commanded, her voice husky and filled with need.
the intensity of her words pushed you over the edge. your body arched against hers as you climaxed, your cries of pleasure filling the room. paige wasn't far behind, her own orgasm crashing through her as she continued to ride you, her moans mingling with yours.
when the waves of pleasure finally subsided, you lay there breathless and trembling, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your release. paige collapsed beside you, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. she reached out, pulling you close and wrapping her arms around you.
for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. it was just the two of you, entwined in a blissful aftermath. paige pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering there as she whispered, "you're amazing."
you smiled, your heart swelling with affection. "so are you," you replied softly, your fingers tracing lazy circles on her back.
as you lay there together, basking in the afterglow, you couldn't help but feel a sense of rightness. despite the complications, despite the uncertainty, this felt real. it felt like where you were meant to be.
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if you enjoyed, any interaction is greatly appreciated!
with love, rylin 𝜗𝜚
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hannieehaee · 13 days ago
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I know your request are closed but I just wanna send this before I forget 😓 (sorry if you’re already being flooded with requests) but could you do Jun x actress!reader? Maybe a costars to lovers plot? They act in a romance drama and the on screen chemistry is perfect because they genuinely like each other in a romantic way.
THANK YOU SM I LOVE YOUR WORK!! ❤️
18+ / mdi
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content: actor!jun, some small rivalry between jun and reader, smut, afab reader, semi-public sex, penetrative sex, etc.
wc: 1710
a/n: thank you so much!!! i hope you enjoy what i came up with<33
masterlist
"are you here to practice lines again?", you asked as you opened your dressing room door to welcome jun into your private area yet again.
he gave you sheepish smile as he walked in and took a seat on the couch the two of you would usually lounge on in between shoots, "already annoyed of me?", he asked as he settled in.
you followed him, taking a seat next to him as you handed him a drink, "just rethinking how good your acting skills could be if you need to go over the lines so often," you responded in jest.
"oh, is that how it is?", he gaped at you, giving you that big smile he always reserved for you.
it had only been a few months since you'd met jun. after being cast as the leading couple in a long-awaited chinese drama, you quickly became good friends. you were already well known for your good chemistry with one another, leading the drama to a renewal halfway through the first season.
being jun's costar was the easiest thing you'd ever done. he was an easygoing guy (easy on the eyes too), and just overall extremely likable. you didn't want to get your hopes up, but you liked to believe that he found you just as likable, considering how often he sought you out.
jun had grown a tendency of stopping by your dressing room every day after filming with the excuse of going over lines for the following day. this usually meant staying on set a little later than anyone else, but you enjoyed the company too much to ever even think of complaining. the overtime was completely worth it if it meant spending a little extra alone time with wen junhui.
there was a slight huge chance that the romance you'd been portraying on screen had begun making its way onto real life. you didnt want to get your hopes up, but if jun's flirtatious demeanor was anything to go by, you were pretty sure the feeling was mutual.
there was truly no need for jun to stop by and go over his lines with you outside of official rehearsal hours — especially considering that he had been acting since infancy. you liked to believe that he simply liked the alone time with you and wanted to keep you to himself for as long as he could. you only hoped he would eventually ask you out for real, or else you'd have to take matters into your own hands.
"show me your acting skills, then, wen," you challenged, gesturing at him to get closer to you on the couch.
with a smirk, he scoot over, taking hold of the stacked up pile of papers on the coffee table in front of you which contained the script.
"what do you want to start with?," he asked, "the confession scene from the twelfth episode?", he began listing off scenes, "the big conflict on episode ten?", then his grin grew bigger, "or the sex scene for the season finale?"
"please," you scoffed, "no way you can start with the sex scene. you've never done any sex scenes before, wen. i have," you challenged.
it was true. despite his history as an actor, he had never engaged in any explicit roles before. this did not diminish him as an actor, nor did you actually believe he'd have any trouble getting the mood right for the scene, but riling him up was just far too enticing. it was also one of the only areas where you had more experience than him, having done roles that involved such scenes a few times already.
"what, you think i can't make a convincing sex scene?", he fake gasped, "people always say our chemistry's unmatched, and we both know why," he smirked by the end of his statement, chuckling at your scowl.
"oh? why's that?", you challenged him.
"i exude sex appeal," he claimed, "i'd be the best sex scene you'd ever shot," he leaned towards you with a challenging look in his eyes.
"show me," you dared him, "if you're that good, show me. no script."
he swallowed a scoff, both shocked at at the defiant look in your eyes and the very sudden change of atmosphere in the room.
"you're serious?" he almost gulped at the way you reclined against the couch, allowing the angle to show him the heavy breathing that had your chest going up and down, "you want me to-"
"i wanna see if you're all talk. we haven't had any steamy kiss scenes yet, so show me. give me a preview of the season finale."
those were the last words you needed to say before he began invading your space, pushing you slowly until you were laying on the couch while he hovered over you. he was slow yet intentional in his moves, wordless as he adjusted himself on top of you.
he was slow as he lowered his lips onto yours, eyeing them heavily before closing in on you. contrary to what you'd believed, he started at full force, not bothering to build up the kiss and instead giving you all of him immediately.
the original scene involved a very slow build up with a steamy finish, so you knew within seconds that jun had thrown away any intention to actually rehearse the scene but rather prove you wrong about your assertion about his lack of expertise in the area. however, you knew that it was far more than that. the kiss felt like more than just arguing against your assessment.
you mewled into his lips when his hands went to touch you, gripping onto your waist to pull you closer and adjusting himself so he could grind his hips into your own.
"i thought i couldn't do a sex scene? whats with all those noises? i've barely touched you," his breath was warm as he chuckled against you, moving onto your neck to lay kisses there.
"shut up. this is nothing. i could do this in my sleep," you challenged.
it didn't take long for him to begin undressing you, frustrated huffs accompanying his every move. you ended up in mere panties and a bra while he remained in his boxers. far too many illicit touches and kisses were shared in between to count.
"why am i naked, wen? i thought we were just rehearsing."
"im just making sure i get my point across," he lied through his teeth, hovering over you once more in order to get the upper hand again.
"god, you're so pretty. no wonder everyone wants you in their shows," he awe'd at you as he took off your bra, hands softly touching at the uncovered skin.
"or maybe because i'm a great actress."
"yeah, but you already know that," he smiled.
"i already know that," you affirmed with a similar smile before connecting your lips again.
any pretense for rehearsing left you after that point. both your hands itched to get the other closer, finally ending up with him lined up to your cunt and with your hands pulling at his boxers, lowering them just enough to pump at his hardness.
"baby ..."
"thought you were good at this, wen. thought you were gonna show me your skills," you teased.
"shut up. i'll, fuck, i'll show you."
his hands copied your movements, sneaking beneath your panties to tease at your arousal with his fingers. his actions elicited a similar reaction from you, moaning into his mouth as you both played with each other, so close to finally connecting in that carnal way you'd been aching but not close enough.
you worked him with your hand as he did the same to you, only stopping when he huffed what sounded like a painful breath and pleaded at you to stop. you were going to laugh at him once more, tease him for his weakness at your touch, but you needed to feel him now and decided to let it go.
grabbing onto his own cock, he began running up through your swollen lips, further lubricating them with his precum and groaning at the pulse he felt under his touch.
"hmph, f-fuck," he cried into your lips upon beginning to enter you, seeking silent permission to move.
a nod from you and he began pumping into you, groaning at every single move. the stretch made your eyes roll back, making you lose your mind little by little at every thrust.
"you're tighter than i imagined, shit," he groaned.
"o-oh? you imagined this?", you couldn't help stammering when he hammered into you as he did.
"shut up," was all he said before burying his face in the crook of your neck, nose breathing you in and lips pressing onto the skin.
your nails dragged down his back, careless despite knowing you'd both get scolded by your stylists for adding to their workload. it was fine, though, you thought. this was all in the name of working on your on-screen chemistry after all, right?
but it felt like way more. jun may have fucked into you with conviction, but the words of affection murmured into your skin gave a different story.
"beautiful, fuck."
"feel like a fucking dream ..."
"prettiest, tightest cunt ive ever had."
those were some of the many words kissed and bitten against your skin. it made you so dizzy you didn't even register when your orgasm began to approach.
his hand had at some point snuck between you, toying at your swollen clit as his thrusts became erratic. the end was near and he wanted to take you down with him.
"with me? cum with me, baby," he practically pleaded as his lips found yours again.
it was like this that you swallowed each other's moans, keeping your pleasure as a secret between the two of you.
even as he filled you up, he remained inside you. he managed to sit you up, allowing for the two of you to cuddle on the uncomfortably small couch in which he'd just defiled you.
"so, no sex-appeal, huh?"
"shut up, wen. i'd run laps with you on set."
"wanna bet?", his hands began feeling up at your body with a challenging glint in his eye.
and yes. yes, you did.
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carmenized-onions · 5 months ago
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Something to Do. | Catering
logline; Itinerary for your trip to New York? Just try not to fucking cry.
[!!!] series history, this is the twelfth; gonna start season three after I post this. Wonder how bad it's gonna throw off the rest of my plot line. Ideally not at all. We'll see.
Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I really like this playlist for all chapters, but for a wedding where music is blasting, it feels particularly fitting.
portion; 13.3k how does this keep happening.
possible allergies; Terrible self-image, everything feels bad, very real conversations abt ,,, self-death and addiction.
pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets referred to as a woman and other feminine honourifics but no pronouns, i believe)
i made you all so mad last chapter. Let's see if i can make it up to you, babydoll (probably wont)
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You hate to admit it, but you were kind of relieved when you found out Carmen wasn’t coming on the plane. You’re in a bit of a state of fight or flight; well, more accurately, currently leaning towards the flight side— Pun intended.
He’s coming to the wedding. You know he is. For one, he’s getting thirty grand for this, he has to. For two, his location is still on for you— Whether he forgot to turn it off or just didn’t care, you’re not sure. But he hates you, so there’s no way it was intentional, you’re certain about that much.
You know you shouldn’t be looking at it, but you have. You’ve been looking all week. Checking your Find my Friends like a doting mother. He goes to work far too early, he stays far after close, he goes home. Rinse and repeat.
You check on him one last time before boarding the plane. He’s opted to drive, with Richie. Something about ��wanting to bring their personal equipment’, Richie texted you. They’re halfway through Ohio. You’re sure that road trip is definitely going spectacular after their side of the explosion.
Richie texted the day after that fucking fiasco, asking if you’d want updates on how it’s going at The Bear. How it’s going with Carmen. You said you wanted to know if he wanted to tell. He opted not to tell.
You hate to admit, you were kind of relieved, to not know. To just look at Carmen’s little icon go from Point A to B. Instead of Carmen Reports, you and Richie text about much lighter things. Normal things. Eva drew a funny picture of you kinda things. It’s nice. You know you’re probably being childish, but it feels so much fucking better to ignore the Bear in the room. You don’t know how to feel about anything, and frankly you don’t want to try to figure it out.
You suck, Carmen sucks, what more is there to know? Process it? Fuck that.
Carmen hasn’t texted you; you haven’t texted him, the entire week. Radio silence. You stopped playing Connections. Didn’t see a point. Not like they even have a streak function anyways— You’d die before you let that Wordle streak break, though. That was your thing. Carmen doesn’t get to take your things, too.
You didn’t get a text from the Exec, either. So that’s… Something? Or, rather, explicitly, that’s nothing. Does that mean Carmen gives a shit? Not necessarily. Ugh. Your whole system was so shocked after that fucking fight that you didn’t really have time to take in the fact that that jag was into you? Vomit inducing. You’ve got to rethink your life choices, if they lead you to him. 
But also, you know if Carmen and you were okay right now, you probably would’ve given him your number. You would’ve catfished him for weeks, laughing over your phone with Carmen and Syd as this idiot falls into your trap. You miss Carmen. You also don’t miss Carmen. You want to see him desperately and also never fucking look at him again.
Carmen’s going to be in the kitchen; you’re going to be out in the banquet hall, on bar, this whole wedding. The likelihood either of you have to actually interact this weekend is quite low. The likelihood either of you have to confront what you’re supposed to do with yourselves now is quite low. You hate to admit it, you’re fucking relieved.
Sydney sleeps on your shoulder, for most of the plane ride. You sleep against her head. Shout out Marcus, for switching seats. He’s behind you, with Tina. He wakes both of you up about an hour in, shaking your seats— Because the dessert cart came out and he didn’t want either of you to miss it. The mini cheesecakes are better than expected, to be fair, so he’s forgiven.
This is going to be the stupidest weekend of your life. You’ll take that, over worst, at least.
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“Be honest, would you tip me extra well?”
You give a twirl in your probably too fancy semi-cultural outfit. Your family shows up for weddings, if Vinnie and Mira didn’t want their bartender to go hard, they should’ve put that in their notes. It actually would have been nice to get sent notes, though… What is the theme for this wedding other than ‘Italian’ and ‘New York’…? Glitter eyeshadow is probably fine, right? Yeah it’s fine. Not like you could get that shit off now, anyways.
“If you were my bartender, I would ask ‘what are we?’” Answers Syd, watching you from the bathroom as she attempts to put her hair up. Definitely struggling in silence.
Sharing a hotel room was the best idea you ever had. It would be a nightmare to get ready alone in silence, right now. It’s nice to talk and have something to do. If you didn’t, you’d absolutely be ruminating about Carmen, debating whether or not to check on his room, that’s just down the hall, you could see if he needed help with getting ready and also see if he’s as tired as you think he is and— Plus, the amount you saved on splitting a one bed? Christ. Economy is in shambles. So is your brain.
“You would not be brave enough to ask your bartender ‘what are we?’”
“For you, I would.”
“Are we about to kiss, bro?” You duck into the bathroom, getting way too close to the side of Syd’s face. She laughs, pushing you away with the palm of her hand, you scoff, “Wooowwww—”
You clutch your heart, mortally wounded. Retching, truly. Now this is heartbreak in its rawest form. “—Reject me, why don’t you?”
“I’m playing the role of timid—” “I’m sick of this friends to lovers plot line!” “It adds! It adds!”
“Shut up— And tilt your head back, dumbass, what are you doing?” You stand behind her, taking her braids into your hands as she struggles to bundle them all herself.
“I do this all the time by myself, y’know.” So Syd says, but she lets you take her braids regardless.
“Yeah, but I’m here.” You stretch the hairband on your fingers. “Messy bun?”
“You think?”
“I think primal is too clean.”
“No, I was gonna do the one where it does like— Like the infinity in the front?”
“Who’s mom are you tryna fuckin’ look like?”
She kisses her teeth, attempting to reach a hand behind her head to smack you. You dodge and somehow manage to make it easier to smack you. “I’m literally only gonna get to come out after everyone’s left, I dunno why we’re making effort here—”
“High messy bun?” “High messy bun.”
Oh, the days of doing each other’s hair. You’re glad it’s back. You’re glad you get to become, together, again. It used to be bobbles, friendship bracelets, and glitter tattoos—but now it’s tying up each other’s hair, helping with the curling iron, clasping the gold chains on your neck, zipping up the back of your outfit, pinning the collar pins on her uniform, fixing makeup, asking each other to compare perfumes before going through with the final decision, mocking each other’s purchases.
“Wait, what mini deodorant did you get at customs?”
“Oh, one of those Native ones— I think it’s peach—?”
“Those cost like five fucking dollars, Ink. For like two swipes.”
“Excuse me for wanting to smell good, fuckin’ ‘wolfthorn’—”
“I work in a restaurant. I need Old Spice strength, okay—!”
“Oh, pbbbttt— Syd.”
“Pbb—Fuck, how do you do that?”
There’s a knock at the door, interrupting your squabble. “Are you decent?!”
Sydney groans, “No!”
“Yes, Rich, we’re decent, doors open.”
Richie comes in, unceremoniously. A touch awkward. He’s so rarely been in a room with women getting ready. It’s simultaneously exactly what he expected, and not at all what he expected. “Chip, can you put these fuckin’ things on f’me?”
Cufflinks. He presents the box to you. They’re just plain and silver, boring. Save that in your rolodex of gifts to get this Christmas. “You’re fuckin’ forty and you don’t know how to put on some cufflinks—?”
You’re nagging, but you’re already putting them on him, he holds his wrist out for you. “Nah, I was too busy runnin’ shit to learn.”
“Runnin’ your mouth, more like.”
“Yeah, yeah.” It’s a quiet moment, a tender moment, of adjusting his sleeves. Sydney’s scrambling to clean up the room around you two in the background. It’s hard to turn off the autopilot of cleaning one’s station, no matter where she goes.
You purse your lips. You shouldn’t ask and you shouldn’t care, but you do. You half-whisper, to Richie. “How was the drive?” He knows what you’re asking.
“Terrible start. Surprisingly okay middle. He went straight to the banquet hall once we got here.” He swallows, treading carefully, a thing Richie never does. “Do you wanna know the dirty details?”
Oh good, you wouldn’t be able to check on his room even if you wanted to. You want to. Need to? Stop thinking. Carmen sucks and you suck. 
“Not particularly.” You take one final look at his sleeves, happy with your handiwork, letting his wrists go. “You feel settled, though? Or jury’s still out?”
Richie shrugs, tilting his head back and forth. “Grovelled decent enough, by time we hit Penn. But I’m waitin’ on my informer.”
You cringe, knowing what he means. You also know he’d smack you if you said he doesn’t need your say in order to forgive Carmen. “It’s gonna be a minute, until your informer has an answer.”
“I know.” He nods, twisting his wrists back and forth, looking at the cufflinks. Then he gives you a once over. “Y’look good.”
“You too.” You look over him, he does look good. He’s in his suit, wearing his wedding ring, which makes your heart hurt a little bit, but he does look good. “What’s your fuckin’ job tonight, by the way?” He can’t be doing kitchen. He sucks at kitchen. But he’s also just not dressed for it.
“Fuckin’ everything.” Hyperbolic? Typically yes, with Richie, but not this time.
“Wait staff here had too high a fee—”
“Translation: more than free?”
“More than free, yeah.”
“Heard.”
“So, I’m server, set up, and fuckin’ whore-derve—”
“What?” That pronunciation snaps Sydney out of her autopilot clean, her back snaps up straight. Hands on her hips, like a disappointed teacher. “It’s hors d’oeuvres.”
Richie rolls his eyes and really his whole head back. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ CIA or whatever the fuck—”
You interrupt the fight before it can start. “Let’s just say appetizers.”
Sydney does not let you. “Apps and hors d’oeuvres are different.”
You angle your body from Richie to her, deadpanning. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ FBI or whatever the fuck—”
“Alright!” She’s already walking to the door, despite the fact that she started it— “We’ve gotta fuckin’ get to hall now or we’re gonna have like zero prep time, Chefs.”
You both follow after her, doing one last check to make sure you’ve got everything you need. You honestly don’t need to be in this much of a rush, you’re pretty sure, but you don’t mention that. Richie said Carmen just went straight to the banquet hall, when they came in this morning. You’re not sure how well you know him anymore, all things considered, but by your best guess, he’s almost certainly done all the prep by himself.
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Carmen did not do the kitchen prep entirely himself. Well. He might’ve, you haven’t checked, but you don’t think he would’ve had the time.
Carmen did your prep entirely himself.
When you get to the bar, in the banquet hall, you have nothing to do. Side work finished for you. Lemons, limes, oranges— All cut into wedges and loaded in their baskets— even the cherries are pitted. The glasses are organized from wine to whiskey glasses, the sink is clean— Which you know the banquet hall staff didn’t do— They never fucking do.
You don’t see Carmen, but you know he did it. He showed up before anyone else, he was in the kitchen before anyone else— So no one else could’ve left the simple braised beef sandwich on your station. Exactly how Mikey used to make it. Half hot, half sweet. Your order at The Beef. Carmen would’ve done pork, but this is what they had on hand, and he had a feeling this would mean more, anyways. It does. Granola bar on the plate with it. One of the nice ones, too. The wrapping boasts fifteen grams of protein.
He knows how hard running bar is. He knows you won’t have time to eat once it starts. So, he’s making sure you get something down now— And that you have time to eat it in peace, and making sure you have something you can scarf mid-shift later, when you don’t have time.
Fucking. Hell. Fuck this fucking guy. Carmen fucking sucks. You fucking suck. This all fucking sucks so much. This sandwich is so fucking good. You’re so fucking mad. Stop saying fuck. Fuck your subconscious for wanting you to stop saying fuck. It’s so unfair, for him to be maybe the cruelest a person could possibly be, in front of an audience made out of your loved ones, and then be sweet, like this.
He is awful, with words— Well, he’s typically better, with you, par for the last time, but he’s best in the kitchen. You can taste the sorrow, the guilt, the apology. The first thing he ever made you, was a sandwich, the brisket sandwich, that Mikey refined for you, as an apology, for freaking the fuck out in a freezer and having that be your first impression of him— Or, at least, first first-hand impression of him. How far you’ve come.
This will not pass, as an apology. Not a proper one. But… You’ll give him a sign, in return, at least. A confirmation that you got the message, nothing more. Definitely nothing more.
“Rich.” You stop the guy in his tracks, as he marches through the room, helping the rest of the staff set up the hall. Not his job, but it’s Richie. “Can you ask kitchen their shifties?”
He nods, like he understands, walking away with stacks of chairs under both his arms.
He comes back after two minutes, straight up to your bar. “What the fuck is a shifty?”
“Oh.” You feel condescending, for being surprised. You’d never really thought about the huge difference between morning servers and night servers until right now. Richie has never worked with a bar staff. He worked at a fucking sandwich shop. “It’s uh— Your drink. Get a drink on your shift— Shifty— It can be like, a cocktail, a straight, a shot, coffee—”
“I know how many fucking drinks exist, Chip—” “Mocktail, smoothie, juice—” “Yeah, I’ll get a Pina Colada.” “I will break the blender over your head.” “I’ll get you a list.”
You nod, already starting on usuals you know will have remained unchanged since your absence. Steel trap memory. Getting drinks with The Beef staff used to be the highlight of your week, which isn’t a sad statement at all.  “I won’t tell anyone you like Dirty Shirleys.”
He defends. “Eva put me on them.”
“Insane thing to say about your five-year-old.”
“You know what I meant— She likes the normal—” “I’m pokin’ fun, go give this to Carmen.”
You’re hoping if you say it fast, coupled with bickering, Richie won’t make mental note of it. Won’t register it. Of course, he still does. How could he not? You slide the mug to him; he takes it, though, slow, with a perplexed look.
Yeah. They had lavender and maple syrup behind the bar. And cardamom. And milk to froth. And black coffee. Whatever. You didn’t have any dried lavender to top it with, this time, so it’s not actually that cool, anyways. Doesn’t make it special. Did you do a maple syrup drizzle to make up for this? Yeah. You hate yourself just a little bit, for it. You really cannot shut off the way you love, can you? Hopeless. Be even the slightest bit withholding, would you? Just a touch petty? God, you suck. Such a princess.
Rich shrugs, when you don’t try to justify yourself. You’re an adult, he won’t coerce you to be sharper, even if you should be. “Aye aye, Chippy.”
If Carmen ends up wanting to drink later, then he’ll have to come to you. That’s being tough, right? Sure. That’s definitely withholding, Chip. Really showed Carmen there. Certainly, a church woman must be clutching her pearls at your backbone, somewhere in the world.
Do you think you’d be able to handle him coming to your bar, anyways?
No. Decidedly no. Which is a bit stupid, because you’ve faced much scarier things in your life, than some asshole you owe two grand. Well, some asshole you owe two grand that you love deeply that hates you deeply because you are in some part responsible for not taking care of his brother—
Carmen doing your side work was unintentionally cruel, honestly. You don’t have anywhere for your brain to go but him. Don’t have anyone to talk to, or anything to do. Richie can tell and whether you want him to or not; he knows what you need. He repeats himself, walking off with the mug. “I’ll get you your list.”
He knows what you need. Something to do. Something to fix, for someone. Not fix someone. People’s princess. Still failed Mikey, no matter how hard you tried.
Sprite, grenadine, vodka, lime, maraschino cherries. Dirty Shirley. Something to do. Just focus on something to do.
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You miss the naivety of wanting something to do. Three hundred guests versus one bartender without a barback is a layer of hell that Dante forgot to specify in his Inferno.
“What can I fix for you, ma’am?!” You’ve got to yell every sentence to get anything intelligible over the music and the cacophony of conversations.
There is an overlap of voices from every single woman crowding around your bar, despite the fact that you were definitely making explicit eye-contact with just one of them. You lean over the counter to hear her alone. She blinks, when you get in her face.
“What are we?”
You cannot stop the snort, but you’re pretty sure she didn’t hear it, music's too loud to hear anything. Syd’s a fucking oracle. “We’re fucked. What can I get for you?”
“Lemon drop shot?” Of course. It’s New York.
“Comin’ right up—”
The crowd of women interrupt you, and each other. “Oh, make that two!” “Make that three!” “Wait what are we making?”
Who the fuck is we? They’re more than welcome to get behind the bar with you. You’d take anyone, at this point.
“Lemon drops, babe!” “Oh—Oh, we doin’ lemon drops?” “Let’s just say ten and be safe!”
Of course.
It’s a lot of that, on repeat. But it’s better than the ones that want one very specific brand of scotch with their soda, because at least you can make huge batches for these ones— Does no one know how to fucking act around an open bar anymore? You get a vodka cran and you fuck off. You really need to start telling people you don’t know how to make bellinis.
Working alone is hard, because you can tell when you turn your back to make drinks, and aren’t able to take twenty more orders at the same time, that everyone’s real fucking annoyed with you. You have tried splitting your cells to become a second person, didn’t work. You’re constantly spinning around to accommodate people, and it’s getting fucking nauseating. And you’re usually patient, but the questions are getting just as mind-numbing.
“Can I get a uh… A negroni… Sbagliato? With prosecco?” “Sbagliato means prosecco is in it, sweetheart.”
“Do you do hurricane shots?” “I’m happy to slap you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Oh, so it’s open bar?” “Yeah.” “So, I don’t have to tip, either?” “Well— It’s appreciated— Oh, and you’ve already walked away. Okay.”
It’s a lot of that, on repeat.
You see from twenty feet away, amidst the crowds, Uncle Jimmy walking towards your bar, and when he waves all friendly, he sees your glower, and opts to turn in the other direction. Smart man. No wonder he’s successful.
Richie swings by your bar, waiting at the corner, where the line hasn’t congregated. You don’t need to be shaking this martini for as long as you are, but it’s a good way to look like you’re working when you’re just trying to talk to Richie. He presents his serving tray to you. “Tiny quiche?”
You open your mouth, hands full with your shaker. He gets the point, stabbing a toothpick into the appetizer and shoving it in your mouth. Oh God, food is beautiful. Food is what sustains. You could write a full book of poetry right now about why food is everything. Well, not everything. You’re still in hell.
“Richie, I’m dying, your job can’t be that important, come be barback.” You pour out the martini. You attempt to open the jar of olives by yourself, when you struggle, Richie puts his tray down and grabs the jar from you.
Thankfully for your pride, he’s also struggling with it. Plus, it gives you time to annihilate the tray of quiches. He shakes his head, his job is important, allegedly. “You want me to starve guests?”
“Ideally? Yes.” You ignore the dirty looks you get from eavesdropping patrons. He hands you the opened jar. You take a toothpick from his tray, since you’re already out of yours, pierce an olive, toss it in the martini, and pass it to someone— Quite frankly, there’s every chance that’s not the guy that ordered the dirty martini, but he takes it, so who gives a fuck.
Richie sighs, he does want to help. “I’ll ask kitchen if they can cut someone.”
Thank fucking God. “Ask Marcus, he’s got mixology experience or some shit.” You remember being occasionally impressed by his verbiage— At the very least, he knows what stuff is back here, and that’s enough for you.
Richie just shakes his head, lips in a line, when you mention Marcus. A universal sign that something has gone horrifically wrong. You furrow your brows, immediately worried, leaning forward. “What happened?”
“Excuse me! What’s it take to get a long-island iced tea around here? This open bar is not very open!”
You and Richie both grimace, at the thick Jersey accent on this woman waving her hand hysterically at your bar. He gives you a nod, already taking his empty tray and starting to walk back to the kitchen. “I’ll ask.”
You turn your body to the woman, but head still to Richie. “Don’t ask. Tell.”
Not even five minutes pass, before you get a barrage of texts, from multiple people, all at once. You watch them flood in on the notification screen of your phone laying on the counter, while shaking up a cosmo, this time.
From Marcus, worrying. ‘sorrysorysorrybakkingemergencymbmmbmb’
From Syd, concerning. ‘couldn’t stop him lmk if it’s bad’
From Richie, alarming. ‘yk how to call your dog right’
But it all makes sense, when Carmen comes up to your bar, removing his apron. “You need a barback?”
Hair is normal. Not at its best, not how you taught him, but it’s better than before. He smells excessively like you; like accidentally used half the bottle levels like you. Maybe not an accident. Don’t read into it, too much— They’re almost certainly the only travel sized bottles he had on hand. Of course he’d take them. He smells like Old Spice, too, though. Don’t read into it. He looks tired. You knew he would. You’ve watched his location, every day. By the time you go to bed each night, he’s only just left The Bear. He deserves to feel tired, he was a fucking asshole, and you’re glad your cat ate just short of all of his flowers.
But you brought in the plate, the next morning. You cleaned it, and then hid it in the back of your dishwasher. You wanted it to be safe, you also just didn’t want to look at it or think about it or have it exist in your mind, at all. That’s half the reason you couldn’t let it perch outside your window anymore. Taunting you. He’s a piece of shit, but you can feel it in your chest; the care you cannot get rid of. The desire to ask are you okay? Have you been sleeping? How are you? How’s your week been? Want a hug? Have you been playing Connections? What did I do wrong? Did you need me? Did anything break? Did you break?
You missed him. Was the radio silence relieving? Yes. Preferably, you’d never acknowledge each other for the rest of your lives besides an eventual wire transfer. Preferably, he’d stay in the back of your dishwasher for the rest of your life. But God, you missed him, this week. You’ll probably miss him for the rest of your life. Is that toxic? You’re working on it. No you’re not… He just made every space easier to breathe in, kept a light on, for you. Not at the end, but he did before. Before he figured out that he hates you.
It’s a thing that everyone says about you, that you bring ease, and whether you can confirm or deny that, who’s to say— But you know Carmen does it for you. Lights up a room for you. And you might be alone in that feeling, but that’s okay with you. Or it was. It was, before he figured out he should hate you.
Oh, shit, you’ve been staring at him in silence for way too long. It’s hard to know how to navigate this. You don’t know how to feel, so you don’t know how to act either. It’s all a weird state of limbo that you desperately want to get out of, but don’t want to do any of the work required to do so. What do you do with your hands? Your body? Your voice? Are you supposed to be funny and nice still? Christ, just say something. What’d he ask, again? Can’t remember.
“Uh…” Still can’t remember, but— “What’s happening with Marcus?”
He seems to falter, slightly, but he comes into your bar, oh right, barback. You needed a barback. He exchanges his kitchen apron for a bar apron. Not used to seeing him wear all black. You wish you could enjoy it. Wish you could say it’s cool watching him act as one of your professions. He answers, as he ties the strings around his waist. “Uber dropped their wedding cake.”
Fuck whatever tension you two have. You nearly fold over in shock. The current track on the speakers fades out, right as you yell back, “They dropped their fucking wedd—!?”
With haste, Carmen puts the palm of his hand over your mouth. Knife tattoo hand. Oh, he missed being this close to you. Not the point here, though. “Shhhhhhh…!”
You relax, he removes his hand, you’re annoyed that you wish he didn’t. You whisper, though it’s still screeching in tone. “They dropped their fucking wedding cake?”
He nods, combing his hair back with his hand. Knife tattoo hand. It’s making your shampoo waft. You both notice it. He stops. “Marcus is remaking one, now.”
“From scratch?” You were right to be so worried; Richie was right to make the face he did. Carmen tilts his head back and forth. “Box mix that he’s finessing—”
You finish the sentence with him, “—Because he’s Marcus.” The king of doing too much, especially when there’s no time for it. It’s his best and worst trait.
He nods, smiling just slightly, but not the typical smile you get from him. Timid. “Yeah, so he’s locked in, but I’m here.”
Simple sentence, but it still schisms your brain. You cannot help but feel a distrust of it. “Shouldn’t you be running the back, though?” Keeping his kitchen in order? Being the Exec in his head?
He shakes his head. “They run a tight ship without me just fine.” The first lesson you gave to him, that that’s a good thing. Is this conversation hitting specific pain points on purpose as a punishment from God or is this just how all your conversations are going to feel, from now on?
Probably both. You nod. “Okay.” You do need a barback.
“This is so cute, girl, and I love love but I’m gonna need that Cosmo like yesterday.” Why did this woman have to say love? That would already be terrible if you were good right now. Carmen’s probably not the type of guy to say the L word for like several months anyways. You’re not even dating anyways— Or weren’t? Can you use past-tense on something that never was?
You hand her the Cosmo, and you both pretend you never heard her.
Running bar with Carmen makes your life infinitely easier, though albeit tenser. He hasn’t done this before, but he’s watched previous bar staff from the sidelines— And one of his best traits is how quick he catches on to things. He’s not confident enough to mix drinks, but everything else, he does just fine.
“Behind.” There’re occasional autopilot moments that make you laugh, though. He snaps back into his body, when you do, moving next to you. He tilts his head, “What, you don’t say behind?”
You shrug, and it feels normal, for a second. “Professionals probably do, I’ve never worked in a place that does, though.”
“But what about when you’re holdin’ shit?” You allow yourself to feel normal, for a second. It is a delight to teach him something about your work. You continue to make drinks and hand off orders, all while you both speak. It reminds you of the domestic flow you were both so used to doing. That was so easy for you both to fall into. It’s nice that it somehow hasn’t gone away.
“So, you know when you’re in the kitchen, or here, behind bar, you get like, really fucking hot?” Don’t let that entendre stay doubled— “Like sweaty?”
“Mhm?”
You hold onto your chilled shaker, stepping behind him, “So, we don’t say behind, we—” and press it just under the back of his neck. He shivers, immediately, full shock running through his system. “Do that.”
“Christ!”
You want to enjoy the moment, but you can’t help but remember him calling you a modern-day saviour. You try to push it down, but the warmth you were starting to feel tones down, quite a bit. You manage to keep him from noticing, manage to keep the smile on. “What, don’t like it? It’s nice!”
“Think it’s a safety concern, f’sure.”
“Call OSHA.” You touch the shaker to his face, before going to pour it. He laughs. Actually laughs. You wish that made you feel good, still. And somewhere, in some corner of yourself, it still does. But not like it did before.
Soon enough, you two get a second of reprieve, as Vinnie’s Best Man gets up to do his speech, or whatever. He uses a knife to clink his glass, and of course, it fucking shatters. You’re half-mad, because technically for the night, those are your glasses, but it’s too funny to actually give a shit. Plus, the Best Man gets a pass tonight, in your book, because one, he understood protocol and got a vodka cran from you, and two, his speech is forcing everyone to sit down and leave y’all the fuck alone.
“Beautiful night, beautiful couple, beautiful people— Couldn’t ask for a better weddin’ for my best friend— But let’s be honest, I didn’t think he’d be gettin’ a wedding at all— Aye! This guy Vin, amirite?”
You take this moment to halve your protein bar from Carmen. You wordlessly hand the other half to him. He shakes his head. “M’Good, you eat.”
 You shove it towards him. You know he hasn’t eaten much, you don’t know how, but you just know. “I’ve eaten twelve tiny quiches and a beef sandwich, Carm, take the fuckin’ granola.”
He breathes heavily through his nose, but he takes it. You both watch the Best Man, quietly eating your halves. He is silently overjoyed at the verbal confirmation you ate the sandwich.
“I don’t need to introduce my goddamn self, I’m sure my reputation precedes me, right? But I’m Leo, I’m my boy’s Best Man, and I just couldn’t be more honoured, y’know? We grew up together, playin’ stickball in the Bronx, and now this guy’s marryin’ one of the most wonderful women in the world? And I get to be here? Man, I love ya.”
As cranky as you’ve been all night, this really is a gorgeous wedding. More often than not, the guests are nice, it’s just that the shit ones stick out in your head like nails to be hammered. Vinnie and Mira seem like a good couple. You wonder if you’ll ever get to have a wedding like this. They commissioned one of those painters to do a live painting, too. Always wanted one of those. And they’ve got little gift bags for the guests. You’re taking notes, internally, of what you like here, what you’d want to do for your own.
You wish you and Carmen were talking, right now. Despite the fact that Leo’s voice is booming throughout the hall’s speakers, the silence between you feels deafening, because you both know that you would be talking right now, if you weren’t living in fucking limbo. You need to work. You need something to do. The ice basket is running low, refilling it will take at least two minutes and maybe holding the ice will shock your nervous system.
You grab a bag of ice from the freezer behind you both, Carmen pretends to be listening to the speech, because he doesn’t feel like he has the right to help you with the weight. You cut the bag, emptying huge chunks of ice into the basket. You ball up the plastic in your hands to throw out; you nod to Carmen. “Can you break the ice?”
He seems surprised, taking a second, before nodding, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I owe you an apology—”
“Oh, no!” You hastily correct. “No— Yes but no— I— I meant—” You hand him the metal scooper, nodding to the clumped-up ice you just poured out. “I meant can you break the literal ice blocks?”
Carmen wishes he has dead. And you can both tell that. “Yes. Yes— Yeah, f’sure, one-hundred— Course. Heard.” You nod back, pensive, throwing the plastic bag out, staring straight ahead, trying to refocus on Leo again. You can’t.
Carmen beats the ice, softly, so as to not make a noticeable noise for the audience. After a few seconds, he returns to his point. “…I do owe you an apology, though—”
“Don’t even worry about it, Carmen.” You don’t say this. Fak does. He sidles up to the bar. Where he keeps apparating from and hearing your conversations, you’re really not sure. “I’ve got this one.”
Neither you or Carmen know what Fak thinks he’s got, here, but you’re both too intrigued or surprised to stop him. Well, Carmen does give it a fair shot, after a second, “Fak, I’m—”
“Nono—” But there’s simply no chance. “I appreciate you trying to fix my problems for me, but y’know, I can handle myself, Carmen.” …You wish that’s what Carmen said, last Friday, instead of calling himself your charity tax write-off.
Fak pivots to you, sighing, shrugging, hands up, as if you know as well as he does what the fuck he’s about to say. You can’t tell if you’re supposed to be scared right now or not. When you don’t say anything, he starts, “Alright, I guess I’m the one that's brave enough to say it, there’s some major tension here.”
Now why does Fak think he’s the one to acknowledge this. Quite frankly, why is Fak here? Is he working, too? On what exactly? You don’t remember seeing him on the plane, either. Was he a part of the road trip? Dear God, that's a nightmare third wheel. You just let out a, “Huh?”
“Oh, come on, you haven’t shown up at The Bear since last Friday—” You’re now remembering that before the fight of all fights broke out that night, Fak ran out of the kitchen. Guess no one filled him in, after. “And like, this week, when something broke—” He nods to Carmen, who grimaces, hand over his face. “Carmy told me to fix it, instead of calling you, like he’d usually.”
You know you’re not allowed to be upset about that, and yet, you really fucking are. You’re Carmen’s fucking fixer. Or were? Fuck. Christ, are you jealous of Fak now? You turn your gaze just slightly to Carmen, who’s leaning over the counter, propping his head up on his hands. “What broke?”
He answers briefly. “Expo clock.”
It was extremely apt and even more upsetting for him, the way time literally stopped, when you left. When he made you leave.
You tuck your hands in your pockets, looking back to Fak. “You fix it?”
He shrugs. “Yeah.” Carmen stands back up, opening his mouth to intercept, Fak puts a hand in front of his face. “No Carm, I’ve gotta tell her the truth…” What.
“Tony…” Neil sighs, unable to make eye contact, at this moment. “I was really harsh on you, that Friday…”
“…Huh?” The fucking degree thing? Is that what he’s talking about? You honestly can’t remember anything before Carmen, from that night.
“You don’t need to hide your pain.” He nods solemnly, “I— I’m just gonna say it… I know it’s hard to believe, but I was… jealous.”
“I know.”
He ignores that you’ve said this entirely, “I know, I know, it’s crazy. Me? Jealous? But yeah, I was really good at hiding it, but you’re just really like smart, Tony, y’know? And everyone was like— Tony can fix this— Tony can fix that— And I was holding it together, but then you were good at serving, too. And it got to me— And obviously Carmen could tell, so he stopped calling you. Trying to be a true bro.”
Oh, Fak really doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, huh? “Of course there’s like, the other obvious tension in the room—” Oh okay, so he does know— “Between us.” What.
“What’s up?” You blink, voice going high for a second. Carmen cannot stop staring at Fak, face entirely unmoving, unblinking. Neither of you are sure what emotion to feel right now. Is Leo’s speech still fucking going? You’ve completely tuned it out, if it is.
Fak gestures to the air between you two. “Well like, there’s obviously a really intense sort of rivals to romance dynamic happening here…”
What.
“And like,” He raises his hands, in defense— Of what exactly? You couldn’t be less sure. “I could totally see that happening, in the future.”
It takes everything in you, to just hold your lips closed together. You have to bite down on your top lip, to not scream laugh in his face. “For sure, man.”
He nods, continuing, “But right now, I just don’t think I’m ready to take what you’re giving, y’know?” Holy shit, wait, is that how Carmen feels? Is that what the fuck is going on in his head? “Just not ready for all—” He gestures to you in general. “This.”
“Little harsh.” You tilt your head. “Fuckin’ cool it, Fak.” Carmen barks, in tandem with you. Oh, he’s upset. He wasn’t set on his emotions, this entire time, but he seems to have now settled in the upset category.
“Right.” Fak nods. “And so, I’m sorry I can’t be that for you… And I know it’s gonna take time to recover, but please come back to The Bear, when you’re ready. You’re… You’re a better repairman than me. We need you.”
You put a hand over your mouth, to cover your shit eating grin, trying your best to compose yourself and look sad. The best way out of this is to just agree with him. It’d take far too much energy to clarify everything for Fak. You’re nodding too much. “…Yeah, y’know, Fak… I will consider that. All those words you said? I’m gonna… Gonna really take all of it to heart, dude. I really appreciate… The directness— Y’know, that takes… Strength, man.”
“Thank you.” He nods. “Still friends?”
You did not realize you were even friends to start. And not in the insecure way, this time. You nod. “For sure, dude.”
You and Carmen both watch him walk away, in perplexed silence. Carm’s the first to break it. “…Was that anything—” “Obviously fucking not.”
He’s going to reply something witty in response, and it’s going to make you both feel like everything’s okay, again, but then he seems to see something that scares him straight. He turns to the back of the bar, aimlessly grabbing bottles, for no reason. Literally no reason, everyone sat for the speeches, what’s he doing—?
“You still serving?” Older man, oval glasses. He stands in front of your bar. Ah. Kinda rude of him, maybe that’s why Carmen’s giving the cold shoulder to this guy? Whatever. You'll serve him. Just because you're Chicago's Kindest doesn't mean everyone else has to be.
“Yessir, what can I fix for you?”
“Manhattan with bourbon?”
You salute, “Aye aye.” And get to mixing the drink. You’re pretty sure Carmen must know this guy, because he’s already set out the bourbon, vermouth, and angostura. It doesn’t take long to fix the drink.
When you go to hand it to the man, he seems to notice the mop of blond curls behind you. “Aye, Carmen? Jimmy told me you’d be workin’ tonight.”
A small, tentative, meek wave from Carmen. He sniffs. “Yeah. Hi, Uncle Lee.”
“Oh.” Is all you can say. Pulling the drink away from his hand, as Uncle Lee reaches for it. “You’re Uncle Lee?”
“My reputation precedes me?” He chuckles, nodding.
Carmen comes up beside you, and witnesses a smile from you that he’s never seen from you, and ideally hopes will never be directed at him. It’s the slowness of it, it’s a smile, but you’re doing it purely to bare your teeth.
“It sure does.” Give him a chance, it’s been four years, give him a chance. “I was a friend of Mikey’s.”
He fails the chance. “Ah… I see, friend, ya did a little—�� He taps the side of his nose, sniffing. “Together?”
He really fucking fails the chance. Your smile grows, painfully so. The apples of your cheeks so high they practically close your eyes for you. You laugh a deeply fake laugh. “Hahaha, yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what we used to do. Uncle Lee.”
“Oh!” You tilt your wrist quickly, pouring the bourbon Manhattan in the bar sink. “Ah, fuck. Hand slipped.”
Lee is a bit taken aback. “Really—?”
“Really.” You repeat. Putting the glass down. “And y’know, I could remake that for you, but I dunno if you wanna trust my shaky junkie hands.”
Holy fuck. Carmen has always been great at keeping his reactions hidden, and still is, so Uncle Lee cannot tell how out of character this is, of you. You’re nice, you don’t bite— Or Carmy didn’t think you did, because of the amount of grace you gave him, last Friday.
“Lee, I’m gonna level with you.” You cross your arms, smile fading, but there’s still that venomous lilt in your voice. “I’ve been thinking for the last, I dunno, two years, what I’d say to you, if I had the displeasure of seeing you.”
There’s a pile of forks behind your bar, that you’d asked Richie for, just in case this situation came to a head. Just in case this fucking idiot came by. But it just doesn’t feel right, now. Doesn't feel right to leap over the counter and stab him in the neck with a fork. Though you've imagined it, and you still actively are.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” You nod, looking around the venue. “But we’re at this beautiful wedding, and Vinnie and Mira don’t deserve to have their reception ruined by us causing a scene.” You gesture to the air between you, almost comical.
He shrugs, “Better than Mikey, in that regard, then.” You know what he’s referring to, despite not being there.
You nod, smiling real big now, really baring your teeth, now. “His fuckin’ house, Lee.”
“I could have your ass fired, y’know.” “So do it.”
You lean forward, elbows on the counter. “I’m not getting paid for this. Please, get me fired. Snitch to Uncle J, c’mon, fire me. I’m delighted to get cut. Do it.”
After what feels like eons of a silent stare down, Uncle Lee throws a fake punch. Carmen’s the only one that flinches, immediately rearing his own fist back, stopping short when Lee does.
You’re still just coy, elbows on the counter. Lee scoffs, “Cokehead.” Of course.
“Yessir.” You just lightly shake your head, standing up straight again, smiling, amused, delighted, even. “That’s me. That’s who I am.” It’s not, but there’s no point in arguing with him— Especially when you agreeing just seems to piss him off more.
You’ve given Lee nothing to work with, to insult you, so it takes him a moment to generate something. “You’re—”
You don’t let him get it out, putting a hand up for him to give it a rest. “Lee, I’m not startin’ a scene, it’s a gorgeous wedding.”
“Oh, how grown of you—” “But, if you wanna have a scene, just wait in the parking lot.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You really think—” “I do. I do think, Lee.”
You lean forward, again, shrugging, speaking nonchalant, speaking with your hands, casually. “I wanna make it so clear, for you, too. I’m not gonna crack my knuckles, not gonna make some empty threats, not gonna scream in your face— I’m not gonna tell you I’m gonna kill you or anything like that. Because obviously, I wouldn’t do that.”
You nod, slowly, methodically, clearly. “What I am gonna say, is that I have been a bartender on and off since I was twenty-one. I was an E-M-T, for three years— All in our beautiful city of Chicago, Illinois. The sheer volume of geriatric white guys I have had to pull to the concrete in a full nelson in both professions— Insurmountable, Lee. So again, to be, so fucking clear, Lee— If I see you outside, I’m taking you to the fucking pavement, and I’m not getting off.”
Uncle Lee’s got no comeback, for this, but he’d be dead in the ground before he just lets someone have the last word. This is why Uncle Jimmy is more successful. “Oh, I’m sure you fuckin’ would.”
You grin. God, those forks are tempting. Resist. You keep your hands busy by grabbing a maraschino cherry from it's jar behind your bar to snack on. “Enjoy your night, Lee.”
“You’re a real fuckin’ bi—” A fork flies over his shoulder, clattering behind him. Not from you, from Carmen.
He speaks for you. “Enjoy your night, Uncle Lee.”
It feels good to be backed. Carmen’s here, and he’s on your team. You tack on, waving goodbye to the fucker, “Back lot, Uncle Lee.”
Lee pivots his gaze to Carmen, he rolls his eyes, disappointed. “Alright, Donna.”
Carmen goes for another fork, you stop his hand, holding it there, for a second. The metal clatters behind the counter. Lee’s pleased enough with the provocation. Men like him don’t leave until they’ve won something in their heads. He leaves, on his way to the punch bowl, since he’s determined he’s not getting shit from the bar tonight. You and Carmen just watch him, like prey, making sure he leaves without looking back.
“You’ve got teeth.” Carmen’s first to speak, cleaning a glass, both of you looking straight ahead. You nod.
“I do.”
“You don’t bite much.”
You shrug. “Try not to.”
Carmen considers the fact that what he wants to say would mean sticking his foot in his mouth. He then considers the fact that nothing he could say now will ever be worse than what he said then. He keeps rubbing away at a perfectly shining glass.
“You didn’t bite me.”
“I didn’t.” You nod, and your body goes on autopilot, as you start making a drink no one’s ordered. Just need something to do. “I couldn’t.”
He doesn’t like that answer. “I deserved it.”
“I deserved it, too.” You’re not a big fan of your own answer, either. But you can’t say it’s not true. You deserved it. Just some failure leech trying to reattach yourself to people through merry good deeds, as if they’d add up to fucking anything—
“No, you didn’t.” He pivots to you, tone inarguable. He puts the glass down. It’s a lowball, you need a lowball, you grab it from him.
“Do you like cognac or vodka?” You ignore his words, but you look him in the eyes. You regret it.
He lets you get away with it, because he is absolutely not the one allowed to lead the conversation, here. He did enough bulldozing, before.
“I dunno, I don’t really drink much.” You squint, you’ve seen his apartment. He clarifies. “Other than wine n’ beer.”
You nod. You opt for cognac. He watches you, for a moment, before asking. “What’re you—”
You’re already finished, by this point, sliding the glass over to him. “Black lavender latte. Cognac n’ coffee liqueur. If it’s too strong, let me know, I can add more milk.”
“Thank you, Chef.” Is all he can think to say. He takes a sip. It’s far behind in his long list of regrets, but certainly one of them in the way he spoke to you, is that there’s a strong chance he will never have a mixologist as talented as you working at The Bear.
“Hmm.” You hum, not watching him drink it, because you won’t be able to handle either reaction— You won’t be able to handle disgust nor pleasure. You never want to look at Carmen again. He’s also all you want to see. This sucks. You suck. Carmen sucks.
“Thank you for the coffee earlier, too.” You’re overjoyed at the verbal confirmation he drank it.
“Figured you’d need one.”
“I did.” He thinks about it, and decides to take the bullet. “Needed yours.”
Your breath hitches, and he can’t tell whether or not that’s a good thing. He doesn’t get the chance to ask, as a meek and overly sweaty man comes up to your bar. There are bar stools at your counter, though they’ve been tucked far under it to keep the flow of traffic moving. But the man points down to the stool, silently asking. You nod.
“You can sit, sir.”
He’s delighted. He sits. “Sorry, I’m not gonna sit long, I just uh— Just—” He turns around pointing to the Maid of Honour, who’s just gotten on the hot mic for her speech. “I uhm, it’s— Usually the bar is empty, when uh, when people are talking.”
“That they are.” You nod, smile soft. “Can I get anything for you, or d’you just wanna sit? No shame in that.”
“I— I, uh, if it’s not a bother— I was just wonderin’ if uhm— Totally fine, if it’s— If it is— Do uhm, do you— Do you do mocktails?”
Carmen watches you grow ten times softer, in demeanor. It’s wonderful, how you’re able to flip on a dime. It’s wonderful what you’re willing to give to people, when they deserve it. You nod. “Yeah, sir. What’s your drink?”
“Oh— I— Anything’s fine, really.” He plays with the loose strings on the cuff of his left sleeve.
You tilt your head, recognizing his nervousness. “If it’s not too personal, sir, are you…” You debate the best way to say it. “Taking twelve steps?”
He looks scared, initially, to be caught; but then he looks at your face, and he knows he has nothing to be worried about. He nods. “One— Two months, two weeks, one day.”
“That’s huge.”
He shrugs. “It’s a start.”
“A start is huge.” You emphasize, and he nods, because that’s inarguable. “What was your drink before? I can make a mocktail of that— Or maybe you’d prefer somethin’ total opposite?”
“Oh! Yeah, I uh, I liked uh, old-fashioneds, but you can’t really make those without whiskey—”
“Yeah, you can.” You’re already grabbing your shaker. “You just use barley tea. I can do that— If you want that.”
He thinks on it, for a second. Debates whether nostalgia is good or not. “Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”
While you work on it, the guy feels enough confidence, bestowed by you, to tell you about himself. “I liked sitting. That was the thing I liked about drinking. The sitting and the talking and the feeling good about it.”
“I hear that.” You watch the tea steep, nodding. “Reason why the phrase is ‘takes the edge off’.”
Carmen has to turn around. He’s listening intently, but he has to turn around. Again, he’s pretty good at hiding his tells, but you’re pretty good at reading them. And you’d be able to tell his flat expression is the equivalent of being absolutely fucking bug eyed on anyone else. You’re a bartender. You were a paramedic. You have seen so many people, on their worst day— Seen so many people like this guy, like his brother. You have taken care of so many addicts.
The number of times he said loser or junkie to your face, and the way that that was what you always fought back on. It will not stop replaying, in Carmen’s head. The way you think that wasn’t okay, but the way he spoke about you was. It’s all just nauseating. You’re so good to everyone but you. You defend everyone but you. Carmen's almost furious about this, though he doesn't feel he has the right to be. You should've treated him like Uncle Lee. He acted exactly like Uncle Lee. 
“It can make it easier, to be at the bar, for some people, I've found.” You continue, still making conversation with the man as you stir the steeped tea into the glass, over ice. “Makes you feel normal.” Forced sobriety is definitely in the top five, of the most ostracizing human experiences.
He nods, relieved to have someone. “Most people don’t get that.”
You nod, strain out the virgin old-fashioned, and push the glass to him across the counter. “Well, I get that.”
He takes a sip of the mocktail, it’s perfectly nostalgic in a way that doesn’t hurt. “Thank you.” He’s thanking you for a lot more than the drink. 
“A pleasure.” You nod. He stands up, tucking the stool back under the counter, as the speeches end. It won’t be long until the bar is crowded again, and he knows it’ll be too much, for him or you. You add. “Good luck with month three. It's a heavy one.”
“If you work it and you’re worth it.” He recites the line incorrectly on purpose, it’s an important one, but you both still laugh at it. Like an inside joke, practically. You give one quick dap, he puts a twenty in your tip jar, and walks off, with less sweat, and more spring in his step, this time. Good.
When he walks away, before guests start to stand, there’s a lull of silence. You don’t need to look at Carmen to know he has a million different thoughts, and a million more follow ups. 
“You have questions?”
“None of my business.” He sniffs, awkwardly. “Unless you want it to be.”
Why did he have to fucking say it like that. Why did he have to put the ball in your court. Carmen fucking sucks. Y’know what, no, turn it on his ass.
“Did you give the New York Exec my number?”
“No.” The reply is instant. He doesn’t get thrown by the topic change in the slightest. You were pretty sure you knew the answer, but the speed of it is still a little surprising. Like it wasn’t something that was ever up for debate.
“What’d you say to him, then?”
This is when he looks embarrassed, just slightly. This part was up for debate, seemingly. “We—”
“Everyone, please stay in your seats for just a moment, our wonderful catering crew will be coming around to serve you!” Says… Vinnie’s mom? Mira’s mom? They all kind of blend together. It’s not long after this, that Syd rolls by with Marcus and a cart of food. She’s starting with you, despite the fact that you’re not a guest. Sweetie.
“Salmon or chicken?”
“Just gimme both, we’ll split it.” You nod your head to Carmen. “Best of both worlds.”
And then, the game of eye contact conversation ensues. A game that Carmen nor Marcus can comprehend.
‘I asked you’ Syd glares.
‘You can’t just starve him out’ You deadpan.
‘Who said?’
“Syd.” You say aloud. She sighs, handing you both plates, mumbling ‘whatevers’, walking off to serve the actual guests. No time to bicker. You look to Marcus, worried. “Heard about the cake, how’s it goin?”
He shrugs but he’s smirking, proud and bad at hiding it, he hands you a paper plate with a little chocolate cupcake. The floral frosting job is simple, and you know if he had more time, you’d probably be looking at a full realistic rose, but it’s still beautiful. “You tell me. Taste test.”
“Lil sacrilege, to do dessert before dinner, but okay.” You grab a fork from your pile, digging in. “Oh fuck,” You have to laugh. “Marcus— You stress me the fuck out, how do you have time to make shit this good?”
It’s a built-in habit for you, to hand your fork to Carmen. He gives you a moment to realize or pull back. You should but you don’t. He takes it, thankful, and tries the cupcake for himself.
“S’fire, Chef.” He points the fork, emphatically. “‘Specially with what you had.”
“Thank you, Chef.” Marcus nods.
You tilt your head, curious, “Do you even have time to test, though? If this sucked you wouldn’t have time to remake the full cake anyways, would you?”
“No.” He answers bluntly, and you both snort. He adds, “Just wanted to make sure you got dessert, over here.” Just wanted to make sure you ate something.
“Marcus…” You pout, overcome by the sweetness of the sweets Chef. You’ve gotta return the favour. “Gin and juice still your go-to?”
“You tryna get me fucked up at work?”
You shrug, grinning. “Are you tryna get fucked up at work?”
He’s going to say yes, but then he pauses, and looks to his boss. Looks to Carmen. Ah, you don’t run his kitchen— Get that through your head. Of course, Marcus can’t just drink—
Carmen shrugs, smiling, “Are you tryna get fucked up at work, Chef?”
Marcus claps his hands, grinning. “Yessir!”
That makes you feel a little lighter. You nod. “Gin and juice, comin’ up.”
You pour out the pineapple juice— Marcus’ preferred juice, of course you remembered. And Marcus leans over the bar, to watch you stir in the gin, even if it’s just a stupid simple drink, the guy loves to learn.
He asks, “How much they payin’ you, tonight?”
You shake your head, “Tips. Nothin’ else.”
Carmen’s ears burn, at that, while he evenly divides and plates out the salmon and chicken plates so you both have a little of everything. If things were normal you could just eat off each other's plates.
Marcus tilts his head, just as surprised. “You in debt, too?”
“Just to Mikey.” You smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m doin’ this in exchange for Uncle J getting me out of work early, a couple weeks back.”
“That’s it?”
“I was in a rush.” You shrug, measuring out the simple syrup. “Got like thirty missed texts from Syd, I thought someone fuckin’ died, didn’t have time to bargain.”
“Wait—” Marcus cannot help but grin, nearly laughing, at the ridiculousness of it, at how bad you got fucked over, by your own permission. “You’re here because you… left work… to go deliver Nat’s baby?”
“Yessir.” Are you fucking serious? Carmen can’t help but stare at the side of your head, for just a few seconds, before going back down to the plates. You’re in this hellscape of a bar, three states from your home, because you were delivering his niece? You did that for them already, and promised yourself for this, in order to do that?
“You know me,” You hand Marcus his glass, and you shouldn’t make the joke, but you can’t help yourself. “Modern day Christ.”
Marcus stifles down his snort, turning his head away from Carmen, to look at the ground. You do the same. There is something painful, about it all, for everyone; but Carmen can’t say that pain isn’t deserved, on his end, so he takes it. You’re allowed to joke about it all you want, if that’s what it takes for you to feel lighter.
A timer goes off on Marcus’ phone. He takes a sip from his gin and juice, nodding in approval, “Oh, shit— Alright, cool times up—” He lifts the glass to you, you hurriedly get the point and grab a random empty cup to clink with him, cheers.
“I’ll be back.” He says. Doubtful, you think. But you nod and wave him off nonetheless.
“If T needs a drink, tell her to take five.” You haven’t seen her tonight, but you realize yourself, again, once you say this. Not your kitchen. “Uh— If that’s, that’s okay—”
“Tell Chef to take a break if she needs it, we haven’t seen her.” Says Carmen, beside you. We. Don’t read into it. He hates you, and you hate him, actually. Carmen sucks, and so do you.
Marcus nods, and makes his mad dash off as a tsunami of guests that have just gotten their plates decide now that they want a drink with their meal. Sonofabitch.
God, you need a break. It’s really hitting you, and your stomach. As full as everyone’s tried to keep you, you really need to just sit down and have your fucking plate. Working behind a bar is a nightmare on the feet and back— Your earrings feel heavy, and your bracelets feel like handcuffs. It’s just all too much, without a break. You need a nap and maybe a thirty-minute session of just staring at a wall.
But the tsunami.
Carmen watches your side profile, and thinking back in his head, the collage of memories forming your face— He’s never seen you genuinely fatigued before. He’s seen you in the middle of the night, he’s seen you caught off guard, seen you distressed— But you’ve never really been one to ask for a break. It’s always yes of course it’s done, with you. It’s your best and worst trait.
As the crowd closes in, and your face morphs into a smile, ready to serve, Carmen claps his hands together, calling out to the sea. “Ey, sorry everyone, we’re just gonna take a quick thirty, alright? Union mandated.”
There is no such thing as a Bartender’s Union, you and Carmen very well know that. You’re about to call it off and say it’s fine before someone can throw an empty glass at your head or something, but instead, a scrawny but wide built, deeply New York Italian man, at the front of the crowd nods.
And as he nods, the crowd groans. He looks deeply offended by this. He turns to his fellow guests. “Where do y’all get off? We fought for those thirty-minute breaks, you fucks!” This quiets them pretty quickly. “We can live with the fuckin’ punch bowl for thirty minutes, c’mon.”
Carmen gets close enough to whisper to you, but far enough that it’s still not personal. Far enough that he still hates you. “Most of the family does or did service work. Say ‘union mandated’ and you can do anythin’”
You smile, watching the crowd dissipate, you crack a joke, because that’s probably what you’re supposed to do. “Union mandated… Murder?”
“Revolt, y’mean?” “Is that an offer?” “I’d ride for you.”
It’s supposed to be light and fun, but you can’t stop yourself, you can’t play the part and it comes out. “Would you?”
That one hurts. It all hurts, but that one really gets Carmen. That you’d have genuine reason to have pause about his dedication to you. Not your fault, his.
You grab your plate from his side of the counter, embarrassed by your instinctual prod. “Sorry.”
He’s not embarrassed by his. “Stop apologizing.”
There’s a heavy silence, before Carmen adds, “I’m supposed to be fuckin’ apologizing.”
There are no more interruptions. Fak isn’t going to come by, patrons are leaving you be, the staff is either helping Marcus or serving food. There is nothing left, to interrupt you two. This is going to happen. Christ, why does Never Let Me Down Again have to be playing right now? That’s not a fucking wedding song. This is too dramatic and simultaneously awkward and clunky and bad. There is no somethings left for you to do. There is nothing left to do, but talk. Nothing left to do but escape the void, ideally together. Please let it be together. You hate to admit it, but you want it to be together.
There is no good place to sit. So, you pick up your plate, and one of the many forks from your pile. With a sigh, you crouch down, and slide yourself underneath the counter, sitting with your legs folded, so Carmen can join you. You nod to him, to let him know that he can in fact join you.
He does. You take a few bites, in silence, before he breaks it.
“I didn’t mean a fuckin’ word.”
“It’s okay if you did.” You can’t look up from your plate. You deserved it.
He says your name, with a severity, to it. “—I didn’t mean a fucking word.”
“Then why’d you say it?”
“I—” Despite rehearsing what he wanted to say, and having ample stage to say it, he does not know how to say any of it, anymore. “I was like, like, jealous? But not in the— Not in the normal way.”
“Normal way?”
“Like, I didn’t— Well I did— But I like—” He puts his fork down, “I saw you as competition.”
You don’t know what to say, and so he keeps going. “I saw you like… Like being so perfect at everything, and being so… Being so what everyone needed, and you being there, and and— I felt so… the way you can just do that— Like— Like you can just be you and it just works. And I just fucking can’t.”
A talent you share with his brother. A talent Carmen envied in Mikey, and thus, envies in you.
“And then I got so… weird about that thought. Like you being you is— You’re for everyone. And I got this idea in my head that…” He cringes, trying to find better wording in his head for it, and he can’t. “That you were for me.”
“But you’re not for me—” “Ouch.” “—Not what I meant.”
He thanks you, internally, for being willing to add levity, right now. “I lo— I like you, so much. And I don’t want you to change. If you were like…” He half gestures to himself, which you’re not a big fan of the deprecation, but you let it slide. “Cold, and not for anyone, you wouldn’t be… you.”
Carmen realized as much, watching you tonight. Watching you interact with full strangers to long time friends. If you were callus, you wouldn’t be you. If you didn’t love his family as much as he did, he wouldn’t have attached himself to you, so quickly. He loves the way that you love. The way that you can’t turn it off. It’s not that Carmen isn’t special. It’s that you are so fucking special. He’s fucking stupid for not connecting those dots, earlier.
He picks up his fork again, needing to do something with his hands. Your brows remain furrowed, as you try to walk back how he spiraled from what and where. 
“So, you just wanted to take me down a peg?”
He shakes his head. “It— I— With Mikey, I— I saw some shit that made me think that I was just… fillin’ a gap, or you were just being so good to me out of like… Guilt.” He chews down on his salmon. “And I couldn’t find your fuckin’ invoice, so I just kept drilling into my head that I was just… Charity.”
“You’re not charity.” You’re quick to refute.
“You didn’t fail Mikey.” So is he.
Oh Christ. You nod, but you don’t believe it. “You weren’t wrong to say it.” You have to put your plate down. “I— I don’t see you like I saw Mikey, at all. But I do…” You trail off, just looking at him has you tearing up.
He leaves home so early. He comes home so late. He looks so tired. Gaunt. Has he been eating? Did he light his oven on fire again? Remember how he looked in the freezer. Remember how Mikey looked in the freezer? Remember how they are so so different. They are so different but you still can’t stop connecting every fragment and taking it as a sign and worrying so fucking much, so fucking paranoid—
“Do what?” He swallows his last bite of chicken, and you can’t stop looking at him and fuck you just can’t hold it back, this time. You were doing so good about this. This isn’t even the point of the conversation— Well, kind of. Just breathe.
As your eyes begin to water, he sets his plate aside on the floor, reaching out immediately, worried, immediately. He pauses, hand floating in the air. Hesitating. “Fuck—Can I?”
Eyes barely open, you nod. He’s quick to take your plate from your hands, set it aside, and hug you there. It’s awkward, underneath a bar counter, half sitting, half crouching, grappling you. Carmen does not wish to be anywhere else.  
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and babble, unable to hold back a fear that’s been long standing, since the day you met him.
“Sometimes you remind me of Mikey so much and I get so scared and I just— Fuck, I just— Please don’t kill yourself, Carmen.” His arms wrap around just a bit tighter, as do yours. “I know that’s selfish—”
“It’s not.” Mumbled, to your neck. Skin to skin isn’t really the focal point, here, but there is a lurking part of his subconscious fearing that he will never be able to hug you like this, again. Never be your rock. “I won’t.”
It’s silent, for a minute. You believe him. He holds you there, and you believe him.
“Why did you think all that? That you were filler?” You pull back, just a bit, to look at his face. “Did I do something to make you feel like that?”
“No— God no. You’re—” He swallows. It feels stupid now, to even say how his fucking tantrum started, you had it so much worse, in your head. Why didn’t you tell him? “I was looking for your invoice, and—”
“I forgot the booths, by the way.” You recall the shoddy invoice you wrote. It’s a stupid time to interrupt, but as you slowly grow more comfortable, inches from his face, it feels like the time to be stupid. “And taxes. I owe you something more like eighteen-seventy.”
“You don’t owe me shit.”
“I’m paying back a Berzatto, somehow.”
“Where’d that money come from?”
“Where’d your tirade come from?”
He swallows again, getting back to the point. “I found a folder. Called ice chips, or something like that— But it wasn’t for ice. It was, for you.”
You look at him, genuinely perplexed for a second. Then you get it. And it makes a lot more sense, why Carmen knows you failed Mikey—Try as he might to deny it. “Oh… You found my Ice folder.”
“Fuck’s that mean?” You’re glad, honestly, that he’s never had a reason to learn what it means. It’s fair. You had to teach it to Mikey, too.
“Ice. I-C-E, Carmen. It’s an acronym.” You spell it out, slow. “In Case of Emergency. I-C-E.”
It knocks the wind out of him, immediately. He’s extra glad he’s holding onto you, because he’s starting to feel untethered. “What?”
You nod. It’s time to walk him through it. You have to tell him. “I made Mikey keep some sort of emergency stuff as a fail-safe, for when he forgot people wanted him alive.” When Carmen’s quiet, you continue. “I was in his work cabinet, I think Richie was in his bedside, you and Sug were in his wallet.”
His stomach lurches, at the idea of being the emergency his brother always had on him. “You knew he was suicidal?”
Who didn’t? You think, but don’t say, because that’s not fair. Mikey cut him out, how could he know?
“Everyone’s suicidal, when they’re trying to get sober.”
“What?”
“What?” You parrot back. It’s both your turns, to squint at the other, confused beyond belief now. How is he confused? You’re first to ask. “Carmen, what was in my ice folder?”
“Anniver— Oh my fucking God.” He unwraps himself from you, because he’s frankly too ashamed to touch you, realizing everything he misunderstood. “Oh, my fucking God.”
You let him go, though you don’t particularly want to. He’s probably realizing he’s hugging the enemy. 
“Carmen—?” “You didn’t fucking date Mikey.”
“What?!” You jump, your head hits the bottom of the base of the bar’s sink. “Fuck! Ow, no— What?!”
It’s a mess of limbs and emotions, as he grabs your head haphazardly, seeing if you’re hurt— It honestly hurts more, to be pulled around like this. “Are you o—” You don’t let him finish, grabbing at his wrists, ignoring your sore head.
“You thought I’d fuck your brother and then—What— try to fuckin’ get the whole set?” You’re cringing at the thought. This had just never come up in your mind. You would’ve set him straight, if it did. It was way worse in his head. Why didn’t he tell you? “I— Carmy, babydoll, are you fucking insane?”
You say nice pet names, when you’re perplexed. You’ve got a pattern of doing so. He also has no comeback for this, completely mum. You release his wrists. You add, again, aghast. “How old do you think I am?”
“Ah— As old as Syd?” “Correct.” “So, twenty-eight?”
“Turning, but yeah.” You nod, like a teacher walking him through a problem. “And how old was Mikey?”
“Forty something.” “Forty-three.” “No one remembers their brothers’ age—” “Sixteen years. Carmen.”
You press your hands over your eyes. “And listen, I get at a point age is just a number but I was twenty-five when I met him and he was already fucking forty— I grew up with Muppet Babies and he grew up with Muppets. Period end of sentence.”
You sigh. This situation isn’t funny at all, but you feel a load lighten off of you significantly. And also the situation is extremely funny. It’s hard to be mad at someone this thrown off. 
“It’s just— Listen, do I think Mikey’s hot? Absolutely—”
“Alright—” He cringes, putting a hand in the air, asking you to lay off this train of thought.
“Oh, what do you want me to say ‘your genetic make-up fucking sucks actually’? No, you have a hot family, Carmen.”
“Say this in any other way but this one.”
“I did not date your brother, Carmen.” You finalize, he breathes lighter. “Think about it for like more than two seconds. Richie would’ve fuckin’ run his mouth about it immediately— Would’ve said you’re getting sloppy seconds or call me a fuckin’ homie hopper—”
“I did think that he’d say that, yeah.”
“Well fuckin’ think harder on it, next time—” “Well, what about the joint bank account?”
The most romantic paperwork he’d ever seen. It makes you pause, and Carmen’s considers a universe where you’re just the most incredible pathological liar in existence. 
“I made him make it.” You finally say, saddened just thinking about the failsafe that didn’t fucking work. “I didn’t put any money in it.”
“Why’d you want it, then?” The idea of you dating his brother quiets in his head, now he just wants to listen.
“So I could keep track of his spending and withdrawals.” You pick up your fork and twirl it around, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Need something to do with your hands. “Mostly his withdrawals.”
Carmen thinks about it, trying to tie together the red strings in his head without asking you first. “So you could see if he was buying.”
“If he knew he was being watched, he was less inclined to deal.” You shrug and nod. “Plus I wanted him to get into the habit of keeping savings.”
“Lotta good that did.” Carmen can’t help but laugh, pitifully, at that. “Everythin’ got claimed, when he kicked it.”
You shake your head, you tuck your knees to your chest. “Not everything.”
He just looks at you, curious, waiting for you to explain. Mikey had so much credit card debt— Everything he had outside of fucking tomato cans was claimed. 
You shrug. “Not the accounts he wasn’t sole proprietor on.”
Joint bank account. It was partially your money, technically. It deferred to you. Carmen’s head just falls over, another painful realization of another thing you did, that he got completely wrong. You never gave Mikey a cent. You just gave him the protection of your name and credit score.
“Why’d you do all that, for him?”
Holy shit, he doesn’t know. Carmen doesn’t actually know you killed Mikey. You live in a world, still, where Carmen doesn’t completely rightfully blame you. You tap your fingers on your knees. Staring aimlessly. There is nothing else to do.
“Anyone ever tell you why I get called Chip?”
“I asked Richie. Said to ask you.” Carmen shakes his head, he’s a bit sick of himself, for being almost excited to get an answer about this. “Said it was personal.”
You squint and snort. “Since when does Richie give a fuck about personal?”
Carmen smiles, finally, and tucks his knees to his chest to mimic you. “Since me, I guess.”
“Good influence.” You smile, trying to distract from the nervousness, thrumming hard in your chest. Spit collects in your throat like it’s trying to choke you. “I uhm… Chippy is, uh, Mikey started calling me Chip or Chippy cause of uhm—”
You take a moment, one deep breath. A breath of air in the world before Carmen knows. A sanctimonious breath.
You pull at the long black rope chain on your neck, pulling it out from underneath your top, where it’s always been safely tucked. Not hidden necessarily, just always close to your chest. Close to your heart.
“It’s a joke, about— It’s like—”
Just do it, Chip. Let it rip.
“It’s—”
You hold out your fist for him to put his hand out and take it. Carmen gets the point and holds his palm out. You press the pendant into his hand. Holding your hand over it, for a moment, as if you could decide now that actually he shouldn’t be allowed to see this. Like there’s still an escape option, somehow.
You move your hand, you try to speak calmly, as he stares. And the text on the large round pendant stares back at him.
To Thine Own Self Be True.
“Sobriety chip.” Unity, Service, Recovery.
A proud and large 3 months, in the middle of the triangle, leers back at Carmen.
“I was— I was Mikey’s sponsor.”
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Now y'all in my asks see why I was waiting, eh?
Ya caught on! Well, after thinking collectively, ya caught on. Some of you got it quick. Anyways, I shouldn't be talking about this like it's some gotcha, it's deeply painful.
A lot of hard confirmations! Fuck! This conversation was so hard to navigate, because I was like-- There's just so much for them to catch up on, and so they keep like moving forward and so I was like wait I have to go back and address this-- No. That's not how most real convos like this work, they just keep running forward, they can clarify later. Such a weird brain challenge. I was tweaking. I hope it's sensical to read? If it's not, dw, i'll walk into the sea about it.
Can you believe this chapter began with Syd/Chip/Richie? Absolutely bonkers. We started with getting ready in a hotel/taking a flight. We were so young, then. I've gotta go watch season 3, so don't send me spoilers, but please send me literally any and all thoughts about this chapter. I really fuckin-- Rah.
I'm happy with this chapter and I honestly think I will probably make a separate post sometime this week showing bits you might've missed-- So much of this was me harkening back to those first three chapters. I went back and reread them recently and I was like woah. I don't know how I did the thing where the writing style felt distant and slowly became close as they became close as characters, but I did feel like that was a thing. In the early chapters. Having to recreate that distant feeling here? Oh fuck. Brutalizing feeling.
Oh but on the more cute side, if you also see Tony as Desi, I was thinkin like a lehenga style blouse with all the work, and like, some black flared pants? and she's got big fuckin jhumkas, OF COURSE!!! OF COURSE BRO!!! But I just left it at semi-cultural so everyone could have fun, hehehe
I feel almost certain, someone's gonna be missing from this tag list, and for that, a thousand pardons, I am gonna put it in my notes app so I don't forget next time, mbmbmb, also added people that did not ask but you are so frequent that i feel like you're just forgetting to ask? idk if you wanna get taken off always just ask dw
@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @sharkluver @fridavacado @hoetel-manager @mrs-perfectly-fine
anyways, if you wanna be added send me your thoughts/analysis/diagnosis at length + ask to be added and i will ! try! sometimes they get lost and i am sorry abt that but i do try!
Next Part
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rileyglas · 7 months ago
Text
The List ~Pt. 7 - Condemnation~
Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader
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Summary: As you try to cope with Alastor's absence, you find solace with the King of Hell, who presents an interesting offer. However, some unexpected news from Husk forces you to rethink your plans.
Themes: The usual angst, mystery (Alastor), sassiness, cursing, fluff, eventual smut, actual plot, Lucifer is a cunning shit, slow burn, Husk is going to be in trouble, and of course 18+
3.2k Words
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5  Part 6 Part 7 (You're on it!) Part 7.A Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12
**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader
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The last few days (weeks?) have been a blur. It was a weird switch going from sleeping terribly because you longed to be near him - to sleeping constantly so you didn’t have to feel your body long from him. Anyone who came to your door was just told you weren’t feeling good. “Just caught a stomach bug, don’t come in! I would hate for you to catch it.”
Today you decided it’s time to finally leave your room. Charlie needs help and there are things around the hotel that need to be done before her meeting with Heaven. You aren’t one to let others down just because of your own emotional baggage.
You throw some makeup on to try to brighten your face. Usually, you wouldn’t be bothered but all the crying significantly darkened your eyes. I’d rather not let them see me like this. The less questions the better. Plastering a smile on your face, you head down to the lobby to get the list of ‘to-dos’ from Charlie. Surprisingly she isn’t there when you arrive, so you take a seat next to Angel on the floor. You lean your head against his leg as a silent ‘hello’.
“Hey toots, how ya feeling?” he says without looking up from his phone. “Better, thanks.” You say cheerfully.
“Good! Guess you and Smiles must have shared cooties ‘cause he ain’t been seen or heard from since Lucifer’s visit.” A pang hits your chest, but you try to brush it off. He’s probably just pissed off.
Charlie rushes down the stairs and scoops you into a lung crushing hug, “So so so soooooooo glad you’re feeling better! I didn’t realize how much you did around here! Could you do me a huge favor and go pick up a few things from the city and take them to my dad? He said he can meet you at this address. I have to go pack - Thank you!” Just as quickly as she came down the stairs, she hurries back, leaving you with a short list and an address.
For the first time in weeks, you leave the hotel without Alastor or his shadow close by. It’s not that you’re afraid of going out alone, but you realize you enjoyed his company more than you thought. You glance up at the radio tower as you walk away from the hotel and can make out a dark figure with glowing red eyes staring down from the window. Well at least that’s confirmation he’s still around.
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You pick up the few things from a local shop and walk across the city to the address Charlie gave you. This doesn’t look right. The building you walk up to is more of an abandoned warehouse for a drug deal rather than a cozy meetup with the King of Hell. Cautiously you walk through the door which looked like it had been kicked in already. Just as expected, it’s an empty building with piles of trash scattered about. Graffiti and posters plaster the inner walls. You triple check the address on the small paper and it matches.
Sooo now what?
After waiting and pacing for a few minutes, you hear someone call out to you. You turn to see Lucifer standing outside a portal in the middle of the building.
“You didn’t actually think I stayed within the city, did you?” he chuckles as he motions for you to enter into the portal with him. Once inside you look around to see a large open room filled with…ducks? And this guy was trying to give me a hard time?
“Is – is this your office, sir?”
He boots a few ducks out of his path. “Yes, this is where I work on – important – matters. Also, no need for formalities, Lucifer is fine. Those bags for me?”
You almost forgot why you were even standing in the King’s office. All the piles of rubber ducks grabbed your attention and now you wanted to look through them out of pure curiosity. Handing over the bags, you keep scanning around the room. Lucifer notices your curious glances, “Would you – like to see my most recent project?” he asks nervously. You feel your face light up at the offer and he can’t help but mirror your excitement.
He starts to show you all the ducks he’s created, their names, what they can do. His eyes glimmer excitedly every time you display even the slightest interest in one. What feels like a mere fifteen minutes ends up becoming a couple hours. As he shows you the last of his collection, a solemn look crosses his face.
“Thank you for this. I don’t get a lot of visitors and haven’t really been able to share my work since Charlie…grew up. Plus, it’s nice to see you smile, especially after our first encounter.”
Your breath catches at the memory of that night. Not so much the crying in the arms of the devil part - rather the grief you felt shortly after. “Oh – thank you for taking the time to show me. Truthfully, I haven’t had much reason to smile lately so it’s a lovely change.”
His smile drops. There's a long pause as he fights with himself to find the right words, “Did he…Alastor I mean…hurt you that night? You can tell me. I know Charlie is close with him, so you probably don’t feel comfortable -”
“He didn’t hurt me. At least not in the physical sense.” Frowning, you curse at yourself for being too honest. You can’t help but feel at ease in his presence. He was Lucifer, King of Hell and easily the most powerful in all the seven rings. What ulterior motives could he possibly have or need? He has no reason to be anything other than genuine in his worry for you. He made it all too easy to tell him anything. Rule #1 Never trust another Overlord/Demon
He looks at you pitifully. I hate when someone looks at me like that. “I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.” You force a smile then hang your head towards the floor to hide the truth. The wounds were too fresh. The last thing you want is another breakdown in front of him. He’s seen enough tears from me. 
Two fingers pull your chin up to his gaze, “Your eyes tell me a much different story. Tell me, does he know of your power?” he asks delicately.
Weird, Alastor never really asked me to show him what I could do. He always just said he could ‘sense’ it. Your brows gather at the realization, “Not exactly. He knows I have it, just not what I can do fully.”
He lets go of you with a sigh of relief, “Probably for the best.”
“Wait, do you – “
“I do not know, though I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little curious. You must have something special to survive down here.” He flashes a devilish grin that makes heat rise to your cheeks.
Rule #2 Never tell a soul what (or how much) power you have. Can’t hurt for the King to know, right? “Well you were gracious enough to show me your special collection. Let me show you something that’s special to me in return.”
Taking his hand, you lead him to his chair and motion for him to sit down. “Do you have anything sharp?” you ask. He hesitates slightly before grabbing a small knife from his workbench.
“So - I don’t know how this will work with the whole ‘fallen angel’ thing but...trust me?”
His worried eyes are surpassed by a warm smile, nodding for you to continue. You kneel in front of him and take his hand palm side up, “Sorry, this might hurt a little.” He flinches as you slice into his skin and golden fluid gushes from the wound. I didn’t know angelic blood was so beautiful.
Flipping his hand over, you press your lips to his knuckles. A hiss leaves your throat from the sting as the cut heals and blood disappears. Lucifer pulls his hand away to inspect his palm. “Wow…that is…..definitely something,” he breathed in amazement. His hands find yours as he stands to help you up from the floor, but he doesn't let go. Eyes widened in curiosity, “Do you feel anything when it happens?”  
You shrug, “Depends on the wound. Stuff like that just stings. Other times it feels like my body is getting ripped apart.”
Lucifer hums, drawing nervous little circles in your palms with his thumbs, “The gift of healing is something truly amazing.” He seems to lose himself in thought but continues to ghost across your skin. The light touch from his tracing sends you into full body chills.
“You're beautiful.” he whispers under his breath.
You catch his attention to pull him out of his own mind. “I’m sorry?”
“IT’S beautiful - the gift. I mean you’re beautiful too I just - I mean …” You try to hide your giggles as he continues to stammer like a schoolboy. It was refreshing to see him flustered like this, vulnerable and unsure of himself. He stops to take a breath and recollect his thoughts, “I'm sorry I’m just trying to figure out what you, of all people, could possibly want or need from that…demon.” His voice sharpened bitterly at the word. He really likes to poke the sore subjects doesn’t he.
“I didn’t need anything. And I wanted…it doesn’t matter what I wanted. He made his intentions clear that night that I was only some tool for him. He never cared. And I knew better but yet here I am - “
“Heartbroken…?” 
Tears swell in your eyes as he said the word. Uhg not again…Rule #4 Never let your weaknesses show. 
Lucifer wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you against him. He softly presses a kiss to your forehead then to each cheek, taking your fallen tears with his lips. Your body freezes at the sudden affection. This feels wrong…
“Look, I know things are getting bad out there, but I can promise you safety - true safety. You can stay here. Away from the sinners, the exorcists, him…you can be here with me and away from all the evil that floods the streets –“ “No!” you interject louder than you mean to. He cocks his head at your sudden outburst, looking offended but softens when he sees tears continue down your face. “I see why Charlie likes you so much my dear. You both try so hard to see the best in everyone and want to help. It’s unfortunate such kind souls like yours are taken advantage of far too often.” You feel his grip tighten at your waist as he presses a hand to your cheek. This feels so very wrong…Rule #3 Never bring anyone too close
You grab his wrists, not to move them away but rather to make sure they don’t travel your body any further, “I have ways of keeping myself safe, Lucifer. I appreciate your offer but I can’t…I won’t…hide away. I refuse to be caged when there are people out there that need help.”
He lets out a low chuckle and rests his forehead on yours. His eyes close as he sighs, “Your determination and stubbornness remind me so much of her…”
“Who?” you whisper.
His lips hover above yours, “Lillith.”
This IS wrong. “Luci –“
Before you can say anything else his lips interrupt yours. His kiss is gentle yet unwavering. Your body aches from how tense your body has become. Any other sinner would kill to be in your position right now, but your mind is only focused on one person – and it isn’t the one kissing you. I hate this...
Like a saving grace, Lucifer’s phone begins ringing with Charlie’s adorable baby picture lighting up the screen. He pulls away and answers it reluctantly, “Heeeey you! How’d the m – oh? Yes, we will be right there.” He hangs up with a groan and intertwines his fingers with yours, “We will have to put this to the side for now. Apparently, the meeting with Heaven didn’t go well. Charlie needs us back at the hotel.” With his free hand he opens a portal into the hotel lobby and pulls you alongside him. 
Stepping into the lobby, his hand keeps a firm grip on yours. You walk in just in time to see Charlie bursting into tears and running upstairs with Vaggie and Alastor trailing close behind her.
“Charlie wait – “ Vaggie tries to stop her but halts at the banister, knowing she is far too upset to talk right now. Lucifer finally lets go of you and rushes to follow his daughter, shoving Alastor to the side as he makes his way up the stairs.
His face twists into a snarl at the King’s boorishness. Realizing he wasn’t alone Alastor glances over his shoulder to see you staring. A strange mixture of hurt and relief fills your body seeing him for the first time since that night. He didn’t look like his usually pristine self. He looked…tired? Disheveled? Why does he look like he’s been worse off than me? As if he’s suffered just as much? You notice his smile falter as he looks back at you before turning to see Lucifer making his way back down the stairs.
“She seems to need some time alone.” Lucifer announces with a hint of hurt in his voice. Ignoring Alastor, he walks over to you and takes your hips forcefully, making you flinch at his grip. “I think it’s best I take my leave for now. Promise you’ll at least consider my offer, please? I’d hate for you to..” he glares back at Alastor to ensure he was watching, “…get hurt in any way. You’re worth protecting my dear.” He places a long kiss to your forehead and vanishes in a stream of red ribbon. 
You rub your sides where he had grabbed you to take away the sting. Your face contorts uncomfortably at the remnants of his touch and kiss. Alastor takes a step towards you almost unconsciously. You snap to his eyes, silently begging for him not to come closer. You want nothing more than to run to him, to feel his touch, his warmth, his safety but you know it'd just hurt more. He stops, offering a nod as he dissipates into his shadow without a word.
Vaggie fills you in on what happened in the meeting with Heaven. Your stomach turns at the idea of the Exorcists targeting the hotel and your friends. You know you’re going to be needed more than ever come that day. I need to be stronger; they’ll need all the help they can get.
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You lay down for the evening hoping sleep would come easy but find your eyes only burning into the ceiling. The Extermination, Lucifer’s offer, Alastor…Your mind didn’t know what problem to try and figure out first. After lying awake for a couple hours, you give up and decide to go for a walk to clear your thoughts. As you walk through the lobby you give a quick smile to Husk who was closing up the bar for the night.
“And where are you off to so late?” he hollers, making you jump from the sudden break in silence. 
“Just need to clear my head, Husk. Have a good evening.” you continue walking towards the front doors. He quickly catches up and puts a paw on your shoulder, “Mind if I join? Some fresh air sounds pretty good right now.” You shake your head and step to the side for him to lead the way. 
The two of you walk in a comfortable silence around the small path circling the building. Distant yells and car horns fill the air from the city below. “Quite an exit from the King this afternoon. Sure got Al riled up.” Husk says casually. You stop dead in your tracks at the comment, “What do you mean?”
“If Al comes for a drink, it’s just that. A single drink. Tonight you would have thought he was trying to drown himself.” “If you came along to try to guilt trip me, don’t bother. He did this to himself.” you bite, continuing down the path in hopes he would drop the subject. 
Husk stops you again, “I ain’t trying to get in between whatever messed up relationship you two have, but as someone who is usually at the brunt of his bad moods, he hasn’t once bitten my head off since you came around. You have an…interesting…effect on that evil bastard.”
You shake off his hand, frustrated at the continued prodding. “That’s exactly what he is. Nothing more than a selfish, heartless -”
“He can’t be too heartless considering...” Husk stops himself seeing your head whip around. You walk back towards him, keeping your voice low, “Considering?”
He rubs the back of his neck nervously and takes a deep breath, “Look he never confides in me. I mean he barely speaks to me other than when he needs something. The liquor really did a number -”
You grab his shoulders to stop his rambling, “What did he say?”
“I - I didn’t even know he had the word in his vocabulary -”
“HUSK!?”
“He said…he loves you.”
If it wasn’t pounding so loudly in your ears, you could have sworn your heart stopped. Any air in your lungs felt as though it was sucked out, “What…”
“That was all he said before leaving for the radio tower. It about broke him seeing Lucifer with you. I never thought he’d say something like that out loud.” Husk says quietly, as if afraid someone else would hear the confession. You stare at him for a while, trying to process what he was saying. Your head starts to spin. Is he just trying to lie his way back to me? Why would he even tell Husk anything? Did he really lose his tongue from the liquor? “I - I need to s-sit down.” your knees buckle but Husk grabs you before you hit the ground.
“Woahh - alright yeah let’s get you inside.”
He helps you inside and sits you on the lounge chair in the lobby, “You okay kid?” 
You finally catch your breath and rest your head in your hands, “Yeah, just a lot to take in today. Thanks Husk. I’ll be good.” He takes the hint that you need a few minutes to yourself and starts to head to his room. 
“Actually wait - mind pouring me a double real quick?” you try to ask but it sounds more like a demand. Husk reluctantly walks back to the bar to pour your usual, “You uh - sure this is a good idea?”
No but fuck it.  
“Yes, it’s fine. Thank you again.” you slam back the drink, not letting a drop go to waste. You needed to feel the burn to ground yourself and prepare for what you were about to do. 
Husk leaves you in the lobby. You wait a few moments to allow the liquid courage to burn through your veins, then make your way to Alastor’s radio tower.
Here we go.
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Tag List (Let me know if you would like to be added!)
@rl800 @fairyv-ice @looking1016 @martinys-world @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp @alastorsgirl48 @mysterisumone @phamtasic @ohnah2022 
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mentally-a-slut · 7 months ago
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Can I request "The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop." For Gale with female reader please?
Ahhhhh tysm for requesting! You are my first request! Since you didn't give any specifics about the time frame, I just assumed you wanted it to take place within the events of the game, but it didn't really matter anyway. The reader is left undescribed, though it is implied that she is shorter than Gale. I hope I did your request justice, and let me know what you think!
Prompt: "The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."
Rating: E
Warnings: I got carried away and made "spicy" into straight up smut... oops? oral (f!receiving), porn with very little plot, smut
Flirting with Gale was a dangerous game. The back and forth we had going on had been constant, never pausing. I loved bantering with him, but the consistent pull back was beginning to kill me.
Harmless flirts with friends are fun, but I had made it abundantly clear to the wizard that it was more than just friendly banter. And as far as I'm concerned, he's been returning that same energy. And yet, every time we get past the line of flirtatious remarks and balance on the edge of action, he would completely pull away. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was afraid of intimacy.
At first I thought he just didn't like me that way, only wanted to banter with nothing coming of it. But something in the way his eyes glittered when he looked at me told me my attraction was not one sided.
When I went to the others for advice, they gave me jack shit. Astarion thought it was hilarious that I was asking him for romantic advice. I had to threaten to cut off his blood supply just to get him to quite yelling about it. Karlach just told me to "fuck it out," whatever that means. Shadowheart just kind of stared at me blankly. I didn't even bother asking Lae'zel, because I value my life. Wyll had good intentions, but he ended up rambling on about proper courtship methods and respectfully, I couldn't care less.
I had exhausted all of my options, which left me with the one thing I had been avoiding: talk to Gale about it.
It was a cool night, a nice change from the overwhelming heat that had layered over our group the last few nights. The day had been uneventful for once, little more than a few ambushes along the roads and some cackling hyenas. The mood around camp was significantly light than usual, everyone content with the lack of carnage.
I didn't give myself much time to rethink my actions, deciding to force myself into the conversation before I could chicken out.
Gale sat in his tent, reading a book with the doors pinned open for anyone to enter. He always stayed awake later than the others, often waiting until everyone else had closed their tents for the night to follow suit. He thought nobody noticed, but it was one of the many things that made me gravitate towards him. He was so naturally protective, unknowingly watching out for everyone.
As always, I took a moment to admire him before he noticed my presence. He looked so calm, contently scanning the pages of the tome in his hands. His everlasting yearning for knowledge was something I couldn't help but admire. I watched as his fingers curled under the parchment of the book and gently flipped the page, hands calloused from years of magical studies.
Gods, his hands that were so veiny and strong, rough but gentle, perfect to glide across my skin and make me shiver with-
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
I jumped at the sound of his voice, my thoughts that had previously consumed me dissipating. My face felt hot, blushing as if he was able to read my runaway thoughts. "Hi!"
I internally scolded myself for how not-smooth I was being. He carefully marked his place in the book before setting it aside, still seated in his chair as he looked up at me expectantly. His lips twitched into an amused smirk. Handsome bastard knows exactly what he does to me.
"Did you need something from me?"
I tilted my head at his question, blinking as my thoughts grew a mind of their own. I need you to kiss me until I can't breath. Touch me all over and make me shake with pleasure. I shook my head, gathering my thoughts before saying: "Just... wanted to talk to you about something."
He raised an eyebrow, an action that would have had me down on my knees if I had even just a tad bit less dignity. "Is it... a good something, or a bad something?"
My heart started racing in my chest, blood rushing in my ears. "Uhm... well, I suppose it depends. I think it's a good something, but, well, I can't speak for you..."
He stood from his seat, his movements quick but not aggressive. He always took care to control his actions, never making them seem offensive or startling. My eyes widened slightly when he reached behind me to unpin the tent flaps and let them fall closed, his frame slightly hovering over me for a moment as he did so.
His expression was open, concern and care written all over his face. "You can always talk to me. I'm here to listen."
Good gods I want to suck his dick until his brain explodes.
I cleared my throat and shifted nervously, looking up at him. "Right! So, I just... well, I was talking to the others about- actually that's not a good place to start, uhm..."
His amused smirk didn't go unnoticed. He had always liked when I got nervous, especially if he was the reason. "Take your time, darling."
Fucking Hells, he is trying to kill me.
I fought the urge to avert my gaze, forcing myself to keep eye contact. "Uhm, so, you know how we... well, obviously you know, but I mean- Fuck's sake, I mean to say, you know how we, like, flirt?"
His expression didn't falter, smirk growing into a knowing grin. He hummed an acknowledgement that sent vibration through my body, making my heart race even faster. His gaze flickered over my face, then quickly swept down my body, almost fast enough to miss.
"Well, I- Not that I don't like it, I love it! I- I mean, I don't want it to stop I just- Gods damnit, I just wanted to ask- shit... Why don't you just fucking kiss me already?!"
The silence that followed my stuttering words was overwhelming, blanketing over me and making me want to melt away into the earth to never be seen again. My embarrassment only worsened when I heard the slightest chuckle from the man in front of me. My heart dropped as every worst case scenario ran through my head.
He's going to laugh at me, tell me it was just for fun, that he would never want to be with me, he's going to make fun of me to everyone else-
"The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I would be able to stop."
I was suddenly aware of how hot it was in the close quarters of the canvas tent, and how Gale was only a few inches in front of me. I brought my eyes up to meet his, blinking rapidly as I tried to process what he just said. His stare held mine, a underlying air of vulnerability in his confession. With a shaky breath, I managed to utter out my response.
"Who said you had to stop?"
His lips crashed against mine within seconds of my hushed words, heated kiss melding our lips together. His hands, his gorgeous hands that I had spent weeks fantasizing about, were gripping my waist and pulling my body flush against his. My mouth moved in sync with his so naturally, so smoothly, that we could have been made for each other.
When I realized my hands were idle, I quickly remedied it and wrapped my arms around his neck. I didn't even notice I was tangling my fingers in his hair until I tugged lightly and was rewarded with a soft groan against my lips. The noise spurred me on, and I nipped at his lip lightly. Soon, our tongues were wildly clashing together, breathing heavy as involuntary sounds of pleasure were exchanged within the kiss.
I yelped when he suddenly lifted me off the ground, hands firmly gripping my ass as he held me. I held onto him, giggling into the kiss as he pressed against me. The stiffness of his arousal against my thigh was enough to make me shiver with anticipation, and he noticed.
He pulled away from my lips reluctantly, settling his forehead against mine. "As much as I want to do this," he glanced down at our positioning, my core level with his growing erection, "I want our first time to be something special."
I tried not to show my disappointment, silently nodding as I prepared myself to drop back onto the floor. As I loosened my thighs from his waist, I squeaked in surprise when his hands roughly squeezed my ass. "Ah ah, I didn't say I was doing to leave you wanting, did I?"
My cheeks reddened as I realized what he was implying. "Oh, Gale, you don't have to-"
"I want to. Trust me, I really, really want to."
His words were drawn out, almost a moan as he pleaded. His darkened eyes were practically begging. "I... If you're sure-"
He cut me off with a searing kiss, turning us around and laying me down on his bedroll. My whole body tingled with excitement as his body hovered over mine, lips desperately kissing down my neck. With the way he was panting as he nipped and kissed down my body, I could almost say he was more excited then me.
His stare was piercing as he looked up from my waist, silently asking for permission. I couldn't help but smile as his fingers grazed the waistband of my pants, impatiently fidgeting with the fabric. "Yes, please, Gale."
He all but tore them off, taking both my pants and underwear off in one go. His hot breath tickled my arousal, and I sighed as his hands lightly caressed the insides of my thighs. His touches were gentle, slow movements spreading open my legs and bearing my glistening entrance to him. I tilted my head up to look down at him, only to find his gaze transfixed between my legs. He practically whimpered his next words: "So fucking pretty for me."
I couldn't help but moan at his words, the heat of his breath ghosting over my clit. His eyes broke away for a moment to look at me, and he gave me a smile that made my heart swell before he dove in.
His beard rubbed against my thighs as his lips and tongue explored my cunt, the burn of his jaw emphasizing the blinding pleasure of his mouth. He moaned against me as he licked a long stripe along my folds, the teasing sensation sending a jolt of want through me. Before I could beg for more, his lips wrapped around my clit, sucking gently as he teased a finger at my entrance.
All coherent thought was left behind, all I could think about was Gale, Gale eating my pussy, moaning into me, rutting into the air as he pleasured me. "Fuck, Gale, please!"
He hummed against me, the vibration adding to the pleasure. He slipped a finger into my dripping hole, pulling his mouth away from my clit to look up at me. "Look at you, darling, so wet and ready for me."
I moaned as he pumped his finger, keeping eye contact with him. When he teased a second one, I couldn't stop my head from falling back with a moan. "Please!"
With a soft groan, he did as I asked. "As you wish."
The stretch of his second finger burned deliciously, his pace torturously slow. My walls pulsed around him, the softest parts of me jolting as he brushed against them. His thumb brushed against my clit as he quickened his pace. I reached out a shaky hand, tangling my fingers in his soft hair and tugging him forward.
He moaned at the tug, immediately replacing his thumb with his mouth. My back arched off the bedroll as he sucked harshly, his fingers brushing against all the right spots. He teased another finger, and my grip in his hair harshened. It must have encouraged him, because he soon plunged a third finger inside of me and relentlessly flicked his tongue over my clit as he finger fucked me.
My thighs began to constrict around him, orgasm fast approaching. He groaned against my cunt, gripping my thighs open and speeding up. "Fuck, I'm close!"
Another hum against me had my walls pulsating, orgasm crashing through me as he coaxed me down with his tongue sending overwhelming jolts of pleasure through me.
He gently removed his fingers, caressing my thigh as he swept his tongue through my folds, gathering my arousal. His gentle movements soothed me through the slight overstimulation as he cleaned me up with his tongue. My vision was unfocused, aftershocks still rolling through my body as he finally pulled away, slowly kissing up my body before planting a sweet kiss on my lips. I chased his kiss as he pulled back, and he chuckled as I pouted. "You did so well for me, love."
I whined at his words, desperately clawing him towards me and pulling him into a slow, sensual kiss. His clothed erection prodded my bare thigh, and he groaned when I shifted against it. "Don't tease me, darling."
I smiled up at him, tilting my head. "Is that a threat?"
He gave an amused hum against the skin of my neck, speaking between soft kisses. His words were teasing, yet heavy with intention.
"It's a promise."
243 notes · View notes
m1ckeyb3rry · 6 months ago
Note
hi mira i’m going to rq for jjk (gojo specifically) :) kinda inspired by a fic idea of mine so if i see you post it maybe it’ll give me inspo to actually write too LOL — this is also a little long sorry, you can shorten as you wish 😓 maybe it’ll get the brain juices going idk
Y/N was really close to geto (i was thinking siblings but do whatever) and when he turned curse user and left, it made Y/N rethink why she was a sorcerer herself. she believed in geto’s ideals, but seeing his mindset 180 made her question if the same thing would happen to her since she was always weaker-minded than him. so she quit dropped out of the school and gojo never saw her since
skipping to the present, Y/N became a sorcerer again after having a conversation with geto some time before he died. with yuji being sukuna’s vessel, she goes to the school herself and sees gojo (their last convo was actually an argument leaving everything [him] behind). gojo’s just really stubborn, but he’s there when Y/N really needs him. from there they only keep encountering each other until they make up, their feelings are all out on the table, etc. etc.
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── CHIAROSCURO
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Synopsis: You don’t really know who you are without Suguru Geto. Satoru Gojo doesn’t know who he is without either of you.
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Event Masterlist
Pairing: Gojo x Reader, Geto & Reader have something less than romantic but more than platonic going on
Chapter Word Count: 6.7k
Content Warnings: angst, mentions of death, flawed y/n character, major time skips, most plot events happen off screen, characters are probably ooc tbh i haven’t written for jjk in months
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A/N: finally finished the first of the requests I’ve received so far!! it ended up being way more geto-centric than i had planned for it to be though i’m so sorry angel 😭 and it was also getting way too long so i decided to end it by just hinting the development of the rest of the story you mentioned LMAO i hope that’s okay 😫
Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.
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Most people grew up with one shadow, but according to your mother, you had lived your entire life with two. The first was the same as the one everyone had, that darkening of the ground in the shape of your figure. The second was the boy who lived next door — or, at least, that was what she told you.
His name was Suguru Geto, and despite his dark features and darker clothing, he had a perpetually sunny demeanor, always quick to offer you a gentle smile whenever you glanced his way. He was polite even when it wasn’t required of him, and though your mother teased you for it, you knew she was secretly grateful for his presence in your life.
The greatest thing Suguru had ever done for you, though, was not teach you manners. It was that he gave you someone to follow. Perhaps it was true that he was your shadow, but it was his in which you cowered when you were frightened, when the brightness of the world was too harsh for your eyes, which, when it came to cruelties and horrors, were as sensitive and new as a child’s.
Suguru was always happy to take on that role. He would stand in front of you, his shoulder blades pinching together as he puffed out his chest and rebuked whichever neighborhood child had dared to tease you. They all ran from him when he was like that, when his brow grew heavy over his eyes and the corners of his mouth twisted into a scowl.
Not you, though. You stayed behind his back, blinking owlishly at the way the others scurried, laughing along when Suguru likened them to mice with a click of his tongue.
Suguru didn’t like those who hurt the ones weaker than them, so you didn’t, either. Suguru thought that the role of the strong was to protect the frail, so you did, too. Whatever Suguru believed, you did as well, because what else was there for you? It was easier for you to hold onto his hand and press against his back, to allow him to tell you where to place your feet, so that there was never even a chance of you falling.
That was why it wasn’t a surprise that, upon Suguru being scouted as a sorcerer, you were extended the same invitation. It was a natural consequence — where he went, you followed, and so when he packed his things and went to Tokyo, it was both of your bags that he was carrying, while you peered around the train station and wondered what kind of place you were going to end up in.
Your new classmate was the one that picked the two of you up. He was tall — taller than even Suguru, though the majority of his body consisted of his legs — and had an unearthly appearance, with pale hair carefully mussed into a seemingly thoughtless style and black glasses which slid down the bridge of his nose to reveal eyes like diamonds.
He was the most brilliant thing you had ever seen. Lowering your eyes, you stepped back into Suguru’s shadow, earning you a scoff from your classmate and a worried exhale from your friend.
“Blech,” he said. “You’re supposed to be my classmate, really? How’re you going to keep up, huh? I’m the strongest sorcerer in the world, you know.”
“I think we’ll manage just fine,” Suguru said pleasantly, though there was an edge to his voice, his teeth like knives when he smiled and offered his hand. “I’m Suguru Geto.”
“Satoru Gojo,” your classmate said, shaking Suguru’s hand firmly. “Looking forward to working with you.”
“Likewise,” Suguru said. “And this is Y/N L/N.”
“Hi,” you said, swallowing even as you said it, pursing your lips and glancing around, wishing for some kind of escape. Gojo hummed and then poked you on the forehead.
“Aw,” he said when you did not visibly react beyond furrowing your brow. “I thought you might fall over or something.”
“I see,” you said. “Um. Well, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go before our teacher gives us all detention for playing hooky.”
Unlike Suguru, Gojo didn’t allow you to follow him around. He made fun of you when you were scared and poked you on the forehead if you cringed away from his taunts. The latter occurred so frequently that you were surprised there was not a permanent indent in your skin.
“One day I’ll get you, pretty Y/N,” he’d always promise you. “Seriously! I mean, you barely have a backbone in the first place, so it’s really a wonder you’re standing at all.”
At first, Suguru used to demand he stop, but as the months went by, his protests grew weaker and weaker. You supposed that it must’ve been nice for him, to stand beside someone for once instead of constantly throwing himself in front of them. You could not blame him, but you found that you missed him more with every passing day.
But what was there to be done about it? After all, you were nothing compared to the two special grade sorcerers. You did what you could and found it was, for the most part, sufficient, but sufficient would never let you exist beside either of them in any way that mattered. So you fell behind, and this time, it was not a conscious choice but an unavoidable circumstance. This time, when you hung back, Suguru continued forward without you.
Empty-minded and weak-hearted. That was what your teacher called you. He sent you on the simplest missions he could, and still you struggled. Sometimes, this meant you would sit alone in the classroom until it was long past dusk, listening to your teacher ramble and shout.
“You are not weak!” he would say, his hands clenched into fists by his side. “By all rights, your technique is perfectly serviceable. You are not weak, Y/N L/N!”
“Yes, sir,” you would respond meekly.
“At least, you should not be,” he’d say. “Yet somehow, inexplicably, you are. Even a Grade 2 curse nearly got the better of you. Your classmates are exorcising special grades on their own! Aren’t you disgusted with yourself?”
Suguru, and sometimes Gojo, would wait outside of the door for you, lingering until they heard the shuffle of your feet, the soft sniffles which announced your arrival. Then Suguru would wrap a casual arm around your shoulders and tell you that it was fine if you were weak, just as long as he was around to protect you, and Gojo would do that infuriating thing where he’d poke you in the forehead and pretend like it was a miracle you hadn’t toppled over yet.
Otherwise, you did not see your classmates. Shoko Ieri was far too busy learning to do things you could never hope to accomplish in your lifetime, and Suguru and Gojo were called on to complete assignments with such unhealthy regularity that their education actually suffered for it. 
You never knew what they did on their missions. You never cared to ask, either. The details would only make you queasy, and in this new world where you were not permitted to shudder and seek out the safety that Suguru so willingly provided you with, you tried to avoid things like that. Harsh things, brilliant things, cruel things — all of them you ran from at an equal pace. Without Suguru there to defend you, you turned into one of those children he had so-despised in your youth. Always running. Always hiding. Always shying away from anything resembling a challenge.
It was after one such mission that Suguru returned differently. You knew he had changed because he crawled into your bed that night instead of his own, drew the blanket up around his shoulders and pressed his weeping eyes against your collarbones.
“It’s no good,” he said after the third time you had asked him what was the matter, your hands nervously skimming over his shoulders, smoothing over his rough hair. “Everything’s been ruined, Y/N. Or maybe it was always like this. Maybe you’re the only one who’s ever understood the world to begin with.”
The next morning, when his feet touched the ground and he slid out of your bed, you were hit with the strangest feeling that you would never see him again. Not in the way you were used to seeing him, anyways. Sitting up in your bed, leaning against your pillows, you watched as he left, though when he went to close the door behind him, you reached out your hand.
“Wait,” you said. He paused, raising his eyebrows.
“Is everything okay?” he said, his knuckles growing white from gripping the handle.
“I want to look at you,” you said. You knew without knowing that the instant the door shut between the two of you, you would lose him forever. Your best friend. Your shadow. You wished that there was a way you could reach out and save him, but the thought of you saving someone was outlandish. Impossible. Laughable. 
“Yeah?” he said. There were heavy bags under his eyes, and it did not reach his irises, but nevertheless, he somehow managed to muster up a smile. It was not gentle as much as it was exhausted, but still, he smiled as best he could at you. “Okay.”
You hugged one of the pillows to your chest. “I miss you a lot.”
“I haven’t gone anywhere,” he said.
“Not yet,” you said. “I think you will someday, though. You’ll go somewhere far away, and I won’t be able to follow you there. You won’t even want me to.”
“What kind of place is that?” he said. “I’ll always want you to follow me around, Y/N. As long as I’m there, not a corner on this planet could be a place I don’t want you to follow me to.”
The door creaked shut. You stared at the blank expanse and thought to yourself that he had always been very good at lying.
From that day forward, there were two opposite phenomena which occurred simultaneously. On the one hand, that blinding radiance of Gojo’s was magnified by the minute, and on the other, Suguru withdrew further and further into a grey sort of monotony that, try as you might, you could not pull him from.
“Gojo,” you said one day, tugging on his sleeve and flinching when he turned to look at you. As per usual, he pressed his finger into your forehead.
“Yikes,” he said. “Seems like you’re still lacking in the spinal department, dear Y/N. But just so you know, I’ve cheated off of your math homework enough times that you really shouldn’t be scared of me.”
“Please help Suguru,” you said.
“Eh?” Gojo said. “What do you mean? Help him with what, his math homework? I’ll just give him yours to copy as well, so why don’t you cut the middle man and show it to him yourself?”
“No, not with — just, he’s going away, and I don’t want him to, but he doesn’t — you’re the only one,” you stammered. 
It was even more difficult to speak with Gojo now than it had been when you had first come to school. That was because it was only recently that you were realizing that that way he made you feel, that shyness, that apprehension, was not because of his gleaming, sharp countenance, but rather something else, something soft in your heart that thudded to life whenever he smirked at you.
“You want me to take his mission for him?” Gojo said, his nose wrinkling. “What, so the two of you can go on a date or something? Forget about it.”
“What?” you said. “No, what — a date — that’s not what I meant!”
It was too late. Gojo was gone, and with him, your last chance at helping Suguru vanished, too. In fact, Gojo avoided you until you went home from the summer break, making a face whenever you glanced his way, and by the time you came back to start the next year, it was too late for anyone to do much of anything.
“Y/N L/N,” Masamichi Yaga said, entering the library where you were writing a paper for your literature class. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, his cheeks a dark, flushed color, his teeth gritted together so hard that a muscle in his jaw twitched periodically. “Do you have a moment? It’s urgent.”
“I was just working on the essay that we were assigned, but it can wait,” you said agreeably, all too eager to give yourself a break from the work. Pushing aside your paper and pen, you stood up, massaging your wrist. “What is it, sir?”
“It’s, er…” His shoulders slumped. “I’m really sorry, Miss L/N.”
You tried to run through the list of things that he could be sorry for, but only one thing came to mind. You froze, your eyes widening. He had been on a mission, hadn’t he? 
“Suguru,” you breathed. “Is it — it’s not about Suguru, is it?”
“In a sense, it is,” Yaga said.
“Is he alright?” you said. “He has to be alright.”
“We believe his condition is fine, considering what he’s done,” Yaga said.
“‘What he’s done?’ Why are you being so vague? What’s going on, sir? Please say it plainly,” you said.
“It’s your parents, Miss L/N,” he said, spitting it out all at once like the phrase itself was poisoned. “They’re dead.”
Your stomach dropped. You had imagined so many things. In your nightmares, you saw your classmates dying, your teachers, even yourself. But never your parents. Your parents, who were so far removed from this awful world. Your parents, who only a month ago had sent you back to school with a pair of new shoes they had saved up to buy. You parents, who had never harmed anyone in their lives. What had they done that was so terrible it warranted such a sudden death? What were they being punished for?
“How — how did it happen?” you said. “Was it a curse?”
“Miss L/N…” Yaga said, his entire self deflating. “I’m really sorry.”
“What? Stop apologizing,” you said, tears gathering in your eyes. “Just tell me. Stop saying sorry and tell me!”
“It was most likely Suguru Geto,” he said, handing you a piece of paper. Your vision swam, and you could barely make out the words. All residents of the village were killed. Jujutsu High investigated. Based on residuals…all 112…the work of Geto’s curse manipulation. Sentenced to death. Sentenced to death. Sentenced to death.
“No,” you said, your voice cracking. “No, why would he do that? My parents loved him, and he loved them, too! We grew up together, so why would he do that?”
“Based on the evidence, he most likely killed his own parents, too,” Yaga said. Your hands wound themselves in your hair as you tugged.
“That’s a lie,” you said. “Suguru isn’t like that. Suguru is good! Suguru looks out for those weaker than himself! He protects people, Yaga. It must be a mistake. It has to be a mistake!”
“Miss L/N—” he began, but you were already running, sprinting as fast as you could. There was no way. There was no way. There was no way. 
Your house and the one beside it — Suguru’s house, a voice in the back of your mind nagged you, that’s Suguru’s house — were blocked off with yellow caution tape. Dozens of police officers were milling about the scene, barking into handheld radios, conversing tensely. One of them noticed you and extended an arm to stop your approach.
“Stay back, ma’am. This is an active crime scene. No outsiders allowed until the investigation has been concluded,” the officer said.
“That’s my house,” you whispered. “Officer, that’s my house. Why are there so many people here? It’s not true, is it?”
The officer didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. The pitying frown on his face told you everything you needed to hear. It was true. It was true. Your parents, your parents were dead, and that meant —
What had it been like for them? Had your mother welcomed him? When she opened the door for him, had her eyes crinkled at the corners in greeting? Had she offered him tea, as she usually did, because she was so fond of him and he was so fond of the drink when made by her hand? And what of your father? Had he reached over to clap Suguru on the back, or had he tried to grab him in an affectionate headlock so that he could mess up his hair with all the zeal of a man half his age?
You threw up. Some of the vomit splattered onto the officer’s shoes, causing him to fold his lips into a thin, disapproving line. Taking a step back, he reached over to pat you on the back as you heaved and hacked, trying to expel the knowledge from your mind and finding that you were entirely unable to.
You walked back to the train station in a trance, your eyes reddened and glazed over, your mouth sour from the taste of the stale crackers the officer had handed you, your hands shoved in your pockets as you tried to remember to breathe through your nose. The officer had offered to escort you to the station, but you had refused. You needed the time to think, and anyways, what did it matter? No ordinary person could hurt you, and no sorcerer would.
“I didn’t think you’d come back alone,” a soft voice said from behind you. You turned around, your insides roiling at the very sound, your ears ringing as you took in Suguru’s casual posture. His hands, too, were in his pockets, and the streetlights cast misshapen, dancing shadows over his face, the effect worsened by the odd tilt of his head.
He was refusing to look at you. That was why he was standing like that. He couldn’t bear to look you in the eyes, and that was the only confirmation you needed. 
“So what?” you said. “I did. Are you going to kill me next?”
“What?” he said. Briefly, he glanced up at you in alarm, and then, like he had remembered he didn’t deserve to feel betrayed by that kind of question, he slouched back down into the same apathy of earlier. “No.”
“Just do it,” you said. “Just do it, you fucking asshole! Why would — you — you killed my parents! You killed my parents, and now you’re just talking to me as if nothing happened? Why? Why would you…?”
His expression did not budge again. “They were filthy monkeys who deserved it.”
“Huh?” you said. The statement was so bizarre that, for a moment, your anger was forgotten. “What the fuck?”
“This world doesn’t need more non-sorcerers running around,” he said. “Every single curse you’ve ever fought, it’s their fault. Those idiots who don’t know how to control the meager amounts of cursed energy they have, they’re the ones who cause curses to manifest. You should be thanking me, Y/N. This’ll make your life that much easier.”
“Do you really think that's the case?” you said.
“Yes,” he said. “With my entire heart, I think that it is.”
You had always, always followed Suguru. When he said to protect the weak, you did so. When he said to take care of others, you did that, too. Whatever he told you to believe, you believed. But how could you do that this time? How could you believe in the person who had murdered your parents?
“You killed my parents because of your stupid theory,” you said numbly. “You killed my parents. Suguru, you killed my parents.”
You didn’t care about the one hundred and twelve villagers. That was the most shameful thing: if it had just been that, then you might still have followed him. He could’ve convinced you — no. You could’ve convinced yourself that it was fine, that he really was looking out for you in that peculiar manner of his. It wouldn’t have been impossible. Even now, your resolve was so weak, and it was only the thought of your parents that allowed you to cling to it at all.
“They asked about you,” he said dully. “I let them. My own parents, I didn’t give them a chance to say anything, but yours…I let them ask. I guess you could consider it my last favor to you.”
The ringing grew louder. You pushed your palms against your ears in an effort to drown it out, but you couldn’t. If anything, it just grew louder and louder, more and more insistent. You couldn’t shake it off. You couldn’t make it go away, just like you couldn’t make Suguru’s words go away.
“It was the only thing they worried about. In their last moments, it wasn’t their own lives they begged for…it was yours,” he said, his gaze far away, his irises unreadable as he recalled that moment. “How strange is that?”
“Shut up,” you said.
“I told them you were okay,” he said.
“Shut up,” you repeated, though it was unsteady and unconvincing. “Shut up, shut up.”
“They were pretty happy about that,” he said, in a tone filled with dreamy recollection. “They didn’t fight much after I promised you’d be okay. What simple creatures they must have been, that even while dying they could only think to rejoice!”
You screamed. It was wordless and brittle, a symptom of your lungs’ collapse as you broke into sobs, fumbling in your purse for your phone. Suguru watched as you unsteadily punched in a number you had never bothered to save, not trying to stop you, maybe not seeing the point.
“Gojo,” you said when he picked up, before he could even say anything. “Gojo, please just — can you come get me? Please come get me.”
“Okay,” he said, to your surprise. He didn’t argue or call it a waste of time or point out that you were still bawling as you spoke. “Where are you? I can be there pretty soon if I steal one of the managers’ cars, I think.”
“By my house,” you said. Suguru did not move, showing you his hands, as if he was giving you permission to do what you wanted. It was your choice. If you just told Gojo that he was with you, then you had no doubt he’d be apprehended within minutes.
“I see,” he said. “I’ll be there as quickly as possible.”
You were the one who hung up, not him. You were the one who made the decision. You were the one who looked at Suguru and then turned your back to him so that, for once, he was the one behind you.
“I can’t reconcile it,” you said, using the ends of your sleeves to blot at your tears as you hiccuped. “I can’t understand it. Even after everything, I still want to follow you. I still want you to be my shadow. I still want to be yours.”
Don’t turn. Don’t turn. Don’t turn. You couldn’t turn around. If you turned around, then that meant your old teacher was right. Empty-minded. Weak-hearted. You could not turn around.
A dry breeze rustled through the leaves on the ground, sounding like footsteps against pavement. Don’t turn.
You turned. You should’ve known better than to expect anything different from yourself. You had never been someone who could stand in the front for very long. You would always turn. You would always run and cower and hide.
Anything you might’ve said died on your tongue as you saw he was already gone. You were alone. You had let him go. You had allowed that mass murderer, that criminal, to walk away from you. What kind of a sorcerer were you? Empty-minded. Weak-hearted. That sort, then. The horrible sort.
When the headlights of the car Gojo had borrowed swung around the corner, you had long since curled up on the grass, your cheek to the mud as you tried to grasp what you had done. 
“Hey,” Gojo said. “Y/N?”
He must’ve gotten out of the car at some point, because suddenly, he was crouching before you, pulling you to your feet, his limbs awkward and gangly as he cocked his head, still wearing those ridiculous sunglasses despite the darkness.
“I’m a piece of shit,” you said, and then you were clutching the collar of his uniform jacket. “Why am I like this?”
“What do you mean?” he said.
“He killed my parents,” you said. “He killed my parents, and I let him walk away.”
“Who?” Gojo said, but it was a rhetorical question. He knew who. You looked up at him miserably, and he shook his head slightly, like he couldn’t quite comprehend what you were saying. “You let who walk away?”
“I don’t think he was planning on seeing me,” you said, letting go of his shirt and pleading with him to understand. “We weren’t supposed to meet.”
“You saw Suguru,” Gojo accused, and now it was his turn to take you by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the muscle of your biceps, his eyes wild. “You saw him, and you didn’t tell me.”
Your lower lip trembled. “He killed my parents, Gojo.”
“That’s not true,” he said.
“It is,” you said. “It is, he told me it is, and I couldn’t even do anything when he said so.”
“Why?” Gojo hissed. “You only had to tell me! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just didn’t!” you said, and then you were crying again. “I couldn’t. Oh, they’re dead, and he killed them, he killed them, and they only asked about me when he did. Why am I the one who gets to live?”
His hands traveled from your arms to the nape of your neck, the heels of his palms pressing into your jaw as he tried to force you to look at him. But you couldn’t, of course you couldn’t, you hadn’t been able to before and you definitely couldn’t now.
“You know Suguru better than anyone. Don’t you think there’s something else at play?” Gojo said. He wasn’t asking for you. He was asking for himself. He wanted you to reassure him, tell him that it was alright, that his best friend wasn’t the monster you both knew he was. How was it fair? How could you be expected to reassure him?
You shoved him off of you. “No.”
“Then why’d you let him go?” Gojo said. “You must’ve thought that there was a reason, or else you would’ve told me. It’s the only explanation!”
“No, it’s not! The only explanation is that I’m shitty and weak and stupid, and I can’t help but rely on him. No matter what I do, I’ll rely on him! People like you don’t understand what it feels like. You can stand on your own, but I’m not like that!” you said, and then you were grabbing his hand — he always did that, you noticed, always turned his Infinity off for you even now that it was an automatic, constant process — unfurling his fingers and jabbing his index finger at your forehead. “Do you get it? You were right. I don’t have a spine. I don’t have one at all!”
“Pull yourself together, Y/N,” Gojo said. “He’s still out there. We just have to reach him before the others do, and then we can talk to him. If it’s the both of us, then he’ll listen. He’ll explain everything!”
“He already did,” you said. “You just don’t accept it, but that’s different than him not explaining at all.”
“So what, then? You’re just going to go back to the school and live your life as normal?” he said, scowling at you. “How could you even think of doing that? In what world does that make sense? You can’t go back and pretend like nothing happened!”
“It’s true. I can’t,” you said, because it was the fact you had been avoiding since the day you first set foot in the school, which you had always known in the back of your mind despite how you denied it. “I can’t go back at all. I can’t be a sorcerer.”
It was a rare thing to see Satoru Gojo speechless. If it were a lesser occasion, you might have laughed at the way his lips parted and his eyebrows knitted together in such a foreign way.
“Why not?” he said. 
“I’m afraid I’ll follow him,” you said. “No, I know I will. If I stay, then I will definitely follow him.”
“You won’t,” Gojo said. “Follow me instead. Follow me if you have to, but you can’t leave. Not you, too.”
Another rarity: Satoru Gojo was afraid. Not of your absence, but of the changes it would bring. With Haibara gone, Suguru vanished, and then you…what would even become of the school? When so many pieces were taken away from it, could it even be considered the same place?
“I can’t end up like that,” you said. “I can’t even risk it. I became a sorcerer because of him; I’ll leave because of him, too. Anyways, you hate when I follow you. You prefer people who can stand on their own two feet. I know that about you now.”
“If you run away, I won’t forgive you for a long time,” he warned me. 
“Then don’t,” you said, stepping away, though still facing him. “What good is your forgiveness, anyways? It won’t bring my parents back. It won’t bring Suguru back. I don’t even want you to forgive me, Gojo. I want you to hate me until you die.”
It was the last time you saw him for so long that his memory blurred away at the edges. The way he said your name, the way his hair shone in the sun, the slope of his nose and curve of his neck…once, these were things you might’ve been able to list with a great degree of accuracy. Not anymore, though. Now, if you thought of him at all, it was only that final image of him, framed by the headlights of that still-running car. It was not your name he had called out as you walked away from him, but something bitterer, a promise said with such sincerity it was all but a Binding Vow.
“Ten years,” he had said. “That’s how long I’ll hate you for. Not my entire life. Not until I die. Just for the next ten years.”
Life as an ordinary person was easy. Life without Suguru was harder. But you learned. You learned, through the years, how to stand on your own two feet. You learned how to live with only one shadow instead of two. You learned how to let your eyes adjust to light, gradually instead of all at once, so that it was an easy progression and free of pain. 
There were times when you thought you had seen one or the other of the two who you had run from. There, across the street, was it Suguru reading the newspaper? Or in the bakery you walked past on your way to work, was it Gojo who was admiring the displays? They always vanished before you could grow close enough to ascertain their identities, though, remaining ever out of your grasp, existing as nothing more than phantoms in your periphery, refusing to let you forget the past entirely.
The first time you called Gojo was a year after you left the school. You weren’t expecting him to pick up, and when the automated message prompted you to leave a voicemail, you almost hung up in resignation. Something stopped you, though, and despite feeling entirely ridiculous, you cleared your throat.
“Ah, it’s Y/N. But I guess you probably knew that, considering you didn’t pick up. Well, I don’t have anything much to say, but I just wanted to call and make sure you were doing alright. I’m okay. The anniversary of my parents’ deaths is coming up, so I was planning on visiting their graves. I got a new job. Somewhere that I never would’ve expected to work when I was younger. It’s nice. I like my coworkers. They’re nothing compared to you, of course, but they’re fine enough. Anyways. Um. I guess that’s it. I don’t think you’ll call me back, but I just wanted to let you know I’m doing okay.”
It was a routine. Every year, on that day, you’d call him and leave him a voice message. He never once answered — you doubted he listened to the voicemails at all, either — but it soothed you to leave them, to leave one last connection to the world that had taken up so much of your life, and for so long.
More often than not, that time felt like a dream. If it weren’t for the thorned mourner’s bouquets which left pricks in your fingers or the ten calls you had made to Satoru Gojo, you wouldn’t have believed any of it had happened at all. Sorcery, curses, shadows and killers, best friends who betrayed you and boys you ran from, these were all things better suited to storybooks than real life. 
Your mother’s favorite flowers had been roses, and you always made sure to bring some with you when you visited your parents’ graves. Roses for her and white chrysanthemums for your father, who had never had a preference for any particular flowers but was so sentimental that he would weep at any blooms being set by his headstone.
The roses were the ones that made the pads of your fingertips bleed, leaving bright red drops the same shade as their petals on the tissues you brought with you. You’d set the bouquet down and wrap your fingers with the tissues, watching as blood seeped through the thin paper, and then, without fail, you’d cry.
“It’s been so long without you,” you said, when enough time had passed that you could not be considered anything but an adult despite feeling like little more than a child. “It’s been so long, and I still don’t know what to do. Mother, father, I am grown now, yet constantly I wish I could ask you for advice. What was that song you’d always hum when I was tired, father? How did you make that tea of yours, mother? When did you know you loved one another? And a million other, sillier things. If I could think of nothing more pressing, I’d ask you about the weather, the time, and your plans for the weekend. I’d bid you a good morning and a good night. I’d complain about the rain and my job. Just as long as it meant I could talk to you again.”
You could not help it. You wept, bloody tissues fluttering to the ground as you ground your fists into your eyes, trying to stem the flow of your tears. Your breath came in quick, short gasps, and you rocked back and forth from your heels to your toes in an attempt to lull yourself into a state of calm. Back and forth. Back and forth. It was the only thing you could do, but it was not enough.
Someone’s hand settled upon your shoulder, and it had been so long since you had felt even a semblance of physical affection that you did not immediately bat them away. Instead, your own hands fell to your sides, your head hanging as you watched the newcomer set a bouquet beside the one you had brought. Orchids and lilies. Lovely, pale things that contrasted sharply with the red of the roses next to them.
“You said in your voicemail that you’d be here at this time. I hope it’s okay that I came.”
It was Satoru Gojo. He no longer wore the sunglasses you remembered him to; instead, a black blindfold was wrapped around his eyes and forehead, causing his pale hair to stick up like he had been shocked. He did not quite smile when he noticed that you were looking at him, but something resembling that expression crossed his face.
“Gojo,” you said. “Why are you—?”
“It’s been long enough,” he said. “You’re a really hard person to hate, Y/N L/N. I did my best, but it was difficult. I hope that you know that.”
“So you’ve come to, what, tell me you forgive me?” you said. “Thanks, but I don’t need it. It’s as I said: your forgiveness means nothing.”
“Nah,” he said, and then he was grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly. “I’ve come to bring you back to sorcery with me.”
“What?” you said. “No. I quit.”
“You didn’t quit, you ran,” he reminded you.
“That’s the same thing,” you said. He grinned. It was the kind of grin that would’ve blinded you when you were younger, but you found that it was not so brilliant anymore. You found you liked it even more than you once had.
“Not in my books,” he said.
“Gojo, I’m not strong enough. I can lead a normal life without you and Suguru and the others, but if you throw me back into sorcery, I know I’ll cave,” you said. “I’ll turn back into that cowardly little girl I once was. I’ll seek out that shadow which I’ve spent so long learning to exist without.”
He sighed, and then he poked you in the forehead. “Not the case. See, you didn’t even waver this time! I think you finally did it, Y/N. You grew a spine.”
“Why do you want me to come back?” you said. “I’m not strong like you. I won’t give you anything you don’t already have.”
“It’s selfish,” he said. “I don’t want to tell you because it’s selfish, and you’ll laugh at me.”
“If you don’t tell me, then I won’t even consider it,” you said. Though his eyes were covered by the blindfold, you could sense him rolling them based solely on the way he pouted.
“I’ve spent the last ten years hating you for leaving us — for leaving me behind,” he said. “Everyone else was gone. I needed someone, but you left too, and then I really was alone. I want to drag you back into hell because I can’t face it by myself anymore.”
There were things left unsaid in that. Why you, for one? He could have anyone in the world, so why, after ten years, had he come to find you specifically? Why was it now that he could no longer bear the hell that was sorcery alone? But Gojo was not the sort who ever revealed his true self if he could help it, so you supposed those things would have to go unsaid for a little longer.
“Okay,” you said.
“Okay?” he said.
“Okay,” you said. “I’ll come back, but I have a condition.”
“What is it?” he said.
“The next time I leave, or run away, or quit, don’t hate me for quite as long,” you said. “Don’t hate me at all. I know I told you that I want you to hate me until you die, but I don’t anymore.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay?” you said, in a direct mirror of your previous exchange.
“Okay,” he said. “Come on, then. Follow me.”
“Oh, that, too,” you said. “I won’t follow you. If that’s what you’re expecting, then you can forget about it. I cannot allow myself to follow anyone ever again. I cannot be that weak, or I’ll become someone I despise. Someone I don’t want to be, ever again.”
His expression morphed into one of shock, and then he did something so odd as to be beyond all rationality and logic. He beamed at you before patting you on the head. It wasn’t condescending; it was the kind of gesture that was like a promise, or a warning, depending on who you asked. Maybe in this case, it was both.
“It’s alright. Actually, it’s better if you don’t,” he said. “I like you more when you don’t follow anyone at all.”
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corazondebeskar-reads · 7 months ago
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you know you never stood a chance - deleted scene: "hey, sister"
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you know you never stood a chance series
deleted scene: hey, sister
series masterlist
Joel Miller x f!reader
Words: 4.6k
Summary: you and joel try to patch things up with ellie before the baby comes. this takes place before the epilogue but I recommend reading the epilogue first!
Note: posting this now as part of Moth & Birdee's Mother's Day Fic Challenge! This is the final deleted scene for the series. (also if the first bit seems familiar, I posted a snippet during febuwhump).
Warnings: established relationship, technically spoilers for tlou pt 2 but no one goes golfing, terrible communication, makeup sex instead of communicating, p in v, two idiots at the end of the world, fluff, brief Tommy & Maria cameos, baby used as a plot device, vague descriptions of childbirth (nothing graphic in any way), vague depictions of breastfeeding, pregnancy, postpartum depression, family trouble, joel and ellie aren't speaking, estranged family dynamics
also on ao3
dividers by @saradika-graphics
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Joel has the nerve to look sheepish when you storm into the house, door smacking against the drywall. You fumble when you try to grab for the edge of it, eventually grasping and slamming it closed.
“You lied to me,” you said, low and dangerous, heart thrumming with all you’ve been told. You clasp at your chest for a moment, sure that your hand will come back red. 
You let the accusation hang, daring him to grab it and throw it aside. 
But he doesn’t. He can’t. He knows he’s been flayed and left open to burn. 
“I lied to everybody,” he says after minutes have crept by. 
“You lied to me,” you snarl. The corner of your lip jerks, an involuntary sneer. You’d trained yourself to do it in the dingy mirror of your first Boston apartment, holding the other side down until you looked as nasty and tough as the rest of them. 
It worked. It was just a twitch now, unstoppable, popping up when you needed it, whether or not you wanted it. 
Oh, but you do right now. You want it. You want him to see the way you’re rethinking this whole fucking situation.
“I had to,” he says. 
“Oh, fuck off. I trusted you.” 
“I never asked ya to,” he snaps. There he goes. There’s the Joel you know and thought you loved. 
The fight slips from your fists, unfurling and folding over your chest instead. “You’re right. You didn’t.” 
He doesn’t stop you when you go upstairs, but oh, does he wish he had when you come back down a few minutes later. His brain almost doesn’t put it together; the sight of your backpack straps so incongruous with your life here in Jackson.
“What—” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.
“Don’t. I’ll come back by in a few days. And you can think about if it was fuckin’ worth it, Joel.” 
“Worth it to save her life?”
“For fucks sake, Joel, I’m not mad you did it! Jesus, is that what you think of me?” 
You had been trying to keep quiet before, but that’s dead and buried. He raises his voice to match.
“How the hell am I supposed to know what you’re thinkin’?”
“You’re supposed to talk to me, Joel! You’re supposed to tell me shit. You tell me when there’s chili at the hall, you tell me when Tommy has a stomachache, but you can’t fuckin’ tell me how close it came? Can’t tell me what you had to do to save that girl? To bring her home?” 
It’s too late. He’s shut down; you can see it. “I ain’t sorry. About any of it,” he says, and it’s clear and crisp, but you feel like it filters in from across town, something too distant to be sure what you heard. 
But you know. 
“Figure out if it was worth it to lose both of us,” you snarl before you can stop. And it does exactly what you meant it to. It whips across his face like a snowball packed with ice. 
His own sneer twitches to meet yours. You think you might burst if you stay there too long, held perfectly still between him and the door. Might spill more words you don’t want to watch him hear, might throw and shatter the vase on the foyer table, might break down into tears. 
Part of you wants to break, to give in, to try to pull the confession from him and pray he didn’t mean it. That he wants you to trust him. That he is sorry.
But you leave, and when you hear the door slam after you’re down the road, you don’t turn back.
You don’t cry until he opens the door, brows knitted together in confusion.
“What’re you doin’ here this late?”
But your lip trembles. “Tommy—” you start, and it breaks into a crackling, shaky breath. “Did you know?”
Tommy pulls you in for a hug. “Shit,” he says quietly. “No. Just this morning, too. C’mon."
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You’re reading in bed when you hear them. 
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. She seemed awfully upset, and I think she’s already asleep.” Tommy’s voice carries easily up the stairs. He’s not a quiet kind of man. 
“Jus’ let me talk to her for a minute,” Joel says. 
You hold your place in the book with a finger shut between the pages, waiting to see who wins this round. It’s a toss-up, really, for who’ll crack. They’re both stubborn as all hell. 
“I mean it, Joel,” Tommy says firmly but kindly. “She was cryin’ all evening and she just finally fell asleep.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel says. “Fine.”
You hear the slow creak of the door and heave a shaky sigh, unable to tell the difference between the relief and disappointment. 
He had come looking for you. You hadn’t expected that, not really. 
But of course, you don’t get to go Miller-free for the night. Tommy knocks shortly after. 
“Hey,” he gives a weak half-smile. “So, how much of that did you hear?”
“All of it,” you admit. 
“He seemed pretty upset,” Tommy says. He sits on the edge of the bed. 
“Good,” you mutter, scowling. 
“I just—look, I don’t want you to think I’m pickin’ teams. But y’all worked hard for what you’ve got. It’d be a shame if ya walked away from it.”
You sigh and lean back against the headboard. “I know. But he really hurt me this time. I trusted him.”
Tommy sighs. “I hear ya. I didn’t know, either. He really didn’t tell anybody. I think he was plannin’ on takin’ it to the grave.”
You know, because you know Joel. You know he didn’t want to put you in a hard place between him and Ellie. Didn’t want to ask you to shoulder his decision. And you know you’re going to forgive him. Maybe not today. But it’s already settling in your bones.
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Joel meets you in the foyer. He must have heard you coming up the porch. You slip in and shut the door before just… standing there.  Just as you had three days ago. 
“Sweetheart,” Joel starts, and with it, takes all your resolve. 
You sniffle. 
“Don’t cry,” he pleads, but it just tips the tears over the crest of your eyes anyway. 
You let him fold you into his arms, one hand cupping the back of your head to hold you against his chest. Your fingers twine into the soft green flannel, the lingering cinnamon and wood smoke as soothing as ever. 
But as soon as you’ve pulled it together, you extract yourself. “We’re going to have to talk about it,” you say to the button on his breast pocket. 
He tilts your chin up with two curled fingers. “I know. You gotta promise you’re gonna hear me out this time.”
You nod and before you can speak, he’s kissing you, one hand soft against your cheek.
“Don’t ever do that to me again, ya hear me?” he murmurs against your lips. “Don’t run away.”
“Don’t you do that to me again,” you retort, but there’s little fire behind it as you lean up to kiss him again.
He’s sweet from the honey he puts in your tea. He always tastes it before he gives it to you. 
“Hang on, how’d you know I was coming home?”
He grimaces. “Didn’t.”
“But—“
“Shut up.” It’s not sharp, but embarrassed. His cheeks are a little flushed.
You can’t help the fond smile. “What a sap you are, Miller.”
He kisses you again, unable to stay parted for long. “M’serious,” he murmurs. “Don’t run away. Y’can be mad at me all you want, but do it here.”
“I am mad,” you say quietly.
“I know,” he says, pulling your head against his chest and holding it there under his wide palm. “I deserve it.”
“Yeah,” you nod, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re an ass.” 
“M’your ass.”
“No, this is my ass,” you wiggle a little. 
“Now see, that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart,” he gives it a hard smack, squeezing with his wide palm. “This is all mine. Said so yourself.” 
It’s as if you blew out a candle, the way his eyes have gone dark and encompassing. You can’t help but moan a little, and his lips quirk up at the corner. 
“Right?” he prompts, backing you over to the couch. 
“Uh-huh,” you squeak as he lies you down, tugging your sweatpants down as he goes. 
His fingers slide down and cup over your cunt, pushing your body close between his legs. “And this greedy little pussy is mine.” He wastes no time in pressing inside you, giving you no room or breath to adjust to his cock.
His hand slides back up to brush along the side of your breast. “Pretty tits just for me,” he murmurs in your ear, tweaking a nipple to hear you whine. His voice has gone low and rich, his Texas twang a little thicker. 
His thumb rests on your lower lip. “Perfect, eager mouth.” He pulls his thumb away right as you try to suck on it and replaces it with his lips, tongue dipping in to taste you. 
“Hmm? Anyone home?” he taunts. 
The sound you make is more like a strangled balloon than an actual word, and he chuckles. 
“See? I know what you need, sweetheart. All of you is mine,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling out torturously slow and pressing back in until your hips are flush. 
“Fuck, Joel, please,” you whine. You want to be mad that he’s distracted you from being mad, but, well… it’s working. 
The thick emotions of it all don’t leave so easily. Your throat is clogged with it, his breath is heavy with it, and the way he works at your clit is an apology on repeat.
Until it isn’t anymore. Until it’s less “I’m sorry” and more desperation. You’re writhing a little beneath him, the ache at a breaking point, pleading for him to push you over the edge he’s brought you to again and again and again.
“No,” he pants. “Not until you promise. Promise you won’t leave.”
“I’m not,” you nearly sob. “Joel.”
It’s the way you cry his name. He can’t keep pushing you; he pulls all the way out and drops to his knees on the living room floor, burying his face in your cunt with all the fervor he’s been fucking into you.
He goes straight for your clit, three fingers in your cunt, and wrings you dry over and over before he relents and plunges his cock back in you to the hilt, setting a punishing pace, though you aren’t sure which one of you is being punished by it.
Maybe both, but in reality, neither, since he comes deep inside you moments later.
It’s not the first time, but it is rare for him to slip up that way. Still, you think nothing of it, given how low the chances are. 
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Lulu is born in the peak of July. It’s hotter than hell and you’re glad that Ellie had gone with the other kids on the trip to the lake. It had been the reason you stayed behind, originally planning to go along with Maria and Alé. 
Joel hadn’t wanted you to go at all. It wasn’t far and even though you weren’t due for another month, he didn’t like it. 
The due date was kind of made up, though. It was really up to you and Joel counting on your fingers to see if you remembered the last time you had a period. 
Not that your period was very consistent to begin with.
His eyebrows had climbed higher and higher as you went back a week at a time to see if either of you could associate an event with it, like if he had fucked you in the ass for a few days or something. 
He had, but really, that wasn’t a great predictor, since he was still coming home from patrol riled up the way he used to in Boston. For the sake of your poor, well-loved cunt, you mixed it up a lot. 
You waited another four weeks before going to see Alice at the clinic. 
After she confirmed what you frankly already knew, you tried to talk to Ellie. 
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The first time you visited the shed, you almost chickened out, rocking back and forth on your heels while you waited outside. She cracked the door open, mouth twisted until she saw you. 
“Hey!” She gave you a hug, and you held her as long as she allowed (which wasn’t long; she was a teenager, after all). “Wanna come in?”
“Sure, kiddo, I’d love to see what you’ve done with the place.”
She beams and lets you in, shutting the door behind her to keep out the late autumn breeze. 
You’re not sure what you were expecting. You had feared something bare and cold, where she’d be lonely all winter. But the space is all Ellie. You look over, and she’s clearly bracing herself for your judgment.
“This is so cool,” you tell her, and she lights up. You drink in her toothy, genuine grin, and decide this is not the time. 
“You think so?” she says.
“Kiddo, I would have killed to have a place like this when I was your age. I had a treehouse, but that was nothing compared to this. Where’d you get all this stuff?”
“I traded around town for it; you know I’ve been—” and she stops, smile gone. “Well. I guess you don’t know. I’ve been doing some jobs after school in exchange for cool stuff.”
She’s guarded again, maybe expecting you to tell her off or nag at her for not telling you.
“That’s great, kiddo. That was a clever idea. What kind of stuff have you been doing?” 
You end up on the couch while she sits on her bed across the room. You don’t think the space is intentional, but you don’t want to cross it in case it is. 
She tells you about babysitting and cleaning, helping other residents with their jobs in the gardens and the stables. She shows you some of her prizes as she goes, gushing over a thick astronomy textbook. It’s beyond your knowledge level, but she’s clearly been devouring every word. Its real value, she says, is that it was printed in 2003 for some college. But the textbooks they had in the QZ were from 2001. 
“Did you know that after we discovered all the moons the other planets have—like did you know Jupiter has fifty moons? They told us it was 38—and then people were getting confused about our moon being the moon, so they started calling it Luna in all these research papers. It's all so fucking cool.”
“That’s incredible, Ell. I’m so proud of you.” 
It’s the wrong thing to say. Sometimes, you forget she’s still a teenager. 
“Yeah, it’s whatever,” she says, shifting uncomfortably. “Did you need something?”
“No. Just wanted to see you,” you lie. 
It’s the wrong thing again. 
“Did Joel make you come here?”
“He doesn’t even know I’m here.” That, at least, is the truth. 
“Okay,” she says. 
“I—” you start, not knowing what you’re going to say, but hoping your runaway tongue will do patchwork here. But she doesn’t let you get that far.
“Hey, so, I was actually going out when you got here, so.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry to have kept you.” You believe her about as much as she believed you a minute ago, but you’re not going to push. You get up, and she lets you give her a hug, but it’s not returned very enthusiastically this time. “It was nice to see you, kiddo.”
“Yeah, um, see you later.” 
When she shuts the door behind you, it feels uncomfortably final.
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You don’t try again for another month, when you have the excuse of Christmas to give you gumption. 
When you knock, she’s slow to open. Her face is unreadable, and she crosses her arms over her chest. 
“What?” she says. 
You nearly shove the bundle in your arms at her. “Merry Christmas. I know it’s early, but it’s supposed to be real cold this week, and—”
Anything else you were about to word vomit catches in your throat while she opens the gift. You’re terrified she’ll reject it, reject you. You’ve been working on it for a while. Since before the fight, even, worried about her in that damn shed all winter.
This quilt is patchwork blues, different shades and patterns. Over top you’ve cut out and stitched the galaxy together for her. It’s maybe childish, but you don’t think she ever had a chance for many childish things. And it’s not nice, not like the ones they used to sell at Pottery Barn when you were a kid that your parents could never afford. 
“You made this for me?” she says. 
“Yeah, kiddo, of course. Sorry it’s not quite accurate, I—”
Her hug knocks the breath from you for a moment, but you hold her to you and try not to cry. It doesn’t last long, and you can see the way her conflicting feelings are making her uncomfortable. But she surprises you.
“Wanna come in?” she says.
“Oh, um. Maybe later, I’m-um, I’m on my way to dinner at Tommy’s. Do you, um. Do you want to come with us?”
The scowl is back. “You mean with you and Joel.” His name was a dirty word spat from her mouth. 
“Well, yeah. We miss you, kiddo. I miss having everybody together.”
“He put you up to this.” It’s harsh and she knows it, sees the way you blink against the offense. 
“I’m capable of doing things of my own accord. Is it so hard to believe that I want to see you?” 
“Sorry,” she mumbles. 
“S’ok,” you say glumly. “I knew it was a long shot, I just—“ and you’re mortified to find tears burning at your waterlines, “just thought I’d ask anyway. M’sorry.” You had intended to ask, and Joel knew. You just wanted to tell her so badly. 
You hug again before you leave, but you have to hide in the half bath when you get to Tommy and Maria’s to weep. 
Joel slips in after a few minutes. He wraps you up in his arms while you try to smother the sounds of your broken heart. 
“I know, darlin’,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 
You tell Tommy and Maria after dinner. Tommy picks you up and swings you around in a hug, which makes Alé giggle. 
You go home first, exhausted. Joel tries to insist on going with you, but you know he needs some time with Tommy. As much as he’s trying to share Sarah with you, this is a whole different rodeo. 
The light is on in the shed when you get home. You hover on the porch, wobbling between your split instincts. In the end, you go to bed. 
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Winter passes quietly. The layers help keep your secret, but you know it’ll be harder come spring. When Maria tells you that Ellie stopped by to wish Alé an early happy birthday because she wasn’t coming to the party, you cracked again. 
You pound on the door of the shed. She answers, guarded as always, and clearly surprised to find you there.
“Can I come in?” you blurt.
“Sure, yeah,” she says, and though she hesitates, she steps back to let you through. 
It’s not a frigid day, as you head into spring, but you stay layered up in your winter gear. Your bump isn’t big by any means, but it’s unmistakably there. It could be passed off as weight gain, but Ellie isn’t stupid, and you aren’t about to insult her by pretending. 
“Alé’s going to miss you at her party.” 
Ellie shuts the door of the shed, but hovers there, arms crossed. “She’s turning three. She won’t remember.”
“You’re her family; you should be there.”
“You want her to see us fighting?”
“Ellie, please. Just come over, come have dinner. We can talk. All three of us.”
“No,” she snaps. “If all you’re going to do when you come over is try to get me to talk to Joel, stop coming.”
“I just want our family together.”
“I’m not coming over there to get lectured and have you do nothing but side with him like always. You’re too damn scared of him leaving again that you never side with me. Guess what? I can leave, too. Get out.” 
“No, Ellie—”
“Just get out.”
“It’s not about him, just please give us a chance—”
She opens the door and stands there, not looking at you. 
You hesitate when you reach her, but she flinches back, so you just go home.
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When Lulu is born, the sun rages at the apex of the horizon. Joel sends one of the neighbors for Alice, and busies himself getting everything ready while you pace the length of the upstairs hall and breathe through the pain. 
He’s filling the tub when he finds you with your elbows against the wall, head down, and teeth gritted. In an instant, he’s at your side, rubbing his hand over your lower back. 
“I’ve got you, darlin’,” he says, as he always does. “What do you need?”
“Just you,” you whimper. “Need you with me.” 
“Okay, sweetheart, I got ya.”
It’s far too soon to push, but he helps you into the tub anyway, hoping the cool water will help since you’re flushed and sweaty. He climbs in behind you, perched on the edge with arms wrapping around the top of your chest above your breasts. His lips press up and down your neck, and he takes a rag to wipe the sweat from your face. 
That’s how Alice finds you, and she nods at Joel approvingly before telling you she’ll be in and out to check on you. 
Between contractions, you slump back against Joel. Alice dropped water bottles off and he coaxes you to sip while you can. 
When the time comes, you’re exhausted. You can tell Alice is worried that you won’t have the strength. 
Joel isn’t, though. “You’re tough,” he murmurs. “You just hold onto me and do what you need to do.” 
It hurts. There’s no way around that. You push back against his chest, arching and screaming while he holds you tight. When each break comes, it’s too short. Your head flops back onto his shoulder, and he wipes you down with the cold rag again.
“You’re doing great. Fuckin’ incredible. Just a little more, baby, I promise.”
After, Joel helps you stand on shaking legs just long enough to get dry. Once you’re safely seated on the bed, feeling absolutely ridiculous in what was more or less a heavily lined cloth diaper, he helped you into one of his flannels, leaving it unbuttoned so you could nurse the baby. 
The day is a blur. You’re not sure what time she was born and you’re not sure how long it is before Tommy shows up. You’ve been mostly asleep, rousing when Alice brings the baby in to eat. She’s an absolute miracle, watching over little Luna while you and Joel sleep. 
“Getting rest today is critical to your success in the coming weeks,” she had said. 
You sleep even better once Tommy’s there. Maria stayed back with Alé, just for today. They were coming over first thing in the morning at your insistence. But Tommy came to help with the baby and stay the night once Alice went home, as you had done for them. 
It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Alice. But knowing Tommy had Luna made you feel safer than anyone, other than you and Joel. 
You might have slept better still if not for the specters haunting the room. 
The next time you wake, the sun has set. You can hear her cries from downstairs, and sure enough, Tommy brings her in moments later. 
“Look, Lulu, your mama is up and ready for you.”
You take her into your arms and get her latched before it registers. “What did you call her?”
“Lulu! Ain’t it sweet?”
No, you think, but he has his biggest, dopiest grin on. You settle on a noncommittal hum, which you would regret later when he takes it as enthusiasm. 
You go to say something, but it dies when it finally clicks that you’re alone in the bed. 
“Where’s Joel?” 
“He, uh—”
“Tommy.”
“He went to try to talk to Ellie. They all just got back.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, I tried to stop him—”
“No, it’s okay,” you say, closing your eyes tight for a moment. When you gently cradle Luna against your shoulder to burp her, you take a deep breath against her tiny, downy head. “He should. It’s good.”
“He didn’t need to leave you alone. I told him to wait until she got back.”
“I’m glad he didn’t. She deserves to know right away. Hell, we both tried to tell her before, but…” 
The silence sits like the river in the winter—a thin, false calm on the surface. After you latch Luna on the other side and get settled, Tommy sits on the bed beside you and lets you rest your head on his shoulder. 
That’s how Joel finds you when he gets back. Luna’s gone back to sleep, cradled in your arms, and Tommy’s thrown his arm around your shoulder while you cry. 
“It’s normal,” he had said. “That’s what Alice told us after Alé was born. Baby blues, she called ‘em. And I think you got a real reason to be sad, anyway.” 
You look up, blinking away stray tears, when Joel comes in the room. The look on his face tells you everything you need to know. 
“She took one look at me and took off with Dina. I tried to call out and tell her it was real important, but she wasn’t hearin’ it,” he says once he’s crossed the room to you. He presses a kiss to you and Luna’s foreheads. 
“What about me?” Tommy grumbles playfully, and Joel gives him a little kiss, too.
They both laugh. You wish you could. You think you would have. It’s right there, sitting at the bottom of your diaphragm. But it doesn’t rise, doesn’t bubble up. Instead, it goes cold and sinks down where you can’t reach. 
Joel and Tommy exchange a look. 
“What?” you say.
Joel just shakes his head and lifts Luna from your arms to place her in the crib. “Let’s get some sleep, sweetheart.”
“I’ll be just across the hall,” Tommy says, tipping his head and shutting the door quietly behind him. 
Joel slips under the covers and wraps you up in his arms. It eases a heavy sigh from your lungs, one that trembles on the air in its own wake. 
He kisses your head and tucks you in close, trailing off into soft snores. But you can’t follow. Your heavy eyes blink slow, that brief darkness the only barrier between your gaze and the crib.
Your chest is tight. It’s like icicles are forming inside your lungs. It’s a testament to how tired Joel is that he doesn’t wake when you slip out of his grasp. 
The soft knit socks from Mrs. Davies muffle your shuffle across the floor. You tug the throw pillow and crocheted blanket from the armchair. The crib sits low to the ground, so you lower yourself beside it, wrapped in the itchy pastel, and watch the rise and fall of her little chest. 
You don’t sleep.
*title from "Hey Brother" by Avicii
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sinner-sunflower · 9 months ago
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A HH Lucifer-centric AU 9/?
PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22
Whew! Even though there's so much work later, I somehow wrote a kinda long one.
Also,
I have the major plot points down now. As for the ending, I saw a comic on twitter and will definitely take inspiration for it.
I'm very excited for this.
Will be reqriting this better after it's finished and MAYBE.. I'll have the confidence to post it on ao3.
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Charlie doesn't dare to move even after her father left. She doesn't know how long she stayed kneeling on the ground, staring at the spot where her dad once was.
She can't stop her tears. Is this stress? No. Maybe it's the daddy issues Husk is always talking about.
She hurt her dad again. But he also caused her hurt first and-
Charlie: No! Oh my god. Do I really think that?
Lately, they are becoming each other's undoing. She knows she has the right to be angry, but ...
She can see that he's really trying. Doing everything she asks of him, fixing the hotel, staying at the hotel to help and support her, even getting along with Alastor - now that she thinks about it, what's up with her dad and Alastor?
That's how Vaggie found her- still on the ground, face adorned with dried tears tracks, and definitely deep in thought.
Vaggie: Sweetie? You okay?
Charlie: Vaggie
The dam broke and she was crying again. Charlie hugs her lover tight. Vaggie's shirt was getting wet from tears and snot but she just hugged back just as tightly.
Vaggie: What happened?
Charlie: D-dad.. he- he- wahhhhh
Vaggie: Is he okay? Did something happen? Did he.. did he do something to you?
Charlie: No, Vaggie! More like I did something to him! He was here, in our room, wanting to talk! But I-I-I was so happy. And then he said he was leaving and-and then he said I'll be handling pride and- I wahhh
Charlie didn't know how she had any more tears left to give. Just rethinking what just happened makes her even more miserable.
Vaggie: Wait, wait. Leaving? Why? Didn't he just got here and what about the thing in Sloth??
Charlie sniffs.
Charlie: He said it's related to it- that he needs to find something, no, someone. He didn't want to go without saying goodbye and I just.. exploded.
She nuzzles her face on the fallen angel's neck.
Charlie: I don't want to lose my dad, Vaggie.
Vaggie doesn't know what to say if she's being honest. She wants to be mad at Lucifer. Like, how could a parent who claims they adore their child amongst everything else abandon said child. Lucifer wasn't there when Charlie wouldn't get out of bed whenever her birthday came up, he wasn't there when Vaggie caught her staring at the family portrait full of wishful thinking, or when she cries calls out to her parents in her sleep, or-
But she can't. Because he's trying just like she was back then. They're both doing a little redemption on their own- it just happens to be for the same person.
So she understands. To hurt and to be hurt.
Vaggie: I haven't known your dad for very long, Charlie. But I can tell that... he cares. Yes, he's awkward, a bit socially inept, and has his own issues. But, there's one constant in everything he does.
Charlie: What's that?
Vaggie: You, dummy. He loves you more than anything. He probably made the deal with Heaven to spare Hellborns because of you, now that I think about it. My point is, there is no way in the seven rings of hell that he won't put you above everything.
Charlie is about to protest but Vaggie cuts her off.
Vaggie: Uh! He will. You know why?
Charlie: Why?
Vaggie: Because you're his daughter. It's just how parents are.
Vaggie pulls them both up and they gaze into each other's eyes lovingly.
Charlie: What would I do without you, Vaggie?
Vaggie: Still be your amazing self, I'm sure. I hope you guys resolve this, though. Maybe you could convince him to try other dating options. I don't like this whole thing going on with your dad and Alastor.
They laugh and share a kiss.
Her girlfriend was right. This is how her dad is. He's willing to be better for her.
I want to be better for him too.
....
Wait.
Charlie: What?!
------------------------------------------
What to look forward to in Part 10:
Lucifer in Sloth.
Going to Earth.
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keruimi · 6 months ago
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One's Mistake and Responsibility
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Pairing: Suna Rintarou x reader
Warnings: Cheating
Note: I really don't know how to put this in words but the plot is there. So early apologies when my words seems repetitive. I hope y'all enjoy
_____________________________
Out of 8 billion people, why am I one of the unlucky people to be fated to a cheater?
Even after 5 years of being together, my husband's lust is unstoppable.
I can't even count how many women he has already slept with.
While I need to keep it together for the sake of the contract between our families.
I watched with doubtful eyes at the sultry smile of the flight attendant towards my husband on our way back home to Japan.
A boiling anger settled on my chest but I knew I need to watch my actions if I don't want to inflict my parent's business.
It was a duty I needed to protect. A situation I need to endure. And a role I need to take.
I let out an annoyed sigh making my husband retreat his hand from even reaching out to the woman who I gave a side glance with.
Recognizing me, she immediately left with an apologetic smile as I slapped the hands of my husband away from me.
"Don't even try ruining our name at the party later"
I grumbled before I looked away as I rethink my life decisions.
One day, I wish I could have the courage to completely leave behind this situation without my fear of the consequences.
Because the only reason I stayed is because I don't want to leave this kind of lifestyle I got used to.
The luxury, the power, and the authority I grew up with is harder to let go than I thought.
Not even my self-respect can reach my desire to maintain that kind of lifestyle.
The only reason I tolerated my husband's infidelity.
But I also desired to live while happily married.
Yet I know I can't get it in this marriage.
Those thoughts of infidelity conquer my mind even at the party as a reunion with his friends at the bar.
Drink after drink, I can't even count how many glasses I already took to get my eyesight blurry.
I groaned in frustration as I stumbled around the place of the establishment, finding the exit to leave my husband on it.
Until a silhoutte of a man with his eyes closed, sitting in one of the VIP booths took my breath away. There's no denying how my eyes trail on his well built body before I look back at his face once again and see his eyes already on me.
Before he stood up and made his way to me, like a body being pulled towards me.
It was the night where I enjoyed myself to my heart's content.
And also at night I committed one of the greatest sin.
And that's adultery.
Yet the lips of the man on my body seemed to be engraved on my memory that I never want it to stop when we started.
Yet it is one of the sins I despised to begin with.
It's the sin that ruined me.
And I didn't even know I would have the heart to do it.
I bit my lower lip to prevent myself from crying as I made my way to the bathroom to fix my mess up form as the man I slept with continued to lay on the bed.
It seems to be his apartment, with the masculine fragrance around the room. I took a few breaths, ignoring the ache from the lower part of my body as I wore the dress I wore last night.
I called one of my trusted friends to pick me up from the apartment building where I was taken to as I continue to cover my neck littered with evidence.
Evidence of my infidelity.
And after covering the memory of my tainted loyalty, I left the place without looking back anymore, nor even try to memorize the face of the man I slept with.
It was a past I never wanted to remember.
The moment I went back to the house after cleaning myself up, I began to notice the changes of the way how I look at my husband.
My eyes once look at him with disgust, now look at him with guilt.
That night never fail to bring tears in my eyes that I don't even want to let my husband near me.
It was a sin that pushed me to end my failing marriage.
Especially when that sin blooms permanent evidence of that night.
And that is two lines on the pregnancy tests I took.
With shaky hands, I ran out of the house and drove my way to a place far away. It was the reason that made me finally have the courage to break the marriage.
Before the whole world got to know about the existence of the kid in my stomach that can drag my family's name to the dirt.
It was a long time I endured just to finalize the divorce. My emotional distress, morning sickness. I hid it away in the eyes of everyone who looked at me.
I didn't even bring up me and my husband's infidelity as a reason for the divorce.
I simply don't want to see nor hear that word.
It was a secret I would take to my death. A secret I would hide to keep my name clean.
After the divorce, I went to the same bar to create a situation where I got pregnant that day, to hide it happening during my marriage.
It's one of the only reasonable things that I can think of. Finding its father is not one of them.
It's been so long since I have slept with my husband the moment I got to know about the other girls.
So the kid I'm carrying is really from the man that night.
There's regret, but there is happiness that I am free.
And now my problem is how to raise the baby without the world judging them.
Coming from a high-status family, there are many eyes on me.
So that secret should only stay on me.
I sighed on the new situation I put myself in as I caress the bump in my stomach. It's been 5 months ever since that night.
Yet the memories created on it still haunt me to this day.
Giving me the choices to let this kid grow up with an incomplete family or with a complete one.
And I knew I wanted the last one.
But how can I still disturb the father of my baby when he also has a reputation to protect.
A man I remembered on the night no matter how much I try to forget it.
Suna Rintarou
One of the best volleyball players representing our country.
It was a man with a status that I slept with.
My hands stop as I watch the TV Screen showing him who manages to score a block point.
"Look baby..." I stuttered as tears formed in my eyes.
"Look at your daddy..." I sobbed out as tears escaped from my eyes realizing that I dragged my baby to the mess I created.
It was my fate as a sinner.
The loneliness when I gave birth to my son alone. The guilt that I carry when I hold him.
That Suna Rintarou doesn't love me.
And I don't want his life to be tied to me just because of our baby.
Someone we never ask for. A complete accident.
But everything was my fault. If I didn't panic, I could have drank a pill before it developed.
But now I have the little bundle of joy in my arms, I don't know what my next move would be.
It's either choosing our baby or him.
I cooed my kid, Ryouki, who kept playing with his mittens as I observed his features.
Whose eyes is a complete replica of his father. It was simply his look-a-like.
If I ever show him to the world, it would be too obvious.
So I hid him from the rest of the world. I worked from home to take care of him better but there's always a feeling of desiring him to meet his father.
But I'm not ready to hear his words. Yet I don't want him to be absent in our son's life.
That led me to my current decision of attending his next game along with Ryouki who just reached 5 months old.
I can feel my son's excitement with his little giggles and blabbers as I make him wear a fox onesie that resembles his dad.
While his mom is going crazy with their next step.
The moment I arrive in front of the stadium, I can feel my whole body tremble but I force myself to put myself together for my son.
I sat on one of the VIP chairs without forgetting to wear my mask to keep my identity hidden.
I even wore a different style of make up for them to not recognize me.
Since I can already feel the many eyes on Ryouki who is looking around while holding a volleyball plushie.
That moment made me wonder if I did the right decision. So many hesitations completely get thrashed when me and the volleyball player locked eyes together.
It was after the match when our gazes meet each other and his never left anymore.
His eyes slowly trail below and I notice how his eyes widen a little before looking away and whisper to their manager.
I can feel my son's excitement with his hands flailing around when the player he has been looking at finally look at him.
Without even a minute, a security invite to personally meet the players which I nodded along.
I am ready to receive humiliating words. Just for my son's complete family.
Because it was my mistake to begin with.
They led me to one empty comference room as I made milk for him to take his afternoon nap when the door of the room once opened again and his stature greeted me.
I remove my mask before I bowed at him.
"Can I have this moment to explain everything?"
He sat in front of me as I feel like my chest is about to burst in anxiety.
His eyes never leave our son before he sighed deeply and massage his forehead.
"No need for explanation when he is clearly mine" I heard him mumble as I feel my anxiety continue to rise.
"I'm sorry. I panic that time so I didn't manage to prevent it from developing" I heard my voice tremble as his eyes continue to stare at our son that made him sigh once again.
"How do I say this..." He trailed off before his eyes found mine.
"I never found myself as a family man. I simply never thought of marriage and such" he continue his words.
"I'm sorry for being selfish Suna-san. I don't want to force you on being with me for our baby's sake. But I wish for you to appear in the most important times of his life. So it would make him feel complete. I don't want him to grow up with only one parent" I cut my words off when I notice him in front of me.
"Let me" he mumble before he took Ryouki from my arms who started kicking his feet in excitement and that seems to tugged a small smile from his father.
"He really is mine" he mumbled like a realization before he craddle the little one is his arms.
"I can try, Y/n" I heard his next words clear that brought tears to my eyes from the guilt and happiness I felt.
"I'm really sorry" I cried out that made him pull me towards him to lend his shoulder to silence my cries on.
"I never dream of loving and marrying someone. But it seems like fate decided for me and I know I would welcome this with open arms"
It showed me another side of the volleyball player. That no matter how unreachable he is, he still knows to understand someone's situation and willing to take responsibility.
That it hurted me that I did this to a good man.
But that guilt slowly disappear when throughout our relationship, I found myself slowly falling in love with him.
As our son grows, our love for each other also grows. But the thought of 'sense of responsibility' never left my mind at all.
Was it really possible for him to love me?
Even when we got married, that became one of my biggest insecurities.
Because I found love from an unexpected situation.
A situation where you shouldn't find it at all.
A relationship that formed because of responsibility.
A Love that is built because of a Mortal Sin
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bluegalaxygirl · 8 months ago
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Obsession's Grip (Zosan X Reader) P7
Plot: After saving some of the straw hat crew from a prison, the crew help takes a young man away so he can have a fresh start in life. He's shy but seems to grow attached to Reader in an unhealthy way.
Warning: Bad language, Violence, Kidnapping and Drugs.
Reader is Female (Sorry), Zoro X Sanji X Reader, Poly relationship, established relationship. Reader has the ability to control the snake tattoos on her arms that come alive when she commands, they can change size and are connected to her emotions.
P1 - P2 - P3 - P4 - P5 - P6 - P8 - P9 - P10 - P11 - P12 - P13 - P14
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It takes five days for the log pose to reset much to your dismay, it means more time trying to avoid Percy, you tried your best to be nice and find a way to cut any conversation with him short by saying you needed to do something or you had plans with Sanji and Zoro. When ever you went off the ship to explore more and find new things someone would come with you, mainly Sanji since you didn't want Zoro to get lost but you tried to bring Usopp along at least once. What was supposed to be an hour's trip turned into three due to the sniper getting scared and climbing a tree for safety, he refused to come down until you checked it was safe and after all that he struggled to climb down and almost landed face first onto the floor if it wasn't for you. After that you two made an agreement that he would do some of your jobs so you could go out and do his along with your own, the agreement went well since the forest is calm and beautiful plus it gives you time away from Percy who's been creeping you out a little lately. The young man just seems to pop up out of no where when your alone bringing you some tea or something to eat, he's friendly and doesn't ask questions anymore but you still get this uneasy feeling when around him, it also doesn't help that he keeps apologizing because he thinks your still mad about what he said. Because of this you've taken to being around Zoro and Sanji as much as possible, the two don't mind in fact they actively seek you out if they find out your alone just to make sure your ok. Percy stays well away when it comes to Sanji and Zoro, he doesn't talk to them and leaves the room if their in there unless its meal time.
Robin and Nami have also been helping keep you way from him after telling them everything, it turns out you are the only girl he's doing all this too which has made you all on edge. You simply told them to wait it out since he'll be gone when at the next island, as much as he makes you uncomfortable you don't want to leave him stranded on an island. With two days left until the ship sets sail you manage to drag Usopp into the library to help you identify some plants and seeds you've been struggling with, The sniper has been swamped with his own work plus half of yours on top so hasn't had to time to help you. Normally this wouldn't be a problem and you would wait but as of late you've become snappy, impatient and always on edge, some of the crew have no problem answering back which makes you rethink how your acting while others cower away. Sitting at the desk you look through the book while Usopp examines the strange seeds trying to find identifying features, heavy footsteps suddenly get your attention making you jump and turn towards the ladder where Franky suddenly appears. The poor cyborg looks tired and is covered in coal "Hay Usopp, i need your help one of the barrels is busted" Franky sighs before climbing back down the ladder, Usopp looks from the ladder to you slightly scared that you'll tell him off if he goes, with a sigh you wave your hand letting him know it's ok to go. Backing away from you slowly the sniper gets far enough away to feel safe enough to turn his back and head out following Franky, you hate how scared some of the crew are of you now, Usopp, Brook, Chopper, Franky and even Nami have looked at you with fear. Rubbing your face you lean back in your chair groaning to yourself, why can't you relax? Always on edge as if at any moment something bad is going to happen, it doesn't matter where you go on the ship you always feel this way.
You can't get a shower or a bath without making sure over and over again that the door is locked, when you wake up in the middle of the night your eyes stay fix on the door as if waiting for it to open and you've refused to drink any alcohol even when Luffy threw a party, you need to keep a clear and sober head, but for what? "Long day?" Gasping you almost fall out of your chair at how fast you try and move away from the voice next to you "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you" Percy smiles placing a tray down on the desk containing a pot of tea, two cups, sugar cubes and cut up fruit in a bowl. "I was hoping to join you, i wanted to talk about something Luffy told me" The young man smiles pulling over a chair to sit next to you, taking in a breath you sit up straight while biting your inner cheek, you have to make up an excuse to get away and yet you feel bad for treating him like this. He's been nice and apologized over and over again but Zoro did say he's manipulating you, although your still not sure if its intentional or not. "Oh I've seen these before" Percy laughs picking up one of the seeds your struggling to identify, snapping out of your thoughts you look over at the young man watching as he lifts up the seed above his head getting the light to shine down on it "Its out of its shell though which means it's not going to grow anything" Raising an eyebrow you lean against the desk wondering how he knows all this, your brain debated weather to ask about it or not since you don't really want to start a conversation with him if possible.
Sighing you rub your head curiosity and frustration getting the better of you "I can't seem to identify it, could you tell me about it?" You ask pulling your notepad and pen over ready to right down what he tells you, Percy's smile widens as he turns to look at you with joy "Of course" Overjoyed he starts explaining the plant and how it works and what its used for, apparently they used in the prison as lantern fuel which is how he knows about it. You write as he talks not noticing the young man sneaking closer and closer while pouring tea and adding things in just the way you like it before placing it in front of you, giving a hum of thanks you keep writing focused on what your doing until something lands on your shoulder. Jolting you look to your side seeing Percy's chair right up against your and his head on your shoulder, he doesn't move away when you notice instead he shifts his head to look at you "Can you move away, please" You try to stay polite even though your hand is gripping your pen in a death grip, Percy slowly moves his head off your shoulder with a sad look his arms wrapping around himself. Sighing at his actions you stand up grabbing the book on the table and going over to the book case to put it away deciding your done for the day, the room falls into a uncomfortable silence as you go around putting stuff away and collecting the seeds on the desk. "Why don't you like me?" Percy whispers still sitting in the same position as before while you put the seed into a small cloth bag, you go to answer when Zoro's words run though your head, don't answer any emotional questions. Percy looks up at you his eyes welling up with tears when you don't answer or even look at him.
As much as it pains you to do this you know you have to, he's always crossing the line and if you give in he'll keep doing it "I said i was sorry, i really am" Percy lean forward sniffling a little, your heart breaks at the sound of it, you want to hold him and tell him it's ok but you managed to hold yourself back while tying the bag up. Going for your notepad its suddenly pulled away from you by Percy who stands up and backs away holding it tightly to his chest "Percy, hand it over" You stay calm while holding out your hand hoping he will think smart and give it to you but he shakes his head taking another step back "Not until you tell me why your acting like this. I said i was sorry, i even bring you tea and stuff to make up for what i said... i just want you to talk to me" He yells tears running down his face while gripping your notepad tight, keeping your hand out you debate what to do next, you could just walk away but you have no idea what he'll do with your notepad which has a few months worth of work in it. "Please, just tell me what i can do to make things better... When i first met you i was scared but you treated me so kindly, you saved my life, listened to me, gave me comfort. I can see your still a caring person and i can see it hurts you to hold that back. So why are you doing this?" Percy sniffles again as you lower your hand letting it relax at your side, you hate yourself for hurting him like this, it seems rare for him to trust someone and the one person he finally trusts treats him like shit.
Taking mercy on him you sit back down and pat the chair in front of you gesturing for him to sit "I'm sorry for the way I've acted, I'll explain but first we both need to calm down, so we can talk without anger and hurt. I'll let you hold onto my notepad until i'm done ok?" You ask placing your hands on your lap hoping to show him your not a threat, Percy hesitates but soon takes a shaky step closer making his way to the chair and sitting down. Keeping your hands where he can see them you start to explain everything to him and how its making you, Sanji and Zoro feel, you honestly think that what he's done isn't intentional so maybe telling him about it will make him realize his actions and make a change. Percy takes a minute to think it all over while you wait for him to clear his head and get his thoughts together, the tears in his eyes have dried up but their still sad, releasing your notepad from his tight hold Percy holds it out to you letting you take it back and place it on your lap. "I-i didn't think what i was doing was wrong but… i see now it was, i am wrong, I'll try my best not to do anything like that again, just… If i do, please tell me, i don't want you to hate me" The young man gulp while fiddling with his hands, nodding you lean back in your chair glad to get this all out of the way "I still feel like there needs to be space between us and i still think it's a good idea that you stay away from Zoro and Sanji, mainly for your safety" You smile happy that he understands his actions but to be on the safe side you still need to keep that distance, Percy nods wiping his cheeks while giving you a smile "You really are kind, after everything I've done you still care about my safety. Thank you"
Nodding you stand up putting your notebook in your bag along with the bag of seeds before picking it up ready to leave "Wait, you didn't drink your tea" Percy frowns pushing the cup of tea across the desk towards you, turning you look him over then at the tea, you've never eaten or drank anything he's brought for you and thats not about to change "I'll ask Sanji for some, its cold now anyway" You state pulling your bag over your shoulder and walking away, the young man quickly stands putting all the stuff back onto the try and following you "Sanji's not in the kitchen, i can make you one, plus i need to clean all this up" Percy smiles following you out into the garden and then down the ladder into the kitchen "Thanks for the offer but I can do it myself and thanks for cleaning" You give him a smile glad that he's kind enough to clean up what ever mess he makes, some of the crew just leave it for someone else to deal with. Putting your bag down on the stool you look around seeing that the cook really isn't in the kitchen, usually he is at this time of day in order to prep for lunch so something urgent must have come up. "Oh! Of course, if i use something then i should put it away or clean it, thats what i was taught" Percy walks past you placing the tray down next to the sink and starts filling it up, walking around you turn on the kettle, grab a mug and then add your sugar but when you open the jar of tea bags there's nothing in there. Letting out a frustrated sigh you look through the cupboards nearby trying to find more but turn up empty-handed "Miss Y/n, the tea bags are in the pantry in that big wooden box" The young man points out seeing you looking around getting frustrated.
Pinching the bridge of your nose you sigh wondering why of all placed is the tea in the pantry, it's always kept in the cupboard close to the kettle so no one has to enter the pantry. Luckily your one of the few who Sanji trusts enough to give the code too so you easily unlock the pantry and head in, it doesn't take you long to grab what you needed and come back out to finally make yourself some tea while Percy drys his hands and leans against the counter. Sipping on your tea you let out a relaxed sigh finally able to clam your mind, talking to the young man was nerve wracking but at least now you've both come to an understanding so this trip will be a lot less stressful. After taking a few more sips you notice Percy still in the kitchen staring at you with a concerned look, it makes your body tense up again wondering what he's worried about but when you go to ask nothing comes out, you try to speak again only this time something sparkles in front of your eyes like little firefly's flying around "I'm sorry Miss Y/n" Percy sighs stepping closer to you grabbing your tea cup out of your hands and placing it on the counter, stepping away you stumble your legs unable to hold your own weight but the young man grabs you pulling your body into his "Don't worry, I've got you… I'm really sorry but i have to protect you" Percy whispers picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder, you want to stop him to fight back but your mind is fuzzy and your body feels weak, even though your legs are slightly kicking you can't feel your body doing so. As the young man turns ready to leave the kitchen you vision is overcome by floating lights all merging together until there's only white, the light dims over time soon sending you into nothing but black.
Brook makes his way out of the sleeping quarters after trying to work on a new song for a few hours, the sound of yelling from different members of the crew gets his attention, so he makes his way across the deck and up into the kitchen where the sound is coming from. Opening the door he's met with a strange sight, first the kitchen area is a mess, the pantry door is wide open, there's a few broken plate's and cups on the floor, a bitter smell in the air and one of the bar stools has been tipped over. The second thing is the whole crew yelling at each other, Chopper is sitting on the sofa with a towel over his head looking quite upset while Nami and Robin are sitting next to him yelling at Usopp and Luffy who are sitting at the table yelling back. Sanji stands at the head of the table pointing his finger at the captain seeming to be mad at him about something other than what the girls are yelling about while Zoro sits at the table with his arms crossed over his chest clearly tense and ready to blow up at any minute. Franky groans leaning against the wall chugging a coal clearly tired and looking a little depressed, tilting his head Brook noticing your not here and yet your bag is, either you didn't want to argue and walked out or your not apart of this. "Urm… what's wrong?" Hesitating the skeleton speaks up, the room suddenly goes quiet as the crew turn to him with a mixture of anger and annoyance. "Where the hell have you been?" Nami yells standing from her seat making Brook jump in fear of her hitting him.
Robin places her hand on Nami's arm getting the navigator to sit back down "Take a seat and I'll explain" she gestures to one of the chairs but Sanji steps in the way glaring at the skeleton "First i want to know if you've been in the kitchen in the last two hours" The cook pulls out a cigarette placing it between his lips and lighting it all while glaring at Brook who shakes his head "Oh no, I've been writing music for almost… four hours now" He state making everyone sigh in frustration, stepping side Sanji lets Brook pass and take a seat as he puffs on his cigarette trying to calm down "Wow, you really missed everything" Luffy laughs only to get hit in the head by the cook "What are you laughing about? Your still number one on my lift for who did this" Sanji yells pointing at the messy kitchen making the captain pout while looking away. "We'll as you can see the kitchen is a mess, but we don't know who did it. There's been more going on in the past two hours" Robin state calmly trying to stop the room from going back to how it was, Brook nods staying quiet and letting the black haired woman continue. "First the temperature in the aquarium bar went up quite high causing the bottle of wine on the shelves to explode and the fish tank to heat up killing off some of the fish. Sanji cleaned up the mess while Nami and Zoro where supposed to gather all the dead fish when Chopper came running over covered in syrup, someone put a bucket of syrup over the door in his office so Nami asked for my help to cleaning him"
Chopper sighs pulling the towel off his head, its clear now the two girls had to help bath and dry the poor reindeer "Thinking it was Luffy who did the prank-" Luffy suddenly stands shaking his head furiously while looking over at Chopper "I wasn't me i swear, i love pranking you but not like that" The captain tries to defend himself as Usopp pats him on the shoulder trying to calm his friend down. "We'll it's between you and Usopp" Nami growls shaking her head still trying to figure out who did it but Robin places her hand on the girls knee trying to calm her down "Nami told Luffy to help Zoro out with the fish tank since he was on deck. As for Franky and Usopp, as far as i understand one of the barrels that powers the engine burst" the black haired woman looks over at Franky with a sympathetic look, the cyborg sighs and nods before pushing off the wall "Yea, i don't know how it happened still but i'm looking into it, i needed Usopp's help since everyone was busy with other things". Brook nods understanding, but he then hums putting some pieces together that the others missed, Zoro opens his eye looking the skeleton up and down before nodding "i was thinking the same" the swordsman states sitting up straight and unfolding his arms "Everything that happened was too close together making me think its intentional and most likely by the same person, they wanted us all busy-" Zoro stands out of his chair quickly the pieces coming together perfectly but it makes his heart beat faster "When did you last see Y/N?" Sanji yells realizing what's going on, you and Percy are not here, the kitchen's a mess and everyone was distracted. "She was in the library" Usopp gulps concerned by the sudden shift in their aura, Nami stands panicking a little "She was there when we went up to bath chopper but you two were too distracted to notice but when we came down both of you were gone"
Usopp gulps becoming worried by their reactions "I left her up there to help Franky" The sniper points out making Nami's heart sink "Do you think Percy did something?" Nami asks her panicked eyes looking over to Sanji and Zoro who both have a mixture of anger and worry on their faces. The others look at each other in confusion until Luffy stands up glaring at his three friends "What's going on?" The captain asks getting annoyed that he doesn't understand what their talking about. Robin stands up with a way to clam the situation and a plan to help "We thought the situation was fixed but it seems that isn't the case, I'll happily explain but i think its best of Sanji, Zoro and Nami start looking, i doubt their still on the ship" The black haired woman turns to the three who look at their captain in slight panic hoping he will let them go, Luffy nods giving them the go ahead to leave before looking at Robin wanting to know what's going on. The three quickly run out of the kitchen and onto the deck but before the two can leave Nami stops them handing Sanji a transponder snail "I'll look over the map and guide you through, their no point in running in blind, there's area's around here that are good for hiding so i'll tell you how to get there… Stay close to Sanji" The navigator states while pointing a finger at the swordsman not wanting him to get lost, Zoro growls wanting to fight back but his attention turns to the forest feeling its more important to go after you than fight. "Thank you Nami-swan" Sanji smiles with slight tears in his eyes, he's worried about you but the navigator's kindness and eagerness to help really pulls at his heart. Zoro groans grabbing the cooks belt and pulling him off the ship while Nami waists no time heading to the library and going over her map trying to find the best places to search for you.
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bornnraisedinsilenthill · 4 months ago
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I understand people who are disappointed in Dragon Age’s lack of darkness in the newer games.
Yes, it was funny, quirky and stupid. Always was and hopefully always will be.
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But what I see most people missing, is how dark Origins could be and how little impact the dark stuff in Inquisition had. Example:
When you meet Hespith in Origins and learn about broodmother’s, it rightfully freaks you out. The gore lying on the floor, the poem being recited in the background and the realisation of what had happened, what has to happen to create a broodmother, all perfectly made to present the twisted shape of the enemy to you and add a vitality to your rise against the blight. It adds together almost beautifully to create the most horrifying quest in the entire game.
(I will not add a picture of the scene here, because Hespith’s haunted face genuinely unsettles me. Her face alone manages to encapsulate the horror of this scene.)
In Inquisition you fall into the fade and into the lair of an overpowered fear demon. Fear demon, whose purpose is to torture you with your nightmares. It is the perfect quest to go wild with the horror aspects, that built the Dragon Age games. To build up an unsettling atmosphere, so that the enemy and the setting could pay off on the idea. To have the demon torment you, perhaps isolate you, and haunt every player who replays the game. Instead the demon kind of roasts your companions.
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This was merely the example that bothered me the most, as I played the quest, hoped for a lot and was left a little underwhelmed. It hurts especially after the quest, wherein you’re sent forth in time. That one used its’ darkness to give your Inquisitor a taste of the future, should the enemy succeed.
Similar games, like the Witcher or Baldurs Gate, are able to balance the light and darkness in equal measure. Sure, you get drunk with your Witcher buddies, but you will always rethink your choice to free or not to free the demon under the tree, to save or not to safe the children from the bog. It makes you understand Geralt’s decision to stay away from most choices. Sure, the sexy vampire is sexy, but also suffers from how he was used as a sexual object by his former master and how you can do the same. It makes you rethink your own actions and understand Astarion better.
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When Solas tells you, that he is Fen’Harel, it was given all the buildup it needed and will forever be, in my opinion, one of the best plot twists in history. It makes you replay the game, analyse his dialogue and analyse him. I merely wish the rest of the game and its’ quests be treated with the same amount of importance and care. Because yes, Dragon Age is goofy, but that is not all it is. And we’re right to worry, that it may have lost its’ dark moments and with it its’ depth, as honestly tell me, how much did you find the side quest, especially the ones in the Hinterlands, in Inquisition interesting?
I want the Evanuris to make the impact they deserve to make in the world, story and the player. I want the story to not only give me a fun time, but to leave a certain darkness and sadness in it, to make the fun moments shine so much more. I do not want to play the game and find, that it lost its’ charm, because it was too afraid to tell a deep story and too interested in making money. I do not want to play a game of a beloved franchise, to find it hurting the name of the others, that came before.
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maryonaccross · 1 year ago
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I want to dedicate this post to the top five most brain dead, brain cell killing lines TB characters have said in season one that  meant literally nothing coming from the characters that said them and have been interpreted as “wow slay they’re so smart” moments by their fans for reasons that are beyond me. The vast majority of them don’t even require an explanation.
First up we have:
“And yet you toil still in service to men” - Rhaenys Targaryen
(wow, we all lost a lot of respect for you there Rhaenys’. The second hand embarrassment was very uncomfortable)
Followed closely by:
“ And now they see you as you are” -Rhaenyra Targaryen
again, meant absolutely nothing
“ that whore of a queen killed my brother and stole his throne”- Daemon Targaryen
Daemon, sweetie, do you need a kitkat? Are you ok? What on earth are you even alluding to???? Is your vocabulary so limited that you cannot come up with a word other than whore to describe women you don’t like??
Next up we have:
“ it doesn’t matter what they want” -Rhaenyra Targaryen
Rhaenyra you feminist girlboss queen.
And:
“ You are the dragon, your word is law”- Daemon Targaryen
lmao, and you wonder why he couldn’t hold a single small council position? This is exactly where the intellectual gap between him and Otto becomes a very apparent.  I’m not an Otto fan but he is a person who seriously understands politics and achieved something in life while Daemon is a man child nepobaby that failed at every responsibility was assigned to him ( organizing a police brutality event and running amok on civilians being one example of that ) 
I’m serious, these two, Daemon and Rhaenyra, are the ones that are going to bring back the glory of old Valyria? 
(Adding to that, not really a sixth thing because it hasn’t been hyped by TB fans as much as the others but remember Jace also saying “ it doesn’t matter what they think” in regards to him and his brothers being bastards. People’s prince…? I’d rethink that )
I swear to God, anytime I see edits starting with any of these lines I burst out laughing. 
It’s honestly sad to think about how house of the dragon is a real show that cost a hell of a lot of money to make. The actors are fantastic and the costume designers, set designers etc. are doing a really good job but like… actual writers actually sat down and wrote that script and these lines. And they didn’t even have that much to do considering they had the book as source material so they didn’t come up with any of the major plot points. I might make a separate post about this but all they had to do was alter a few characters if they want to and give them believable motivations. And I cannot think of a single character in this show that has actual reasons to be doing what they are doing and whose plans and motivations stay consistent throughout the show (take Rhaenyra, Alicent, and the Velaryons for example)
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thegreatpapaya666 · 4 months ago
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When Valentino Dies
Sooooooo, we all know Valentino is gonna die in season 2, or something similar. But let's just eXpLoRe what will happen when he does. SPOILERS AHEAD! (I worked really hard on this please read)
Who Will Kill Valentino?
The reason Valentino will die will most likely be to purposely break Angel Dust's contract. Because Valentino will probably never willingly give up a contracted soul, he will have to permanently die for Angel to own his soul again. To permanently kill someone in Hell who cannot be redeemed, you need a weapon made of angelic steel, which we can assume the Hotel has after the Extermination in S1E8.
If this is the case, I assume that either Angel & Husk, Charlie, or Alastor will kill Valentino.
Angel & Husk: Angel & Husk might kill Valentino because they already hate him, and even though Angel is strong on his own, he might not have the guts to kill Valentino all by himself. And Angel and Husk already have experience fighting together S1E4 and S1E8. On a character development aspect, this would be a great chance for Vivziepop to strengthen Angel and Husk's bond, maybe even creating a window to include HuskerDust (Angel x Husk).
Charlie: If Valentino snaps and comes to the hotel to bring Angel back to Vee Tower, I speculate that Charlie will kill Valentino. This is because she knows of a lot of the horrible things Valentino has done to her friend, Angel, and has the power to kill Valentino if she wants to, since she is the Princess of Hell. The only thing stopping her would be her morals, and Angel himself. Angel might attempt to stop Charlie killing Valentino because of how accustomed he has gotten to being with Valentino, and he might feel overwhelmed and protective of Valentino in that moment, rethinking whether or not he wants Valentino to die. Even though Valentino is a bad person and has been abusing Angel, it's common to feel some sort of obligation to stand by your abusive partner, even if you know they're in the wrong. This is precisely what Angel might do. Additionally, Valentino would probably try to convince Angel to save him and manipulate him because of the power he holds over Angel. Just like we saw in S1E4, when Valentino lashes out at Angel and hits him, he summons Angel's contract and a red, wispy chain, symbolizing Valentino owning Angel. If this happens, it could be a great opportunity for character development for Angel, choosing to either kill Valentino himself, or let Charlie do the honors. Charlie might also get some character development, too, because permanently killing somebody would most likely upset her. So she would have to make a difficult choice between standing with her friends, or sticking to her morals. When Valentino does die, maybe we'll get more insight to Angel's contract when Valentino is pleading with Angel to save him. Also, in S1E4 when Valentino licks Charlie's arm and she doesn't seem like she's under his control, this proves that his pheromones don't work on Charlie. So Valentino wouldn't be able to convince Charlie to spare him with his powers.
Alastor: It has been a longstanding question whether or not Alastor can be redeemed. In his current state, I don't think he is worthy to go to Heaven. But since the entire show's premise is to redeem sinners that nobody believes in by practicing kindness and forgiveness, I think Alastor could certainly go to Heaven as a S2 plot twist/plot point. And a way to get Alastor to Heaven would be for him to defend Angel and kill Valentino to get Angel his soul back. Another reason for Valentino to be killed by Alastor is because Valentino is friends with/dating Vox, Alastor's rival, that would be a great way to get back at Vox. So in that case, rather than killing Valentino out of the kindness of his heart, he could hit two birds with one stone: Convince Charlie to stay on his side, and upset Vox by killing his love interest. In S1E2, when Valentino is discussing Alastor's reappearance with Vox, he states that Alastor "owes us much more than money." This would be an opportunity to develop the Alastor & Vox angst and past friendship with a fight between Valentino and Alastor. If this happens, Vox might even step in after watching the fight at the Hotel on his Voxtech security cameras.
Lucifer: Another reason for Valentino to die could be Lucifer himself. Valentino already came on to Charlie, hurt her friend, and has the potential to do many more horrible things to sabotage the Hotel. Lucifer has enough power to kill Valentino himself, so if Valentino lashes out and crosses a boundary the King of Hell has set, there's no going back.
Niffty: Another explanation to how Valentino will die is Niffty killing him. In S1E8 when Niffty kills Adam, it was demonstrated that she has the capabilities to kill someone more powerful than her by sneaking up on them. And she's shown that she isn't afraid to murder someone, and has some sadistic qualities, even enjoying hurting creatures. The series has foreshadowed a conflict between Niffty and Valentino multiple times, mainly in S1E6 where she stated, "I just want a taste!" after attempting to bite Valentino, and "For my collection!" after stealing Valentino's fur. She has been seen having a collection of dead insects and parts of bugs, and since Valentino is a moth, she might consider him a bug and want to add Valentino himself to her "collection." Also, in S1E8, after Niffty kills Adam, she is interviewed on 666 News, saying, "Charlie told me to stab, so I did." This means that if someone orders her to stab Valentino, especially Alastor, who owns her soul and is also friends with her, then she would stab Valentino with no regrets, especially if he proves that he's not the "bad boy" she thinks he is.
How Will Valentino's Death Affect The Characters?
Angel Dust: If he kills Valentino, he'll have even more trauma to unpack with Charlie, Husk, and the rest of the cast. Angel has already been through a lot, and it will take a long time for him to heal after being in such an abusive relationship with Valentino, working for him, and possibly even killing him.
Husk: If he kills Valentino with Angel, he won't regret it. Whether or not Valentino dies at his hands, however, Angel will still need him more than ever, and Husk might be able to assist Angel on his path to redemption. This might also inspire Husk to try and get his soul back from Alastor.
Charlie: If she kills Valentino, she will most likely not regret it. But permanently killing someone, especially if Valentino is the first person she's ever killed, she will probably grieve Valentino, even if she hates him. This will be a chance to develop Chaggie (Charlie x Vaggie), maybe defining the nuances of their relationship if Charlie turns to her girlfriend for help.
Alastor: There is no question whether or not Alastor will feel bad for murdering Valentino. He will not regret it and will feel no shame for it, probably giving Valentino's corpse to Niffty. If Alastor does this for Charlie or the Hotel, that would be the perfect time to ask for something in return, making Valentino's murder a quid pro quo in his favor. If Charlie assists in killing Valentino, he could catch Charlie at her weakest and make another deal with her, slowly gaining her trust to betray her and the Hotel. Because Alastor does not own his soul, and he is probably under Lilith's control, this might give him an idea on how to get his soul back.
Vox: Whoever ends up killing Valentino, they'll have to face Vox's wrath. Even though Valentino is a pain in Vox's ass, he seems to have a crush on Valentino and want something more than their friends with benefits situation. Fans speculate that StaticMoth (Vox x Valentino) will be official in S2, and whether Valentino is Vox's boyfriend or business partner when he is killed, Vox will be royally pissed. Especially considering how far back Alastor and Vox go, and how their friendship was ruined most likely because of Vox's business proposal/love confession, Vox will be devastated when his friend is killed, and left alone (again). He will only have Velvette genuinely by his side. If Angel kills Valentino, Vox will be especially mad, because multiple times throughout the series, it was hinted that Vox is jealous of Angel. For instance, he seems oddly happy at the suggestion that Angel quit in S1E2, and in S1E4 during Poison, he is holding Valentino's hand after kissing Valentino, sees Angel, and seems to get slightly annoyed and leaves. He might come for Angel at the Hotel, which might end with him getting humiliated or killed by the residents there. If Alastor kills Valentino, Vox will be incredibly upset. After Alastor rejecting him, if Alastor kills his new love interest/friend/business partner/boyfriend/friend with benefits, he will probably have another fight with Alastor. In S1E2, Valentino asks Vox during Stayed Gone, "You still pissed he almost beat you that time?" referring to Alastor. This implies that Vox and Alastor had a fight before Alastor disappeared for seven years, one that could have even led to Alastor's disappearance.
My Opinion
I think Niffty will probably kill Valentino with Alastor's orders and add him to her "collection," upsetting Vox and leading him to fight Alastor at the Hotel.
THANKS FOR READING THIS TOOK ME TWO HOURS!
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respectthepetty · 11 months ago
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Pit Babe Colors Ep. 6
I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here.
I found out Charlie and Way's superpowers last week from the tags on my post, so let's pray those blue gloves Babe just gave Charlie stop him from -redacted- and lying.
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Wait a minute! I thought that was a flashback. Barbara is racing too?! Now, I'm confused about the plot because I thought the team needed to fill Babe's spot, but . . . they need a third racer? Is this you rethinking the plot, Barbara? Or did your special superpowers heal you already and you're thinking about letting Charlie win? But you didn't have superpowers last week. What is happening?
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Dean, I know you are going to screw everyone over because you now have to race Charles AND Barbara, but you are already sitting in the red. Damn, sir. No need to spoil the plot development.
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Babe won, so what was with all those *looks* from him? And I want to hate Way, but he is the only one who is feeling like me as Charlie's RED IS EXPOSED! Dean, go ruin everyone's life. You have my permission.
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Alan, you have tattoos, and you are the only man I trust in life and love, so I'm gonna ignore these red gloves. Not every show can be Wandee Goodday and get color-coded boxing gloves.
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Charles wore Babe's black in episode three after sleeping with Babe, then Babe got the picture of Charles getting into the red car. I want to trust Charles and this color exchange, BUT HE IS LYING!
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I wish the cards could have stayed in Thai. I did not need to know Alan was apologizing to Jeffrey as he sits there in blue, with that red bag and red smoothie (it's pink, but I'm seeing red, dang it!). Don't throw out those cards, Alan. Jeffrey is gonna need them when he has to apologize for LYING all this time!
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CHARLES AND THAT DAMN RED!
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Barbie. Stuck between the blue and red. He deserves better.
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You know what makes a sky look purple like that? Blue and red. Which is really odd, SINCE BOTH OF YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE BLUE, CHARLES!
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It's turning pink! STOP HURTING MY FEELINGS!
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No. Putting Barbie in glasses will not make up for the pain I just suffered.
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To go from that locker room scene to Waymond looking so sad only for PETER TO BE WATCHING HIM IN THE PINK TOO! I knew they were gonna be an item, but Peter, my man, have you loved Waymond for a while?! Did you know him before you shook his hand and that's why you hesitated? Patricia, I have questions!
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Yellow is my favorite color, but, Sonic, why can't you wear blue? I know you like North. You are protecting him right now. But just wear more blue beyond that small stripe on your shirt, so I can trust you!
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Jeffrey is back in the red, Alan. Get out now or he'll take you "home" aka Big Red's house that he doesn't know how to get to without the GPS because it's hard for liars to keep track of all their lies.
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I won't be crazy and mention the red house showing through the window behind Charles. No. Never.
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What do you see, Jeffrey?! That your roommate is gonna break Barbie's heart?!
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My God, this episode is laying it on thick with Charles constantly in the red. I get it! He is lying! I KNOW!
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Waymond just had to remind me his ass is red too. You're lucky Peter has been in love with you for a minute apparently because I like Peter. But you, sir, are on thin ice.
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Did Charles post that picture?! (Sonic, wear blue damnit!)
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Barbara, you're fucked up. It's clear that Waymond loves you, and you pull stunts like this. Rude. Selfish. Let the boy brood in peace. You make me feel bad for him, and I don't want to feel bad for him because I know his superpower now, and he keeps trying to touch you.
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Every now and then, the show must remind me that Barbara was originally red.
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Are you conflicted, Waymond? Because this purple is telling tales that you are in-between the two. Where do you stand, Waynette? Blue or red? TELL ME RIGHT NOW!
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Wait a minute!
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Before he was a Slut for Christ, Barbara gave you the steering wheel necklace?!
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Fuck! Waymond, no! Turn away from the red, bruv! DON'T GO FULL DARK SIDE!
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PETER LOVES YOU!
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But eff Charles!
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Jeffrey has red on again. Someone is dead under that car, so since he is talking to Charles and there are only two drivers now (is Babe still driving or no?), I'm hoping he saw Charles dead and not Waymond. Can I get a Christmas miracle?!
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KIMBERLY, MY BELOVED! Please go collect your husband, Kenta, and fuck Big Red up!
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In short,
I'm conflicted about Waymond.
I want to know how long Peter has loved Waymond.
I need more of the Kardashians, Kimberly and Kenta.
I still hate Charles because the show is constantly telling me he is red.
I'm happy there was no Whiny Winifred.
I'm okay if Dean messes up everyone's day.
I need Jeffrey to grovel to Alan when his time comes.
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rayslittlekitten · 1 year ago
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Spooky Time
“You Got This” Masterlist
A/N: I think writing "My First Night" kicked up some old feels for this universe. Here is a wholesome little nugget of them much younger. Jax and Opie as 14 and reader is 12.
Rating: T
Word Count: 806
Pairing: Teenager!Jax Teller & Preteen GN! Reader/OC; Teenager!Opie Winston & Preteen GN! Reader/OC (reader is F in the series, but this particular fic can be read as GN)
Plot: While Opie taunts you for being scared, Jax protects you.
Contains: sibling banter, cursing, protective!Jax, spoopy stuff
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You stare up at the man-made haunted house towering in front of you. The fog, flashing lights and sounds of terror coming from a big speaker has you rethinking about tagging along with your brother and Jax. Since you were little, you've always followed them around and wanted to do everything they did. This is no exception. Every year during this time, you would all come to the County Halloween fair where they would have hayrides and all sorts of spooky activities. You always went on the kiddie rides, corn mazes, and have seemingly mild fun, but since Jax and Opie just started high school, they want to do older kids stuff, including the haunted house. This was one thing you always avoided, but you were sure you wanted to do this because Jax and Opie does.
"Come on, what are you waiting for?" Jax nudges you.
"I... I don't really feel too good. I think I ate too much funnel cake. I'll just wait for you guys," you reply.
"UGH! You know we can't leave you by yourself. You said you wanted to tag along so you have to do everything we're doing," your brother jumps in, annoyed.
A scream from inside the house spooks you, making you jump.
"Aww, are you scared?" Jax teases.
"N-no," you lie.
Opie rolls his eyes and huffs.
"Come on, it won't be that scary. I'll protect you, squirt."
Jax puts his arm around your shoulders and pulls you in closer, giving the top of your head a little tousle before guiding you inside the haunted house and following Opie who is leading the group. Once you enter, you cautiously walk through the loud and dark maze. Opie suddenly jumps and screams, making you shriek and grasp onto Jax, but then your brother starts laughing.
"Haha! Spooked ya!" He says, pointing at you.
"It's not funny!" You throw a weak punch at his arm.
"Then why am I laughing?" he taunts.
"Alright, come on, keep it moving," Jax jumps in to break up the sibling squabble, pushing Opie along.
"Stay close behind me, alright?" Jax tells you, guiding you behind him.
You grab onto the back of his shirt as you all continue to walk through. Your eyes dart around while being super vigilant and alert, also looking ahead at your brother in front to see if anything might scare him. The creepy music and inability to see things well in front of you add to the fright. A random hiss from behind you makes you curl up against Jax's back even more. You feel Jax's hand reach back, touching your hip like he's feeling around for something. He then turns to look over his shoulder.
"Hold my hand."
You look down and slip your hand into his while the other still fists his shirt. When Jax turns a corner, he takes a sudden small step back, stumbling into you, as his free arm guides you to remain behind him and now stepping sideways.
"Stay behind me," he instructs you.
You continue to follow him while using him as a shield. The sound of a chainsaw next to you makes you shift in the opposite direction. You feel Jax's hand squeezing yours to let you know you're safe. This feels like a never-ending maze. You start to notice a scent that comforts you. Leaning into Jax's shirt, you stick your nose into it and take a sniff. You don't know if it's the laundry detergent Gemma uses or something else, but it's distracting you from all the terror. After a few more turns and focusing your attention on Jax's scent, you finally make it out of the haunted house unscathed.
"Was that it? See, it wasn't so bad, was it? There wasn't anything really-- AHH!"
Opie gets frightened by a clown seemingly popping out of nowhere and his immediate reaction is to punch it.
"Is... is he dead?" you ask, peeking out from behind Jax with wide eyes, after seeing the clown face down on the dirt unmoved.
Opie gives it a gentle nudge with his booted toe.
"It's a fucking doll," Opie replies, then gives it a swift kick. "Fuck you."
"Looks like you're the one who only got spooked," you laugh.
Opie fakes a lounge at you and you jump back hiding behind Jax, shrieking. Jax instinctively steps between you and Opie, reaching his arms back again to protect you.
"Alright, let's go do the Terror Drop next." Jax suggests the ride where you get dropped from a great height.
"Um, I'm afraid of heights," you tell him.
"We'll do this together. You can hold my hand again," Jax says. "I promise you're gonna love it."
"Last one there is a rotten egg!" Opie says as he dashes off.
You and Jax then start chasing after Opie.
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