#second she starts going on about how i had to be emotionally vulnerable with like 3 different therapists for this. whatever.

[erisolkat]

god i hate everyone

[rrinkyoo]

구원

and only then can i see my eternity.

♫ now playing – love… wave to earth

in which you experience your first kiss w/ haikyuu boys

includes: kageyama, tsukishima, akaashi, suna, kuroo, & iwaizumi

a/n: requested by anon! ty guys so much for all your amazing request! it may take me some time but i promise to reply to as many as i can! :)

KAGEYAMA TOBIO ౨ৎ

kageyama would be so awkward

i feel like he'd be the type of person to put so much thought into it to make ure it's absolutely perfect and make it tomewhat unforgettable. he's a very determined person, on and off court, so think he'd approach the first kiss in the same manner.

but then again, he's awkward. the days he spent planning to get it right going to complete waste due to his nerves, and he's barely able to mutter out a complete sentence.

the sun set long ago, and the sound of cicadas and screeching of sneakers from inside the gym were the noises y/n heard. it was almost a daily routine for the freshly new couple to walk home together. y/n would wait outside with a couple of snacks for the both of them, he'd take his share and walk them home while occasionally rubbing his hand against their own, then they'd go their separate ways for the night.

usually they'd engage in a casual conversation discussing their day, but kageyama had been oddly silent throughout most of the walk. "are you okay?" they questioned after a long time of awkward silence. kageyama simply nodded while continuing to look at his feet as they walked. y/n thought maybe he was stressed about practice or an upcoming tournament, his face looked like he was going to hurl.

they finally arrived at y/n's residence and turned to face each other to say their final goodbyes for the night, but kageyama still couldn't keep eye contact. he fiddled with his hands as his eyes darted everywhere but them. "are you sure you're okay?" they questioned again, a look of pure concern jow stitched onto their face. kageyama had spent days planning this, weeks even it now that the moment has come every detail of his well-prepared plan slipped his mind.

all he could think of was just how beautiful y/n looked with the shine of the moonlight slightly glistening on them.

"i- uh." he started, but anything he wanted to say couldn't leave his mouth. deciding not to waste any more time, kageyama grabs onto their shoulders and pulls them in, pressing his lips on the soft plush of heirs. he didn't even give them a second to respond before pulling away and running his way back home, leaving y/n in utter state of shock.

".. i'll see you tomorrow?!" she yelled. but it didn't seem to reach the ears of the raven- haired boy who had already turned the corner.

TSUKISHIMA KEI ౨ৎ

tsukishima would attempt, keyword attempt, to be nonchalant about it.. but the blush on his face says otherwise!

tsukki is known for being relatively emotionally distant and tends to use sarcastic humor as a way to hide it.

i think that'd he would use this humor during the kiss to deter away from the fact that he's showing his more soft/vulnerable side

"oi, pay attention," tsukishima teased as he gently tapped y/n's head with the pen he held in his hand. "the answer is practically right in front of you." the two sat on the floor of tsukishima's bedroom, studying for an upcoming exam in the subject y/n struggled in the most: math.

y/n groaned and leaned back until their back hit the floor, running their hands all over their face in agony. "i hate this! i don't wanna do it anymore!" they complained once more for what tsukishima felt was the hundredth time. he rolled his eyes at his partner's behavior, grabbing their hand and lifting them to make them sit back up.

"it's not that bad, you're just not trying." he retorted. y/n pouted at their boyfriend's words and slouched as he continued to go on and on about the lesson in front of them. but as he kept talking, the sound of his words was completely drowned out and all they could think about was how pretty he looked right now

he was wearing a hoodie that y/n finally returned to him, sweatpants, and talking about whatever blah blah blah nonsense he was saying. they always did find intelligent men attractive. the thought was sudden, but now that they thought about kissing him it wouldn't leave their mind.

tsukishima was still distracted from explaining the lesson to them to notice that they were crawling towards him until he felt a hand touch his cheek. he looked up with a raised brow, and before he could even react y/n was pressing their lips against his.

tsukishima stared at them almost wide-eyed after they pulled away. "tuh, what was that?" he muttered before looking down at the papers sprawled on the ground. it may have sounded like he didn't care, but the redness on his face and the tips of his ears gave it away.

AKAASHI KEIJI ౨ৎ

the calmest of them all honestly.

i don't think he'd pre-plan like kageyame but he would choose the perfect setting and itd turn out amazingly. i think he'd be the type of partner to read his s/o's ody language perfectly.

akaashi would make it a comfortable situation for both him and his partner while never being too brash nor too nervous.

the serene, dimly lit surrounding followed by the soft blue hue of the water provided for an instant relaxation upon y/n and akaashi. the two walked hand in hand as they explored the aquarium, looking at all the cute fishies and the rest of the sea animals. y/n always had a keen interest in these type of exhibits. the ocean was always intriguing to them and they made this well known.

akaashi took this opportunity to bring them to a nice aquarium in tokyo. it was small, but that didn't matter. akaashi was okay with anything as long as they were there too. "are you having fun?" he asked them softly. their eyes were practically stars as they continued to observe every corner of the aquarium, and he couldn't fight the small smile that stretched onto his face.

his question goes unheard as y/n takes in the view of everything, running to the fish eye tank they spotted feets away. akaashi chuckled slightly as he followed closely behind them and eventually took a seat beside them. "it's pretty, isn't it?" they murmured as they stared off into the tank, but akaashi's eyes never left their figure "it's gorgeous."

y/n turned to face him, and his cerulean eyes bore into theirs as he gazed at them lovingly. "what?" they asked. but akaashi said nothing and shook his head. he softly cupped their face and pulled them in as he leaned in to meet in a kiss. it was tender and slow but it was enough to show how much akaashi truly cared for them.

SUNA RINTARŌ ౨ৎ

another one that is extremely calm

similar to akaashi, i don't think he'd pre- plan. however, he'd do it more spontaneously. maybe his body reacts before his mind does while he presses his lips against yours.

i think he'd also tease similarly to tsukishima, but a bit more dialed down.

suna crashed onto his bed as he kicked his shoes off and rested his forearm on his forehead, y/n-also kicking off their shoes and crashing next to him. the pair had an extremely long and tiring day at school, and a nap was very much needed. they both turned on their sides to face each other, their eyes threatening to close.

"i'm so tired." y/n mumbled. suna couldn't even utter a sentence, he simply nodded while his blinks slowly got longer and longer. he grabbed y/n by the waist and pulled them into his chest, tucking his face away in the crook of their neck. his hold on them tightens as he feels their small exhales on his neck. "so am i." he finally spoke.

suna and y/n would always take naps together. but today was different. the stress suna had from volleyball practice and the one y/n had from studies, the two could go into hibernation right now and not wake up for months if they could. but it was impossible, so for now they just enjoyed the warm embrace of the other.

they both stretched and entangled their limbs together as they got ready to take a nap. y/n closed their eyes and was on the verge of slipping into slumber before they felt a small press against their lips. opening their eyes abruptly, they see suna staring back at them with a sly smirk on his face. ".. what was that?" they uttered with their eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.

"a kiss silly," suna teased. "you looked so cute i couldn't help myself." the two just stared at each other, blinking slowly waiting for the other to say something "why?" they asked confused. it was such a random place to have their first kiss. but suna simply shrugged. "i don't know." he answered.

"..wanna do it again?"

"sure."

IWAIZUMI HAJIME ౨ৎ

this man will be straight up and not hesitate.

i think iwa would be more abrupt. like you guys would just be talking and all of a sudden he's smashing his lips onto yours. he wouldn't doing it harshly though. in a very firm but gentle way.

he'd do it based on his gus instinct. if he elt that it was the right place and time to have your guys' first kiss, then it's right.

the gymnasium boomed with thunderous cheers and claps as the final blow of the whistle sounded. aoba johsai had made it to nationals. as the team came to embrace each other on the court, iwaizumi scanned the crowd, looking for that one familiar face. as they made eye contact, he could see y/n standing there looking down at him with a bright smile on their face as they screamed joyously.

5 minutes later, the team exits through the doors of the gym to the hallway, and iwazumi is met with the sight of his partner standing right in front of him with open arms. he rushed over to them, grabbing them by their thighs and lifting them in the air as y/n squealed in surprise. "i'm so proud of you!" they praised.

iwaizumi put them down and hugged them tightly while breathing heavily, still out of breath from the intense match not long ago. his face was tucked securely into the crook of their neck as he swayed them both side to side. "thank you." he murmured into the skin. y/n couldn't fight the tears welling up in their eyes as the amount of pride they held in their boyfriend was too much

but before they could react, iwaizumi was pulling away and smashing his lips into theirs, y/n letting out a surprised squeal before melting away in the kiss. his calloused hands caressed their face as he poured all of his passion into it.

KUROO TETSURŌ ౨ৎ

he would be extremely confident during the first kiss.

kuroo is calculated. this helps with his self- assurance and the way he initiates/reacts during the kiss. he would start off by lightly teasing his partner before initiating the kiss.

he is also highly observant, and is able o read his s/o's body language in the same way akaashi does.

a first date at the science museum seemed ike an odd pick. but for kuroo and y/n there couldn't be anything more perfect. as the two walk hand in hand, they both drag each other to different parts of the exhibit and list off random facts that weren't listed on the descriptions

"it's fascinating, isn't it?" kuroo said. he was intrigued with the 3D model of kinetic energy that was presented in front of him. y/n couldn't help but admire how eager their boyfriend was. both of them had an interest in science, but kuroo's beat hers by a long shot.

they couldn't help but trail their eyes over his face, taking in the smaller details. like the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes, the way his eyes sparkled when he was doing something he liked, everything was admirable. and his lips slightly glistened and they couldn't help but wonder what his lips would feel like on theirs,

kuroo noticed this, of course. how could he not? he couldn't ignore the feeling of their eyes on the side of his face and the way they'd fiddle with their fingers as they continued to observe every inch of his face except for the views in front of them. if it was anyone else, he would've been annoyed. but y/n? he found it endearing kuroo turned to her and chuckled as they tensed when he caught them staring. "do you want to kiss me?" he asked abruptly, teasing them softly.

their eyes widen as their muscles tense up, stuttering out mutters explaining how they weren't staring but kuroo didn't buy it. he continued to tease them as he stepped closer, grabbing the back of their head softly without them even noticing. kuroo connected their lips, blurring out their surroundings. in his mind, it was just him and his lover sharing their first of many more.

©RRINKYOO 2024 | PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR RESPOST ANY OF MY WORKS ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS!

[waitingtobreatheagain]

One of my favorite parts of the argument outside the Modiste scene is one although it starts harsh/angry…it becomes vulnerable and communicative very quickly. This is due to the core of their relationship. They are each other’s favorite person. No one understands the other more or in the way they do. Even through the hurt, the love is so so apparent.

It is a great example of how anger is a secondary emotion and in this case the primary emotion are emotions related to feeling emotionally hurt.

People say all they had was miscommunication and that is absolutely not true. You wanted them to be all good in five seconds and that was never going to be the case. Two weeks to process what felt like a betrayal, work through it, and work through your own insecurities that could impact your relationship in the future is NO SMALL THING. Not to mention, Colin repeatedly shows his love even in his anger hurt and confusion.

My absolute favorite thing about the scene (and proof of them still having good conversation even while being on the outs) is Colin doing something that Eloise never did. He actually asks Penelope WHY she wrote what she wrote. Even in feeling his most hurt, he seeks understanding. He knows Pen better than anyone (as she does him) and he really needs to identify how and why his most favorite person in the world, the love of his life, could do this. After discussing it, he is still upset which again is fair but he does understand and knows that she is still who he has always know her to be.

To be vulnerable when you’re hurt instead of hurtful also so emotional maturity. Yes, we know their first time seeing each other after the reveal he says something hurtful but he immediately regrets it which is made evident by Luke Newton’s skill in facial expression. He even asks Pen’s questions which she agrees with and identifies why she couldn’t do those things back when she wrote about specific things (I.E. “why didn’t you just tell me to my face” “I know I should have I didn’t have the confidence to then”).

And the part where we see his insecurity about his writing skill and the biggest insecurity being deserving of her on full display. Colin has grown up feeling as if he has to be so many things for so many people to be able to feel worthy. Just being himself has never felt like enough so it makes complete sense that he cannot honestly fathom that his favorite person…the love of his life…loves him simply for being him. That’s beyond belief for him. That is why the “what good am I to you, then (if I can’t protect you) and Pen’s response of I love you is so important. We see Pen’s face go from on guard, defensive, and some indignation to soft and empathetic. She is truly seeing the insecurity and similarly to how Colin couldn’t believe that Pen had no chance of romance when she asked him to kiss her…Pen can’t believe that Colin thinks he can only be loved by her if he is in service of her or has utility. His reaction to her I love you also support Colin is demisexual theories. The affirmation that she does not need him to protect her or do all these things for her and instead just has to be the man she loves is the catalyst for the passion and desire we see him kiss her with afterwards As to say, that’s right. This is the only relationship in my life where I am able to fully be myself, where I am loved for who I am, where I am uplifted, understood, seen, and valued based on my true self not based on who society says I should be, where my vulnerability and emotional intelligence is seen as a strength and not a deficit, etc.

That is so beautiful to me.

This goes back to why for me Polin will always be the pinnacle. The depth of their relationship following years of friends especially as they got closer sets up how they work through conflicts. There are so many parallels when looking at Colin helping Pen work through her insecurity with her confidence and appearance and Pen helping Colin work through his insecurity with self doubt and feeling deserving/worthy of his love.

Truly, a love that is a beautiful as it is rare.

[iifishizzleii]

i feel so horrible for gwen, because you can literally see the toll of her best friend’s death on her and how it affected her entire SPIRAL.

like it started when her dad thought she’d killed him, and how she couldn’t even tell the him the truth because she was afraid of how he would react if he knew the person he thought killed the boy who was like his son was his daughter. then, when she does reveal her identity to him, it’s under pressure and due to her circumstances, so she’s not comfortable or willing, and neither she nor her father were in the right mindset to hear each other out. this led to something that was MOST definitely a traumatic experience for her, and Gwen didn’t even get time to process it before she ran.

and then the confidence she felt in her relationship with Miles and the confidence she had in HERSELF is withered, by the two adults who took her in when she was at her most vulnerable.

Jessica is constantly switching between kind and understanding, to cold and demanding with her, and it’s obvious how badly Gwen is trying to work with it to satisfy her. she asks Jessica to adopt her as soon as she sees her in action, showing how quickly Gwen got attached to her, most likely because she was kind of a filler for the mom she never had. which is precisely why it makes Gwen so much more emotionally open to being manipulated. (she literally gave Gwen the silent treatment for five seconds and it sent my girl into a panic mode. like. what.)

and Miguel is revealing all these things about how the Multiverse is gonna fall apart, and people are gonna die if she doesn’t do something about Miles—the only other person she can relate to because he’s just like her; a teenager wearing a mask, trying to be what the worlds wants them to be, failing, and going through things no kid should. he’s her reflection, except he’s so much more than she is, and she knows and loves that about him, but Miguel is showing her everything he’s done “wrong”, and Miguel is the only current male role model in her life, so obviously she’s going to look up to him.

neither of them even bothered to help her fix what happened with her dad, too. they just let her go along with them for MONTHS, utilizing how desperate Gwen was for some semblance of a family to get her to catch other anamolies.

she doesn’t do what she did to Miles consciously, and it’s blatant because every time Miles gets closer to his freedom, or he does something incredible, she’s always proud of him. and when he’s hurt, she looks just as pained (and guilty).

she was torn between helping Miles, or helping the Spider Society, but when he showed her that there was more than just the options every Spider Man was handed, and that the impossible can be possible, Gwen learned from it and grew.

Miles helped her, and saved her dad in the process (because he quit before becoming captain). she finna return that favor in the second movie.

[icallhimjoey]

To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It’s just that… you don’t really get along all that well, do you? At least, that’s what you think.

CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers, slooow burn, language, rpf, fem!reader, smut, drinking

Author’s note: we made it girlies, it's time to get all the answers, but also time to say goodbye - it's been a JOURNEY and i apologise for how long this took me! Pls enjoy!

Wordcount: 6.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five- part six- part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

"You know I want to say it..." Joe said after a short silence.

"I know," you were well aware.

"Please let me say-"

"No."

It had been a week. Just a week. Joe wasn't allowed to say those words to you. He let them slip that night, had just blurted them out at the wedding, and you hadn't been able to swallow the words. Instead, they got lodged in your windpipe and had made you want to throw up.

"Please don't." you instructed, eyes trained on Joe's hand.

You felt Joe's eyes on you as he took a deep breath, settling on the understanding that you didn't want to hear them yet. You'd been playing with his hand for a little bit as you were both on your sides, heads buried into pillows and you'd already told Joe to go to sleep three times because you knew what time his alarm would go off the next morning.

But how could Joe sleep with you on your side of his bed, slowly tracing the lines of his palm with your fingers?

"Did you really think I hated you?"

Joe's question flushed you with a gentle wave of emotions. The delicate vulnerability and the sense of elation were the direct effect good sex had on you, which left you feeling you both physically and emotionally exposed. You could sob from looking anyone in the eye for a second too long right now, so coming in hot with a question that you knew Joe needed an honest answer to, did exactly that.

It contorted your whole face a second, crumpled it up into an ugly cry, breath held as your throat tensed to keep the sob inside because, yes you did. And it had always bothered you.

You had thought about it all week, kept going over interactions you'd had with Joe over the years and tried to puzzle it all into the narrative of Joe having a crush on you.

But it was difficult.

It didn't matter how many people helped you, how much Poppy tried to convince you that she didn't know Joe like this, that it had to be real. How much Mark tried to drill into you that he remembered how Joe looked at you the first time Mark and Poppy had forced you two to hang out together.

And it didn't matter that on some level you did understand. Understanding it in your brain and feeling it in your body were two vastly different things, after all.

So you nodded, because yes, you had honestly thought that Joe didn't like you. That he didn't want you in his life.

With eyes squeezed shut and your face screwed up you turned onto your back, trying to escape Joe's direct gaze a second. You felt how his hand that had laid relaxed in between you gripped onto yours for comfort.

Tears welled up fast, but you knew how to handle them.

You forced your face to relax, forced your eyes to open, forced your ribcage to expand and inhaled deeply. You held it there for a few seconds before you exhaled through your mouth and... you were fine.

Deep breaths always helped.

Turning back to Joe with your face relaxed, your expression smooth, all void of emotion, you found him looking at you with worry-filled eyes.

"You do that," not a question, just a statement about something Joe had noticed.

"What?"

"You stop it." Joe remembered how, several times, he'd seen you cry, and every time, you'd been able to stop it just as quickly as it had started. Maybe not as fast when you were drunk, but... still. This was some very advanced repressing of emotions.

Unclasping your hand from Joe's, you placed his hand back where it had laid before, in between the two of you, palm up, ready to get back into drawing lines over it with your fingers because that was just as soothing to you as it was to him.

"You'd rather have me cry?"

If Joe was honest, he did. He wondered how long it would take for you to be able to lose the tough exterior around him. Fully lose the whole I Can Take Care Of Myself facade. He felt that you had shed some layers already, but those were layers he'd put there himself. Joe now had to filter through neutral territory before you'd be able to let him in any further. To trust he did actually like you.

"I have never hated you," Joe whispered, and moved to kiss your forehead.

"I know," you whispered back, fully focussed on Joe's hand again. Stroking. Tracing lines with delicate touch. Avoiding Joe's eye-contact, mostly.

"It's the opposite,"

"Joe," you warned, eyes shooting up a fraction of a second to meet his.

"I won't say it."

But Joe thought it. Felt the words in his bones, strengthening and weakening them at the same time. It was agony, but you'd told Joe it was only fair for him to say those words if it was in response to you saying them.

And it had only been a week.

A week.

A week since you'd made it downstairs and found the groomsmen, the bridesmaids, Poppy, and her dad, all ready and waiting for the ceremony to start. Mark was down by the altar, and the room was filled to the brim with people.

The groomsmen had been paired up with the bridesmaids to walk down the aisle; ladies on the left, men on the right. Which was funny, because that meant that you and Joe would have to cross paths at the end to go stand in your correct groups and you knew it'd get a soft chuckle from everyone there.

When you and Joe lined up at the end, in front of Poppy and her dad, she had been on your immediately. Tried to be subtle, but asked all sorts of questions. She very obviously tried to make the two of you confess you'd been hiding in a coat closet together, but you didn't budge. Kept straight faces. Told Poppy she looked beautiful in her dress. Smiled at her dad, who had no idea what was going on, but was polite and tried to calm his daughter. He even shushed her a little, which made you and Joe look each other as deftly as you could as you tried to hide smiles before it was your turn to walk down the aisle.

During the ceremony, your mind was swirling. Going a million miles an hour. You were stood behind Mark, who looked at Poppy, and behind Poppy was Joe. You had your eyes locked at the back of Mark's suit, able to see Joe in your peripheral vision just over his shoulder behind Poppy, and you were meant to follow the ceremony. Listen to the officiant's whole official shpiel. Listen to Mark and Poppy's heartfelt vows. But your mind was elsewhere.

Convinced that, in hindsight, you should have somehow known of Joe's crush, you were stumped to realise that you hadn't. Not even a little bit.

Poppy had said he'd been in love – like, actual love for 'fucking ages' and... bitch, where?

Mentally you were so far removed from what was happening around you that, when the officiant asked for the rings, you had to be pulled from your thoughts by a loud scrape of Mark's throat.

"Wha- rings! Rings. Yes. I've got the rings."

And Joe pressed his lips together, bit them into his mouth to hide a smile as you handed over the little red box.

Whilst you'd been staring at Mark's back, sort of frowning in thought, Joe had been eyeing you. He could see how your eyes were sort of glazed over, all out of focus, and he couldn't help but blame himself for you missing it. You were missing your best friend getting married to his best friend because you were all zoned out, and he predicted he was responsible for it. Sensed how being forced to stand still and in silence for a long time probably wasn't helping his situation.

It gave you time to go over what had just happened.

What you had just learnt.

And fuck. Joe was going to have to answer to a lot, probably.

When it was time to follow Poppy and Mark out, all the way down the aisle and out of the room with everyone stood up and clapping, Joe smiled and nodded at the people he walked past but said, "All right, ask away,"

And as you smiled and nodded at the people on your side of the aisle, you said, "Where do I even start?"

The fact that you were convinced Joe had never really liked you was probably the right place to start.

But you were at a wedding.

And you were in the bridal party.

This was hardly the place or the time for a serious conversation, to ask all the tough questions you had on your mind. Yet, it was the only thing on your mind. Couldn't think of anything else. It just kept wandering there, and it didn't really help that Joe was there the whole time, reminding you of all of it.

Things grew complicated in your head. Things tangled and twisted until you couldn't undo the knots.

You kind of wished you were back in that coat closet again. Where it was dark, and hot, and where no one else could see or hear you kiss, and touch, and pant into each other's mouths.

But you were at a wedding.

So. You found moments to steal.

A couple of seconds here and there to stand close enough to Joe for you to sneak out an accusation. Something Joe would have to answer for, and he'd have to be quick, because it couldn't look like you were actually talking, could it?

The day was about Poppy and Mark.

The newly weds.

You were the best man and the maid of honour. Still had jobs to do.

So you hid in plain sight. Got your questions out and had Joe answer them as fast as he could.

During cocktail hour, there were photographs taken outside in the courtyard. The whole bridal party got involved, both sets of parents too, and it was a lot of posing in various groups.

When you and Joe were stood off to the side, both looking at whoever was next to pose next to Mark and Poppy, you stole the moment.

"You don't like me..." you said, loud enough for just Joe to hear. You weren't even looking at each other, but Joe knew you were talking to him.

"I do like you... I had to make you think that I didn't,"

"Well," you inhaled sharply. "You're a fantastic actor."

Had it been anyone else saying that under any other circumstance, it was the best compliment Joe could wish for. But this, right now, coming from you? It stung.

"I couldn't have– there's so many reasons, all stupid, I assure you, but I couldn't– Poppy would, well, I thought Poppy would never have–"

Joe didn't get to finish his sentence. The photographer called you over, wanted you to pose with Mark and the other groomsmen and you didn't hesitate to walk away. Didn't let on you were listening to what Joe was saying.

The next moment you found was just before the bridal party was to enter the venue where everyone had just sat down for dinner.

"The framed photo you cropped me out of," you stated flatly, eyes up ahead.

"Folded photo," Joe corrected you, and you snapped your head to look at him, all bewildered, because what the fuck?

"I folded that. I wanted to frame the full thing, but I couldn't. You were off-limits. But you were there.... just, hidden, at the back of it,"

You were introduced, and had to snap out of it quickly. Faces open and joyful because you were at a wedding and tonight was going to be fun.

You found your seats and looked at each other when you saw the name cards placed next to each other. You'd seen the seating chart beforehand, and the two of you had not been sat together according to earlier made plans.

Poppy.

Fucking Poppy and her stupid meddling.

It gave Joe a chance to explain more as the newly weds entered, and applause thundered before they started their first dance. With the both of you turned in your seats to watch you best friends sway in each other's arms, Joe got to talk.

Joe explained how he couldn't have given himself a finger, because he would've gone and grabbed for the full hand.

Joe told you how it was all a thing of self-deprivation, and that Poppy had been right when she said Joe had had feelings for you for a while.

Joe was no longer hiding anything. He no longer cared about keeping secrets. All the initial thoughts, the first things that would pop into his brain, it all came spilling out. Quietly, and rambly, but it was all there for you to soak up.

The misplaced jokes. The walking you home. The silent message Mark had sent him with a single shake of his head. The chats he had with Poppy about her insecurities that always included you. The shirt and tie and dress shoes he wore in his own house. The shared gelato, "I was crossing a line there, scolded myself for days after," Joe said, and you didn't think that was true. That was the first time Joe'd been slightly normal. The first time you felt you'd had a normal chat, had both felt brave enough to apologise to each other, and hadn't been hindered by adverse winds.

The dance ended, people clapped and after a small welcome toast, everyone turned in their seats and the first dinner course was served.

Joe glanced at you from the corner of his eye and leant into you a little, indicating he was listening - waiting for your reaction to all of it.

"You're a weirdo," you said into your glass of wine right before taking a sip, and Joe smirked, because, yea, he really fucking was a weirdo.

For a while you fell in conversation with others at the table. The evening flowed from the first course to the main, after which Poppy's dad gave a toast. Cute words for the newly weds, honorary mentions of the female best man and the male maid of honour that got a laugh from the room, and then, you and Joe got to do your speeches.

Throughout Joe's speech, Poppy cried into the napkin that Mark dabbed at her face before she took it from him. Throughout yours, you could barely hold it together yourself and it made Mark get up to come and hug you. You finished the speech together as Mark held you and Poppy filmed you with her phone. Mark read along with an arm wrapped around you as you stuttered meaningful words into the microphone, both of you sniffling, crying messes.

You loved Mark.

And Mark had gotten married to the best girl.

When applause filled the room again, and every single female relative of Mark over the age of 45 had awed at the two of you, you rushed over to hug Poppy.

You loved Poppy too, almost just the same. So you told her, spoke it into her hair, and it made her hug you tighter. Poppy hummed, and you expected her to say it back. Instead, she softly said, "We heard you in that closet," which squeezed a laugh right out of you and you scrunched noses at each other as you pulled back.

"You've got to tell me everything," Poppy said.

For a second you thought of denying it all. Considered pretending that you had no idea what she was talking about. But she looked so excited, all giddy at the prospect of you and Joe in a coat closet together. All she really knew was that you and Joe had kissed a couple weeks ago, and that Joe had done something that had upset you - that was it, no more details, at least that you were aware of.

"You stole the fucking rings from me," you said, and it confirmed enough, making Poppy squeal as she dug her fingers into your arms.

"So you made up? Are you okay?"

"Definitely still angry,"

"My God, what did his stupi–"

"Pop," Mark interrupted, and you thought it was because she was interfering. Like it was Mark's way of helping you out, because this was hardly something you were going to get into right now. Maybe even ever. But when you both looked at Mark, he pointed behind you at Poppy's father, because it was time for the father-daughter dance and it wasn't time to get worked up over something Joe had done a couple weeks ago when you had kissed him. Obviously.

You took Poppy's seat and sat next to Mark as you watched Poppy dance with her father, and it was weirdly emotional. It made your throat swell and hurt, but you managed to keep it all in there.

"So, was Poppy right, then?" Mark suddenly asked.

You blinked at him a second.

"About you and Joe?"

Mark's face gave away nothing about his intent, so you figured he just wanted to know. No judgment.

"I had the rings, didn't I?" was all you said, a small smile playing on your face as your crossed leg swung under the table. A slow grin grew over Mark's face as he frowned.

"The fuck you not telling me shit for? How long as this been going on?"

All you managed was a huffed laugh as your eyes found Mark's mother coming up behind him, and you smacked his shoulder before saying, "Is there not a mother-son dance that you're meant to be a part of?"

You knew it hadn't been scheduled in.

But you also knew what Mark's mother was like.

Seconds later, Mark and his mum joined Poppy and her dad and you leant your head into both of your hands, elbows resting up on the table and across the floor, you saw Joe.

He was also watching his friends, head perched on his fist as he leant an arm on the back of his chair.

Joe's real pretty, you thought. Did he look different to you now that you knew?

Yea.

Kind of.

Wait. He really kind of did.

Looked less like a distant, arrogant prick, maybe. Or perhaps he looked the same, but it was you who was seeing him in a different light now.

Joe must have felt your eyes on him, because you saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat and look around before his eyes found you. Joe looked right back at you, held your gaze, and for a moment you both had your heads resting on your hands and just... stared. Just admired. Looked right at each other, across the full length of the dance floor.

You were waiting for a smile to break across his face, but it never came. You thought maybe your mind should've been swirling with thoughts, but, it was eerily quiet up there. Just... look at him.

That man was in love with you?

Wild, honestly.

A visual deep breath from you got Joe to nod his head up at you, a small little raise of his chin, his eyes two big questionmarks, and he meant, what's up? You all right?

All you could really do was shrug as you shook your head a little, a small defeated smile below pinched eyebrows, and you meant, what the fuck are we going to do?

The song ended, people clapped, and then more people joined in to dance.

You kept eyes on each other, both skilled at keeping them trained in the exact right spot, no matter how many people broke the line of contact with their dancing bodies.

That was, until Poppy and Mark slid into your vision - not quite enough to make you break eye-contact, but enough to lean over and look from you, over to Joe, back to you again with shit-eating grins upon their faces.

They'd seen you look at each other and needed you to know that they had seen.

Mark made a face at you that made you want to punch him too hard on that divot between his bicep and tricep, where you could hit him right on a nerve.

Poppy started beckoning the both of you, wide arms waving for the both of you to meet on the dance floor, but before you could even properly think of how to react, the cake cutting was announced.

And Mark and Poppy were little shits.

Made you and Joe stand next to them, each holding a small glass plate, beautiful crystal, ready for them to cut two pieces of cake that they would feed each other and then you'd be ready to collect whatever chunks would be left in their hands.

You remembered how Poppy had been adamant, "If you smear any cake anywhere I'm immediately divorcing you, that's so fucking tacky," and Mark had laughed and argued that he the thought of pushing cake into her face hadn't even crossed his mind.

And Mark loved Poppy, and she trusted him. So there was no hesitation as they fed each other bites from larger chunks of cake that they held in their hands. And you were so ready with your little plate. So ready to be a good best man to Mark, to help him out, had a napkin in the other hand for him to wipe his hand on too.

Cameras flashed, people got pictures and videos of Poppy and Mark feeding each other and thank fuck, it was a clean ordeal. Just two small bites. No mess. Fantastic. Exactly what Poppy wanted.

But Mark and Poppy were little shits and they got you fast.

You and Joe ended up with cake smeared all over. There were shrieks and there was loud laughter and more cameras flashed, and there was buttercream in your eye, and you inhaled vanilla frosting way up into your nose which hurt. Marks hands got cake all over your face, and when he stopped to loudly laugh at his work, through a squinty eye you saw how Poppy got Joe worse.

Joe had cake all over his face, up in his hair and even down his suit.

"Poppy, stop! This is Gucci!" Joe cried out and it made you want to roll your eyes at him. Of course it was Gucci.

The napkin you'd been holding was about to wipe at your face, but Mark stopped you and pulled you in for a group shot with the four of you; you and Joe pushed together into the center, Mark and Poppy either side. Mark squished your cheeks with his one dirty cake hand and Poppy used hers to push against the side of Joe's head. It knocked his head nearly into yours and with the flash of the camera, both Mark and Poppy stepped away. Disappeared from your sides fast. Probably scared you were going to get them back.

And, oh man, you absolutely were going to get them back.

Later, though.

When they'd least expect it. Maybe do something dumb to their house whilst they were away on their honeymoon - you'd think of something.

"We should get new friends," Joe commented, gesturing for you to turn. Universal sign for, come on, follow me, to make it over to the bathrooms to get cleaned up.

"What do you mean? These ones fed us cake!" You joked, trying to pick icing from you eyelashes as you walked and it made Joe halt and drop his face at you.

"She missed my mouth!" he said pointedly, and you laughed as you pushed the swing door to the toilets before stepping inside. You blamed the sudden sense of privacy as you were no longer under the watchful eye of your best friends for what you said next.

"Impressive, that's a difficult mouth to miss,"

Joe narrowed his eyes at you as he studied your face. Your posture. It made him twitch inside his trousers. Was this going to go where he thought it might go?

Then, in the low light of the swanky dark hotel bathroom you were in, you reached a hand over and wiped a thumb across Joe's cheek all the way to the corner of his mouth. It pulled at his lips as you flicked it, scooping up buttercream and bits of cake from his face in between your index finger and thumb that you then brought to your mouth.

Yes, Joe thought. This was absolutely going to go where he thought it might go, and looking at you sucking your digits clean made him audibly groan.

Joe dropped his head and had to focus on breathing.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Deep breaths always helped.

Except, not really. Not this time, anyway. Why was the image of you covered in wedding cake making his dick hard?

Joe had to use a clean hand to adjust himself in his trousers. You saw.

"Yea? You want to finish what you started?" you smirked, eyes twinkling.

And Joe couldn't fucking believe what he was hearing. His eyebrows shot up, and he immediately tried to reason, "There's cake all over this Gucci suit," but he was already leaning in, fingers reaching for your mouth, his body fully betraying him, because how could it decline the invitation?

Joe's kisses tasted like wedding cake. Sickly sweet, vanilla and white chocolate, all sticky and... distant. Joe was leaning over as much as he could, kept his body as far away as possible whilst still making sure his mouth got want it wanted from you.

Joe was trying to stay clean and you weren't having it. It made you pull at him, and it made him lose his jacket.

It was gross, and you had to breathe through your mouth because there was cake up in your nose, but you kind of loved it and started pushing Joe back into a stall.

Joe let you, locking the door behind you before he continued, and you knew posh little clean pristine Joey probably had thoughts and opinions about getting dirty in the toilets of a hotel, swanky or not. But then Joe said, "This cake tastes good," when he licked some off your face and followed up with, "Best way to taste test," whilst you started gathering the fabric of your dress at the hips, slowly inching it upwards.

And like you had asked of him, Joe finished what he started in your kitchen a couple of weeks ago.

Got his big hands, those thick fingers, in all the places you wanted them. Got his mouth there too – he had to, couldn't stop himself. Got frosting all over your neck and all up between your thighs and it was the exact opposite of what you had come in there to do.

Joe had you whimpering and moaning when he eventually slid inside you, face to face this time, pressed up against the stall door, no more distance, and fuck, this was so much better.

You weren't exactly quiet, so he tried to stifle the noises escaping you by scooping frosting from your face into your mouth, which made you laugh, which in turn made him growl, "Oh my God, shit," because that felt fucking amazing.

You had to stop momentarily when you heard someone come in. Had to freeze on the spot, Joe deep inside you, big eyes looking at each other, and it felt a little like you were back in that coat closet. Too close to each other. Barely breathing. Hiding.

It just turned you on more.

Whoever had walked in muttered something about Joe's suit jacket that was on the floor, picked it up and then walked out with it. Presumably to go and find him. Was that Mark?

"Quick," you whispered, not wanting to get caught, and Joe said, "All right, yea, laugh again, come on," which wasn't a joke, but it still made you laugh.

Walking back into the wedding, wiped clean of all the wedding cake and with absolutely nothing running down your inner thighs, you realised you'd missed the bouquet toss. You didn't mind, but you knew you were probably going to get some shit from Poppy for it later.

To remain as unsuspicious as you could, Joe entered half a minute later but then immediately got you a drink, and came to stand beside you. You watched the dance floor for a second, both with drinks in hand, both not sure what to do or what to even say to each other.

What the fuck was your life right now?

Two sudden heavy hands landed on your shoulders, and it was Mark, startling you before he pulled you onto the dance floor with him. You were only just able to quickly pass your glass to Joe who swiftly took it from you before you disappeared into the crowd of dancing couples.

You expected Mark to mention it.

To at least say something about it.

But then he didn't, and you fucking loved him for it.

This is why you and Mark were the friends that you were. Anyone else would've said something, would've commented, joked, would have poked fun.

Not Mark.

Mark just wanted to dance with his best friend, his best man, at his wedding and you could tell he was well on his way to getting drunk because his eyes were half the size they usually were.

"I know I always say that you don't deserve Poppy, because she's too good for you,"

"She is," Mark agreed and smiled at you.

"No, I was wrong. I think you're the perfect fit. Exactly right for each other,"

You saw Mark look over your shoulder, and his eyes went all droopy and lovesick. You knew he had to be looking at Poppy.

His wife.

A quick check proved you right, and you saw Poppy dance with Joe and fuck. Why was Joe looking at her like that? All soft and sweet, like he was the one who had just married her instead of Mark?

In a flash you realised it. And...

Oh no.

Envy.

That was envy?! Shit. Had that been envy this whole fucking time?!

"What's up?" Mark asked, a little confused at what he'd just seen across your face.

"Nothing," you were quick, tried to hide all of it with a smile.

"What?" Mark persisted and you sighed, all deep and heavy, turning back to look at Joe who was still looking at Poppy like the sun shone out of her ass as they slowly swayed to the music together.

"No, it's... it's not– why does he look at her like that?"

Mark blinked at you.

"Sorry?"

"No, never mind, it's stupid, let's not–" you backtracked immediately.

"Oh my God," Mark exclaimed and then laughed loudly, head thrown back before he let it slump forward.

"I might as well have fucking married you today, what the actual fuck, you're– it is true! You and Poppy are literally the same person, it's so– this is so creepy!"

And yes, okay, it was a little creepy that, when Mark and Poppy had just started dating, Poppy apparently had asked Mark about why he would look at you like you were the reason he was even alive to begin with. Mark told you she would still sometimes bring it up when they argued, and Mark would always say, "I don't know! I love her! I can't help what my eyes do!" and Poppy would shout, "That's weird Mark, I am your girlfriend!"

It humbled you real fast.

It had never occurred to you what you and Mark looked like when you communicated with just looks. With eyes and subtle facial changes and this stupid spark of jealousy, which you now recognised was exactly what that was, made you want to go hug Poppy.

So that's what you did.

You took rushed steps and then pried yourself in between Joe and Poppy to hug her.

"My girls," you heard Mark say, but he was quick to correct himself and followed it up with, "Our girls."

Made you want to give him a black eye.

But then Poppy mused, "Our boys." and it kind of felt exactly right.

"My wife," Mark continued, using the offensive Borat accent, and Poppy replied, "My husband," in a Russian accent, the h pronounced as a hard g, because why not. Before you knew it they were making out all gross again, like they had down at the bar where you'd met after the hen do and stag do.

"Yeaaa, why not?" Joe said under his breath, nose all scrunched up.

"You said something about getting new friends?" you joked, and it made Mark find the side of your head to push you away. You laughed as you nearly lost your balance, and Joe laughed as he reached out both arms to make sure that you didn't.

"Come on, let's dance,"

And it was all fun and games getting Joe to make you come on his mouth in a toilet stall before he railed you, but you still had questions. Were still mad for him leaving you in your kitchen without explanation.

Learning that Joe had been having feelings for you just confused you more.

So you danced as you held onto each other because that's how everyone else was dancing, and you decided the moment was another one for you to steal.

"Why did you leave that night?"

Joe took in your question and slowly inhaled through flared nostrils.

"You just walked right out,"

It was the worst thing he could've ever done and he was an idiot, Joe agreed. Good, you thought. At least you were on the same page about it. Joe revealed how learning of how you and Mark had become friends had thrown him for a loop, because there he was, head over heels and finally getting to know you better. Spending more time with you. Granting himself normal human interactions that he hadn't been able to afford himself before you'd been given this job together. And then there you were, telling him how traumatic it had been that guys always seemed to want more from you.

More.

Like Joe wanted more.

Joe couldn't be one of those guys. Didn't want to add to your hurt. And you were also both drunk, and had been shouting at each other in a bar, and that wasn't how he had wanted any of that to go. But, he was still an idiot, and he should have never left.

You nodded and agreed.

"Yes, you are an idiot, and you should have never left... but that's also weirdly considerate,"

"Well, you have been calling me weird behind my back a lot, or so I've heard,"

Big sigh.

Mark and Poppy were not to be trusted.

"Listen…" you chose to ignore what Joe'd just accused you of. "I feel very tender about little teenage me. Fourteen-year-old me felt a lot, did everything with all of her feelings. Went through life feelings first, thoughts second. Out of everyone, out of everything, she makes me cry the most… but I’m not her. Not anymore. I’ve not been her in over a decade, I’m not– I'm not fragile like that anymore, I’m tough now!"

The way Joe had been looking at you as you talked was the same way he'd always look at Poppy... but, times twenty.

Head tilted to the side, eyes half-lidded, a slow smile pulling at his cheeks – and, all right, if this was the type of shit Joe had done his best to hide from you all this time, why he made sure to stay unapproachable and cold, you kind of understood.

"Okay," was all Joe said through a wide smile.

"Okay?"

"Yea. Okay."

So, it was okay.

And when Poppy and Mark passed you, she peeked over Joe's shoulder and asked you again, "Did he apologise? Are you all good now?" and by ways of answering her, you bit into Joe's shoulder. It meant, not entirely. Not yet. But I think we will be.

It made Joe chuckle and pull you close, taking your face into his hands and pressing slow kisses onto each one of your eyelids. It nearly made your knees buckle, and that's when he said it.

Blurted it right out.

Soft enough for only you to hear, but somehow still threateningly loud, because the words rung in your ears.

"I love you."

It hitched your breath immediately.

"No, that's too soon,"

"It's been years,"

Yea, for Joe, maybe. But it had only been, what, eight hours for you. You agreed then and there that if you were going to do this, you were going to do this slow.

Do things slow to get them right.

Like normal people would do.

And sure, normal people wouldn't have the same starting point the two of you had, but it was whatever. Joe could pretend. You told Joe to ignore how he'd just eaten you out whilst you were both covered in cake and got him all flustered as he shushed you, afraid people would hear.

You said Joe could think crazy things. Things like I love you and that, but he couldn't actually say it. Not out loud anyway. Not for you to hear. You didn't care what he told Poppy about you. That was none of your business.

Yes.

You were going to do this sensibly, astutely and normally.

But, then, you weren't really normal people, were you?

Because all throughout that first week, in just those seven days, there had been moments where you'd thought those words too.

When you'd been on your way out on Tuesday morning after staying the night, and had to walk past Joe who was putting that picture of him and Poppy back up in his hallway, except now a new larger frame held the unfolded version that had you and Mark in as well.

And then again when you'd come over on Thursday for dinner, and Joe opened the door in blue jeans, bare feet and a white T-shirt that had a hole just below the collar.

A hole.

You thought you'd never see the day.

And then a couple of hours ago, when you'd been over at Mark and Poppy's for drinks, and they'd pulled out a game to play. It was you and Mark against Poppy and Joe, and whereas Mark and Poppy got ruthlessly competitive, you noticed Joe was doing everything in his power to sabotage the game, making you win.

It's just that you'd decided you weren't just going to blurt it out willy nilly, all haphazardly. Especially not after Joe got you all comfortable in his bed, massaged your shoulders, your back, your legs and then your ass before he'd undressed you fully and made you feel like you were the most important thing in his life right now.

No.

You were keeping those words in for a stupid moment.

Like when you'd catch him digging dirt from under his fingernails whilst trying to be all sly about it.

Or when he'd pretend he didn't mind that you left his kitchen all dirty, but then casually went to clean the entire room straight away.

Or when he'd wake up in a panic when he slept through an alarm, knowing that if you'd say it then, it'd only make him later to whatever he was already late for.

You didn't know. But you'd think of something.

And you were lucky, because there was something grounding, something very secure about knowing that the person who you would say it to wouldn't hesitate to say it back. Would probably repeat it a thousand times then if he could. Kiss you on your eyelids again to make you swoon.

Joe fell asleep that night with you on your side of his bed and you played with his hand until you heard soft snores beside you. What had been so weird before had grown to be just right in the span of just a few days.

And it was all right.

Because Joe was in love with you, and you were in love with Joe.

And that was all that mattered.

the end

---

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[writing-house-of-m]

Falling for you

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha is in love with you and decides to tell you

A/N: I was so impressed with myself when I came up with the title lol The request can be found here. Comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

Prompt: "Oh, I'm falling in love."

"It was when I saw you giving flowers to Wanda once. I saw the gesture and it hit me like a ton of bricks. The way you looked at her. I wanted someone to look at me like that. I learned afterwards not 'someone,' I wanted you to look at me like that.

"It was as if my mind held up a queue card telling me how I felt about you. I realised, 'Oh, I'm falling in love,' but the more I thought about it the more I realised I've been in love with you for a while and I didn't know what to do."

Natasha started speaking after you made a joke about her playing hide and seek. Nobody knew where she was when you noticed her missing for a while and got curious where she might have been. She was looking out at the view motionless before you got there for you don't know how long.

You regret making your joke.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. Maybe because I'm sick of holding it all in.

"In the red room it was always 'love is just something used to brainwash childish minds', 'A chemical reaction, nothing more' and for the longest time I agreed. I have never experienced it before and didn't think I ever would…

"Until you."

She looks at you emotionally. It's the most vulnerable you have seen her. The 'Black Widow' on the verge of tears because of you,

"Natasha,"

And there is nothing you can say to make her feel better.

"I do love you, just not in the same way. I'm really sorry," you see in the way Natasha drops her head, the devastation she is feeling, "but my heart will always belong to Wanda."

She lets out a sad laugh, looking out at the setting sun in the horizon, orange and pink painting the sky, "Figures," she scoffs, "the person I fall for, already taken," she says, sniffling.

There are a few moments of tense silence before you decide to break it, in hopes to lighten the mood a little, "Well, if it's any consolation Wanda aspires to have your 'hot bod'," you jest, then raise your hands and eyebrows innocently, "her words, not mine."

It does make her laugh but shortly after, silence prevails and you both bask in it. You stay there in each others presence long after darkness takes over and white dots fill the night sky.

…

Shortly after your conversation on the roof you move out of the compound. It was something you and Wanda had been discussing anyway but you thought it would be easier for Natasha if you weren't there. To you it would have felt like you were rubbing your relationship in her face after her confession. But for Natasha, she missed seeing you everyday.

As always life continues, work takes over. Your time together is reduced to when you are assigned to the same missions. Natasha realises quickly her feelings for you will never falter. So she makes the most of the time she gets with you.

It doesn't take long for that to be taken from her as well.

…

Natasha felt your presence missing from this world. Prior to everything that happened, you hadn't been at the compound for the longest time but at least she knew you were out there and happy. But now? There was a gaping hole in the shape of you that was missing and it was unfair for everyone, not just herself.

It is why she makes the decision to go to Vormir.

The world is better with you in it.

Even if she won't be here to witness it.

As she is falling to her demise, the sound of wind rushing past her ears she closes her eyes to see your smiling face.

The memory of you stood on the rooftop trying to make her laugh. The picture can be compared to a piece of artwork with the way the warm setting sunlight hits off your skin and makes your eyes shine.

Natasha is glad to have such a picturesque image of you in her final seconds that she can find comfort in behind her eyelids.

Despite the cold climate and the circumstances her body is filled with warmth knowing she is the reason there is the possibility to bring you back. At least then you will have a chance at starting that family you and Wanda announced.

As that final image slips away along with her consciousness, Natasha thinks about the fact that even though she could never have you. You always had her.

[nolita-fairytale]

still into you | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter two: friday

summary: big announcements are made at the james beard house dinner, and carmy tells you how much you mean to him.

warnings: swearing, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking

word count: 4.6k

listen to: in transit - albert hammond jr. | nightswimming - r.e.m | friday i'm in love (cover) - phoebe bridgers (playlist here)

a/n: remember when i accidentally posted this earlier today at the start of the american work day? that was weird. anyways...

read: chapter one | bonus smut scene

Friday

The way that the four of you flow together is like a symphony – each one of you so committed to your craft – to excellence – and the feeling you get sends chills down your spine. It’s a sign of how far you all have come, which is what the menu is all about this evening. It was Syd and Carmy’s idea: each dish presented this evening would embody a part of The Bear’s story. You’d even worked with Marcus on elevating his signature chocolate cake, wanting to keep the heart and soul of it, even if it had to lean a little more towards the fine dining side of things.

Never in a million years would Carmy have thought that, on his first day at The Beef, that you’d all end up here. After all the chaos, all the swimming upstream, it felt near-impossible that something so disorganized and broken could become something so beautiful. 

He’s near-shaking at the idea of what he has to do next, but he also knows that this is a story he has to tell. It’s not really something he’s spoken about – at least publicly – and not to the food world. 

But he can’t tell the story of The Bear without Michael. 

He feels like he’s sweating through his chef whites, but you remind him that he’s going to be great. It’s a huge step in his healing journey and after a long talk about it, Carmy had decided it was something he felt he wanted to do. 

“Before we wrap up the evening, we have one more dish before dessert,” Carmy says, earning the attention of the dining room full of people. 

He hopes his voice isn’t shaking too much, and he nervously fidgets with a spoon he’s holding in his hands while you and Sydney stand behind him as literal and emotional support.

His face feels hot. He feels like he wants to throw up and cry at the same time, and he looks back at you for reassurance. 

You nod your head in his direction, a comforting smile on your face, as Sydney grabs your hand. You’re both nervous for him. 

You can do it, Bear. Let it rip. 

“As some of you may know, three years ago I left New York to go back home and take over the family restaurant – the restaurant that would eventually become The Bear,” he explains.

“This dish is uh… it’s really special to me,” he says, trying his best not to let his voice break as he continues.

“It’s an ode to my late brother: a play on the braciole he used to make for me and my sister every Sunday.” 

The dining room gets quiet, each person hanging onto every single word that Carmy says, his vulnerability palpable. 

Carmy suddenly feels emotionally exposed, but he knows there’s no turning back now. He can practically hear Mikey’s voice in his head, encouraging him, pushing him to let it rip. Knowing that he’s got you and Sydney behind him gives Carmy the extra boost of confidence he needs to get through this speech. 

As he explains each component of the dish, it becomes easier to fake it: fake some confidence, fake that he’s not crumbling inside. Carmy knows how to talk about food so he leans into it, even if it feels like his voice is caught in his throat. It feels like second nature -- like falling into an old pattern he's practiced a thousand times -- as he hides behind his tough, calculating, diligent exterior. But he feels as if he’s just put his open, bleeding heart on a plate, and it's impossible for him not to feel.

Carmy clears his throat before concluding his presentation with, “So thank you again for dining with us this evening. Uh… Chef Sydney has some news she’d uh… we’d like to share with everyone.” 

He thanks the gods that he made it through.

He can’t wait to get out of the spotlight. 

Carmy moves aside, letting Sydney take center stage, and he can feel the blood rush through his head – an almost dizzy-feeling. As he stands next to you, you bump up against his shoulder, giving him some comforting touch, in an effort to ground him.

“Thank you, chef,” Sydney begins, glancing back at Carmy. “And thank you for sharing this dish with us. I know that it’s something you hold close to your heart and our story of The Bear wouldn’t be complete without it.”

The dining room full of people begins clapping once again and it gives Carmy a moment to zip himself back up emotionally. He only reminds himself that he has a few moments left of being in front of people. While he may be an expert at fooling everyone else with his stoic exterior, you can see he’s struggling to hold it together.

“And thank you again to everyone for coming out tonight. We have some really exciting news to share. After putting our heart and soul into The Bear, we are at a point in its journey where we can expand,” Sydney begins, earning a few excited whispers from the room.

“We felt tonight would be the perfect time to announce that we will be opening up a second restaurant – a separate concept that I will be leading as CDC in Chicago. I’m really excited to have this opportunity to develop my own concept with my business partner, Carmen Berzatto, and to lead my own kitchen.”

The entire room erupts with applause once again as the wait staff begin to bring out Carmy’s perfectly plated beef dish. Carmy nods as a signal to you and Syd and you both follow him back into the kitchen. 

“Stay. I’ll go help Marcus,” Sydney says to you, reassuringly.

She rubs a sympathetic hand over Carmy’s upper back before saying, “Good work, chef.”

Sydney hurries over into the prep kitchen to help Marcus plate dessert, while you hang back with Carmy in the hallway. He’s avoiding your gaze and you can tell he’s trying his best not to lose it right then and there. His body is still – frozen in a moment of time. There’s a tension that runs across his chest and into his shoulders that hadn’t been there at the start of the night. He looks like he hasn’t taken a breath since his speech began either. 

“That was really beautiful, Bear,” you say softly. He still won’t look at you, but you understand why.

“Thanks,” he nods curtly. 

There’s a silent tension between the two of you and you know what you need to do next. 

“What do you need?” you ask. 

“Think I uh-, just need a little fresh air,” he mumbles, his voice breaking a little, before clearing his throat again. 

“‘Course. Marcus, Syd and I have got this,” you encourage him. 

You wait as Carmy slips out back for a break, before making your way back into the kitchen. Loving Carmy through his grief sometimes looked different. Some days he’d need space. Other times he’d need you – crawling into your arms and allowing you to care for him. Together, you’ve had to learn how to ask, and he’s had to learn how to tell you what he needs. 

“How’s Carmy?” Sydney asks with a concerned look on her face, causing Marcus to look up from the plate he’s working on. 

“He’s okay. Just needs a break,” you answer. You’re not worried about him. You know how painful that was for Carmy, and you’re more than happy to give him the space he needs to sit with it. 

“What can I do?”

And then Marcus is handing you a few extra plates, asking you to double check his previous count to ensure that every single plate went out in a timely manner. 

Carmy returns about ten minutes later, ready to jump back in. He’d just needed a timeout – a moment to feel the enormous swell of emotions that had come up when talking about Michael to a dining room of eighty people. Soon enough, he’s helping plate the tiny chocolate layer cakes, with an olive oil ice cream, and a tahini caramel drizzled over the top. 

Dessert is the last dish to be brought out, and as Marcus presents, the four of you receive a standing ovation at the James Beard House. It’s like for the first time in a week, Carmy can breathe again. He feels like a one hundred pound weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, and his heart swells with pride over how the night’s gone. Everyone’s liked the food, you all have worked so beautifully as a team this evening, and he can’t believe he got through his fucking speech without crying in front of everyone. 

Entirely exhausted yet filled with a grand sense of accomplishment, the four of you drag yourselves out of the James Beard House and back out onto the streets of NYC. You’re not sure who suggests it, but you’re grateful the idea has been brought up as you’re carrying pizzas you picked up on the way back to the hotel. Piled onto the two full beds in Marcus and Sydney’s room, the four of you can finally celebrate a job well done. 

“Yo, I think I like the Sicilian slice better,” Marcus says, polishing off another piece of the pepperoni and mushroom. 

“Oof,” Carmy sounds, watching your face for your reaction. “You’re playing with fire, Marcus.”

Sydney snorts, “Fuck. We’re finally able to relax. No one kill each other, please.”

“What? We’ve already had the Chicago vs New York pizza debate,” Marcus says, throwing up his hands as if he’s innocent. I know what I’m getting myself into! I’m just sayin’ the Scilian slice is giving mad Chicago vibes and it’s dope.” 

You laugh, shaking your head, while Carmy playfully nudges you. 

“Okay, while pepperoni and mushroom is a classic and you know I have mad respect that, as a New Yorker… hard disagree on your style of pizza, chef,” you say back, starting on a new slice of one of the remaining NY Style pies. 

“You know what’s fucking fire? Pepperoni and jalapenos – pickled, not fresh,” Sydney chimes in and you all reply in a chorus of agreement. 

“Hundred percent,” Carmy says. 

“Never fresh. The sour tangy brine is key,” you add. “At least we can all agree on something. 

“You know what’s fucking wild?” Marcus begins, looking across the three of you. “We made this whole fancy ass meal, yet we’re eating pizza in a hotel room at the end of the night.” 

Carmy laughs dryly, “Yeah, man. It’s kinda par for the course.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Seriously!” Sydney exclaims.

“Speaking of, how was your stage at per se?” you inquire, curious to hear about his experience in the fine dining kitchen. “We barely had time to catch up this morning about it.” 

Truthfully, you’d all been so focused on tonight going well that no one had really talked about it. 

“Man,” Marcus sighs. “It was cool. But like. Now I know what you guys are talking about when you say a chef only let you zest lemons for three months.”

You laugh in response, thinking back to the time blood orange juice caused you an existential crisis. That existential crisis – the one that led you to quitting your job, leaving fine dining behind for good. 

“And it’s like… the whole staff works as a machine. Kitchen’s more like a science lab than a kitchen. I got lucky, huh?” Marcus continues and Carmy shakes his head. 

“Yeah, per se’s a lot like where we used to work,” Carmy says with a shrug. 

“Should’ve seen Alinea. It’s very… science lab meets art school,” Sydney adds. “Inspiring… but cold.” 

“Damn,” Marcus shakes his head, feeling luckier than ever that he got to learn from the three of you instead. 

“Wait. Syd, how was your supper club?” you ask, suddenly remembering that she hadn’t had a chance to tell any of you yet. She had, after all, gotten home late last night, only to get up early to go with Carmy to Chelsea Market. 

“Oh my god,” she gloats. “So fucking cool. Like unreal. You guys have to come with me next time.” 

“I uh-,” she starts again, as if she has a secret. “They actually asked me to come back and do a pop-up dinner, especially with the new restaurant opening. I mean, they want to do a collab with me!”

“Okay, I see you,” Marcus calls out, proud of his friend. 

“Of course they do!” you cheer her on. 

“What do you think, chef?” she asks Carmy, searching for approval in the way his face changes as he hears the news. 

“I think… you’d be silly not to. We’ll work out a time for you to come back up here once we get the new restaurant up and running,” Carmy reassures, respect and pride in his eyes as he exchanges a look with Sydney. 

“And of course, I want you guys back here with me. Like… are we the fuckin’ dream team, or are we the fuckin’ dream team?” Sydney celebrates, reliving the memories of this evening. 

Tonight has been so incredible and Sydney wonders if this is what it feels like to be at the top of your career. She wants to savor the moments of this weekend, replaying them over and over again in her head. 

“Oh 100%,” Marcus confirms with confidence.

“Absolutely,” you promise.

A temporary quiet settles between the four of you as you reflect on the evening. Carmy is quiet again, caught up in his head as he’s filled with a deep sense of gratitude: for all of your hard work, for how well the evening went, for his team. 

You all are his people. 

And he’s never had people before. 

Not until now. 

“Thank you guys. For tonight,” he says, his tone serious. “You guys were rockstars, and... I couldn’t have done it – any of this – without you.” 

“Aw, Carmy,” Sydney smiles, savoring this rare tender moment with Carmy. 

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Marcus reinforces.

“Of course,�� you smile proudly. 

You each take a moment to feel it all: accomplishment, the gratitude, the love and genuine respect you all have for each other.

“Not to ruin the moment or anything,” you begin, half apologetically. “If anyone’s up for more fun food debates tomorrow, Carmy and I have a fun little tradition I’d love to share you guys.” 

You and Carmy exchange glances and it’s as if he can read your mind. 

“Walking dumpling tour?” he questions. 

You confirm with a nod. 

“What’s the-?” Marcus begins to ask as Sydney finishes his question with, “... the walking dumpling tour?”

“A fun little thing we used to when we still lived here,” you reply. “Hit up as many dumpling spots as we can in search of the best pork dumplings that Chinatown can offer. Hell, I’ll make up a scorecard and we can rate them.”

“Sounds fun. I’m in,” Marcus says. 

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Sydney agrees. 

Carmy checks the time on his phone. 

“Yo, it’s getting pretty late. We should probably head to bed,” Carmy says to you. 

“Oh shit. It’s almost midnight?” Sydney asks, seeing the time on the hotel room clock. 

“Yeah. Guys, this has been fun. Seriously, great work tonight. I’ve missed this so much,” you sigh, totally satiated. 

“You know there’s always room for you at The Bear,” Marcus says genuinely, before adding, in a more teasing tone, “You can send me your resume and I’ll take a look. Nah I’m just playin’!”

You laugh, playfully rolling your eyes, “Okay, it is definitely bed time.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, goodnight you guys,” Marcus replies.

“Goodnight.”

As you and Carmy leave Sydney and Marcus’ room, it dawns on you that you’re not quite ready to go to bed. While you’re exhausted, and should be in a carb-induced sleepy pizza-coma, you’re wired from the adrenaline of being back in the kitchen. 

“Hey, Carm?” you ask, stopping him as he fumbles with the room key. 

“What’s up?” he asks back. 

You pause for a moment, and as you speak, there’s a certain hesitance in your voice, like it’s the first time you’re asking someone out on a date.

“Do you want a drink?”

He’s caught off guard by your tone of voice, curious to know where this is going. 

“Now?” he asks back with a half-smile plastered to his face.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I-, I don’t know if I’m ready to go to bed yet.” 

You can see the hesitation on his face as he thinks it through. While Carmy knows there are plenty of bars still open in NYC right now, he’s not sure he wants to leave the hotel. 

And neither do you. 

You offer your hand to him, “C’mon. I’ve got an idea.”

*

“I don’t know if we’re supposed to be here,” Carmy states nervously, looking around the empty room. 

He’s bouncing his knee up and down as he sits on a bar stool, alternating between watching you behind the bar, and looking around to check for anyone who may catch you. The bar itself is poorly lit, save for the pool lights outside, that come flooding in through the large floor to ceiling windows. 

“We’re not,” you reply, without a care in the world.

He lowers his voice before asking, “What if we get caught?”

You giggle, “You are such a baby, Carmen.” 

He rolls his eyes as you search for what you need, pouring the appropriate combination of liquors into an old fashioned glass.

Gin. Campari. Vermouth

After stirring them together over ice, you reach for an orange and y-peeler that the bar is stocked with, shaving off a piece of the orange peel. 

“Besides, isn’t that the fun part?” you ask, a glimmer of mischief flashing across your face. 

Carmy shakes his head, averting his eyes as he brings his hand up to his mouth, “You’re a bad influence on me.” 

You snort in response and it’s your turn to roll your eyes at him. 

“And you love it, my little rule-follower.”

“Relax, Carm. I’m gonna leave $40 behind the bar for what we took and we can go back to the room when I’m done if you’re so worried about it,” you offer as a compromise, the tone of your voice still a rebellious one. 

He has to admit that he finds your devil may care attitude incredibly sexy. Carmy’s not sure whether he’s anxious or turned on right now. 

 “Yes chef,” he finally agrees, cheekily. 

“Lighter, please,” you request.

Carmy pulls his lighter from his pocket, tossing it to you. You catch it, immediately flicking it on, using the flame to torch the orange slice. 

Just a spritz of the orange, and then the rest of the peel for garnish.

You hand Carmy the drink from across the bar, before working on your second one.

He looks down at the deep red colored liquid before saying, “Sweetheart, you know I hate gin.” 

But you’re one step ahead of him. 

Only moments later, you’re stepping around the bar with a second glass of whiskey on the rocks prepared for him. You trade glasses with him, and he can’t take his eyes off of you as you finally say:

“Cheers.” 

Clink. 

“Cheers.”

You both take your respective first sips, making sure to hold eye contact with him as you do. He looks at you, and you’re not sure if he’s more surprised that you haven’t gotten caught or that he’s willfully watched you break into the hotel pool bar. 

“Thought you said we could take these back to the room,” he challenges. 

You smirk, even though your heart is filled with pure adoration for the man standing across from you. 

“Yes, chef.”

It’s an easy choice to take your drinks back to the room, opening the french doors that lead to the terrace. You pull a spare blanket from the hotel room closet, curling up with it outside. You drape the blanket over both you and Carmy as you settle down on his lap. He’s brought his lighter and a cigarette out with you, so you close the french doors behind you so that he can light one up. 

You haven’t stayed up this late with Carmy in a while. It feels good – spontaneous and a little rebellious – like anything could happen at any given moment. New York City always seems to bring this side out in you. 

It’s home. 

But Carmy is also your home. 

Having the two of them here all at once is an indescribable feeling. You enjoy the bitter taste of your negroni, the cool spring air kissing your skin as you sit on your boyfriend’s lap. Carmy enjoys his cigarette, his whiskey sitting on the patio table in front of the two of you, as he exhales the smoke away from you. 

“Does being back here feel… I don’t know. Weird to you?” Carmy asks, breaking the quiet between the two of you. 

It’s like he can read your mind, again.

“Yeah,” you answer. “But it’s a good weird. I think maybe because we have all these memories here, you know?”

He takes another drag off the cigarette and it’s your turn to ask him a question. 

“I wonder what would’ve happened if you hadn’t spilled your drink on me that night. You think we still would’ve become friends?”

He’s quiet for a moment as he thinks about it. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, answering honestly. 

You let out a small laugh. 

“Hell of a way to get a girl’s attention.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“Bullshit.”

He’s telling the truth – sort of. He hadn’t been trying to get your attention, though he had spent most of the night racking his brain for any kind of conversation starter – get out of his own fuckin’ head. But he’d spent most of the night overthinking and coming up with reasons not to. He had sort of been your boss back then, after all.

He waits a beat before admitting, “And maybe the only way I would’ve even talked to you that night.”

You hum in response, taking another sip of your negroni. 

“Even then I thought I’d fully fuckin’ blown it.”

“You didn’t,” you say, shaking your head. 

“Uh… yeah I did,” he smiles, shooting you a ‘c’mon’ kind of look. “The first time you ever actually talked to me and… you’re fuckin’ furious. I was terrified.”

You can remember your first real conversation with Carmy fondly – even if it hadn’t been the fondest experience at the time.

“Baby, you ruined my shirt!” you exclaim with a laugh. “I had every right to be mad at you.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d see another day after that,” Carmy recalls, shaking his head. 

“Also. Who drinks a soda the night they get the biggest promotion of their career?” you add, referring to the coke he’d spilled all over you the night he’d gotten promoted to CDC. 

“Pop,” he corrects you. “... is a perfectly normal thing to drink at a bar.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “It’s not. But I love you anyway.”

The staff of the restaurant had wanted to go out and celebrate Carmy’s new position, only Carmy hadn’t seemed like he was in much of a mood for celebrating as he’d refused shots all night. He’d been so nervous to talk to you all night, the recently hired pastry chef, and you’d assumed he hated you considering his cold and stoic demeanor at work seemed to translate to you outside of it as well. He thought for sure he’d blown any chance of getting to talk to you that night, when you accidentally bumped into him and he’d spilled his soda all over you. Your shirt was soaked through, and your friends had rushed in with a spare t-shirt for you to change into. You’d come to find days later that it was Carmy’s shirt that he’d had in his bag.

That soda – and his chivalry that evening –  had set it all in motion.

“After all that, think we’d be here?” he asks, his eyes more like a sad, sweet puppy than ever before.

“No,” you answer honestly with a half smile. “But once I got to know you, I hoped maybe we could get here.”

He sighs, searching for the right words to tell you how he feels. The love you have together is more than he ever thought was possible for himself, and being back here with you has brought up so many memories of not feeling like enough. 

“It kinda feels…” he begins to say, choosing his words carefully. He wants to get it right. “...like. I don’t know. Kinda like we’re going backwards and forwards at the exact same time, you know?” 

You take another sip of your drink, processing what he’s said. He’s nailed it and you just need a moment to sit with his words.

“Yeah,” you sigh, like he’s finally named that thing you hadn’t been able to. “Like our past and our present are colliding or something.”

Carmy nods in agreement, “Yeah.”

You sit together in your comfortable quiet, listening to the sounds of the city below you: sirens, car horns, music from the bodega across the street. 

“I don’t know if I ever told you… how much your friendship meant to me back then. I wasn’t… well, I wasn’t in a great place,” Carmy admits, his eyes piercing and honest with his words. There’s a sadness to him and you wonder if this has been weighing on him over the last few days on top of everything else. 

“I know, sweetheart,” you reply empathetically. 

“I know we’ve talked about…” he trails off, searching for what he wants to say. “... how much we mean to each other now. But you meant so much to me back then too. I don’t-, I don’t know if I ever told you.” 

“Carmy,” you say, your heart swelling with love for the sad mess of a man whose arms you’re wrapped up in. “You didn’t need to. I-, I knew because… because you meant so much to me back then too.” 

He pauses, wondering if he should keep going, and coming to the conclusion that he wants to – not for your sake, but for his. 

Because he wants to tell you. 

“When we met… I wasn’t… planning on letting anyone in,” he continues. 

“Hmmm, didn’t notice,” you joke with him. 

He gives your hips a squeeze, causing you to giggle as you snuggle a little closer to him, hugging the blanket around the both of you. 

“I thought for sure I didn’t need anyone. Sure as hell didn’t want anyone. Had gone so long without someone to-. It just didn’t make sense for me anymore.”

You listen quietly, wanting him to give him the space to say what he needs to say. 

“You know, my sister used to say, she used to tell me that one day I’d wake up and I’d need someone. Someone other than Mikey and his friends – the kids I grew up with. And I didn’t believe her. And then he cut me out and-. And I got really fuckin’ good at it. At the food. At being alone….”

And then you came along.

“But you didn’t push me… you didn’t ask me to be anyone that I-. You just… let me be me… even if I didn’t give you much to work with at first. I think… Sugar was right. I needed a friend back then… and you were always a friend. Are always… It’s why I love you.” 

You’re grinning, and you’re also so, so proud of him – how far he’s come – to be able to tell you all of this. 

You lean over to set your drink down on the patio table. You only have one thing to say him, as you hold his head between both of your hands:

“I’m so in love with you, Bear.”

*

read: chapter three

a/n: the above first conversation/meeting that carmy x reader talk about WILL be written for my 'make my heart surrender' prequel everyone buckle up for the will-they-won't-they bc we all know THEY WILL

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos

[butmakeitgayblog]

what do you think was going through lexas head the night she showed up in the black nite gown. i believe she definitely had to hype herself up before even showing up at clarkes door at all, how many times did she start walking to her room or even knocking on her door. did she repeat what she'd say on the long walk there and what her guards might think because we know lexa second guesses everything to do with clarke. how do you think that scene should have went? lexa couldnt have been more vulnerable in that scene look and all... she just wanted clarkes love so much...

I wrote a long post once before of how I wished the scene had gone, which should be tagged in the Clexa tagged below (I'll to find it after this and add the link if I can)

But if I'm thinking just from Lexa's pov, yeah I think there was a lot of conflicting feelings there. I think that scene was the most just pure Lexa we had seen thus far. Yes she still fell back on the safety of using her commander stoicism as a shield, but with Lexa, everything she did had a deeper meaning than surface value because those were the only ways she really felt comfortable and safe communicating.

For this night in particular I think Lexa was probably grappling between the want to respect Clarke's wishes for distance, but still wanting to see her. I mean think about what had just happened. Clarke had been visibly upset at the prospect of Lexa fighting Roan, visibly angry and scared at the idea that something could happen to her in that fight. She went so far as to try and fucking assassinate the ice nation queen (which,,, the amount of conflicting feelings that alone must've stirred up) just to keep Lexa from danger.

She had tried to protect Lexa.

And she'd shown up even when Lexa didn't think she would. When Lexa walked past stage of clan leaders, she'd looked up and seen Clarke's seat vacant, just as she had expected it would be. But then, oh, then there Clarke was. Not only there, but standing definitively on her side. She was backing Lexa and quietly willing for her victory.

And dammit, that had to mean something.

Didn't it?

I think all of that was playing in repeat in her mind as she got ready. The unsure wobble of her stomach, the residual guilt of everything that had torn them apart, the hope that things were mending. Questioning whether Clarke would even want to see her and the little zings of thrill that maybe, just maybe they were past a lot of the pain.

I think she wanted to very honestly tell Clarke that she appreciated her support, even if she might be reading too much into things, because it was a very tangible way for Lexa to be vulnerable in a way Clarke could appreciate on her own terms. Lexa had had so few people in her life who supported her beyond just the crown of Heda, but Clarke knows her more than that. She knows Lexa. Which was why I believe she thoughtfully and consciously went to Clarke's as Lexa, not Heda. I think she was trying very hard to be vulnerable with her in the few ways she knew how.

"Not everyone. Not you."

"I do trust you, Clarke."

"I vow to treat your needs as my own."

"This is, 'thank you.'"

Do I think she wanted Clarke to accept her back into space without barriers? Yeah, I do. I think a piece of her, however small, hoped that that night would be a defining turning point in their relationship. Both physically and emotionally. I think Lexa at that point was yearning for closeness with Clarke. More intimacy. She wanted to be forgiven. She wanted that intimacy to more than fleeting moments. She wanted Clarke.

But I also think that Lexa was never foolish enough to assume it'd be that easy. While she may have allowed herself moments of hope - like the one that lead her right to Clarke's door, dressed for a relaxed night of being alone together - I don't think she ever took that hope for granted. I don't think she ever assumed anything was a given. I just think she was happy to always put it out there. To remind Clarke, "I'm still here. I still care. Even if you don't, I do. I still want you."

[skellyflowers]

Makeup By Espera

“How do you do this?” I ask “When I try it looks so crooked!”

“You just need to relax, and practice.”

“Easy for you to say. You only need one swipe for perfect eyeliner!”

“Vesperine has been putting on eyeliner for years. Today is your first time.” Says Nyxia.

“What’s the point of doing anything if I'm not perfect!”

Relicus walks over to me and grabs my chin. She studies my face. After about ten seconds I feel my face getting hot. She then turns my face to the left then right. 

“You did a good job. Just practice more.” Relicus says after a moment.

“Th-thank you.” I whisper.

Vesperine then tosses a pack of makeup wipes on the table in front of me. I take off my eyeliner so I can start over again. When I first asked the ladies if they had any makeup tips they could teach me I didn’t think that I would be doing it over and over again. I was hoping that one of them would just do my makeup for me.

However I know that is not a sustainable idea. I'm not going to want to talk to the ladies every time I want to go out and look nice. I should be able to do my own makeup! I just want to be lazy.

After practicing three more times I decided to take a break. The makeup remover was starting to irritate my skin. Plus I was getting hungry. Before I could tell them I was going to get something to eat, a sandwich was placed in front of me. I love them so much!

“How much makeup experience did you have before this?” Relicus asked.

“Nothing until now.” I said honestly.

“Really? You never asked your mother?” 

“Mom only puts on makeup for special occasions.”

“No older siblings who needed someone to test their techniques on?” Vesperine questions.

“My brother isn't into makeup and I don't have any sisters.”

“No friends you could have asked before us?” Nyxia asks.

“Yes but I was honestly too embarrassed to ask.” I say, as I finish my food. “At that point I felt that it was a skill I should have had already.”

“No need to be embarrassed about asking for help.”

“I know but it’s still hard sometimes.”

Then a pair of arms circle my neck from behind. “You know you don’t have to be so strong around us.” It's Vesperine.

I know. That’s probably why I started tearing up. Nyxia and Relicus come over to me and join the newly formed group hug. Just as I start shaking. It’s really nice to have friends like them. I wasn’t planning on being emotionally vulnerable today. But I know I’m in a safe place.

 Nyxia and Relicus back away once I calm down. Vesperine keeps her hands on my shoulders. I take a deep breath before the quiet is broken.

“Ok. That’s enough practice.” Said Nyxia. “Let’s go watch a movie.”

We all walked to the door to exit the Espera’s room. Just before Nyxia opens the door Relicus speaks up suddenly.

“I wonder how long the Boys have been waiting outside for you?”

I immediately start to laugh at the mental image. Vessel standing just outside the door with no shame. II would probably be down the hallway on his phone. III is most likely next to Vessel but trying to be nonchalant about it. IV trying to get the boys to leave the hall with no success. Once Nyxia opens the door I laugh even louder.

[love-kurdt]

This is Me Trying (byler): 3

word count: 6,996

warnings for this chapter: none really, ngl. just very honest and open conversation. but same as all the other warnings in previous chapters, just be cautious if you see anything that may trigger you. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

The world buzzed with static around him, each second feeling like an eternity. Time stood still, just like the day Mike took off his watch. His hands were shaking, the anticipation inside him about to explode like fireworks. He balled his hands up into fists and put them in his sweatshirt pockets, but immediately pulled them back out because he could feel his palms getting sweaty.

Mike glanced around, and saw the nextdoor neighbor taking her dog out for a walk. He raised his hand in an awkward greeting, and she smiled back at him. He watched her run further and further away until they were out of his line of sight; a minute had definitely passed by now. He turned his attention back to the door, and lifted his hand again, going to knock one last time.

But then, before he was able to, Will opened the door.

Mike froze, his hand still in the air. He lowered his arm slowly, and took a mental photograph of Will’s awestricken face before he was met with a faceful of door. He should have seen that coming. He leaned his head against the door, exhaling with a shaky breath. “Will… I know I’m the last person you want to see. I just…” he hesitated, digging his nails into his palms. This was likely going to be his first of many fumbles. “This is going fucking splendidly already, Jesus Christ.”

There was no response on Will’s end, but Mike figured he might as well get everything off his chest, even if Will wasn’t there to hear it. Saying it out loud could probably suffice. “Uh… I guess I should start by saying I’m sorry. For everything. For hurting you with my words, with my actions, for being so fucking reckless with my life. I’ve accumulated a lot of regrets over the past few years, but…” here goes nothing, “loving you will never be one of them.”

Mike closed his eyes with his head still on the door, but jumped back a bit in surprise when he felt a light thump right next to his face. “... Will?”

“I’m listening.”

The faint sound of Will’s voice was music to Mike’s ears; low and velvety, with a hint of rasp. His stomach nervously flipped as he cleared his throat, continuing on. “I’ve been a mess without you. I don’t know who I am without you. This is me trying to say…” Mike trailed off. What was he trying to say? How could he reduce his love for Will into a single sentence? How could he explain himself in a concise, yet bold form that wouldn’t scare Will away? He couldn’t. He was doomed regardless of how the conversation would unfold. He asked Will the first thing that came to mind: “... You ever been to a college party?”

“Yeah, a few.” Will replied.

“Well, I just failed out of school because I went to way too many of them. I just drove here directly from my last one, actually.” He tried to add a bit of humor to his voice, but it ended up coming out sounding pathetically broken. Fumble number two. Fuck it all. Everything was going down in flames. Mike set his hand on the door, caressing the painted surface as if it were Will’s face.

“But here’s the thing— it’s hard to be at a party when you feel like an open wound. You’re all I think about, and it’s like I can’t… I can’t let go. It’s hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. And even though you don’t love me, and even if we can never be friends again, I need that closure, Will, and I need you to understand that I won’t move on if that never happens.” Mike felt the doorknob click below, and he lifted his head up just as the door opened again. Will emerged, tears lining his cheeks. Motherfucking fumble number three. When Will and Mike were little, they functioned as a unit. When Will was happy, Mike was happy. When Will would cry, Mike would cry with him. Now, Mike felt like he was five years old again, getting choked up at the sight of Will crying, and mentally cursed himself. “Fuck, now I’ve made you cry for the umpteenth time in our lives. What else is new?”

Will crossed his arms across his chest, and looked down towards the ground, still on the defensive. But his voice betrayed him when he said, “No, please don't worry about me. It’s fine. And I…” his voice wobbled, “I’m sorry for slamming the door. I was just so…”

Mike nodded in sorrowful understanding. “Yeah.”

He took a good look at Will, noticing how Will’s hair had finally grown out of the bowl cut, falling into his eyes in loose copper waves, ending just above his strong jaw. His eyes, even obscured with tears, looked green as ever. Mike wanted to drown in them.

“You changed your hair,” Mike heard himself say. Will let out a small smile at that, brushing some of his bangs out of his eyes, along with some tears that had attached themselves to his eyelashes.

“Yeah, the bowl was kind of… archaic.” Both of them began awkwardly laughing while still crying. Mike had to refrain from thinking too much, because if he did, he’d get all sentimental about how this was the first time he’d laughed with Will in… he couldn’t even remember. 

“You like it, though?” he asked. He still sought his approval, after everything. Of course Mike liked it. Mike liked Will’s hair no matter how it was cut. But this style that Will was sporting currently had Mike falling flat on his face; and not literally, for once.

“Yeah, it really suits you,” he told Will, who was flattered at the compliment.

“Thank you. I mean, Mom’s skill set with scissors was… limited, but she tried.” Mike thought of that one time he’d walked into the Byers household unannounced back in junior year of high school. Will was sitting on a chair in the middle of the kitchen with a literal bowl on his head as Joyce shuffled around her son with a pair of kitchen shears. Joyce was an incredible mom who loved both of her boys unconditionally. Which reminded Mike…

“How’d you get my number?”

“Your mom gave it to me over Christmas break.”

“She shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m sorry for letting her give me your number,” he apologized, picking at the nails of his index fingers with his thumbs. “And I’m sorry for calling you on your birthday. I should’ve respected your space.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Will replied quickly, eyes wide. “I was being a total asshole that day. I know this doesn’t excuse what I said to you, but I’ll have you know I’d just failed an English test–”

“Did you not read the material?” Mike smirked, and Will smiled back up at him, their eyes fully meeting for the first time. 

“You know me too well,” he said, and Mike’s heart skipped a beat. “But then, when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse, my boyfriend at the time broke up with me.”

Mike gawked at that, his eyes narrowing. “On your birthday? That’s ass.”

Will leaned against the doorframe. “Mike Wheeler, everyone: ex-English major, literary nerd, and author.” Mike ignored the not-so-subtle roasts in favor of Will’s muscles, which were even more defined than he remembered. Will had obviously become well-acquainted with the gym. His gaze trailed along the divots of his biceps, and his mouth went dry when he realized that Will was wearing… the blue sweatshirt Mike had sworn had gone missing during senior year.

“But yeah,” Will continued, “leave it to Matt Winters to ruin the one day of the year where I don’t feel like shit. So when you called, I’d just gotten back home. And I felt so guilty for snapping at you and hanging up that I didn’t call you back after the fact, because I was afraid you’d be mad at me.”

“Are you kidding? I could never be mad at you. Ever,” Mike emphasized. “And we both know I’m not a good person when I hold grudges.”

Will’s strong eyebrows furrowed, and Mike feared he’d said something wrong, but Will rose up onto his tiptoes, lifting his hand up to Mike’s forehead in mock-concern. “Mike, are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Yes. If Will was going to act all flirty and cute and tiptoe-y and forehead touch-y, then they’d need to call an ambulance. Because Mike was down bad.

“Haha. You’re funny,” Mike deadpanned at the joke, despite himself.

Will retreated back to his spot in the doorway. “But seriously, I just told you that I have a real live ex, and you’re not mad?” How could Mike be mad at Will for that? Why would Mike be mad at Will for that? It wasn’t like Mike had any right or say as to who Will dated, and if Mike did so much as judge Will for any romance-related decisions, he’d be the biggest fucking hypocrite to ever walk the earth. He figured he’d come clean to Will about this one. It was the whole reason why he was here, after all.

“Will, I hooked up with four guys…” Should he say this next part? Sure, okay, whatever– “And all of them had the initials ‘WB’.” Mike’s focus shifted down to his shoes, too humiliated to see Will’s reaction. But he didn’t even have to see it, because Will giggled. Like, high pitched and adorably. Mike’s head snapped up and Will, having gotten caught laughing at Mike’s biggest shame, slapped his own hand to his mouth in a failed attempt to stifle it.

“No way,” Will said, his voice still suppressed with his hand.

“Way,” Mike quipped back. He decided to try something new then, reaching up to Will’s wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. His beautiful lips were curved into a shy smile.

Will shook his head, crossing his arms again, but not in hostility like he had before. “I don’t believe you.” And all of a sudden, it was August 1989, and they were back in Mike’s basement again. Those were Will’s last words to Mike before he’d stormed out, never to be seen again. And a year and a half later, Will became thoroughly aware of the aftermath, where Mike tried and failed to fill the Will-less void with–

“Wyatt Bowman, Wes Butler, Walker Brooks, Warren Blakeley,” he listed off what he’d endearingly dubbed The WBs™, but now in retrospect viewed as fucking pathetic, and watched as Will exhaled sadly. He tacked the only thing he could think of onto the end of his list to lighten the mood: “... And there was a guy named Elvis.”

Will snorted. “Like Presley?”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus,” Will whispered, running a hand through his hair. Mike wished it was his hand instead. As he took in Will’s jarred reaction, his world went cold. It made more sense when Mike shivered, looked up, and felt a few snowflakes land on his eyelids. He lowered his gaze back to Will, avoiding the impending guilt with lighthearted bluntness.

“Yeah,” he concluded unceremoniously, “so, you have an ex-boyfriend, and I have a disturbingly high body count. I think that makes us even.” Will’s lips formed a line, and Mike diverted his eyes back to the ground. He watched Will’s feet, clad in fuzzy socks and slippers, shift backwards. The moment was finally here; this was the end. They were not, in fact, even; Will was shutting him out for the last time, giving Mike the closure he’d practically begged for. Mike lifted his head so he could at least say goodbye properly, but saw that Will was… waiting for him?

“Wanna come inside?” he asked, and Mike raised his eyebrows in shock. Well, that was a plot twist if he’d ever seen one. He took a deep breath, muttering a slow “Yeah… sure,” and followed Will into his house. Mike took off his mud-caked shoes at the front door, remembering how much of a neat freak Will was, and imagining his reaction if he tracked the past seven or so hours into the house. He expected it would probably begin with “Michael James.”

Once situated, he took a look around the living room. There were multiple swirly, wooden furniture pieces that Mike knew Will wouldn’t have picked out in a million years, but he’d still managed to make the apartment his own. Framed movie posters, a black couch, and a few bookshelves were sprinkled modestly amongst the otherwise very feminine decor. Mike walked over to the bookshelves, which were fully stacked with comic books and picture frames. He peered at one of Will posed with Ivy and Hannah, who gripped onto either side of a metal pole that Will had perched atop his shoulders as he lifted them in a white muscle tank top. He knew he’d started working out. God, Will was attractive. He smiled to himself, moving on to look at the next photo. It was the exact same one Mike had on his desk, the photo that Jonathan took of Mike on Will’s handlebars. Mike felt like crying again, so he looked away before that could happen. His attention was drawn to the ceiling, which was lined with Christmas lights. He guessed the passage of time had thankfully worked in Will’s favor, as well.

“So Kate’s at work?” Mike asked, and Will whipped around from where he’d been organizing one of his other bookshelves, like he cared about what Mike thought in regard to his preference of alphabetical versus publisher order.

“How do you know about Kate?”

Mike hesitated, expression sheepish, “I… I ran into your friends Ivy and Hannah on campus. They’re how I found you.”

Will blanched. “Oh God. What did they say to you?”

Mike shook his head in reassurance, taking a step towards Will. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I think they were just worried about me, because I was… kind of lost.”

“You didn’t think to get a map?” Will, the little shit, teased as he took a step of his own towards Mike.

“I had one, Will!” Mike tossed a hand up in exasperation. “I just… couldn’t read it correctly?” He phrased the last part of his sentence more like a question, which Will must have thought was funny, because he moved a few inches closer to Mike in order to poke his chest.

“Okay, that tracks,” he grinned, and Mike feigned offense as he felt Will’s fingerprint burn a hole in his sweatshirt, the fire expanding to scorch his entire torso. Will was close enough that Mike could hear Will breathing lightly through his nose, and could see the freckles scattered like constellations across his neck. His eyes traveled up a bit to land on the one mole above Will’s lip, and he fought the urge to kiss it.

“Ivy and Hannah said to tell you they said you’re welcome, by the way, whatever that means,” he breathed, and Will processed what Mike had just told him before bringing his hands up to his own face as he turned beet-red.

“Of course they did.”

Mike observed Will’s reaction, pushing down the bit of hope that bubbled up inside of him. He hadn’t a single clue of what Will had told his two friends, but the way he reacted made him think that maybe it wasn’t all terrible.

“Wait,” Will brought a hand up to lightly smack his forehead, “I’m so stupid, I should have asked when you first came in.” You’re not stupid at all, if anything I’m stupid, but go on, Mike thought. “Do you need anything to drink or eat? You look like shit.”

“Wow,” Mike said as he glared back at Will, giving away his joking nature with a small lift of his lips. “But sure, water is fine, thank you.” Will stood there for a moment in contemplation. Mike gulped, feeling incredibly anxious as to what Will would say next. 

“I’m gonna make you pancakes,” he told Mike, ambition in his tone. Mike wasn’t even supposed to be there, yet there Will was, taking on the role of hospitable host. Mike shrugged, leaving the option up to Will as to if he really wanted to be that kind to him.

“You don’t have to.”

Will was the one who shortened the distance between them this time, taking Mike’s much larger hand in his own, intertwining their fingers and gently rubbing his thumb along the back of it. “But I want to.” Mike felt lightheaded.

“Well, I didn’t say it.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Mike glanced down at their connected hands as Will spoke again, but he didn’t hear what he was saying. He blinked, pulling his attention back up to Will’s face. How was he supposed to concentrate on what Will was saying when their palms were brushing together with intentionality? And of Will’s own volition, no less. 

“Wait, sorry, what?”

“I said, I’ll have some too, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Well, now Mike had to say yes. He gave in, and Will nodded in approval before letting go of Mike’s hand. Those few sweet seconds would have been enough to last Mike for another year and a half without him, but now Will was making him pancakes. There was no turning back after this. Will headed to the kitchen, turning back when he noticed Mike standing in the middle of the room and gesturing for Mike to follow him, chuckling to himself.

Damn Will for being so aware of the effect he had on Mike.

They made it into the kitchen, and Will headed to the pantry while Mike hopped up on the counter like when they were kids. Old habits die hard. Will eyed him from where he stood, grabbing the box of Bisquick. He ritualistically walked around the kitchen, grabbing eggs, milk, vegetable oil, and a bowl before setting them all down on the counter. He paused in what he was doing to reach over to his coffee pot, pouring a mug, grabbing the sugar bowl and dumping whatever was left into the mug before handing it to Mike, who took it with gracious hands. He’d remembered the way Mike took his coffee. Black, no cream, and a diabetes-level fuck ton of sugar.

“Thank you.” That didn’t even begin to cover how Mike felt about it.

Will hummed in response as he got to work, cracking an egg into the bowl and whisking it around. “So what have you been up to? I mean, besides hooking up with the entire male population of Indianapolis and failing out of school,” Will asked, and Mike died a little on the inside. The truth hurts sometimes, Wheeler. Deal with it.

“Jeez, Will. Harsh. Warn a guy next time,” Mike frowned, sipping his coffee. “I’ve been working on a novel.”

“Ooh, do tell!” Will exclaimed, turning to Mike as he stirred the batter, the sweatshirt he wore— Mike’s sweatshirt— stretching as his muscles flexed underneath the fabric of the sleeves. Mike set his coffee down next to him and shifted so his hands were squished under his thighs. That way he wouldn’t be able to do what he truly wanted to, which was to grab Will by his waist and shove his tongue down his throat as he ran his fingertips over Will’s arms.

“Um, it’s a mythological coming of age, with a bit of a twist… the protagonist is gay.”

“Ohhh my god,” Will grinned, all teeth. “That is great. I love that.”

I love you, Mike thought, but held his tongue. “Right? But yeah, I’ve been working on that, and… journaling. A lot.” Well… journaling was a synonym of writing dozens upon dozens of love letters, right? But Will didn’t have to know that.

“Mike Wheeler using a therapist-approved coping mechanism? I’m proud of you,” Will said. Mike preened at the praise as he pulled one of his hands out from under his leg to pick up his mug.

There was a beat of silence, and Will stood there, his eyes fixed on Mike for a strangely long time as the pancakes sizzled. Mike watched Will’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. He was either hallucinating, tripping, or Will was checking Mike out.

“But what about you?” Mike asked, effectively snapping Will out of his trance, “Any groundbreaking endeavors I should be caught up on?”

Will shrugged as he plated the perfectly congruent, golden pancakes he’d made. “I’ve been working on this new painting for a while now… it’s a watercolor piece, so it’s kind of out of my comfort zone,” Will explained, turning to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of Canadian maple syrup. Mike nodded at what Will was telling him, but something else dwelled  in the forefront of his mind.

“Yeah, you’re more into oils on canvas, right?” Mike asked, and Will’s eyes snapped up to meet his, establishing an understanding between the two of them. “I saw the painting,” Mike remarked slowly, trying his best not to freak Will out or make him feel ashamed of it. “I’ve gotta say, you flatter me, Byers. I am not that attractive.”

Will couldn’t hide his smile. “Shut up. Yes you are.”

Will handed Mike a plate, and Mike thanked him as they dug in, the two young men standing at (and sitting on) the counter as they ate. Mike cut into his pancakes, stabbing a bite-sized piece with his fork and swirling it around in the syrup on his plate. He looked up when he heard a similar scratching noise and saw Will doing the same thing. Will met Mike’s gaze, light smile gracing his face as he lifted the fork up and popped the piece into his mouth. Mike blushed when he realized he’d been staring, and quickly focused back on his own plate. He chewed the piece of pancake he’d cut and confirmed to himself only after one bite that these were the best pancakes he’d ever had. These were pancakes of reconciliation.

He turned towards Will to compliment his culinary skills, which would inevitably be shot down with a humble, “they’re just pancakes, Mike,” only to see Will staring at Mike already. Will’s eyes jumped from Mike to the floor to the kitchen cabinet to the floor and back to Mike all within the span of five seconds. Mike held his attention this time when he licked his lips, and Will watched intently as the syrup disappeared.

God, Mike felt like he was in high school all over again; those four years had felt like a romcom movie montage of staring, quick touches, and flirting back and forth. The only difference between those movies and real life was the reserved, cautious nature behind every single stare, touch, and flirtation. But this time around, Mike noticed, Will seemed more confident in himself, more purposeful in the way he carried and expressed himself. Everything lingered for longer than normal, than acceptable, than usual. It was a promising sign.

Once they’d finished their pancakes and put their dishes in the sink, Mike and Will headed to Will’s room. There was something intimate about entering Will’s space like this; something sacred, something previously unattainable. That was the dresser that held all of Will’s clothes. That was the desk Will drew at. That was the bed Will slept in. That was the phone Will had used to break Mike’s heart.

Mike admired the dark blue walls, decorated modestly with a few more posters, before he came across Will’s framed Hawkins High School diploma. Mike remembered that day vividly; after everyone in the Party had walked across the stage and gone back to Mike’s house to celebrate, Will had brought their friends into a secluded area of the house and told them he was gay. Mike, who had been head over heels in love with his best friend for over five years at that point, was having a crisis, because oh my God, Will was gay, and the flirting might not have all been in his head. Maybe he had a chance. But every interaction between them following that day was strictly platonic, and Will made sure Mike knew it. So Mike withdrew after a while, not wanting to keep stringing himself along like he had been.

“Little did I know that everything would change,” Mike said more to himself than to Will, but Will walked over to stand next to him, close enough that their arms brushed.

“Why, because I came out?” he asked, looking up at Mike, who didn’t reciprocate the action, but instead kept staring straight ahead at the diploma, as if it were a portal that would take him back in time to before his world imploded.

“No, not because you came out. Because… because then, I fell under the delusion that I could finally have you.” He looked down at Will then. “But then I fucked it all up in August.”

Will turned his body so he could fully face Mike before saying, “Okay, I’m confused. I’ve gotta ask. What’s your recollection of that night?”

Mike didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to remember it. Hell, he didn’t want to think about it. But Mike took a second to reason with himself, because Will was standing beside him, Will was asking something of him, and the least he could do after everything was oblige to Will’s one request. So Mike told him.

It was the summer of 1989, and all was well. Hawkins was no longer nationally renowned as an extra-terrestrial hybrid between earth and hell, but simply as a small town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was the summer of 1989, and Mike was lying on the basement couch with his legs hanging off the edge. His eyes were closed, and he wore his headphones which were attached to his Walkman, playing Will’s mixtape on repeat, just as Mike had from the second it fell into his hands back in 1986. He felt the thumps of the opening and closing of the basement door, followed by light footsteps treading down the stairs. He cracked a singular eye open, but opened them both fully when he registered that it was Will who was entering his space. He always loved when Will came to his house unannounced; there was a certain element of familiarity, of family, of domesticity.

“Mike, we’ve gotta talk,” Will said, his voice a bit edgier than usual.

“Okay, what’s up? Are you–” Mike sat up, pulling his headphones fully off his head and resting them around his neck. Then he saw the look on Will’s face. He looked livid.

“What the fuck are these?” Will spat. Mike’s eyes widened at what Will held in his hands. Fuck. How on earth did he find them? Mike thought he’d hidden them well enough. Apparently, he was sorely mistaken, because Will held Mike’s letters, all twenty-six of them, all addressed to Will, in his shaking hands. Mike couldn’t even begin to explain, mouth hanging wide open.

“Dear Will,” the boy with the bowlcut began with a snarl, “when I look into your eyes, I see the rest of my life. Dear Will, why does loving you feel so wrong yet so right? Dear Will, I want you to hold me in your arms forever, because it’s the only place I can truly call home.” Mike wanted to die. “I don’t know what to… Why the hell are these addressed to me? And why… Why are there so many?”

“Because…” Mike squeaked out, eyes wide with intimidation, “they were for you. You were never meant to find those, I swear to God.”

“Are you making fun of me or something?” Will snapped, and Mike flinched. He’d never seen Will this angry before. He stood up then, his face on fire with inferiority from when he’d been on the couch as Will towered over him. Now, Mike was the one looking down at Will, whose chest was heaving with unadulterated rage.

“Come on, Will! I’m your best friend, and you really thought I’d make fun of you for being gay?” Mike kept his tone soft, what the Party called his Will Voice™, trying to calm Will down. It worked, at least a little bit, because Will’s breathing became more regulated, and less metaphorical smoke escaped his ears. But his eyes were still a menacing shade of green, his pupils blown wide.

“Well, no,” Will’s voice was lower this time, laced with venom, “but that does not mean you get to fuck around at my expense.” Will could not have been more wrong. Mike was anything but fucking around. Malice was the last thing on his mind when he thought about Will. When he thought about Will, he felt safe, he felt hopeful, he felt valuable, and he felt worthy. What he felt for Will was pure love, and he’d say it out loud… if he didn’t hate himself so much.

“I poured my heart out in those letters,” Mike told him, taking a step forward. Will stepped back. “I didn’t write them for shits and fucking giggles, they were genuine,” he continued, following Will as he backed away, stopping only when he had Will caged in between his arms, back against the wall of the basement. Will held onto Mike’s wrist, their watches positioned side by side. Mike closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, collecting himself in preparation for what he was about to say next. Confession time. “I wanted to send them so badly… I just didn’t, because I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

Mike opened his eyes, drinking in the expression on Will’s flustered face. He blinked slowly, lashes fluttering, and fuck, he could hear Will’s heartbeat. He licked his lips. Afraid of what? I’m afraid of the world. I’m afraid of our country. I’m afraid of this town. I’m afraid of my family. I’m afraid of your dad. I’m afraid of myself. But I’m not afraid of you, Will. I’m not afraid of you.

And with that, Mike leaned down and kissed Will.

Those were the best five seconds of Mike’s life, by far. Will’s lips were smooth, yet firm. They were warm. Mike wanted to kiss Will forever. He allowed himself, for once in his life, to take what he wanted, and moved his hands down from the wall to Will’s hips, gripping them with all of his pent-up passion, holding him close. He felt Will’s hands meet Mike’s shoulders, and… he was pushing Mike away. Oh no.

“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?” What was it with Will thinking everything was so fucking funny to Mike? He’d just bared his soul to the love of his life, but Will had interpreted everything as simply cruel humor. That was what Will thought of Mike. He wouldn’t stand for it.

“No, Will, I’m in love with you,” he said in full earnest, grabbing Will’s hand, just like he’d always done throughout the years whenever Will felt angry, alone, or scared. In turn, Will aggressively shook Mike’s hand away like it burned him.

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that, you don’t mean it.” What the hell?

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“I just… you’re…” Will forced his words out in a state of panic, ducking out of Mike’s reach as he headed for the stairs. “I can’t do this. Not now.”

“Please don’t go. Hear me out,” Mike pleaded, getting desperate now. “Will, you’ve got to believe me.”

Will turned around from where he stood, halfway to the basement door, his gaze ice cold. “Well, I don’t, Mike. I don’t believe you.” Mike took back what he’d thought about not being afraid of Will. He was terrified. He watched Will stomp up the rest of the way, slamming the door behind him. Mike put a hand up to his mouth, muffling a sob.

What had he done?

Mike stopped his pacing for a moment to breathe. He’d gotten it all out, and by some miracle, without breaking down. He looked over at Will, who rested his chin on his palm as he sat on his bed, staring into space. “I never got the chance to explain myself. You just… shut off.” Will blinked a few times, looking up at Mike with that same blank expression, and Mike wanted to scream. But he didn’t. He didn’t have the energy.

Will breathed out hard through his nose, getting up from his spot on the bed and meeting Mike where he was at, and placing a hand on his arm. Mike didn’t move; all this talk about Will abandoning him caused some of the resentment to return. But Will took Mike’s chin and moved it so their eyes could meet again. He looked sad.

“Because I had convinced myself that you could never love me the way I loved you. But all of a sudden you were telling me that you loved me romantically and wanted to be with me forever! How can you blame me for being thrown off?”

Mike shrugged, resigned. “I can’t.” And he meant it; he couldn’t blame Will for being thrown off, because Mike had gone through the complete opposite, having felt led on and let down. “But you also can’t blame me for waiting so long to say something. I literally hated myself for years for being gay.” Will’s hand that held his chin lowered down to the space between his neck and his shoulder, and he went to reply, but Mike spoke faster. “And when you came out, I thought maybe I could, too. But then, another part of me didn’t want to say anything, because coming clean about my true feelings for you would’ve destroyed everything we worked so hard to build back up after California.”

“Well, I didn’t make it any easier by keeping you at arm’s length after I came out,” Will said as he ran his thumb back and forth along Mike’s sweatshirt sleeve. “I tried to convince myself I was okay with being just friends in order to protect myself, you know?”

“Yeah,” Mike’s tone was rough as he crossed his arms, and Will pulled away. Nice going, Mike, you fucking asshole. “I mean…” Mike softened his voice, “I get your thought process. I just felt so… rejected. And after August, it felt so final. Like, I really thought you had zero feelings for me, and that I had severely misread things.”

“You didn’t. Believe me, Mike. You didn’t,” the words tumbled out of Will’s mouth, startling both of them at once.

Mike looked down, feeling the beginnings of tears pricking his eyes. “I’m trying to.”

Will reached out to Mike and pulled his hand up into his own, his fingertips gently mapping out the veins that spread out beneath Mike’s skin. “Do you still hate yourself now?” he asked, and Mike looked up slowly.

“I’m not gonna lie, yeah, I do,” he admitted, playing with Will’s fingers as he spoke. He was not proud of the person he’d become. He relived every single one of his mistakes on a constant loop, with each day bleeding into the next. The shame devoured him like a hungry beast. Every waking moment without Will felt like suffocation. Mike slowed his movements before confessing something else, something he never thought he’d ever be able to. “But I hate living my life without you even more.”

Will let out a small sniffle at that, and Mike was quick to comfort him, his hands flying up to cup his face and swipe his tears away. Will leaned into the touch, his voice breaking. “I hate living my life without you, too.”

“Can I…” Mike hesitated, uncertainty flooding his thoughts, but he swiftly pushed it away. “Can I hug you?” he asked. Will nodded, laughing wetly as he said, “Yes, of course.”

Mike pulled Will into a tight embrace, warmth filling his body instantly as Will’s head fell against his chest, right over his heart. He could only imagine what Will was thinking, granted the fact that his heart was thrumming at record speed. Will ran his hands up Mike’s back, pulling him down slightly by his shoulderblades. Mike nestled his nose in Will’s shaggy hair, breathing him in. He still washed his hair with the coconut shampoo he’d always used. In order to avoid the temptation to inhale Will’s scalp like a vacuum, he opted to place a feather light kiss there, so light that in the future, only he would remember it happening. As they stood there, their bodies flush against one another, Mike knew he didn’t need a watch to tell that time as an entity ceased to exist. Mike and Will held each other tightly as the rest of the world fell away. This was what Mike had been waiting for. Just this. He finally felt whole again.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been clinging to each other, or who pulled away first, but he was sure of the fact that both of them were crying. Again. “Goddamnit,” Mike laughed, practically slapping his sweatshirt sleeve up to his face to absorb the tears that fell there.

“Since when have you been a Frequent Crier?” Will teased, and Mike remembered that Will had never been exposed to the outcome of his emotional revolution before.

“What can I say?” Mike continued the bit, “Their loyalty program has really good perks.”

“Can’t argue there,” Will laughed, leaning his forehead onto Mike’s chest again as Mike’s hands ran up and down Will’s sides. He memorized the feel of Will’s improved physique, trailing his hands upwards until his hands met Will’s chest.

“Also,” Mike said into the silence, causing Will to twitch slightly, but not enough to remove his forehead from Mike’s chest. “The Heart? Didn’t know I was still held in such high esteem.” Will’s hands, which had been resting on Mike’s hips, moved forward until they were wrapped around Mike’s lower back. 

“You’ve always been my heart, Mike,” Will told him, voice steady and sure. “You never really stopped.” Mike felt his jaw drop, barely able to process what he was hearing. The words that left Will’s lips ricocheted around Mike’s brain, and he might have forgotten how to breathe for a minute. He needed Will to pinch him, so he could wake up from this… if it wasn't real, it would be a nightmare. Instead of asking Will to do it for him, he pinched himself, and felt butterflies erupt in his stomach when he didn’t snap his eyes open to the sight of his bedroom back in Indianapolis. He was still here, in Will’s room, and Will was holding him rather sensually, and Mike felt so fucking alive. 

“So… where do we go from here?” Mike whispered, and Will lifted his head, an unrecognizable look in his eyes. Mike backed away, fear slowly entering the peripherals of his mind, all possible worst-case scenarios threatening to cave in on him. He’d gone too far, been too forward, taken Will for granted, given off the impression of an ulterior motive.

“Sorry,” he said, almost a reflex at this point in his life. He always had something to be sorry for. Something to make up for. Something to–

“Me too,” Will whispered, grabbing Mike’s wrist before he could get too far. He pulled Mike back in sharply and grabbed him by the back of his neck, tugging him all the way down until their lips collided. Mike let out a little noise in absolute shock, but not wasting any time as he shoved his hands into Will’s hair, raising his head as he leaned into the heat of Will’s mouth. While Mike’s hands remained pretty central to Will’s upper body, Will’s hands roved Mike everywhere they possibly could. They lifted from Mike’s lower back, up his torso, past his chest, around the back of Mike’s head to brush the nape of his neck, through Mike’s long hair, then back down to grope Mike’s ass. Mike squeaked into Will’s mouth, and he responded with a low hum of a laugh that sent vibrations through Mike’s body and set him ablaze. Mike lowered his grip on Will’s shoulders to his biceps, squeezing them the way he’d wanted to since Will opened the door earlier that morning. Will broke the kiss then, smirking up at the taller man. “You really like my arms, don’t you?”

“Yeah, how’d you notice?” Mike tried to be sarcastic, but ended up sounding breathless. Will pressed a chaste kiss to Mike’s lips, turning them around and backing Mike up until his calves hit the base of Will’s bed. Mike was sure he had died and gone to heaven.

“You wouldn’t stop ogling. You were being so fucking obvious, it was hilarious,” Will teased, and Mike whined a little in embarrassment, but Will was having none of it, so he pushed Mike backwards until his back hit the mattress. “Don’t worry, babe, it was cute.”

Babe. Mike had thought Will would only call him that in his dreams. But this wasn’t a dream. Mike watched as Will climbed on top of him, one leg on either side of his waist, and leaned down to kiss him, nice and slow. Mike ran his tongue along Will’s lower lip, and he let Mike in immediately. They continued like that for a few minutes until Will lifted Mike’s arms up so they were pinned above his head, and Mike quietly moaned as Will began to kiss down his neck. He smiled at the ceiling. Mike Wheeler loved Will Byers, and Will Byers loved Mike Wheeler. All was right with the world.

But Mike would have a lot to explain over Christmas.

previous part

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[noangeleither]

headcanon for sydcarmy that I've had for months now that i was reminded of rewatching Fools Rush In yesterday (rip Matthew Perry) and reading @ambeauty 's new fanfic.

i love the unplanned pregnancy trope with them and also the idea that they would do every milestone backwards or hit them super fast in terms of their relationship. hear me out

what i love about sydney and carmy is how intense they are about each other while not knowing each other for that long. carmy spends braciole acting like a heartbroken widower and ends the episode by planning on revamping his family restaurant with a girl he's only known for a couple months. the restaurant dream he thought died with his brother, the person he loved the most (woah). while sydney is her most emotionally vulnerable with a guy she barely knows (and physically too, i.e the hug after the fire suppression test and the table scene) and constantly gives him second chances when he doesn't deserve them.

they are weird and intense about each other even with all these platonic and professional boundaries they put in place.

in my mind that is rotting from tumblr and ao3, when those boundaries disappear they will do the relationship shit on speed drive. oops they get pregnant after a few months of dating or a situationship. whats having a baby when you have a restaurant? they are already the mom and dad of the bear!

they would elope randomly on a tuesday afternoon after dating for a couple months bc they practically eat sleep live and breathe each other every single day anyways? carmy tells syd he doesn't want to wait when he already knows she's it for him. syd says he's crazy but she may just be crazier for agreeing (also grew up with hearing her parents love story who got married super young and fast so why cant she?)

oh they just started dating a few days ago? syd moves in or they start looking for new places. shes already here all the time when they menu plan. carmy already buys her fave snacks, subscribes to a couple streaming services for the first time bc syd loves to binge-watch shows, and has a couple of her scarves laying around.

and i love that this could go really bad, how intense and how much they love each other (bc im an angst enjoyer) or most likely really great bc these two losers want to practically live in each other's skin and make each other better.

side note: after watching fools rush in again...need a sydcarmy au bc the premise of two people from different cultures, values and perspectives foolishly rushing into a big thing like opening a restaurant having a baby is so them!

[hazelkjt]

Claire Ashe || SMASH or PASS

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc)

Was tagged a second time by @gatheredfates but already did this before for Hazel, so time to go down the list to my second most fleshed out character: Claire! No other tags, this has been making its round for a week now so everybody who has wanted to do it has probably done so by now. So, blanket "I tag you reading this" statement here!

Quick Facts:

Height: 6'2"/188cm

Age: 29 as of Dawntrail

Gender: CIS Woman

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Lesbian

Pros:

A PHENOMENAL cook. Helped run her mother's gourmet restaurant as a chef in Ala Mhigo before running away

Good listener, lets you vent your frustrations without worry

Quite low maintenance, just few affirmations of feelings every now and then

When she ever does feel like giving compliments, they come from the heart

Cons:

A paranoid wreck. Pessimistic and keeps her distance emotionally to try and stop pain before it starts

Kind of a bitch. Cold and blunt with everybody and very easily annoyed, at first glance (and most subsequent glances) she seems to sort of hate everyone

Don't ever try to touch her third eye if you want to keep your hand.

Constant third wheel thanks to her Reaper partner, Sidian

Self-esteem issues, takes a LONG TIME to fully commit to something/someone

Misc. Details

Is fully Garlean. Not necessarily an objective pro or con but still a very important part of who she is

Long distance relationships would be a must, as she works as part of a merchant sailing crew currently

Knows how to conduct herself in a more formal manner, just chooses not to. Quite crude and foul mouthed in person.

Very sensitive and sentimental about her headband, as it was the last gift her best friends got for her before their deaths

SEXUALLY dominant, with little to leeway otherwise. Claire is either in control from the start or will compete to be the entire night. She is controlling and can get a little rough, but doesn't ever aim to harm anyone. Very casual with sex, having had plenty of one night stands.

ROMANTICALLY very distant, to the point that from the outside she doesn't act any differently to a partner than someone she tolerates as a friend. Behind closed doors she's more open and vulnerable, but in most day to day life she barely commits to showing affection out of fear of becoming too invested in the relationship.

[theflyindutchwoman]

You think you'll ever have kids? Uh, honestly? I, uh, thought I would've had some by now. Isabel and I, we made all these plans -- pop out three kids, watch them grow up, have kids of their own. But… Things don't always work out. Which is why you think I should make contingency plans.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 4.05 - A.C.H.

In many ways, this scene illustrates perfectly how Tim and Lucy's relationship blossoms and matures in season 04. With her being his aide, it would have been so easy to fall into a trap where their bond would at best remain stagnant, at worse reverse back to their old TO/subordinate dynamic… But it hasn't… Something has changed between them emotionally after that hug, even if they don't fully realise it. Even if it is subtle… They're somehow more at ease than before. Closer. Like partners, despite their difference in ranks… Like equals, as indicated by Lucy's presence behind the wheels, a rare occurrence.

Now this is far from the first time they talk about their personal life in the shop… That's actually the foundation of their relationship. What has started as a need for Tim to justify himself, to explain his actions to Lucy as they impacted her directly, has grown progressively into something more organic, more natural. She made him feel safe to share his feelings, his past with her and in return, he started to drop his walls. To heal. This is a continuation of that… Only deeper. Talking about the future he once envisaged, the dreams he had of having children… His dad… The way he says he's 'living proof that some people should not be parents'… There's something extremely vulnerable in opening up about these subjects. And he does it freely now, without much hesitation or reluctance. Lucy's glance at him displays perfectly their shorthand, how well they know each other. She doesn't have the full picture yet, but she knows enough to understand to what he is referring. His face when she asks him if he thinks he'll ever have kids… He's completely caught off-guard. That he doesn't dismiss or deflect her question shows how much he has changed and grown. How much more laid back he now is, especially with her. Thanks to her. And the fact that he looks at her while answering… He's not hiding from her, despite the nature of the question. He could have simply answered her vaguely, but instead, he decides to share a piece of himself, giving her a far more personal answer than she probably expected. Talking about Isabel and the dreams they had… This is extremely intimate. They've come a long way since he said : 'I'm married, Officer Chen, and this isn't something you and I talk about'.

And this is so amazing to hear him mention grandchildren. It makes Lucy's casual remark about having grandkids on their second date even more significant. This is a direct callback to his dream, a way of telling him that they share the same one and they could have it together now… And it makes her gesture even more special because he looks quite resigned here, the regrets all over his face. Almost as if he feels that this has passed him by… But this is a good segue to why he was encouraging her to go ahead with the process of freezing her eggs, as an insurance. At the time, it almost felt like he wasn't being supportive or rather, not understanding of her outrage. But he wasn't taking her Mom's side as much as he was simply speaking from his personal experience and offering her a different perspective. He simply doesn't want her to live with that regret, like he does.

And here they are now… talking about kids and grandkids, joking freely about this future. But to get there, they had to start with these little moments. That's how they built their beautiful relationship.

[notalkingbusiness]

The Book of Carol & The Heroine's Journey - Part 2: The Search

The Search sees our heroine in mission mode - she's left home and she's determined to find her loved one. She'll do whatever it takes to have them safe in her arms again.

According to Carriger, The Search's beats are as followed: the heroine being isolated, the heroine using disguise, the heroine finding friends to help her in her quest, and the heroine visiting the underworld. 

Ready to find out how these beats could be used in The Book of Carol?

(1) The heroine’s loss of family yields isolation/risk.

The heroine's mission takes her far from home, far from those who love and protect her.  

We all know that Carol can handle herself, but she's still going to be physically and emotionally vulnerable throughout her entire journey.

Carol is venturing into the unknown and she's going to be extremely isolated.

She's got no-one to watch her back.

She's also got no-one to hold her back and stop her from unnecessarily putting herself in danger.

The fact that Carol has no-one to hold her back is a worry because, like most of us, Carol doesn't always make the best decisions when she's in a bad headspace. Granted, things are different this time around. She's not indifferent as to whether she lives or dies like she was at the end of S6/S10b. She's not hellbent on revenge like she was in S10.

Spoiler Alert - I think mistaking a walker for Daryl will be the ultimate moment of isolation/risk for Carol, even if the actual scene is relatively short. What could be more isolating than the love of your life being a member of the undead? All the fight would drain out of her in that split second, she'd be ready to curl up and die.

We've seen how Carol reacts to her loved ones being zombified before, but Carol cared about these individuals in a familial and platonic capacity. I'm interested in seeing how the show makes it clear that this one is different - how this prospective loss wounds Carol like no other. Obviously, Melissa's acting choices will be doing the heavy lifting in this scene. As we know, her choices are always very expressive and she pays close attention to detail. Like, every micro expression has to be *perfect* level of detail. As attested by Khary Payton: "We were going through a scene once and she started to cry and she stopped and said she was sorry because she was crying for the wrong reasons. Most actors would be like, “Who cares? I’m crying. It’s the emotion needed.” She wanted it to be specific to the moment in time."

I have no doubt that Melissa will act her heart out throughout the whole show, I'm just hoping that the script is as strong as her performance. After Caryl reunite, I think Carol and Daryl need to have a conversation about that moment when she thought he was a walker. They need to use their words and explain their feelings for one another. We can't just rely on subtext, not when there are important conversations to be had.

Carol needs to explain why she can't lose Daryl. Daryl needs to explain why he can't lose Carol.

(2) The heroine employs disguise/subversion and alters her identity

The heroine is a shapeshifter. She employs disguise/subversion to keep her safe during her journey.

Carol is an expert when it comes to disguises and subversions. We've seen this many times on the flagship show: she somehow managed to steal a grenade without anyone noticing, she secretly stormed Terminus, she infiltrated the wolves, the list goes on.

In narratives, a good disguise or mask should be speaking to some deeper truth about the character. All masks should ultimately be revealing of their wearers.

I'm not entirely sure what Carol's disguise should look like in TBOC. It could be as simple as donning camouflage like she did just before the Terminus raid, or she could adopt a persona (like when she called herself Nancy). Either way, Carol's disguise should reveal a deeper truth about her - about where she's been and where she's going.

It's worth noting that these disguises/subversions don't have to be literal/physical. I think Carol could alter her identity in a symbolic and permanent way by dropping her last name. She could refuse to provide her last name every time she's asked for it. She could insist she's only to be known as Carol. Carol's name change is long overdue, and I think it would be quite fitting to finally drop Peletier (a surname of French origin) while on a quest to rescue Daryl in France.

Of course, after dropping her surname, Carol would be free to take any name she chooses. If we're lucky, we might get to see her call herself Carol Dixon before S2 closes. I want that to be the reason why she's wearing a ring.

I want her to be wearing that ring because Carol and Daryl chose each other.

(3) The heroine appeals to and forms a surrogate network (found family)

Heroines are social creatures. They don't want to go it alone, but the initial stages of their search forces them into isolation. Until they start making friends, that is.

This is where Ash comes in.

While we don't know the full extent of Ash's role, it seems likely that he's going to help Carol fly across the Atlantic - something she wouldn't be able to do by herself. This is textbook Heroine's Journey - this framework is all about collaboration and connection. Heroines like Carol don't privilege themselves above others - they're big enough to recognize when they need help. The heroine's friends make up for skills she's lacking and vice versa.

The Heroine's Journey provides writers with a great opportunity to create a diverse cast of supporting characters because the heroine is going to be encountering lots of different people on her quest. It's also important to stress that you can't have meaningful diversity and inclusion without depth. Minority characters, such as Ash, need to feel three-dimensional. We don't want him, or any of the supporting cast for that matter, to feel like non-player characters.

I want to emphasize that diversity behind the scenes is just as important as diversity on-screen. TWD wasn't always an inclusive space for minority writers and creatives.

In Conversations with Women Showrunners, Angela Kang shows what BIPOC creatives were up against. Writers of color, particularly black writers, would struggle in Georgia because there were symbols of the Confederacy everywhere. Some symbols were immediately obvious - like Confederate flags flying. Other symbols of a segregated past were baked into the built environment. For instance, the team would go location scouting and some buildings would have four bathrooms because they were built in an era of racial segregation.

In the early days of TWD, Angela Kang "went for days without seeing another person who was an Asian American other than the actor on my show, Steven Yeun [...] When I was on staff while Steven was there, there was a year when there was another Korean American writer on staff with me and it was so unusual at the time.  Like, there’s two of us!  That sounds so horrible, but it’s very common to be “the only one.”  And it becomes your job to represent every underrepresented group somehow.”  

Can you imagine the pressure of trying to represent every underrepresented group? No writer should be under that kind of pressure.

Things did get better on TWD; it slowly became a more inclusive and diverse show. Ultimately, Kang says she was proud of TWD's on-screen diversity. And she says that things were getting better behind the scenes - "It's not perfect, but we're trying".

TBOC needs to keep trying too. It would be beyond disappointing if TBOC went backwards in terms of representation. The end product would undoubtedly be poorer for it.

TBOC needs to carry the torch and keep trying to make the show more diverse and inclusive, both on-screen and behind the scenes. Diversity makes for a better show, as does listening to a multitude of different voices.

(4) The heroine visits the underworld, aided by friends and family

Visiting the underworld essentially means the moment of confrontation with the people who took the heroine's loved one.

I think we're probably going to get two big moments of confrontation in Carol's story. I think there's going to be one big fight just before Carol meets up with Daryl. After Carol and Daryl have reunited there's probably going to be another big confrontation so we can see Caryl fighting side by side.

I enjoy seeing Carol kicking ass and taking names as much as the next Carol fan, but action scenes are not the most important scenes for me. I don't want the action scenes and the moments of confrontation to overwhelm the narrative. Heroines don't care about revenge; they just want their loved one back. Carol and Daryl shouldn't be hunting down every last kidnapper/French tyrant. They should do their bit and then leave France as soon as possible. They need to leave Daryl's Parisian ordeal behind and pursue what's important to them.

The people in power need to remember that TWD resonated because it was a deeply human story. It was about ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances.

I'm watching TBOC because I care about Carol and Daryl. I want to see them together in every sense of the word. I want to see their shared future.

Final Thoughts on The Search

I don't know when Carol and Daryl will reunite, but The Search is likely going to take up a lot of Carol's screentime. It's really important that The Search keeps us engaged. I definitely don't want to see a stoic version of Carol who's only there to blow things up - that's not interesting to me. Blowing things up is not character growth for Carol.

Carol's search needs to stand on its own - it needs a solid emotional core.

The Search will feel rewarding and compelling in its own right if Carol has meaningful interactions with others. Strong dialogue is absolutely critical. Carol needs to talk about her feelings. She obviously won't be an open book to her new friends, but she could make some tentative steps towards admitting how she feels about Daryl. Laying this emotional groundwork will make Caryl's reunion a hundred times more powerful.

That's a wrap on The Search!

Do let me know if you have any thoughts or questions on this one.

Do you have any ideas as to how Carol might use disguise?

Do you have any thoughts on how the aftermath of *that scene* (spoiler listed above) should be handled?

What would you like to see in Carol's new friendships?

I hope you'll join me for The Ascent where everything will be coming up (Cherokee) roses for Carol and Caryl. I'm going to be talking about Caryl's reunion and what makes a good TV reunion. I'll also be talking about what comes next for Caryl and what we ultimately want for these two characters.

Thanks for reading :)

[cursedvibes]

What is so special about Takaba that can made him cause the downfall of Kenjaku? Sorry if it's a dumb ask. I was so shock when it really is the end for Kenjaku.....

Also, if Takaba vs Sukuna, can you imagine the outcome? Like, personally, I think the fight will end < 5 seconds......🤣

I actually think the fight between Sukuna and Takaba would be quite long, assuming neither of them loses interest halfway through. Takaba isn't gonna kill Sukuna, just (unintentionally) wear down his consciousness and soul, while Sukuna also can't hurt Takaba. The only thing that might hurt Takaba is the world-bisecting Dismantle and I'm not even sure about that. This Dismantle cuts existence, but Takaba's cursed technique can alter reality, so would this cut be effective or also subject to Comedian? Anyway, I think a fight between them would be a very pointless back-and-forth.

Now as for why Takaba is so special: in short, he is exactly what Kenjaku had been looking for, what they wanted deep down and being led to indulge in that and allow to emotionally connect with someone else is what made them vulnerable to Yuuta's attack.

All Kenjaku wants is entertainment, discovering new things and also sharing them with others, even if or especially when those people disagree with them. Before the fight started, Kenjaku was kind of lost. They achieved their life-long goal of capturing Tengen, the merger should be imminent, but they discovered that that won't give them Tengen's attention either and on top of that, they essentially lost their oldest friend. Even if Tengen wanted to talk back, by being under Kenjaku's control she lost all will and that is boring. She stopped being an equal.

So the person Kenjaku strived against and who they did all this for is gone. On top of that the Culling Game turned out less exciting than they thought. Everything was quite predictable and there wasn't as much chaos as they had hoped. Even the foreign nations invading and Sukuna switching vessels was quite predictable from Kenjaku's point of view. All they could do was go through the colonies and kill the remaining players to start the merger of Tengen and the Japanese population in hopes that at least that will be interesting to witness. Throughout all that they were still looking for someone who could fill that void their dwindling number of friends caused (mainly Tengen).

That's when Takaba shows up and disrupts all that, already drawing Kenjaku's attention through his extra-ordinary cursed technique.

Takaba is there with the stated purpose to steal the show and Kenjaku agrees with him because this kind of distraction is exactly what they were looking for. A fun little side project of trying to figure out this clown. The main difference between Kenjaku and Sukuna is that Kenjaku entered this fight with the will to change and take in new perspectives, very unlike Sukuna, who currently makes it his job to try to make Yuuji bend to his worldview. Takaba was so effective on Kenjaku because Kenjaku was willing to engage with him from the beginning and was open to whatever insanity Takaba suggested because things were getting quite boring anyway, so why not. He peeked their curiosity.

Kenjaku is searching for entertainment and Takaba is willing to give that to them. He proposes to find something more interesting/funny for Kenjaku than the merger and Kenjaku even says they might be willing to let go of their merger plan if he succeeds. Even when they just met, Kenjaku was willing to consider his perspective because they were unsatisfied with how their current plan was turning out. All Kenjaku wants is something unexpected and that is what they got in their fight against Takaba.

The following "fight" they continue to have this open perspective for Takaba's actions. Any time things get a little too personal or they feel his technique trying to influence them, they shut down, but they stay open to his spoken suggestions. When he declares he will make them laugh so hard they will puke up their stomach they are entertained and even the promise of a good one-liner gets them excited.

Which is something I really appreciated about this fight, it showed us who Kenjaku is when they aren't in villain mode. They are quite normal, bit wacky, but most importantly very human and that's the part Takaba brought out of them through their shared love for comedy. And that is what made them lose the fight. They stopped thinking about their insane merger plan, Sukuna's fight, the people they still needed to kill and essentially just "relaxed" and were able to be themselves. Playing around with Takaba's reality-bending technique is what made them actually enjoy the Culling Game, not the prospect of the merger or the bloodshed or whatever. Simply put, Takaba gave them something they didn't experience for hundreds of years because their fixation on Tengen and consequent plan always took precedent. Through that fixation Kenjaku lost what actually made them happy and excited, but they were too far gone to turn back.

Takaba brought that back through their comedy show. The comedy show is essentially all Kenjaku is looking for, in a very ordinary setting. It is a quick exchange of ideas and thought experiments. Since the show was improvised, both had to think on their feet and adapt to each other. They both surprise each other and have to adjust to the new scenarios. It's unpredictable due to the other person's input. Both being able to keep up and build on what the other offered is what made Kenjaku enjoy the experience. It's not just Kenjaku pushing things forward, but a team effort and simply through that they have less control over the process. That goes back to what Kenjaku said in Shibuya, about wanting to create something that exceeded their own expectations and that they have no control over. This isn't applied to people, curses or cursed energy, but I think it is still what this all comes down to and exactly that it is so ordinary compared to what Kenjaku previously stated they were searching for in the Death Paintings for example is what's important here, I think.

The comedy show was like the illusions they threw at each other before, just in a more grounded setting. Which showed us that Kenjaku doesn't need complex techniques or world shattering events to have fun, be entertained or intrigued. Being able to be themselves and goofing around with someone else who is exactly on their insane wavelength was enough. Comes back to highlighting Kenjaku's humanity beneath all those insane and cruel plans.

Kenjaku wasn't willing to quite accept what Takaba provided them throughout the fight either, holding very desperately on to their carefully curated and collected image that allowed them to go through with their 5D chess plan. Takaba tried to pry them away from that with his antics, but they resisted instinctively. But when they determined the scenario (the comedy show) and there was no emotional manipulation present through Takaba's technique, they ended up having the most fun. They were concentrated on their skits with Takaba, essentially indulging in what they claimed to be their determining factors for friendship and they both didn't want any interruptions to that little bubble they created, which was when Yuuta pried on that emotional vulnerability Kenjaku showed.

So you could say Takaba manages to involve Kenjaku personally and worked through all those defences to pry out Kenjaku's true character. I don't mean this in a "Kenjaku is actually a pure little bean" way, I think they always had a very morbid humour and their curiosity and search for entertainment eventually became obsessive. Likely influenced by their split from Tengen. Tengen seemed to have been the person Kenjaku was most fixated on initially and who they relied on for friendship, attention, fun and exchange of ideas. And when eventually they didn't get that anymore, they became forceful. Takaba instinctively tapped into that original need, since he himself is also very desperate for connection, validation and someone who he can have fun with and indulge in his passions with. They are very similar in that regard and that was why they hit it off so well.

Kenjaku's last words summarize it pretty well. They echo what Kenjaku realized during their fight with Takaba, except here they don't deny that feeling and there is no cursed technique forcing them to say this. It is unfortunate that they had to tap out before seeing the result of the merger themselves, but they got what they had actually been looking for. Their time with Takaba was one of the most entertaining things they experienced in their life and going out on that high-note makes their death less painful. The base need for fun with someone who doesn't bore them was fulfilled, Takaba managed to do what he initially set out to do at the beginning of the fight.

Kenjaku still put everything in place for the merger to be carried out, but I think what's important here is the focus of their actions. All they ensure is that Tengen won't die with them and that Sukuna has the means to start the merger if he wants to. They don't force him however, in the end it is still up to Sukuna to decide what should happen and that unpredictability is what Kenjaku actually enjoys. Something they can't control. It is unfortunate that they won't get to see it, but that seems to be alright with them. The way I interpret their last words is that they had their fun at the end of their life and now it is up to Yuuta, Sukuna & Co. to find their own deadly entertainment.

So essentially it all came down to Takaba matching Kenjaku's particular brand of insanity, tapping into their special interest and he also showed up at a time when Kenjaku was already questioning their decisions and was very desperate for meaningful company. Then Yuuta showed up and burst that bubble.

Overall, I think it is actually a very good end for Kenjaku because it showed us who Kenjaku is at their core and how they might have initially started out before the fixation on Tengen and the merger took over their life. As The Mastermind and main villain Kenjaku is in control, but by going back to the basic need for companionship and simple entertainment Kenjaku made themselves vulnerable. Indulging in these attachments (ones Sukuna claims to not have btw) they lost. Plays into the theme of strength=loneliness and consequently emotional attachments bring "weakness" as we also often see with Yuuji.

The timing of Kenjaku's death is bad, especially because we haven't gotten any meaningful interactions between the main villain and main character, who are also parent and child. Quite the missed opportunity...and well, having Yuuta do the beheading didn't fit there either, since he's completely removed from all that. I have to say though, chapter 249 made me like Kenjaku's death a lot more. It doesn't even really feel like a defeat because the main threat isn't gone and Kenjaku went out feeling satisfied with how things went. The experiences they had with Takaba feel like a good end for them, it just came too early in the story.

[chronically-ghosted]

Second Base.

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 3712

summary: you try out second base; hand stuff only, but it changes things between you two, as much as you don't want it to.

warnings/tags: cute little outfits designed to drive max nuts, hand jobs (m and f receiving), more blood, fangs, one emotionally unavailable vampire

a/n: this contains one of my favorite lines i've ever written!

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Second base.

Because you aren’t actual sadists or masochists, after the first bite, your sex life with Max went back to normal. Well, as normal as sex with an immortal creature of the night ever was in the first place. Okay – as normal as sex with an immortal creature of the night who is Max Phillips ever was in the first place. Which is to say, often, hard, and loud. It had been weeks since you’d seen that worried look of consternation, that sweet vulnerability he expressed, as if feeding on you might be the thing that kills you and not being railed against your couch for the better part of an entire day. Sometimes you wished he had much respect for your ability to walk upright as he did your jugular vein. 

On some level, you were aware that his recent overexuberance was in part due to that vulnerability. As if you might lift the curtain and find that the man behind it all might leave you wanting. Truly a frat boy at heart, Max struggled to express anything that couldn’t be summed up with the three “ings” – licking, sucking, and fucking, obviously – but now, he had been exposed as someone capable of those deeper feelings, as if he had been the one to split open a vein for you. And despite the heavenly glow you indulged in after the first bite, you really weren’t quite sure how you felt about it all. You hadn’t started dating Max with any illusions about who exactly he is. In fact, you might have started fucking him in the first place because it seemed wildly out of character that he or you would get attached at all – to anyone or anything. The dating thing just sort of happened, when you both came to the same conclusion at roughly the same time: no one else was really doing it for you, so why not? So what if you only directly referred to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend in the privacy of your own apartment, or his? So what if half of the office was entirely clueless about your relationship and the other half was actively placing “secret” bets about how long you two had been fucking? Annoyingly, Tim had been the one to be almost right: “six months ago, I’m telling you, man. That’s when he stopped eating secretaries and she got so much nicer.”

Technically, he stopped eating secretaries about a month into your relationship, and what Tim accidentally overheard was not him “eating” a “secretary”, but you weren’t about to correct him. But Max found it all hilarious: “he’s right, you’re so much nicer when that pussy has been taken care of. But I like it when you’re mean.” 

You actively choose not to think about what he meant by a “deep emotional connection” last time.

Fine, Phillips, I’ll show you how mean I can be.

“Nope, no, uh uh.” 

You put your hand just over the frilly blue lace on your hip. “I’m sorry, I don’t see the problem.” 

It had been about a month since first base and while Max had gotten notably more relaxed around you seeing him eat – he now occasionally walked around your apartment with his food in an opaque smoothie tumbler with a straw – he was still very strict about moving onto second base. 

Which, if left up to him, meant you’d be wearing a straight jacket and thick flannel pajamas. 

“Max, if we’re ever going to do this thing for real, you’re going to have to get used to seeing me naked. I’m not letting you fuck me and bite me while I’m in riot gear.”

“Okay, but, baby,” he whines and he can’t help himself from rubbing the satin bow above your crotch between his fingers. “You look like a birthday cake.” 

Is the baby blue lingerie with a strapless bra that catches around your biceps with white lace a bit overboard? Yes. But last time was ridiculous.

Max frowns, his visible pout morphing into something subtly dangerous as he realizes he can unpeel your bra with a string in the back. “Can’t I just fuck you normally in this and then we’ll try again later?”

You swat his hand away as it sneaks across your ribs. 

“No.” 

“You know, if I wasn’t already dead, I’d think you’re trying to kill me.” Smirking, he drops his hands down to your waist and, not so subtly, curves them around the mold of your ass. Distractedly, he slips one finger under the seam of your panties. You press your hands against his chest and blink up at him coyly. 

“Whatever gave you that impression.” 

He shakes his head, squeezing your ass once. “And I’m supposed to be the soulless demon with a heart of darkness.” 

“So you’ll do this?” 

With a sigh and his eyebrow jumping, he nods. “Yeah. Fine. Go get on the bed.”

Trying desperately not to squeal, you tear away from his arms and all but run and leap on top of the white towel. Max slips out of his shoes, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. You bite your lip, nerves humming in anticipation, as you sit up on your knees to watch him. To your enormous dismay, no matter how hard you worked, no matter how much spit or cum you used, you could not make him purr again. You’d had wet dreams on the idea alone of putting your head against his chest as he vibrated but he swore it was involuntary. “And,” he added as a way to soothe your ego, “I’m pretty sure it can only happen when I’m feeding.”

“Does it happen every time? Like with blood bags or back when you hunted people?”

“No,” was all he said about that.

Max slips his shirt off over his shoulders and goes to work unbuttoning his pants. When they slide off his hips, you frown. 

“The boxers with the hole in the waist? Ooh, baby, I’m so turned on when you make such an effort.” 

He rolls his eyes as he climbs in next to you. “Look, I didn’t think you’d be seeing my underwear and I need to do laundry.”

“You didn’t think I’d see your underwear in a situation where we’re going to specifically jerk each other off?”

Attempting some version of contrite, Max’s gaze falls from your face to your throat, to your clavicle, to your tits, pillowed up for him beneath the blue lace. He leans in as if pulled by magnets. 

“I’m sorry if I thought we’d both be a little more preoccupied.” 

His broad palm smooths across your thigh, around your hips, to just above your tailbone, his nose drawing indistinct lines from your shoulder to your ear. You sort of hate how quickly he can make you not irritated with him. You shift to take him into the cradle of your thighs, when he winds your panties up in his fingers and tugs. The gossamer material tightens just over the seam of your pussy, teasing your clit, you choke. That heated, teasing Max Phillips smirk spreads like hot butter across his lips. 

“What are the rules again?”

“Max,” you whine as you drag your nails over his chest and up his shoulders. But he hesitates, his hand knotting your underwear in his fist. One move and it’ll rub against you again.

“I’ll stop,” he murmurs in a half-sing-song voice. You huff.

“Silver. Bad touch, on your skin. Lightheaded or dizzy, I use the safeword. And,” you sigh. He’s so painfully handsome sometimes it hurts. He’d set out candles again, as if he needed any help in his seduction of you and he just sort of glows. You don’t know if it’s your anticipation or some vampire illusion, but every line on him is blurred. Soft, as if he doesn’t have your pleasure literally in his hands. There it comes again, that small bit of light in his eyes, the emergence of the early morning sun over the horizon. The way he looks at you makes your chest heavy. “And . . . only hand stuff,” you grumble. 

He chuckles, pouting at you in faux-sympathy as he reaches out, other hand wrapping around the back of your neck. “Only hand stuff, she’s so sad about it,” he whimpers into your cheek with a high, mocking voice. 

Your fingers dig into the skin on his chest, daring to hold him away as he goes for your mouth. “I swear to god, Max –,”

In one single fluid motion, he pushes on your tailbone, and swings your hips forward as he tackles your mouth with his own, effectively yanking you under him. You huff in surprise, before pulling away to find menace and glee in his eyes. Grins again as he nips with flat teeth on the curve of your neck. 

He plants wet, hot kisses across your chest, heat blooms against your ribs and tunnels down between your legs, as he tongues the softer places along the hollow of your throat, then up the other side of your throat, teasing your earlobe. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “that was mean. What can I do to make it up to you?” 

Pressing your chest up against his, knowing he can feel the squish of your tits, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. His hard cock rubs up against your seam and he lets loose with a muffled groan into your mouth. You roll your hips once with him between you and he turns his head to your jaw, as you both pant at the sensation. 

“You know exactly what I want.” 

His teeth graze you gently. This is an exercise in restraint for you as much as it is him. Given any other night, you’d have his pants off by now, on his back, or behind you, but you refrain. You can’t squeeze him like you want to and that only frustrates you more, makes you heated and ruffled, makes you want more of his skin on you, around you, as if he could smother you. You want to merge your bodies. Your knees dig into his ribs.

He whispers something, too low and fast for you to catch it, but it ends broken and uneasy as if you’re touching something delicate within him. Bending back with one hand, Max reaches between your legs and cups you, one finger barely pressing the wet material back inside you. 

“Was this waiting for me under all those layers?” You nod as he pushes deeper, your mouth dropping open. He kisses your chin, before tucking his head under your jaw again. “No wonder you were burning up.” 

He inhales as if his face was pressed right up against your cunt, two fingers rubbing up and down over that sodden material. It scraps against your clit and it burns. “I could eat you. Just like this.”

“Max, c’mon–,”

“I know, baby, I know.” 

Smearing that pink little bow with the smell of you, he dips his hand under the line of your underwear, past your damp curls, and soothes your overheated sex by filling it with two thick fingers. You arch, brow furrowing, mouth open, fingers clamping down around his shoulders, arousal crawling up your spine, higher and higher the deeper he goes. Max likes the build up, the tease, it’s why his thumb only hovers above your clit, the heat doing half the work for him, as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the wet squelching almost embarrassing. Behind his hand, his hips swing in time. He groans, deep, into your ear, breathless. 

“Could come like this, baby, could come right like this.” 

The bend of his cock bumps the back of his hand as he thrusts against nothing. You hitch your pelvis up, opening wider, pussy easier within reach, and you forgo any teasing for him, hand sliding right past his boxers, molding your grip around him. He’s hot and leaking all over your fingers. 

“‘Ngh . . . shit, baby.” The arm holding him up shakes. You want to lick the salty precum but there has to be a rule about that, right? If you aren’t so desperate for that final fuck, you would have been a bit more careless. His fingers inside you press up into the places only he knows can send you into oblivion, as if grateful for tearing him apart. His wrist flicks quicker, faster into you, fingers plunging deeper, up to the knuckles, bouncing you as if you were on his cock. You match his speed with your own hand and Max hums, a dark sound verging on distressed. 

You bite your bottom lip, eyes drooping, the rocking motion scraping against your pleasure again and again, like a match scratching against the box one stroke at a time. “Maaax –,” He adds a third finger and you keen, high-pitched and desperate, the width stretching you out for a cock he won’t let you have. You grind against his fingers, the bounce knocking loose every sane thought in your head. 

Opening your eyes, you realize he’s been staring at your tits this whole time. His chest warm and glowing with sweat, his eyes track every bounce and jiggle, the cups of your bra putting them more on display than if you held them up yourself. 

“Where do you want it, darling?” His voice is strained, softer than it should be with your cunt sucking up his fingers. 

Max Phillips doesn’t do cutesy nicknames. Not during sex, not ever. Your his slut. His monsterfucker. Not – 

Your already unspooling mind struggles to grasp at darling before it slips away. 

His cock is throbbing against the palm of your hand. If you could see it, it would be flushed red, the vein at the base protruding. You pump him faster and his hips stutter. He’s so close and so are you. 

But he’s not talking about that. 

“On my tit, Max. Bite me on my tit.” 

With a groan that is all growl, all tension and feral hunger, his arm collapses and he sinks his weight against you. He manages to get his hand out, but yours is still trapped there, pinned between your tender cunt and his painfully hard cock. You writhe. “Max–,” 

His kiss against your lips is a starving sort of one, one that steals the breath from your lungs, wiping any lingering ache temporarily from your body. He licks the inside of your mouth, swallowing the moan that races from your throat into his. It’s all need, desire, a blistering familiarity that you didn’t realize existed between you two. He’s trying to say something with this kiss. 

He doesn’t give you long to read into it, as he pulls back, sinking more into his knees as he mouths the skin under your neck, above your clavicle bone, and in between the valley of your tits. His weight shifts off you, enough to pull your hand out. You arch, pushing your chest deeper into his mouth, using the back of his neck to pull you higher, he groans and licks, and you yank the tie of your bra behind your back. 

“Max, you can –,”

His hand claws at your cups, mouth consuming yours again, the ropes almost stinging your back as they are ripped so fast across your heated skin. Before you lie flat, his hand cups under you, fingers pressing into where the threads burned and forcing you to maintain that bend in your spine. 

The moment is coming. You can feel it. It’s different from a rising orgasm, or the first time he ever sucked your nipple into his mouth. Your lizard brain is sending off warning flares, but you ignore it once again. Those flares arc and bend, your arousal now fire hot. 

His tongue pressed flat, Max draws a long stripe of spit from under your breast, over the weight of it, and up your nipple, where he swirls it between his teeth. Whether Max Phillips was an ass or tits man depended on the day of the week, or whatever was blowing in the air, but he laved attention onto yours like they were the first pair he’d ever seen in his life. The skin on your other breast shines from where his fingers mold around it, smearing your wet juices all over your pebbled skin. He switches over and laps up that smell off you. 

He’s wavering, caught between drawing it out and doing it so instantaneously he might black out and miss the whole thing. Your heart racing, skin almost too sensitive, you feel like you might shudder apart.

“Max, please –,”

He chooses the second approach. 

Without warning, his fangs spring out and he latches onto the skin near the valley of your chest on your right breast. 

You yelp in surprise, pain and pleasure zigzagging like rough scissors from his bite out through the rest of your body.

Okay, that hurts. 

You gasp, bucking, yanking on his hair. “Baby, baby, gentler, be gentle–,”

He swallows and the ache lessens. Hot blood pools out of the spot where his fangs punctured you. It runs warm then cold, teasing like a feather, as it rolls down your stomach. It’s not a lot, but it's more than last time. It stains his chest too.

Slowly, that same sort of miraculous fog sinks down into your bones. The grip on his hair eases, softens, and soon you are petting him against you.

You swear you feel his fangs scrape your heart. 

“That’s good, Max, that’s so good.” Your eyes roll lazily in your head and you nuzzle his hair. “God, how does this feel so good?” 

As though determined to remind you he is more than just fangs, his hand pulls away from the mattress and slides back between your legs. You feel only one finger brush against your folds through your underwear – you’re almost disappointed, go back to using three, Max –

His finger plunges deep, deep inside of you, and you gasp, feet scrambling against the towel, as a swell of pleasure almost smothers you in an overwhelming wave. You nearly choke from the force of it. You were so overly sensitive but the gooey haze didn’t let you realize it until it was too late. You come hard, harder than you thought possible, seeing eons of galaxies and stars behind your eyes, with just one of his fingers inside you and his thumb distractedly circling your clit. 

He feels you gush around his hand, wetting his wrist, and with a moan you can feel in your ribs, he spills in his boxers, the spend running down his thigh and smearing on yours. 

Your entire body goes slack, as if someone had made all your bones disappear. His hips jerk slightly as if his orgasm is still trying to wring him dry before he stills and plucks his head from your chest, unplugging his fangs from the holes he made.

Blood immediately bubbles up from the wound and without his fangs there, it spills freely and violently over your tits, your ribs. The whiplash between your orgasmic high and a full-body weakness sends hot nausea swooping into your stomach and the room spins.

“M-m-ax,” you murmur, barely opening your mouth, your voice weak and thick as if stuffed with cotton balls. 

“Fuck, sorry –,” you can’t quite see him clearly as he moves and suddenly there’s a warmth over your chest, comforting and heavy. The blood trickles to a stop and you breathe deeply. The darkness of the room stabilizes as you fully open your eyes. The room spins but this time pleasantly. 

“Hmm, whoo, wow, ah, okay . . .”

You don’t realize he’s gotten off the bed until the mattress sags again and he’s cleaning you up with cold cotton balls. 

“So, I’m going to take that mindless babbling as a good thing.” He smiles gently, but he’s holding something back. He keeps his head low like he doesn’t want you to see his face.  

You wiggle your shoulders, as he delicately wipes you down. “What, you don’t wanna clean me up with your tongue? And why do you even use disinfectant – there’s no open wound.” You poke him in the shoulder with your toe. “And you didn’t even purr that time! I demand a refund!”

“Next time, okay?” 

You frown. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Just let me–,” 

You sit up, the dried blood pinching your skin, and he pulls away. “Max, what is it?” 

He pulls away so much, he’s on his feet by the dresser before you can touch him, the back of his arm tearing at his mouth to wipe it clean. Max is a lot of things but cold when you need aftercare is not one of them. 

“It’s nothing.” The line of his shoulders is taught, tense. But he cracks his neck and takes the Gatorade from the dresser. He finally sits back down on the bed in front of you, offering the bottle to you. You take it, unease mounting, your fingers brush his, but this time he doesn’t retreat. Instead, gently, his fingertips ghost over your wrist, down the fine hairs on your arm, drop from your elbow and settle delicately on the blue material covering the crease of your hip. Where your blood had pooled, wet, and stained the blue to a deep magenta. 

“I ruined your pretty underwear,” he says softly, forlorn. 

You move closer to him, your knee touching his hip, but you refrain from seeking out the warmth of his hands. 

“Max, I can get new ones, I don’t care about that. Please, talk to me. Did I do something wrong? Did I push you too far?”

His fingers flex around the towel, now also appropriately ruined. He shakes his head, more firmly this time. He snags his shirt off the floor, over his head, then moves towards the bedroom door.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. I’m sticky. I’m gonna take a shower. You wanna come?”

The invitation, it’s something, an encouragement you genuinely feared he might not give. Maybe it’s not you he wants to part from. 

You didn’t enter into this for the emotional connection and neither did he. You have to remember that.

“Y-yeah. Of course.”

He invited you. He still wants you around. 

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