#; my fics

[aerequets]

Oh. That was when it clicked for Yor. She knew this: the hollow aching in your chest, the near permanent dread that made eating a chore, the way all your muscles seemed to perpetually be tensed. It was the fear of the impermanent, the vulnerable.

the great thing about writing and drawing is i can draw what i write and write what i draw >:)

(this is then and now chapter 8)

[luffington]

young master ♡

➤ summary: You don't worship the ground Doflamingo walks on, and it turns him on a little too much. (18+)

➤ pairing: doflamingo x afab!reader

➤ word count: 3.7k

➤ warnings: kinda sub!doflamingo (he’s a horny menace), mild dubcon, possessive doffy, spit kink, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m receiving), degradation, name-calling

➤ notes: this takes place before dressrosa but i’m only halfway done with the arc so sorry for any inaccuracies! i haven't posted my writing online in years so please lmk what you think :3

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Doflamingo was sulking. His signature smile was comically turned upside down and his arms were crossed over his chest. Feet resting on top of his desk as he leaned back in his plush office chair, crumpling the important documents strewn underneath them that he was meant to review and sign. He knew he probably looked like a petulant child, and he felt like one, too. This was all your fucking fault.

Even though you were only in your twenties, you were already a well-known Vice Admiral. Vergo had informed Doflamingo of your impressive Haki abilities months ago, but that wasn’t the only reason he kept a close eye on you. You were sexy as hell, even in a Marines uniform, and he delighted in every brief interaction he had with you at Warlord meetings. When you decided to take some time off, he snatched you up immediately with a tantalizing job offer. After all, working for him was technically still a Government job, and he was helping so many countries in need!

You made it clear from the very beginning that this was a temporary gig and you had no intention of permanently joining the Donquixote Family. You were his business partner, not his subordinate. He never planned on honoring that agreement, of course, but you were making his plans particularly difficult. 

The man had hundreds of thousands – if not millions – of loyal and passive subjects. Obedient workers who never questioned his judgment and praised his iron fist, from the filthy commoners at the bottom to the Elite Officers up top. But not you. 

You had the kind of effortless confidence that got under his skin. You were unbothered and detached from his evil antics, from him. He made his presence known everywhere he went and was always the focus of the room, but it seemed like you paid more attention to the damn servants than him. His threats and intimidation which made thousands tremble in fear hardly made you flinch. When he revealed the secret of Dressrosa’s toys in hopes of getting a reaction from you, you practically yawned. 

You knew who he was. You knew what he was capable of. You didn’t fucking care.

You weren’t afraid of him, and this greatly disturbed him.

A few days ago, you had strolled into his office without even knocking on the door. He furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance, but you barely took notice. You were there to discuss your agreement in order to figure out a time frame of how long he needed you. He threw his head back and laughed loudly as he said, “That’s adorable. You really think you can get away from me, hm?”

Perceptive as always, you noticed the slightest twitch of his middle finger and immediately held an Armament Haki-coated hand in front of your chest, blocking the nearly invisible string flung your way. “Doffy, I’m being serious.”

He frowned and narrowed his eyes. Diamante used that nickname once in front of you and now you wouldn’t call him anything else. You thought it was cute. “Since when can you block my strings?”

“Do you really think I’d be a Vice Admiral if I couldn’t do that? You were so obvious about it, too.” You clicked your tongue, knowing full well that anyone less powerful than you wouldn’t be able to perceive his movement. Prominent veins popped in Doflamingo’s forehead but the blonde man stayed silent. “I think I’ll stay here for a few more months, at least. Maybe longer if I don’t have a terrible time here. Dressrosa is kind of growing on me.” 

“You’re acting like I can’t keep you here by force.” Doflamingo interrupted your train of thought. “I could have Sugar turn you into a cute little doll, and then your Vice Admiral position would disappear. Or Giolla could turn you into a painting to hang on my wall.” He paused as if considering his options, knowing full well what he truly wanted. “Maybe I’ll keep you tied up with strings as my own personal pet.”

Many times he’d pictured you tied to the headboard of his bed, stripped naked and covered in his drying cum as he used you however he wanted. Perhaps then he’d finally ignite a spark of fear in you. 

“If you actually wanted to do that, it would’ve happened already. But you’re the one who hired me, remember?” You acted like you were explaining something obvious to a kid. “If you try anything against me, I can always call up the Navy and tell them what you’re doing to your poor innocent citizens. Maybe even let them know your alias? Begins with a J, right?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He snarled, sitting up in his seat immediately and binding strings around your wrists to keep them pinned above your head. You kept your eyes trained on his, a determined and almost taunting glint in them. 

“I’m not a big fan of blackmail, so I don’t want to do that,” you replied in an even tone. “I’m just saying that I can. Now, are we gonna talk business, or are you gonna play cat’s cradle all day?”

Doflamingo should’ve killed you right then and there. That would’ve put an end to his confusing thoughts about you, but your conversation only made them worse. You were on his mind constantly, to the point where he couldn’t focus on anything else. It was an obsession, an infatuation, one completely unbecoming of a heavenly being like himself. People were meant to grovel at his feet and kiss the very ground he walked on – why the fuck were you not affected?

He finally had enough. He pushed the chair away from his desk and stormed out of his office. Servants hurried away in fear, knowing that his scowl and heavy footsteps meant nothing but trouble. A whirlwind of thoughts swirled around his mind — he wanted to make you scream, to completely immobilize you with his power, to kiss you so hard you saw stars. No, that wasn’t it. 

He wanted you to call him ‘Young Master’. 

Doflamingo threw open the double doors to a secluded drawing room in his typical dramatic flair. You were alone, reclining on a couch and reading a book. Even this pissed him off – you were in a potential viper’s nest, surrounded by powerful people who could turn on you at any point, yet you didn’t feel the need to keep others around you for protection. You turned your head towards the intruder in confusion. His massive body filled the door frame and light from the hallway illuminated him and his feathery coat from behind, making him look like a fallen angel.

“What Devil Fruit did you eat.” It was a statement, not a question. His voice was a dangerously low growl. 

“I already told you, I didn’t eat one.” You said slowly, slightly thrown off by his demeanor but still not afraid. 

“You lying bitch!” He roared, using his strings to slam the doors behind him as he crossed the room towards you in three giant steps. “You must have some kind of mind control ability, or manipulation, or… I don’t fucking know! Tell me what’s happening!” He threw his head in his hands and crouched over, almost as if he was in pain. “Why can’t I stop fucking thinking about you!”

Your mouth opened slightly and you blinked a few times to process the situation, and then it hit you. A sly grin slowly formed on your face as you dog-eared your book and set it down next to you. You knew this man was incapable of love in its purest sense, but maybe… “Doffy, have you never been attracted to someone before?”

His head shot up and he narrowed his eyes at you furiously behind his sunglasses. Of course he’d fucking been attracted to people – he refused to settle for nothing but the best with his lovers. He had fucked enough sexy men and women over the years to form a small army. But none of them were like you. 

They were all cheaply made toys, suitable for one or two uses then tossed in the trash when they broke or when he got bored. He was a greedy and spoiled child who always got what he wanted. But with you… it felt like he was staring through the front window of a shop at a shiny new toy. So close and so enticing but completely out of reach.

“Fuck you! I… I…” You would never know how that sentence was supposed to end, because he sunk to his knees and hung his head in frustrated shame. He slammed his fist against the floor hard enough to rattle the room. “Why won’t you belong to me?!”

The almighty King of Dressrosa, the feared Warlord, the powerful underground broker, was on his knees begging for you. He knew he sounded pathetic. He felt pathetic. But he couldn’t go a moment longer without getting what he wanted, what was rightfully his. 

To say you were shocked was an understatement. You had always stood your ground because you knew your worth, but sometimes you did it to purposely push the blonde man’s buttons since no one else seemed to have the courage to do so. But you were just teasing him – this was not the outcome you had in mind. 

You slowly stood from the couch to move in front of him. Even bent over, the massive man was practically your height, but he had never seemed smaller.

“Doffy,” you began in a quiet voice and reached out to gently touch his feather-clad shoulder, but he slammed the ground again. 

“I don’t need you to patronize me! I need…” he trailed off again and hesitated for a moment before realizing what he needed to do to calm the fire roaring inside him. Fine, he would give you a fucking reason to worship him. He threw himself at your midsection, making you yelp in surprise. He had finally drawn a reaction out of you, and it spurred him on even more. Rough hands yanked your shirt up to your breasts and he hungrily mouthed at the soft skin of your tummy, a frenzied mess of tongue and teeth and soft lips. “I need you. Give yourself to me.” He said breathlessly, punctuating his words with a sharp bite at your hip. 

You were frozen in place but weak in the knees, unable to do anything but accept his bites and bruises. You’d be lying if you said you’d never imagined what his long tongue and nimble fingers felt like on your body, in your body. He nipped at your skin hard enough to bruise then soothed it with his tongue, sending heat straight to your core. 

Doflamingo was in a drugged-like haze, mind clouded with a dizzying mix of lust and hatred and longing. He belatedly noticed that you weren’t resisting him when he popped the button on your jeans. When he looked up, he realized your cheeks were flushed and your gaze was trained on his long fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants. 

He smiled wickedly, feeling a sliver of regained control. “You fucking whore. You want this, don’t you?”

“Doffy, you’re the one literally trying to get in my pants.”

“Shut up.” He snarled, annoyed yet allured by your sweet giggle afterwards. He yanked your jeans down to your ankles to reveal pretty pink lace panties underneath. They practically matched the color of his coat – you had to have worn those just for him. Might as well take them later. 

A needy and unashamed whine tore from his lips when he saw your pussy. Even more perfect than he’d imagined all those times he fucked his fist alone in bed. He told himself this was what was necessary to crush that annoying ego of yours, knowing full well he was nearly shaking with pure carnal desire. He grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise and shoved your thighs apart before diving in. His tongue was ravenous, licking a sloppy stripe from your ass to your clit, mouth closing around the nub and sucking harshly. The sweetest moan he’d ever heard fell from your lips and he echoed it, eager to hear more. 

Fingers tangled in his short blonde hair as you tried to steady yourself. It was too much all at once. You tried to tug him away to tell him to slow down, yet wanted to pull him even closer. Doflamingo flinched at the contact. Part of him wanted to tie your hands behind your back because how dare you touch him without permission. But instead, he groaned at the rough pull on his scalp, which went straight to his hardening cock. His grip on you tightened as he dragged you further onto his face.

His long tongue lapped messily at your folds then slipped into your cunt, shallowly thrusting the wet tip in and out. He laughed in delight at your delicious juices coating his tastebuds and making his head spin.

“You’re so fucking wet.” He panted and rubbed his nose against your clit, making you jump. A sloppy string of his saliva still connected his mouth to your entrance. “I think you like me after all.”

“I’d like anyone who eats me out this good,” you quipped.

“But no one’s as good as me, hm?” To prove his point, he shoved the entirety of his skilled tongue deep inside you. You threw your head back and whined as the wet muscle curled and twisted inside you, hungrily lapping at your sensitive inner walls. “No one will ever be as good as me. Say you’re mine and you can have this every day.”

“F-fuck, Doffy… so, mmh, good…” He ate you out like a man starved, desperately sucking at every part of your pussy he could reach. One hand moved from your hip, leaving dark blue fingerprint-shaped bruises behind, and plunged into his own pants. He let out a deep groan at the contact.

“Call me Young Master.” Doflamingo breathed heavily as he pulled his pants down slightly. Your jaw dropped when he revealed his massive and fully erect dick, leaking beads of precum and bobbing against his stomach. You knew he’d be big based on his height, but this was inhuman. The blonde man noticed your hungry gaze and chuckled. “You want me so badly. Stop denying the truth and I’ll give you everything you want. I am a benevolent king, after all.”

You actually laughed at that, and he didn’t even try to be angry – being on full display for you meant he couldn’t hide the way your disobedience made his cock twitch. His other hand slithered between your legs and rubbed at your folds and the smile fell off your face.

You stumbled backwards – there was nothing behind you to lean on and your legs were quickly turning into jelly. “W-wait, Doffy, I can’t, ahh, l-let me sit…”

Two of his fingers moved downwards and bound your feet to the floor with his string. Immobilizing your bottom half like a statue but intentionally leaving your top half free to grab at his hair and body as you pleased. “Your king will grant you permission to move when I want to.” 

“S’okay, I l-like seeing you look up to me for once.” Your witty reply was lost on the blonde, who had spread your folds apart and was hypnotized by your entrance clenching around nothing. You were so fucking tiny compared to him and he ached at the thought of molding your insides to take him and him alone.

Just one thick finger was enough to make you moan and pant, slowly pushing its way inside your cunt. “Shit, you’re so tight.” The soft squelches of your inner walls rang in his ears and pretty pearls of precum leaked from his dick. “Perfect fucking pussy. Give it to me.”

A second digit was soon added, scissoring you apart expertly. Unsurprisingly, the man really knew how to use his fingers. He crooked them and brushed against your most sensitive spot, causing you to cry out and hold onto him even harder. Sharp teeth playfully bit at your inner thigh in response. Doflamingo gathered some of the constant dribble of precum from the tip of his cock to lube his rough palm. He considered making you spit on his hand to ease the glide, but a better idea came to mind.

“Spit in my mouth.” He ordered, tilting his head up and sticking his tongue out. Waiting for you to follow his command like a good toy.

You were taken aback by the sudden request, but you gathered a ball of spit in your mouth like you were told… and it landed directly on the lens of his sunglasses, obscuring the vision of one eye. Doflamingo knew that it wasn’t just badly aimed. This was an act of defiance. You intentionally spit on his defining accessory, his very essence.

“You stupid slut.” The venomous insult came with a maniacally pleased grin. He pushed the stained glasses onto his forehead and you finally saw his eyes for the first time. Gorgeous and bright blue with lust-blown pupils. Looking at his beautifully depraved expression in its entirety, you briefly wondered if he really was an angel. His fingers sped up to a nearly brutal pace and he slipped in a third digit, causing you to choke on your spit. “Love me. Love me.”

A divine being who fell from heaven to beg at your feet. 

“Y-you’re fucking insane,” you panted with a blissful smile, your cunt clenching down deliciously on him. “Make up your, mmh, mind.”

“Adore me.” He responded immediately. “Say you’re mine. Be mine.”

Even though you refused to respond, the blonde was lost in his fantasies yet grounded in the reality of your beautiful face scrunched up in pleasure. Mouth hanging open, hands nearly going numb from how hard you held onto him. He needed to see you like this every day – no, every hour. He could keep you under his desk like a pet, ready to suck his dick whenever he allowed you to. Or maybe you’d sit in his lap all day, one of his hands fondling your tits as he attended meetings and forced his subordinates to watch him play with his favorite toy. 

But that was too mundane. He could snatch up anyone in Dressrosa right now and do the same. No, the twisted fantasy that really made his cock ache was already happening. That annoyingly sexy confidence of yours was threatening his godliness. 

Maybe he’d make you step on him next time.

“Call me Young Master,” he begged again, too far gone to realize how ridiculous he sounded. Tongue hanging out like a dog (and panting like one, too), he rutted into his hand even faster. His cock was absolutely throbbing, red and angry and dripping precum. He was in no position to be giving orders. You stifled a giggle with your hand, which quickly turned into a moan as his fingers bumped against your cervix. 

“I already t-told you,” you sucked in a few shaky breaths. He was watching you intently and still smiling, but his fingers never slowed down. “You’re not my –mm– Master, I don’t, ahh, work for you…”

“But why not?” He whined again. “At least call me it when you cum. I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t.” 

You didn’t acknowledge the ridiculously empty threat, instead throwing your head back when his fingers crooked against your most sensitive spot. Slick was dribbling down your legs – Doflamingo licked it off of your thighs before slurping around his digits buried inside you. The blonde echoed your unashamedly loud moans, practically on the edge himself. He only needed one thing to send him into a rapturous white bliss. 

He stared up at you unblinkingly, face frozen in a grin as he took in all the telltale signs of your approaching orgasm. Sweat dribbled down your forehead, eyebrows furrowed together, body tense and breath hot. “I-I’m gonna… gonna…” He crooked his fingers inside you the way he’d done thousands of times to turn people into obedient little puppets.

“Doffy~!” Your face contorted into the most divine expression he’d ever seen, crying out his name like a desperate prayer. 

You ignored his order. You used that stupid fucking nickname. 

He came hard. 

The tight coil that had been building in his groin for days at the mere thought of you finally snapped. An animalistic moan left his lips as thick ropes of cum coated his hand and spilled onto his abdomen. He looked even more blissed out than you, panting hard and shuddering and nearly overstimulating himself with the hand on his cock still slowly moving up and down. 

Doflamingo finally removed his fingers from inside you and loudly sucked them clean of your essence. Still craning his neck upwards so he wouldn’t break eye contact with you. You could lose yourself inside that piercing gaze, so full of obsession and hunger, especially when it was coming from a position of worship rather than condescension. 

Blinking out of your stupor, you realized the blonde’s cum-coated hand was in front of your mouth. If you were anyone else, he would’ve shoved his fingers all the way to your throat and made you choke on it. Instead, he stayed still and kept quiet. This was an offering. 

You grabbed his wrist and kitten-licked his sticky palm twice, humming thoughtfully as if appraising the taste. His grin grew even wider. Then you pulled away and teasingly said, “You take care of the rest of it.”

Doflamingo simply giggled in delight — you’d willingly tasted the essence of a god, one that was soon to be your god, but you were still too stubborn to give in. He didn’t expect you to crumble so easily and he didn’t want you to. He was having way too much fun. The blonde smeared the rest of his cum on the crotch of the pink panties still pooled around your ankles. 

“That’s disgusting.” You huffed in annoyance and rolled your eyes. “What am I supposed to wear out of here?”

The man chuckled lowly and rose to his feet, suddenly towering above you at full height. He wiped the dried spit off of his sunglasses before returning them to their rightful place on the bridge of his nose. 

“Who said anything about leaving?” You paled at the sight of his devilish grin but felt your core clench in need. “You still haven’t called me by my proper title.”

[dreamlandcreations]

Imagine Feyd tricking you into engagement...

• Feyd-Rautha masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

Imagine Feyd tricking you into engagement with a custom you were not aware of. His request was simple, seemed harmless so you decided not to risk angering him. Disregarding your suspicions, you were foolish enough to give in to your host.

The gasps across the room were followed by eerie silence, and everyone was staring at you with disbelief while Feyd-Rautha was grinning at you in victory.

• Taglist •

[bidisasterevankinard]

I want to dance with you tonight (and for the rest of my life)

Bucktommy / E / 14 932 words

Cover by @ronordmann 💙

Mood board by me

Three months after Tommy kissed him passed so fast, but Buck enjoyed every second of it. Every date, kiss, hug, sex. Every text till the next opportunity to meet again between their shifts. Tommy makes him feel happy, giddy, smitten and, most importantly, wanted. He isn’t the one chasing so hard he forgets about himself this time, or the passive one, letting relationships just come to him, not trying to do much. No, now he takes as much as he gets. Of course, during their first three weeks Tommy was the one who was making most of the moves. He would set the dates, time and date, just asking Buck if he wanted to have another date and then tell him when and where it would be. Tommy was the one buying him flowers, initiating kisses or any form, even not sexual intimacy - always making sure Buck was ok with everything, never rushing him to do something Buck didn’t want to. And it made Buck feel safe. Soon he was the one to lean and kiss the man, or hug, or put his hand on Tommy’s tight, while the man would drive him to the next date’s destination, any time he wanted. Or Buck and Tommy enjoy their relationships, fall in love and go to Madney wedding together

[hedwig221b]

I finished my Parrish POV au × toxic sterek

Y'all...

Y'ALL... IT'S SO FUCKING GOOD!!! here's and excerpt:

🔥

Hale arched his eyebrows. “Oh, so now you are saying I’m loving him wrong?” He chuckled incredulously. “That your infatuation with him is purer?”

Jordan took a step forward and thrust a finger into his own chest. “What I feel is love. I would’ve never touched him if he refused me. I would never— never…” he choked on desperate anger. “I do not know what is going on in your feral mind but that—” he pointed at the door, “is not love.”

Hale listened to all of it with his head lying on the back of the couch and his eyes closed. At last, he hummed. “Do not tell me you haven’t imagined how his face would look like in passion.”

Jordan choked on air, paled, and then immediately flushed with heat.

Wolf smirked, not opening his eyes as if he knew the answer already. “Yeah. You did. He goes all rosy in the cheeks. Opens his pretty mouth — it’s so sinful, isn't it? — and oh, the sounds he makes—”

“Stop.”

Hale shrugged. “I am just reminding you that Stiles is married. To me. All you can do is imagine, and I get to do all of those things you’re dreaming of to him. Yes, I know. I know everything you and others think,” he opened his eyes and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. His smile was despicable in its selfishness. “I know what you dream of when you look at his lips—”

“Stop it.” Jordan shook his head.

“— because I am the same as you,” the wolf ignored him. “I imagined everything you did, it’s just happened that my dream became the life that I get to live. He is here,” he tapped his own temple, “and here,” he tapped his chest. “And you would have to kill me to get us separated.”

[buckyownsmylife]

out of the woods (chris evans x famous!reader smut)

the one where Chris watches an interview of you on the Ellen show

Warnings: mention of small stature in comparison to Chris, smut thoughts, Ellen Degeneres trash talking/thinking, cursing, mention of prescription medicine, talk of age gap (reader is younger than Chris), jacking off, daddy kink

WC: 3k

A/N: this doesn't really have an ending, so if you all like it, I might make a series out of it - the idea is that you are also famous (for acting, singing, writing) and have been friends with Chris but there's always this underlying tension between the two of you. It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway: no, he's not married in this story nor do I intend to feature Alba in any part of it whatsoever.

Chris’ P.O.V.

I was scrolling through Twitter when I realized some fans were tagging me in a short video of Y/N on Ellen DeGeneres’ show. I knew she had gone there by herself, mostly to promote her new album, but also to give some publicity for our movie, so I was aware that she would probably talk about me at least a bit… Curiosity got the best of me and I clicked the link to check the video for myself.

She looked gorgeous as always, her hair down in that way I loved so much and her skin seemed to be as soft as ever under the mini dress she chose to wear, her legs stretching out and making her look taller than she actually was. I chuckled, remembering just how small she looked by my side.

I remembered one time when I lifted her up, bridal style, and spun her around the pub we had close to the set, after the Patriots had won a game. Despite not understanding the game, she tagged along and celebrated every time I got excited, like the cute person that she was. I got so transfixed by her giggles back then. They were the sweetest sound and the only thing I heard, despite the fact that we were in the middle of a very loud bunch of dudes. 

I found myself imagining again, as I had then, what it would be like to have her under me, trapped by my arms in bed, or better yet, against a wall, only my thighs securing her in place while I made her moan with my touch. How would she sound? Or, better yet, how would she feel?

Christ. 

Shaking my head, I tried to gather my thoughts so as to not let them stray too far in that direction, something I didn’t have much success in doing, despite the fact that I had been practicing that simple habit every single day since I met her. But it was proving to be a nightmare. She was just far too tempting.

Shaking my head once more, I focused on the video in front of me. My heartbeat had sped up as soon as it started, but I tried to tell myself it was because I was scared for her, since I knew how Ellen could get invasive sometimes.

“So, Y/N…” She started, eyeing my co-star. “You have just finished working on a movie with someone we’re very familiar with, isn’t it?”

Y/N giggled, nodding at the blonde woman. “I suppose so. We have just finished the promotion for it, maybe you guys have already seen it?” She asked the crowd, who went nuts at her. It was sweet to see this kind of feedback, I truly believed in our movie and the fact that I got to know her was just an added bonus.

“For those of you who don’t know what we’re talking about, it’s called ‘Be Here Now’ and it’s currently in a theater near you. Y/N stars alongside Chris Evans, who we love so dearly here, and they play brother and sister as they try to reconnect after their parents' passing.”

More applause at that. I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes at her idea of love. Last time I was there, she made me pretty uncomfortable, and I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

“So, how was the process for you? We know you’re familiar with the filming process, since you star in your own series ‘Evermore’, that sent you to stardom, along with your songs, but you had said before you’d never act outside of it, since your true passion relies on music. What changed your mind?” Ellen sat back as she said that, already comfortable with the fact that something good would come out of this interview, since Y/N had been pretty vocal about what made her decide to do the movie, even with me.

“Chris did, actually. Or, in fact, the fact that he was cast in it.” A chorus of “aws” echoed around the room and there was no way to know if they were real or prompted, but they were quickly interrupted by the host.

“So, you were a fan?” She instigated, as to what Y/N nodded again.

“Of course. Well, my mom more than me, but I was the one who introduced his work to her, so…” She poked her tongue out at the camera, to which my heart (and my cock) jumped in response. “Ever since I got into this, when I first had the idea for Evermore with James, I told him time and time again I would never act outside of this, because I had no intention whatsoever on becoming an actress. I have always been in this for the music. Well, the writing. I’m a writer, I like writing scripts and songs, I’ve fallen into this performer thing by accident. But I’ve always been adamant about the fact that if I ever had the opportunity to act alongside Chris, I’d take it. It doesn’t matter that I don’t think I’m good enough. It didn’t even matter if the script was terrible, which thankfully wasn’t the case, I just really admire him and his work and I would never live with myself if I turned this opportunity down.”

Even though I knew most of this, I couldn’t help but to gloat at the fact that this incredible woman actually admired me. She was so much better than me in so many things, even acting, and she still thought I was great enough to get her to participate in a movie. 

“So, what I’m hearing is, you have a little crush, that’s right?” And there it was. The coup. Of course. That evil wench…

“That’s what you took out of everything I said? Jesus, Ellen, has anyone ever told you that you listen like a man?” Ouch. That one was perfect. Being the ambassador for females and lesbians everywhere, it couldn’t not hurt her, especially coming from someone as angelical, sweet and universally-loved as Y/N. I appreciated the quick second her smile faltered before it became plastered on her again.

“No, I haven’t heard that before… But tell me, have you met any of the other Marvel actors? I mean, granted, there are a lot of them now, but especially those who have worked closely with Chris?” Y/N shrugged at that.

“I have been friends with Elizabeth Olsen for a very long time, we’re very close, but other than that, no. I haven’t had the chance to properly meet, or rather, hang out with any of them.”

“Who’s first on your list?”

“Anthony Mackie,” Y/N promptly responded, getting a few laughs and claps from the audience.

“My, you had that answer ready” Ellen teased, to which Y/N simply shrugged again. 

“We talk through social media sometimes and I know for a fact he’s hilarious. I hope we get to meet sometime. I might just have to bug Chris about it.” She had already, in fact. I couldn’t wait to introduce them to each other and I was already planning my next party just to be able to make that happen.

“What about Sebastian?” Ellen asked, a glinter of something extremely suspicious in her eyes.

“Sebastian Stan? No, we haven’t met, but I’d love to get the chance to someday. He seems extremely sweet and I know he’s very talented and Chris loves him, so I think it’s a matter of time until it happens.”

“I heard somewhere you had a bit of a crush on him, right? Even if you don’t admit that you have one on Chris?” This fucking woman. I could fucking kill her right now. But, to my surprise, Y/N simply laughed.

“Truly, you have got to check your hearing sometime soon, because that is absolutely false.” 

“Really?” Ellen pushed, to which Y/N beamed even brighter at her.

“Positive.” A beat as the two women stared at each other down. “I think what you meant is that I have had a huge crush on his character, Bucky Barnes.” Y/N explained, laughing at the host. “I admit that only happened after I saw Sebastian’s portrayal of him, but my attraction to a fictional character can’t be really connected to him.”

Ellen nodded, obviously not paying attention to anything she was just saying. “Well, let’s figure out who do you actually feel attracted to, shall we? Let’s play fuck, marry or kill!”

The audience screamed and, to my surprise, Y/N didn’t even blink, a patient smile painting her lips as she calmly watched the interviewer. “So, Y/N, between Anthony, Sebastian and Chris, who would you rather fuck, marry or kill?”

Y/N shook her head, still smiling at the older woman. “I couldn’t possibly answer truthfully to this question, Ellen, mostly because I am not capable of feeling carnal attraction to people I have never met, but I can 100% assure you that I would marry Chris without blinking twice if there was a choice.” 

My heart skipped a beat at her words. The crowd went crazy, obviously satisfied with the answer.

“And you’re sure you don’t have a crush on him?” Ellen’s eyes glistened with mischief, as she stared at the younger woman.

“Ellen, I think the question here is… Are you sure *you don’t have a crush on him?” The laughs from the audience was the last thing to come from the video before it stopped, and I found myself echoing them in the silent living room. Oh my, how I missed this girl.

I tapped my fingers nervously on my jean-clad thigh, looking around the room. I had been staying in Boston with my family for the last few weeks, since the movie premiered and we had finished promotion, and I had found myself constantly calling her to share funny stories from my nephews or to hear about her day. I knew she wanted to meet my family, she had always said she admired the fact that we were so close, despite there being so many of us.

My mom obviously loved her, having been a fan of hers long before I even heard about her existence. So what if…? 

Before I could second-guess myself, I pressed call in the name of the woman I had been thinking about. The phone rang three times before she picked up, stopping me from giving up on this crazy idea.

“Hey, Chris! How are you? I missed talking to you, it’s so weird seeing you everyday for four months and then suddenly not at all anymore.” I know I was literally forty, but I literally melted at this girl’s words.

“Did you now? Is that because you wish we were married, so we could see each other everyday?” Her breath hitched as she realized I had seen the video and I could just imagine the cute little embarrassed expression she was probably sporting right now. I tried to ignore the fact that my words and tone of speaking had suddenly become way too similar to when I was flirting with a girl.

“Fuck, you saw the interview.” I had never heard Y/N curse before, so the fact that I suddenly had no control over my mouth could be explained by the unavailability of blood in my head, since it had all gone south.

“Come stay with me for a while,” I spilled suddenly. Silence was the only answer I got from the other side of the call and my heart sped up in a way that only happened when I was truly anxious. I was already cursing myself out for scaring the poor girl when she finally answered.

“Are you serious?” She asked, her voice barely over a whisper. It was obvious how vulnerable she was feeling, and a sense of overprotectiveness overcame me. “Please don’t joke about this, Evans. This better not be a prank. ‘Cause I really do miss you a lot.”

Fuck indeed. There was no way something good would come out of this idea, but there was no way I would go back either.

“Of course I’m being serious. Come to Boston. You can stay with me, but I think my mom is going to steal you before you even settle in.” A large breath came from the other side.

“Okay. Okay! I’m going to pack my bags. Yay! I’m so excited!” She was clearly jumping up and down with the perspective of what was to come, and I couldn’t help the smile that painted my lips not only at her cuteness, but also due to my own excitement at her arrival. 

“Great! I’ll be waiting.” My heartbeat still hadn’t gotten back to a normal speed. “Text me the details of your arrival, I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

“Chris, I don’t think that’s such a good idea…” I knew what she meant. If someone caught sight of us together at the airport, or even the fact that she was here in Boston, all hell would break loose in the press.

“Shhh, don’t worry about it, baby girl. I’ll take care of it.” I froze, only then realizing what I had just called her. A few seconds ticked by while I silently freaked out, wondering how I could brush this over, when she intervened.

“Thanks, Chris. That was pretty much the best thing I’ve ever heard. I just might forgo my prescription medicine while I’m over there, because you’ve been able to completely relax me with just two sentences.” She giggled and if I was at first leaning towards thinking she was sarcastically teasing me, just by the nature of her words, the tone of her voice made it clear that she actually meant what she had just said.

Once again, I was at a loss for words, especially because I couldn’t help but to allow myself to imagine that this was her, flirting with me a little bit. The blood I so desperately needed in my brain had once again left to pump another organ full of life. I was saved from having to answer, though, as Y/N quickly wrapped up the conversation.

“I’ll text you the details of my flight in a little bit. See you soon, angel.” She hung up before I could process the nickname she had given me. 

“Fucking hell,” I whispered, finally relenting and getting up from the couch to take a shower to rub one off.

I had found myself in this situation more times than usual after meeting Y/N. Normally, I’d only do it out of boredom, preferring to fuck someone whenever I’d get sexually frustrated. But the last few times I had taken girls from parties into my bedroom, I could only see her. Y/N. And I hated how disgusting I felt after it was done, the fact that I didn’t care about the girl I just fucked and the fact that I imagined my younger friend.

So now I resorted to this kind of activity. As the warm water started to hit my body, I allowed my right hand to travel the extent of my body until I found my hardened member. “Fuck,” I found myself whispering into the bathroom as I tugged on my cock. Images that I had spent a lot of time concocting in my head flashed in front of me, all of them starred by Y/N. 

I imagined her nude body here with me, under the falling water. How her breasts would heave with every breath she took. Would she be as filled with desire for me as I was for her? I imagined the path the warm droplets of water would run across her skin and how I wished I could lick its remnants. 

Maybe she’d fall to her knees before me, looking up from under her eyelashes with that coy expression that drove me crazy. Her lips would softly kiss the tip of my cock and she’d still be watching me, analyzing my reactions. I would do my best to restrain myself, allowing her to get accustomed to my member, but my hands would eventually find their way to her wet strands, creating a makeshift ponytail that would facilitate my vision of her work while I still managed to control myself and not use it to guide her.

She’d kiss the skin all around my cock, quick little kisses just to tease me before going further down to suck on my balls. I’d throw my head back, begging her to do what I needed, and she’d finally succumb, wrapping her lips around my tip before slowly sucking further down my dick. She’d be relentless, eventually being able to swallow my whole member down her throat, and I would look down again to see her looking up at me with a proud gaze in her eyes.

“Such a good girl,” I would whisper, just before I finally snapped, using my grip on her hair to pull her from my cock until just the tip remained tightly squeezed by her lips, until I pushed her all the way against me again. “Take this fucking cock like the little perfect girl you are for daddy.”

And she’d take it like a pro, a satisfied smile on her lips as I fucked her mouth, eventually breaching into her throat, making her gasp for air, tears in her eyes as her hands flew to my hips in an attempt to slow me down. But she wouldn’t really, opting for simply carving her nails on my flesh as she took every single rope of cum I’d deposit between her eager lips.

Fuck. I let the water wash away the sin I had just committed while sending up a prayer for better control when Y/N arrived. The last thing I needed was to be stuck in the bathroom, touching myself while she was at my house.

[humanpurposes]

I Have Always Been A Storm, Part 1

Read the full chapter on AO3 // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Floris Baratheon

In the year 128AC, Floris Baratheon weds Aemond Taragryen, a daughter and a son both driven to duty, now bound to each other when the realm is on the brink of war. Floris is enamoured by the Prince, but love is something she can only hope will bloom once her vows have been said before the eyes of the Seven- AU where Aemond and Floris marry before the Dance of the Dragons.

Warnings: 18+, smut, pregnancy, arranged marriage, canon divergence, angst, possibly quite a lot of angst, hurt/comfort

A/n: Surprise!! It's the Florismond fic no one asked for :) Planning on this being a 3 part mini series.

“A terrible coincidence,” my husband says.

Head bowed, he kneels before me where I sit on the end of our bed. Thunder and lightning rage beyond the windows but he has brought the storm inside with him. The rainwater that has drenched his hair and his riding leathers soak through my nightgown. I keep my jaw tight and my teeth pressed together to stop myself from shivering.

He has discarded his gloves to hold my hands in his, leaving a trail of kisses and tears on my skin. He circles the pad of his thumb over my fingertips, over the callouses left by my years of devotion to the harp. His hands are calloused too, from his sword, from the reins on Vhagar’s saddle.

He lifts his chin to look at me. I scarcely recognise him. My husband is a proud young man, always poised, never loud, often cold and stoic, gentle around the right people, his mother, his sister, me.

His single eye is glistening and glassy, the blue of his iris vibrant despite his distress. His breaths are laboured, his lips parted. I see nothing but hopelessness in him, but even like this, I wonder if the gods will ever manage to create a person quite so beautiful as Aemond Targaryen.

I slip a hand out of his grasp and, as gently as I can, pull on the eyepatch that covers the left side of his face. He lets me do it, as he has done many times before. A burst of lighting catches in the uneven edges of his sapphire eye. The twisted flesh that frames it is red, I wonder if it is hurting him.

I asked him once, why he was so reluctant to display this part of himself, why he wanted to hide it from me when we were first married.

His reply was always that he did not wish to frighten me.

What reason would I have to fear a scar? I’ve seen plenty of blood in my life, hunts, tourneys, accidents in the training yard. I see my own blood every moon. How could I fear my own husband?

He’s stuttering, sobbing, choking on his words. “I didn’t– I– I tried to stop her– but I was so– I just wanted him to…”

Heat rises behind my eyes. My skin is cold, my limbs frozen, but the shock is starting to wear off. I cannot listen to any more or I will surely break. 

I hush him, curling my whole body over his head. If he sees my face he will think I fear him, he will think I am horrified by him. I run a hand over his damp hair and he rests his face against the swell of my stomach.

Before he left, only a matter of days ago, after he had kissed my lips sore and stolen all the air from my lungs, he had come down to his knees to kiss my belly. By Maester Orwlye’s estimation, I only have a month left of my term. By tradition, I should be in confinement, but Aemond had ordered against it. He could not bear the thought of being apart from me, and I him. He has his own books and correspondences with Maesters across the continent. In Dorne, expectant mothers are encouraged to exercise as much as they can, to breathe fresh air and feel the sun on their skin. This would be best for our child, Aemond decided, rather than keeping me a dark bedchamber with only midwives and septas for company. 

Queen Alicent had said from the start that Aemond would make for a devoted husband, that he has always been a man of duty.

An awful sense of dread runs through my blood.

I should be glad that he has returned to me, and I am, I am .

“I wanted the boy to fear me. I did not imagine that I might…”

What can I say to him? What can I do to ease his suffering when I cannot stand the feeling of his body so close to mine? 

I am bound to him, through vows, through witnesses. I have given him my body and he has given me his. I carry his blood in my womb, my child as much as it is his. Most irreversibly of all, my heart is twined with his. I love him, and yet...

When he places a palm against my stomach, over the space where our babe grows, all I can think is that this is the hand of a kinslayer. Whatever fate the gods have for him now is my fate also. If he has cursed himself, then I too am cursed.

Full chapter on AO3

Tags (commented to be added)

Series taglist:

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @jamespotterismydaddy @tsujifreya @blackswxnn

[nobodyfamousposts]

Do you have any Gabriel salt fics? I sometimes feel like you salt more on Adrien than him

Of course I salt on Adrien. It's like adding a bit of salt to a bland dish to give it flavor because it's still worth the time and effort even if you don't particularly like it otherwise.

Gabriel is just shit. There's no point trying to add salt to make it appetizing. I've written entire essays on how much of an idiot he is. I expect nothing from this character.

But if you want to know my stories that make fun of Gabriel or call out his stupidity or horribleness...

Gabriel's Lament - where Gabriel makes the Wish and it doesn't go well for him. Plagg manages to take some revenge, however little he can get.

Take Out The Trash - Dolls AU where Gabriel tries to throw Littlebug away and she does not take kindly to this.

My-Crack-Ulous: The Movie Trailer - Just crack that pokes fun at the setup and Gabriel in general.

Papa's Day - Another Dolls AU where Gabriel sucks as a Dad and Adrien realizes he's a better one.

My-Crack-Ulous: Akumaid - More crack and Gabriel suffers.

Dolls at Play - More Dolls and more callout specifically at Gabriel.

Guardian Assistant Kevin - Where Villain Assistant Kevin takes Marinette as a client and calls out a lot of things including Hawk Moth.

Banned Movie List - More Dolls where they watch movies and get ideas.

Akuma-ed - More Dolls where Gabriel tries to akumatize the Dolls and it does not work out for him.

Oneshot where Gabriel messes with human-turned-Chaton and Adrien does NOT approve

The Hero of Paris - a one shot pointing out how stupid it was for Gabriel to transform on a TRAIN.

...

So yeah, a number of them are Dolls AU, but they really don't like him and he deserves it.

I've also got Gabriel essays and a tag I've often used literally called "Gabriel Is An Idiot"/"Hawk Moth Is An Idiot", but not sure if you want those.

[thecreelhouse]

sweet girl

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: You and Steve are held captive in a bunker under Starcourt, forced to admit secrets and expose yourselves to one another to stay alive.

WC: 6k+

CW/Tags: enemies to lovers, fuck or die trope, dub/non-con (depends on how u view it), language, pet names, somno, toys, oral (f receiving), PiV (unprotected) rough sex, brief anal play, dacryphilia, spit play, cum play, degradation, humiliation, etc.

A/N: okay. fair warning. this is probably one of the dumbest things i wrote back in the height of covid’s initial quarantine (because being stuck inside for too long did a number on us all) but it exists, and i got tired of seeing it in my drafts, so hopefully some of y’all like it too lmao

Steve can’t remember how he got here.

There’s an ache, constant but distant, stretched across the features of his face, spreading across his torso and fading into the rest of his body, but he can barely feel it. Only if he focuses hard enough.

Right now, Steve would rather focus on you, instead.

You, gliding your wet core against his thigh as he tenses up his muscles every now and then, smirking at the whines you squeak out when he does. You, gripping onto Steve’s shoulders tightly, fingers digging into his skin while he just sits back and watches. You, practically glowing from the sheen of sweat across your features, sealing in the blush that’s crept across your cheeks long ago.

Steve’s definitely more interested in you right now.

His eyes rake over your body as your breasts bounce while grinding against his thigh. He drinks in the way your lips part and eyes roll back while the slick from your cunt drips down his leg. 

All Steve wants right now is to touch you, but he can’t. His arms are stuck to his sides and he can’t figure out why. He wants to run his hands across your soft skin, wants to play with your tits and suck on them, wants to make you moan more and more with every teasing move… and he can’t.

A flash of the ache, sharper, closer now, blurs his vision. He winces, trying to focus back on you, back on how good you look coming undone on his thigh, but again, he can’t.

A sob ripples through you, breaking the string of moans, and Steve’s brows furrow at the noise. He goes to speak, to ask if you’re alright, but his mouth won’t open. It feels too… too heavy to open. A wave of fatigue washes over him, slowly making the rest of his body feel heavy, too.

Slowly, your whimpers transform from ones of need to ones of despair. The slight change in tone alarms Steve, and the vision of you in front of him begins to fade in and out.

He tries moving his arms, but they don’t budge. He attempts speaking again, and still, his mouth won’t open, but a closed mouth groan erupts from his chest the harder he tries.

The harder he tries, though, the more intense the pain grows for Steve. It spreads like lightning within his head, nearly blinding him. 

Another sob slips past your lips, but this one teeters on the line of sounding desperate for help, or desperate for… something else.

“Steve…”

Voice still stuck in his throat, he tries his hardest still to say something, anything. A raspy groan finally pushes past his lips.

“Steve? God, I’m—“ You whimper, catching Steve’s attention as his vision continues to blur and fade out, his surroundings growing dark. “— I’m so sorry.”

The pain envelops him now, gripping Steve in a grim reminder of the reality he faced earlier, all rushing back to him so quickly.

The secret Russian base under Starcourt. Getting separated from the group as you and Steve held off the guards from chasing your friends. The guards locking you and Steve away in separate rooms. The… the screams that echoed down the hall from your room to his, and the way he threatened the guards in front of him that if they ever laid a finger on you, they’d be dead.

They responded with a couple of sucker punches, one good hook to the eye, along with roughing up the rest of Steve. That’s all he could remember before it all grew dark.

When Steve woke up, it seemed too good to be true. You’d never fuck around with him beyond his dreams. No, the two of you hated each other in reality. The summer was spent trying not to kill each other while working in the same mall. Empty threats and death glares were common whenever the two of you crossed paths.

What you didn’t know was how much Steve actually liked you. A crush he tried pushing aside that only grew by the days that passed by, turning into nights he spent waking up covered in sweat and his own arousal.

It was a dream, the good part, at least. As Steve begins to come to, he remembers everything.

So… why can he still hear your whines and whimpers? Feel the movements of you rocking your hips against his thigh?

“Steve, If you wake up… do- don’t look, okay?” You whimper as a sigh shudders through you. Curiosity tugged Steve further awake, though.

Another sigh echoes around him, and he wants to open his eyes despite your warning, but one of his eyes is swollen shut. Still, he pushes himself to open the good eye, the dim lighting of the room barely helping him adjust to his surroundings.

Steve notices the nearly empty room, first. The giant mirror takes up the one wall across from him, and in the dim lights, he squints when he notices movement above him. He first sees the blood covering him, his face swollen in agonizing pain. His gaze falls to the chair he’s in, slowly noticing restraints holding him tight to the back of the chair. Panic floods through him as his vision grows steadier, finally adjusting to the shitty lighting.

A figure is straddling him, moving against him, but he can’t feel them. Not fully. Only a second of questioning lasts before a moan tumbles from your lips, realization hitting him like a truck—

Steve spins his head back to the front, eyes falling on you while his jaw hits the floor. His heart nearly beats out of his chest as he notices you’re fully naked, skin prickling with shame and a sheen of sweat covering your body.

Steve’s eyes fall to his leg, the one you’re riding, just like in his dream. Only, he’s still in his Scoops uniform, with some kind of device strapped to his leg. One you’re furiously rubbing and bouncing against: a strap on, secured to his thigh.

You’re looking away, tears pricking at your eyes; you know how wrong this is, but you can’t silence the pleasure building within you. Curiosity tempting you, your gaze flicks back to Steve, only to see him watching you in disbelief, swollen lips parted as he began matching your panting with his own.

“Steve— I- I can explain—“

A sharp click and whiny feedback echo through the room, startling the both of you before a voice with a Russian accent follows. “I see your friend is awake, now it’s time to play.”

Steve can’t take his eyes off of you, wondering if this was what started his dream, wondering how the fuck the two of you got into a situation like this.

He watches as you shake your head urgently, clamping your eyes shut. 

“I- I can’t,” You blurt out, hips slowing down. “I won’t!”

“You don’t want us to finish the job.” The voice counters. “Why did you stop? You know what will happen to you both if you stop.”

Tears slip down your face as you open your eyes, daring to look at Steve. He gives a look, almost silently pleading with you to listen to the guards.

“Whatever you have to do,” Steve whispers, hoping it’s quiet enough not to be picked up on whatever communication system they have in the room. “Do it.”

“Steve, I- I’m so sorry— ”

The voice cuts back in, booming against the walls, “NOW!”

“I want us to be safe,” Steve whispers, gulping before he bounces his leg gently, slightly thrusting the toy up into you. You squeak out reluctantly, but it did feel good, especially with Steve’s attention on you. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

It’s not okay, though. Steve is still fighting off the exhaustion of unconsciousness, still trying to get a grip on the reality before him, but is coming up short with rationalizing in any other way that doesn’t have a terrible outcome for the both of you.

You take a deep breath before rolling your hips again, your leg between Steve’s thighs softly brushing against his bulge, quickly growing hard. You glance at him, eyes narrowing.

“You like this, don’t you?” You breathe, slowly lifting your hips up on the dildo— a difficult feat with your hands bound behind your back— before gently bringing yourself back down. A groan escapes your lips as the toy reaches deep inside you.

Steve scrambles to say something, at a loss for words, before feeling your own slick drip down the dildo and onto his leg. He glances down at the mess you’re making before glancing back at you. 

“You’re one to talk, sweetheart,” Steve bites back, causing your cheeks to flush a shade red deeper. “Look at- at this… mess you’re making on me.”

You whine and throw your head back, grinding your hips down as you take the entire toy within you while your clit brushes against his leg ever so gently. 

“I’m supposed to be— ” A moan slips out, stealing your sentence. “I- I have to make you feel humiliated, Harrington.”

The grave situation the two of you are in is slowly falling away, when all Steve can see is you. He smirks, though it blooms pain across his face, but he powers through it.

“That so?”

“They… god… they want me to kiss you and I- I can’t-“

“Are you afraid it’ll hurt me?” Steve wonders, and you shake your head as you try rolling your eyes, but they roll back into your head as he stiffens his leg again, thrusting the toy into you again. 

“I- I don’t give a shit about th- that, Harrington. That’s what they want.” You whine, glancing over at the mirror. The sight of you riding Steve’s thigh was insanely hot, but you were distracted by the guards beyond the mirror watching you. “You know I hate you.”

Steve chuckles humorlessly, “Do you? Because your cunt seems to say otherwise.”

You brush your leg against Steve’s erection, earning a groan out of him. “Seems like your cock says otherwise, too.”

Steve grunts, trying to shift in his seat, desperate to feel any friction against his length. His gaze grows soft, his good eye growing doe-like as he stares at you needily.

“Please,” Steve rasps out. “Let me help you through this. When we make it out of here, no one has to know, I promise.”

You stare at him for a moment, waiting for him to admit he’s joking, that it’s hilarious how pathetic you look riding a plastic cock strapped to him. He doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything to build the doubt, just waits patiently for your answer while you continue rocking yourself against him.

“Fine,” You finally agree, but as you lean closer to Steve’s face, you stop just as your foreheads touch, whispering, “Are you okay?”

Steve licks his lips as he looks at yours, nodding, “Aside from being nearly beaten to death, I’m fucking great. You?”

You blush with eyes wide, “Not the way I wanted to admit my feelings… but I guess it’ll do.”

You surge forward, lips catching Steve’s, and he whimpers into the kiss, mainly from the pain. At first, he can feel tears building in his eyes, the sting lasting longer than he expected… but he kind of likes it. A sigh shudders through him as the hurt turns him on even more.

“Looks like your friend is into pain, too.” The voice chimes in, and you bite softly on Steve’s bottom lip before tugging gently. He moans, louder this time. “Show him what you’ve got, sweet girl.”

Steve pulls away abruptly before glaring at the mirror for a moment, then back at you, trying to catch his breath.

 “Fuck that, they can’t call you that. You’re mine.”

The sudden possessive demeanor catches you off guard, sending shivers up your spine. Steve slams his thigh against your core, and you cry out as the toy hits your sweet spot just right.

Before you can catch your breath, Steve thrusts the dildo into you again, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. Your eyes roll back into your head and you feel dizzy from the extreme pleasure.

“Taking it so well, sweetheart.” Steve murmurs, leaning forward as best as he can to kiss your neck. You whimper as you continue bouncing on the strap, matching Steve’s thrusts.

Steve’s lips latch onto your skin, sucking and nipping at the sensitive spots in the crook of your neck. You brush your leg against his rock hard bulge, and Steve whines against your skin, responding with another harsh slam into you.

“M- more… ” You weakly mumble. Steve chuckles darkly at the request.

“Wish I could do more, sweetheart.” He grumbles into your skin, dipping his mouth lower to your chest. A gasp escapes you as you feel his tongue flick out against your nipple. “You look so pretty when you’re fucked out.”

All you can manage to get out is another long, drawn out whine, desperate to be able to touch Steve, to have him ruin you in return. The grave situation you’re both in almost melts away around you from the intense pleasure, but every now and then the static over the speakers reminds you you’re not alone.

Following the thought, the door clicks open, startling you from the forced bliss you were in. You feel Steve stiffen underneath you, but still he continues to keep his pace while bouncing his leg for you.

“Hm…” A guard you haven’t seen before, one with a thicker Russian accent spoke up as he took slow, agonizing steps towards the two of you. “It seems we’ve underestimated your friend.”

The guard circles the tangled mess of you and Steve, stopping as he ends up behind you. His hands wander from your shoulders, slowly caressing your arms, and you clamp your eyes shut in disgust.

“H- hey! Hands off of them!” Steve snaps, but the guard only laughs. Steve feels anger, white hot, building within him. 

The guard circles back around to Steve, and your eyes open back up cautiously. You feel yourself almost relax as his touch leaves you, but tense back up as you watch the guard lean behind Steve.

“Wh- wait- what are you doing?” You ask as you panic. The guard smirks before the sound of metal hitting the floor echoes out against the cold, empty walls. 

A beat of silence follows; with a swift motion, the guard pulls a syringe out from god knows where, plunging the needle into the side of Steve’s neck, catching him by surprise.

You gasp in horror as Steve cringes and hollers in pain, feeling helpless only being able to watch. It only lasts a moment before his head lolls forward onto your chest.

“What the fuck are you doing to him?!” You rasp out, tugging at the restraints your arms were still tightly bound in. Your eyes fall to Steve’s head resting on your chest, panicking as you wonder if he’s even still alive. 

He leans down to Steve’s ear, dangerously close to you, as his eyes are still locked with yours. “Don’t disappoint us.”

The guard backs up, slipping out the door, leaving you stunned and confused. Panic continued to build in your chest; all pleasure had left your body as you worried for Steve’s safety.

“What just-“ Your eyes dart from the door, then to Steve, repeating a few more times. “- What just happened? Steve? Are you okay?”

For a moment, Steve is still silent. You hold your breath, hopeful to hear his own breathing if you listen closely enough, but your heartbeat is painfully loud in your ears. 

It’s only a minute, maybe even less, but it feels like an eternity passes before you hear Steve groan. You sigh in relief.

“Oh my god, Steve,” You gasp, pushing yourself forward to try and push him off your chest. “Steve, wake up. Stay with me.”

A shaky breath rattles out of Steve before he speaks up, voice barely above a whisper. “You… you want… this… right?”

You nearly choke on air, trying to keep up with the whirlwind of emotions attached to the events unfolding in this underground base. 

“What do you mean?” You dare to ask. 

“I- I don’t think— I don’t know what that was, b- but I don’t feel s’good…” Steve breathes, voice wavering. 

Your brows furrow at Steve’s words. “You’re not making sense, Steve. What did they give you—”

You feel the words die in your throat as large, warm hands grip your hips. Steve slowly pulls his head up, flashing a devious smirk your way that makes your heart drop into your stomach.

The restraints holding Steve back had been undone, and whatever the fuck they injected into his veins had a strong hold over him now.

With gritted teeth, Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before looking at you once more. “Tell me- tell— tell me you’re okay with this-“

“With what Steve?” You counter, still lost. “What are you— look. Just untie me, we can get out of here if we stick together.”

Gaze still fixated on you, Steve’s fingers dig into your skin, gripping you with a desire that reflects in his eyes. 

“Not yet, sweetheart.” Steve murmurs, licking his swollen lips as his hands wander up your body, fingers splayed out as far as they can reach. “We’re just getting started.”

Frozen stiff— from fear or desire, you weren’t quite sure— you can only watch as Steve’s touch reaches your breasts, wasting no time in kneading. You melt into his touch, groaning, and it only tugs at the ends of his smirk even more.

Steve’s lips crash against yours, this time with more desperation and passion. You hear him whimper into your mouth as his tongue parts your lips, probably from the pain he still felt. Still, he pushes past the discomfort, massaging your tongue with his slowly.

You feel the slick of arousal build back up between your legs again, dripping down the strap still inside of you. It seems both you and Steve become aware of it again at the same time, because as you remember it’s presence, he bounces his leg up against your core.

Steve’s hands grip your hips again, guiding you as you ride the toy still strapped to his leg. A loud moan escapes you while Steve watches you with a heightened hunger.

“Y’get so wet so easily,” Steve husks, groaning as you work to build the pleasure back up within you again. “I bet you’d feel so fucking good and tight.”

Your stomach flips, but you’re so exhausted at this point, you can’t find the right words to keep up your end of the dirty talk. 

“Such a filthy girl, too.” Steve groans, leaning down to kiss your chest. He trails sloppy kisses across your skin before reaching a nipple, teasing with his mouth as he did before. “Fucking a toy to save our lives.”

You speed your hips up at his words, despite the ache growing in your legs, barely holding you up. If it wasn’t for Steve holding onto you, you’re sure you’d collapse onto the floor.

“And you thought they wanted you to humiliate me?” Steve laughs sharply into your skin before biting the sensitive bud in his mouth. “Look at you, being forced to ride my leg— an inanimate object on my leg, and you’ve been dripping to the fucking floor.”

“Steve…. ” you whine while panting.

“Tell me what you want, sweet girl.” Steve encourages at first, but his eyes grow dark as he grips your throat with one hand, teasing with your breath. “C’mon, use that cocky mouth you were running all summer. You had no problem telling me how much you hate me, honey. Why so quiet now?”

The combination of the exhaustion and the way Steve is talking to you begins to make you grow weak, overcome by pleasure, and you begin to drool on yourself a bit. Steve barks out a laugh, turned on and disgusted.

“Jesus, you’re filthy.” Steve said lowly, removing his hand from your throat before slapping your face. “Don’t act cock-drunk yet, you’re not even fucking the real thing.”

While panting, you manage to get out, “I… want it.”

Steve’s brows quirk up, knowing exactly what you’re talking about but he doesn’t give in so easily. His hand snakes down between the two of you, fingers immediately reaching for your soaking, wet core.

You jolt at the sensation of Steve’s fingers on your clit, rubbing in painstakingly slow circles. You buck your hips, trying to add pressure, but Steve laughs lowly and pulls his hand back, barely touching your clit.

As you whine in desperation, Steve asks, “What do you want?”

Drained, you let your head loll forward, resting against Steve’s shoulder as your hips began to slow and stutter. Your panting is shallow as you feel exhaustion begin to grip you tightly.

Steve groans, shoving his shoulder forward to try and push you off, but to no avail; your forehead still rested on him, feeling your eyes growing heavy.

Again, Steve groans, almost like he’s… fighting with himself. A few moments pass until he strains out, “... You- you can’t s-stop…”

“... Hm?” You hold onto consciousness for dear life, both metaphorically and physically speaking. 

Steve tucks his face into your neck, bouncing his leg softly, fucking the toy up into you, keeping you awake as you moan weakly.

“Let— let me take over,” he murmurs into your skin before kissing it gently. The soft touch of his lips against your neck sends shivers across your body. “D- do you trust me?”

“Y- yes, Steve,” You answer honestly, though still in a daze.

“Just— ” Steve forces out through gritted teeth before his mouth opens again, tongue darting out sharply to your skin before he bites down roughly. You cry out, feeling slightly alert again. “Ha- hang on for me, okay? I’ll take care of you… just hang on, can y’do that?”

As he waited for an answer, Steve began biting your neck again, sucking on the sensitive skin and soothing over the pain tingling across with his tongue. You groaned loudly in response.

“I need to- to hear you, babe,” Steve murmurs into your skin before biting once more, harder than the last time. You cry out at the sharp sensation. “Th- they’ll hurt us if— fuck!”

Steve inhales sharply, gripping into your skin with more force. You cry out at the pain as he shakes before crying out himself.

Whatever the guard gave him, he was able to fight off for a moment, but now it was just sinking deeper into his veins, taking full control again.

It’s probably too late at this point, but you still manage to blurt out, “I- I- I want you! I want you, Steve!”

Steve chuckles darkly into your neck before slowly licking a stripe up your skin, leading to your ear, panting heavily into it. “I know you do, sweetheart.”

In a quick, swift motion, Steve pulls you off of the toy while standing up, spinning you around before forcing your front against the nearest wall. Even through the roughness, the cool, metallic surface feels welcoming against your flushed skin.

With one hand, Steve holds you firmly by the back of your neck while he undoes the clasp of the strap around his leg, letting the toy fall to the floor. He quickly pushes his shorts down as best as he can with one hand before pressing himself against your backside.

You moan sinfully as you feel him, rock hard against your ass. Steve pants heavily while reaching around to your chest, groping your tits roughly.

“Mnph… S- Steve, please—”

One of his large hands reaches down to your ass, smacking harshly, earning a sharp cry from you again.

“You’ll take what I give you,” His voice is gravelly, serious. “Understood?”

You nod quickly, both startled and aroused. “Y- yes, Steve.”

“Good girl.”

Slowly, Steve kisses down your back, down your arms still bound behind you, before kneeling as he reaches your backside. You shiver under each, sloppy, wet kiss he leaves behind as he inches further and further down.

As he reaches the swell of your ass, he begins biting into the skin, gently, then gradually with more force as moves down. 

“Spread your legs, babe.” Steve murmurs as he pushes your feet apart. He grabs you by the ankles, pulling you from the wall a bit, and you hold yourself up as best as you can with your upper body still against the surface.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck this tight, sweet cunt so bad,” Steve groans into your skin, hooking his arms around your thighs, pulling your ass closer to his face. “But I wanna taste you so much more.”

A breath shudders out of you before Steve kisses your soaked folds lightly. He sucks slowly on your folds before delving his tongue between them, collecting your arousal onto his lips.

You push your ass out further, desperate to feel more of Steve’s mouth on you, and greedily responds by sucking roughly on your clit. 

“Oh… oh, fuck,” Your moans begin to fill the empty space around the two of you. Steve groans into your skin, vibrations adding to the pleasure he’s creating with his tongue. “M- more… god!”

Steve pulls back, laughing at your desperation while you whine. “Jesus Christ, I knew you wanted me, but you’re such a needy fuckin’ slut.” 

He falls silent for a moment before spreading your cheeks and spitting onto your tight hole. You gasp in shock, knees growing weak as you feel Steve tease a finger around your entrance.

“Y’know, I bet your mouth would feel so good around my cock…” Steve mumbles before spitting again, spreading the saliva around your skin before slowly pushing a finger into your tight ring. Your eyes roll back in your head. “It’s a better use than you running it all the fuckin’ time. God— some days I just wanted to- to push you to your knees and shove my cock down your throat to shut you up.”

At this point you feel yourself begin drooling onto your body again, and Steve notices the mess trailing down onto the wall in front of you.

“Filthy slut… such a filthy, dirty girl,” Steve groans, slowly fingering your ass. “You’re gonna cum for me before I fuck your brains out, understand?”

Before you can answer, Steve’s lips are back on your core, flicking his tongue against your clit with precision. All that tumbles out of your mouth are breathy moans. 

You look down to the floor and see Steve look up at you, position switched as he’s eating you out from the front, still fingering your ass and groping your cheek with his free hand. Though you can only see his eyes, you can tell he’s smirking while watching you come undone above him.

Steve adds a second finger into your cunt while groaning at how wet you are, how easily his digit slides in. Your head spins as he continues to finger fuck both your holes while lapping away at your clit. Your legs begin to shake, and Steve lets out a breathy laugh from between your thighs.

“M’close…” You whimper, flexing your wrists as far as you could between the restraints; you wanted nothing more than to pull on Steve’s hair right now, make him moan.

“Already?” Steve asks, pulling back from your core with his chin and lips glistening. He’s flashing a fake, mocking pout up at you. The sight makes your pussy throb as he continues fingering you. “I just started playing with you, babe.”

In your desperation to reach the high you’ve been chasing this whole time, you whine out, “I- I promise, you can do as much as you want— whenever you want!”

His tongue flicks lightly across your clit, but pulls back, leaving you whining in disappointment. “Yeah? This your truce? You finally gonna admit you’ve always liked me?”

You roll your eyes and huff, “Steve, no- now’s not the time—”

“Admit it.” Steve orders, voice low before he spits onto your cunt. You groaned at the sensation of his spit rolling over your clit, adding to the wetness from your arousal. “Admit you’ve always liked me. You’ve always had the hots for me, always wanted to fuck me—”

“Steve!”

“Sorry, right, you wanted me to fuck you.” Steve teases, driving you mad at this point. His fingers begin to slow, barely fucking you. “Just say the words, sweetheart, and I’ll let you cum.”

Taking a few deep breaths and rolling your eyes, you give in. 

“Fine! Fine, okay!” You yelp out, twitching when Steve sucks on your clit for a second before pulling back again. You felt like you were going to die if you didn’t finally climax.

Which… yeah, that was technically the truth down here.

“Fine? Okay? What’s fine and okay, babe?”

You huff, ready to slam your thighs together on his irritating, cocky, pretty head. For a quick second, you almost do, but you remember neither of you are making it out of this room until the both of you climax, all for the guards’ pleasure.

This is so fucked up.

“God- fucking—”You pause as Steve leans back in to spit again, and a moan tumbles out of you. “— yes, okay, I- I- like you, Steve!”

Smirking, he leans in to swirl his tongue around your sensitive bud, just enough to feel good, but not enough to reach that high. 

“And?”

“And- and- and I really like you, and always have,” You begin to stutter out. Steve’s tongue continues its pace. “I’ve always thought you were— oh, god- you— I want you to fu- fuck me, Steve. Please.”

Sickeningly sweet, he responds, “Anything for you, sweet girl,” before delving into your folds again, fully focusing his attention on the spot you needed him the most. 

His fingers pick up speed again, and you’re thankful he’s got a good grip on your legs, or you’re certain you’d fall over by now.

You can’t stop the noises from escaping your lips as he continues his pace on ruining your body in the best ways possible. He hums into your core; the vibrations push you closer to the edge and your eyes close in bliss.

It’s only a moment longer before you’re shaking, orgasm ripping through your body while stars explode behind your lids. Mouth falling open in a silent scream, you feel yourself really let go. You swear, you’ve never felt this good by anyone before, not even your own actions on lonely nights.

Finally, a scream leaves your body in ecstasy, and Steve’s moans nearly match yours as he watches you reach your high above him.

“Fuck... that’s so... hot.” He rasps out. You open your eyes to his words to find his face covered in the aftermath of your high.

You feel embarrassment as heat creeps along your face in shame. “Oh- oh my god… Steve, I’m so sorry- I- I- didn’t even know I could do that-“

Steve licks his lips as they twist into a smirk up at you, pulling himself back along with his hand out of you. You whine at the loss and shiver as you watch him suck on his fingers, groaning around them.

A blush creeps across his face as he breaks through the haze of the drug again, only for a moment, but you don’t miss it.

“I- you— don’t apologize,” Steve says meekly, running a hand through his hair, also damp as well from the sweat and your climax. “That- that was my fucking dream—”

You almost laugh at how dorky he sounds, but notice how he tenses up again. His breathing becomes shallow as he winces, trying to fight it off.

“Steve,” You call out, worried. “We just have to finish and then we’re out of here, okay? You- you have to help me out here, I can’t move well with my hands still tied.”

Steve struggles at first to get to his feet, letting the substance in his body regain control again, but he manages to stand up between you and the wall. You’re more aware now than you ever have been of how he towers over you, shivering as he looks at you like you’re some sort of prey.

“You’ve been so good for me,” Steve says as he pushes a strand of hair from your face gently. His touch is soft, almost too soft for the way he’s been acting tonight. “I’ll let you pick the way you want me to fuck you.”

You gulp sharply, before responding with no hesitation, “Against the wall.”

Steve smirks, laughing lowly. “You were just against it, sweetheart.”

“I- I- yeah, I know,” You agree, blushing. Steve’s hand slowly cards through your hair before tugging, causing you to whine. “I mean like— my back against the wall. I- I wanna see you when you cum inside me, Steve.”

Steve groans and in a flash, he’s pulling you by your hair, slamming you against the wall. You gasp at the sudden movement, watching as Steve quickly pulls his clothes off before pressing himself against you. 

Your heart sinks at the sight of more injuries across his body, blooming in radiant shades of purples and reds and blues. Steve slams his mouth against yours in a rough, quick kiss, pulling you from your worries of him. There’d be plenty of time later to clean up and care for each other.

He hoists you up by your legs, holding you tight as you’re balanced up against the wall. Steve looks between your bodies before spitting between them, coating his swollen cock in the makeshift lube.

“Please…” You whimper as Steve runs the head of his cock up and down your folds teasingly. He smirks at you before plunging in all at once, shuddering out a breathy moan of his own.

You heard the rumors back in school; you knew Steve was somewhat decent in bed, you just had no fucking clue he was packing the length and girth he had. Your head falls against his shoulder, biting the skin to hold back a scream as he stretches you out.

Steve’s brows furrow slightly before forcing out, “You… you… okay?”

You hum and nod in response, rasping out, “Move.”

Steve’s hips roll slowly into yours at first; you can tell he’s trying so hard to go easy on you. The real Steve would’ve wanted this first time to be slow and soft, still where he’s dominant, but caring and gentle. But, he’s not in control right now.

You, on the other hand… you’re not sure if you could say the same about your desires for the first time with Steve. 

As he moves in and out of you with ease, pushing against your slick walls, you feel his cock twitch a little already.

“Whoa… you gonna cum this soon?”

Steve’s eyes turn dark as he slams into you. “Sh- shut up.”

Your stomach flips at the change back to this dominant, rough demeanor, and decide to push it further.

“Aww, is Steve gonna finish faster than I did?” You tease, and Steve’s pace picks up, slamming into you harder. You cry out, watching his expression turn frustrated.

“I said, shut up.” Steve spits, fucking you harder. Your eyes begin to roll back into your head.

“What? Can’t handle being teased, Stevie?” You continue to mock him, enjoying the way he’s reacting to it. “Don’t you like it? Don’t you— ”

Steve pulls you away from the wall and out of you before he shoves you towards the chair. As you stumble onto it, Steve unlatches the restraints, letting your hands fall to the back of the chair just in time to hold you up.

Bent over, Steve smacks your ass roughly before slamming back into you. You lurch forward and cry out again before he begins his steady, rough pace into you again.

“You’re such a fucking brat. Such a filthy, insatiable, brat.” Steve growls through gritted teeth, pounding into you relentlessly. 

All you can do is continue to let your moans echo against the metallic walls in response.

Steve’s hands reach around to your face, gripping you for a moment before opening your mouth, hooking his fingers into your cheeks. You begin drooling all over yourself as he pulls at your mouth while continuing to rail you.

Again, all you can do is cry out… and make a terrible mess with your spit.

“God- fuck-“ Steve groans out, rutting into you mercilessly. “I- I’m gonna— where do you—”

“In me!” You manage to yell out around his fingers still in your mouth.

Steve’s breath hitches as he fights the drug again. “You… are you…sure?” His hands fall from your face and grip your hips tightly.

“I’ve never been so fucking sure of anything in my life,” You hurry out, gripping onto the chair while your knuckles grew white. You moan out sinfully, “Fill me up, Steve.”

Almost on command, Steve releases into you, coating your walls with his arousal while sloppily thrusting any energy he has left into you.

He feels like his high shoots him straight up to the stars. Even if it was fueled by that nasty mystery drug, it doesn’t matter to him. Not in the moment as your cunt milks out every last drop from him, just like he always dreamed of.

As you try to catch your breath, you rest your head onto your hands on top of the chair, closing your eyes as you feel him inside you. Steve slowly pulls out, groaning at the loss of you squeezing him, as you do the same at the loss of him inside you.

“Fuck… Steve….”

“I- did I just- did we just-“ 

You look back to see Steve, back to his doe-eyed, slightly shyer, dorkier self, blushing as he looks back at you. He can’t tell if he wants to cry or laugh this whole thing off, and you can sense the conflict in his feelings.

“Steve- it’s okay. We’re okay, I promise.” You pant out as you search his face, watching the real him break through.

 His eyes fall to your cunt, dripping from your mixed juices, and he groans as he palms himself before dropping to his knees. As he grips your thighs, you gasp in surprise while feeling his tongue run run up your folds slowly, lapping up every last drop. 

You shiver and twitch from the overstimulation, still shaky from your orgasm from earlier.

“Fuck. Fuck.” You breathe out, exhausted and in disbelief of what just happened. Steve presses a kiss to the swell of your ass before moving to his feet.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you up right before sitting you in the chair properly. He searches your face carefully, looking for any signs of distress “You okay? I’m so- god. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

You cup his face in your hands softly, giving him a weak, but sincere smile. “Fucked up… but I wouldn’t have wanted this with anyone but you. Are you okay?”

Steve kisses your forehead softly before nodding, still shaking himself. “M- might ask you to stay over later… could use some aftercare. Kinda want to check on you too. Y’know… if we make it out alive.”

A loud buzz echoes in the room, followed by a clicking noise. You and Steve turn to see the door slowly, automatically open. 

“Is… are they… can we go?” You ask, and Steve’s eyes dart between you and the door before pulling you up.

“Let’s get dressed and get the fuck outta here.” Steve rushes out, pulling you behind him.

You tug his arm back, and Steve spins to quickly run into you with a soft “oof!” Reaching up to him, you press your lips against his, savoring one more kiss before leaving this horrid room, this time, soft and slow.

You mumble against his lips, “I don’t think I’ll be leaving your side anytime soon.”

[captainblou]

Don't mind if we tease you?

Coming soon, in your AO3 tabs

(we know you have at least 40 of those open right now, but make room for one more, would you?)

A collaborative fanfiction between @eybefioro and yours truly. A no-pressure, no-dealine, no-plot commitment that we already failed to respect (plot fits on a napkin, but it exists).

Undercover

After Aziraphale becomes the Supreme Archangel, Crowley is appointed as Prince of Hell. Some may think they aren't talking, but that's only true when they're busy with more pressing activities. (A collection of sexy times between our favorite angel and demon, trapped in a office hell/heaven scape, where the second coming that matters is not the Jesus one)

First chapter on Sunday 28th April.

[carmyboobear]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 5: detergent, thrifting, and cake

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Chapter Rating: T (11k)

ao3 link, ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4

Chapter Summary: It’s his roommate’s birthday this week, and Carmy doesn’t find out until it’s a couple days away. Once he finds they’re unluckily spending their birthday alone, he makes it his mission to make their lonely day better. It’s the least he can do. Little does he know how much more he has to discover about them and about himself.

Tags: reader having trauma, carmy having trauma, toxic families, domesticity

A/N: It’s time… it’s time. I said last chapter was the longest…just kidding. THIS ONE is the longest, and it was hardest to write so far. The duo gets to have a lot of fun this chapter, though! arguably the most so far! A lot of domestic goodness and good food and shopping! Until… :)

also HUGE shoutout to @justaconsequence on tumblr for being my beta reader for this chapter! she was so kind and so helpful. this behemoth of a fic is too much for me to proofread on my own. anyway, thanks for reading and enjoy! can't wait to hear what y'all think!

Typically, by this time on Monday morning, Carmy's usually three cigarettes deep into paperwork, urgently (and poorly) calculating the sales the restaurant needs to make this week to stay afloat. Because even though it's a Sunday closing activity, he never seems to find the occasion to get around to it, and by 10 pm, he doesn't have the capacity to be crunching numbers. 

Not that 8 am is much better. At least he's not dissecting the debt this morning—he's studying detergent prices.

“Why is this one, like, almost 20 dollars?” Carmy stops reading the price tags and glances over at his roommate, who's squinting at products on upper shelves. The lights are always too bright in this place. “And for such a small bottle…”

“Pre-mixed organic sulfate-free 100% vegan bleach,” Carmy reads dully. 

“So stupid.” They shake their head. “Does grocery shopping ever depress you?”

“Usually,” he replies dryly. “Inflation is pretty depressing.”

“Don’t even get me started. Capitalism in general depresses me.”

“Hm, yeah. That too.” He sighs through his nose and tries to refocus. He's having a hard time processing all the numbers and letters today. “You see any unscented detergent? Somethin’ mild?”

“Um…” They crane their neck up and down, and then they crouch on the ground. They pick up a white bottle. “How's this? It's like, 8 dollars. It's not name-brand, but…”

“You know I don't care.” He kneels with them, huddling in close. They smell faintly of a sweet, yet musky perfume. He reminds himself to focus on the detergent, not the way they smell (even if it's far more interesting). “Yeah, this looks good. Thank you.”

“For your vintage denim, right?” They stand up to put the detergent in their shopping cart, which is barely separated with his stuff vs. theirs. He doesn't understand why his face grows warm at their comment, but it does. 

“Uh, yeah. It is.” If the blush shows on his face, they graciously don't comment. “Although I'll admit I don't get around to washing them as much as I should.”

“You're not supposed to wash jeans that often anyway, right?” They lean their elbows onto the rickety cart as they push it, and he ambles along next to them, matching the slow, relaxed pace of their walk. 

“Yeah, but I really…” The implications are clear. They fail in suppressing a laugh, and it makes him smile. “And I’m supposed to hand wash them, so.”

“Oh, so what you're saying is that you never wash them,” they tease.

“That is not at all what I'm saying.” They make an unimpressed face. “I do laundry, it's just…”

“Not often,” they supply helpfully. He tries to come up with something, but he's got nothing. “It's okay, I understand.”

“I promise I wash my clothes,” he mumbles, wilting. 

“I know.” There's that new smile he's grown to recognize more clearly. It's this mischievous one they get when they’re teasing him, and it's so cute he doesn't have any room in him to get even a little irritable. “I've seen you do laundry maybe once or twice.”

“Hey,” he says, warning, and they laugh and run ahead of him, the squeaky wheels of the cart giggling alongside them. 

After the night he almost burned down their apartment, he had felt different. It was like a switch being flipped, light abruptly filling up a dark room, and he's been squinting, struggling to adjust. But as he walks with them today, grocery shopping lit by blinding white fluorescents, he finds that he can see them rather clearly. 

The connection between the two of them is tangible, palpable. It's workable pasta dough that's been kneaded to uniformity. The dough is malleable, clean, and when he touches it, sticky, glutenous residue doesn't cover his palms. When he catches at them peeking over their shoulder to make sure he's still following them, he chases away the urge to pull them into his arms. He throws the desire into boiling water in hopes that enough pressure will change those feelings into something more palatable. He's not sure if it's working.

Something happened when he hugged them that Saturday night. He doesn't dare name what that “something” is, but it's rising from where it's sitting at the bottom of the pot, just about to hit the surface—

“Hey, I gotta get some stuff in this aisle.” Carmy snaps out of it and follows them as they veer the cart to the left. He raises his eyes to read the categories on the sign.

“You bakin’ somethin’?” They both move out of the way for an oncoming cart.

“Yeah, was thinking about it.” They halt to a stop in front of the boxed cake mix and step back to fully peruse the shelves. He stands next to them, and they glance at him out of the corner of their eye. “You’re not judging me for getting box mix, are you?”

“Not at all,” he answers honestly. “Food is always better when made from scratch, but box mix has its uses. Besides, I’m not a baker.”

“That’s true, but I’m sure you still make an insane cake.” Carmy’s aware he can’t make them unsee his flash of a smile, but he still shrugs. “Sure, stay humble.”

“I try. What’s the occasion?”

“Ah, nothing much. It’s just my birthday.”

“Oh, okay.” 

…And he's about to move on, just as casually as it came, but then the processing finishes.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” They ask confusedly. 

“Is it your birthday today?”

“No, um, it’s this Thursday.” He exhales in palpable relief. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He hates at how worked up he sounds.

“Um…” Their face is twinged with guilt. “...There was never a good time to bring it up?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be getting upset.” He sighs, shakes his head. “I just feel like I should’ve known, I guess.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not your fault. I never brought it up. Um…” Their hands are fiddling with the edges of their sleeves. “I just have complicated feelings about my birthday.”

“Ah, I see. I get that.” That, he can understand. “Is it all the gifts and stuff?”

“Kinda. It’s a part of it.” They lean down to grab a box of devil’s food cake, and that makes him remember that they’re in a grocery store. Not quite the best place for a personal conversation like this. They’re being vague, but he won’t press. Not right now.

“You shouldn’t be baking for yourself on your birthday,” Carmy mutters. They smile at that, but it’s different. It’s heavy with melancholy. 

“It’s alright. I’m gonna be celebrating with my friends this weekend, just not on my actual birthday.” His conflicted expression persists. “It’s okay, really. It’s just a day. It’ll be enough of a present to not have to go into work.”

“Put that back,” he blurts out. “I’ll make you a cake.”

“Don’t you work?” Their eyebrows are arched in surprise. “You really don’t—”

“I know I don’t. But I want to. I do work, yeah, but I’ll, I’ll get someone to cover me.” He’s never said those words before in his life, and now that they’re out, he can’t take them back. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t want to take them back. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course,” they reply quickly. 

“Then let me do this. Please.” He has no idea where this courage is coming from. “I want to. I know I'm always working, but I really…” Their eyes are wide with wonder, yet watchful. It shouldn't make him falter, but it does. His heart stutters and whatever bravado briefly gripped him fades away. “I’m…probably being too pushy right now. Tell me to fuck off?”

“I’m not gonna tell you to fuck off for wanting to bake me a cake,” they laugh, easing his worries like they always do. “C’mon, Carm.”

“So, uh, is that a yes, or…?”

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not trying to ask you to take off of work for my birthday,” they start carefully, “but I wouldn’t object to it. So, yeah. It’s a yes.”

“Okay.” He can’t help his giddy smile. There's someone saying you look stupid like this, but he’s with them, and it makes everything else silent. “Okay, good.”

“You’re…being super sweet about all this.” He doesn’t understand why—maybe it’s the way they say it—but hearing that makes his neck go hot. 

“I mean…friends do stuff like this, don’t they?” 

“Only the good ones.” They beam beautifully at him. He hasn’t done anything to warrant their affection, he thinks, but the feeling of their smile is so warm. He can’t resist soaking in it.

He's glad that lady luck blessed him just enough to stop their birthday from passing him by. He's been itching for an opportunity to repay them for all the bullshit they've had to take from him as of recent (although he knows if he brought it up, they would say it wasn't anything worth repaying). They deserve something good from him for once, not panic attacks and nightmares. 

He just wishes he could figure out why they were going to spend their birthday alone. He knows them a lot better now, but there's still so much left shrouded. He wants to know them inside and out—he wants to learn what makes them tick, what keeps them up at night, what makes them happy. He wants to know all of it in its entirety, to fill in the gaps in the puzzle he doesn't have the pieces for.

He has some of the pieces. He understands that their relationship with their family to his—distant, strained, and difficult. Unfortunately, that’s about it. He doesn’t know any of the specifics. It’s not like he’s talked to them about his family outside of the off-handed bitter remarks, just as they have, but he finds that this fact leaves him dissatisfied.

He just hopes that they'll let him in. He's not sure if they will, but…he's gonna try. He has to. He's sick of not trying.

. . . . .

“You want to take off?” Richie’s staring at Carmy like he’s grown a second head. They're taking a smoke break in the back. “I don’t know what sort of doppelganger bullshit this is, but if you’re trying to pretend to be Carmen, you’re doing a shit job.”

“Very funny, jackass,” Carmy mutters. “I’m being serious. This Thursday.”

“All day?” Carmy grimaces, but he nods. Richie shakes his head. “You’re being weird. Really fuckin’ weird.”

“I know I shouldn’t. It’s a bad idea, but—”

“Cousin, no, that’s not at all what’s goin’ on here,” Richie interrupts, and Carmy’s at a loss for words. “This is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“What?” Carmy squints at him. “Are you being serious?”

“‘Course I’m serious. I’m always serious.” Carmy decides not to comment on that. “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get you off this ship for just one fucking second?”

“As the owner of this place, you’ve tried way too many times,” he replies dryly. 

“Uh, as the original co-owner of this place, you don’t listen to me enough.” Again, Carmy decides not to elaborate on that one. It’s not worth it. “Take the day off. I was running it fine before, and I’ll keep running it.”

“No, no, we’re not saying that, it was not fine,” Carmy starts, but Richie’s already flipping him off. 

“Whatever, I already know, new fucking system and all that. Don’t get anxiety or whatever over it, that’s why you got Syd hustling shit your way, right?” 

“Uh.” Carmy didn’t realize that Richie had even been paying attention to the new hierarchy in the restaurant, let alone respecting it in any capacity. “Yeah, she is.”

“Then it’s fine.” Richie blows smoke in his face, and Carmy swats it away with a glare. “It was fine when you came in an hour late today, wasn’t it?” 

“You guys knew I wasn’t gonna come in until later,” Carmy argues, defensive (although he’s not sure if there’s actually anything to argue about). 

“Exactly.” Richie sighs all of a sudden, a long one that sounds like it’s bone deep. “Carm. Let me be straight with you. You need to do this. Okay? No backing out of this one.”

“Why’re you sayin’ this? What are you sayin’?” 

“It’s ‘cause of your roommate, right? This Thursday?”

“...Yeah.” Carmy pales. “How did you—?”

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Richie says, grinning. “It was obvious.”

“No way. I didn’t say shit.”

“You didn’t need to.” Richie flicks the ash off his cigarette. “They’re changin’ you, man. We can all see it.”

“...” Carmy can’t deny that. He doesn't have time to ponder on that right now. “Is it really okay?”

“Yeah, you could stand to have an attitude adjustment.”

“I wasn’t talking about that, asshole. I was talking about Thursday.”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, it’s completely fine.” Richie claps a hand on his shoulder, solid in its grip. It makes Carmy’s eyes snap to him, mostly in confusion. “So what’s the occasion? Must be important.”

“It’s their birthday. I mean, I could just go home early that day, but—”

“Yo, if you’re gonna take off, don’t halfass it—”

“That’s not what I was gonna say. When I’m here, I can’t seem to find my way out. This place…it just has a way of trapping you in.” He doesn’t expect Richie to nod, but he does. “I know if I don’t take the whole day off, I’ll never get out of here in time. Not until it’s too late.”

For some reason, that makes Richie laugh. 

“Yeah. That's it.” Richie shakes his head as smoke trails out of his mouth. “That’s just it, man. You have to make time for the things that’re important. Even the recitals where you have to listen to five year olds play twinkle twinkle little star 20 times. You can’t miss shit like this. Because once you miss it, it’s gone.”

“Rich.” Carmy wants to say something to make that haunted expression leave Richie's face, but he doesn't come up with anything in time.

“Don’t give me that look.” Richie’s hand falls from his shoulder. “I’m just tryin’ to stop you from fucking shit up. They actually seem like a good person.”  

“Y’think so?”

“I do. You?”

“Yeah.” Carmy doesn’t bother hiding his smile, even though he can already sense Richie’s teasing coming from a mile away. “They’re a really good friend.”

“Friend. Sure.” Richie snorts. 

“Don’t push it,” and for some reason he adds, “they were gonna spend it alone.”

“Huh. Sociable guy like them spending it alone?”

“I know. I didn't ask. Maybe I should've.”

“Maybe. I dunno, cousin. Everyone's got their secrets. Especially the ones that try to act like they don't have any.”

“You're strangely full of wisdom today.”

“Fuck right off,” Richie responds in regular Richie fashion.

“I think they're like me. Like us.” Carmy's not sure why he's saying this on a Monday afternoon at work out of all times, but the truth bursts out of him beyond his will. Richie's expression shifts into something more solemn, something recognizable. “Y'know what I mean.”

“...Yeah.” Richie claps his hand on Carmy's back again. “Shitty parents club.”

As Carmy stands there in the back, feet sore and tobacco in the air, he sees his childhood in flashes. He's five years old again and is following Mike around with scuffed sneakers and untamed hair, although he supposes that unruliness never truly changed with time. There's warm sunlight filtering through green summer leaves. He hears his mother behind him, somewhere, but maybe he doesn't. 

He thinks of home, of his bedroom, and it is cold. He has homework he’s failed to complete again. It's sitting on his desk, on top of all of the other shit he can't finish. There's screaming, and he's not listening.

He blinks. He’s 30, and he hasn’t talked to his mom since Michael died.

“Shitty parents club,” Carmy repeats hollowly. 

. . . . .

When Thursday morning arrives, Carmy ends up greeting his roommate with flour in his hair and eggs sizzling on the pan. 

“Um,” they say, just as Carmy goes “G'morning.” They both freeze, brief awkwardness circling between them before it dissipates with their breathless laugh.

“Good morning. I didn't think you'd actually take off,” they admit.

“I said I would,” he replies quietly, but it's not accusatory. How many times had he said he'd be home for dinner just for him to arrive when they're already asleep? He tries not to make empty promises anymore. Nonetheless, he understands their surprise. “Um, I'm almost done with breakfast. I didn't get to the coffee yet.”

“Am I supposed to be offended?” They laugh. “That's the least I can do, with you doing all of this.” They sluggishly shuffle behind him to reach down into some kitchen cabinets. “It's a special day, so I'll even make us pour overs.”

“That's true. It is special.” He peeks over his shoulder, pausing from basting the eggs in brown butter to see them setting up on the kitchen island. They gently place the hourglass-shaped glass onto the counter with a light clink. He silently switches the button on for the electric gooseneck kettle to his right. “Am I allowed to wish you a happy birthday, or should I not?”

“Hm, I don't mind. Just don't overdo it, which I doubt you will.” They pull out a bag of coarse ground coffee and a filter. As soon as they open the bag, he can smell the sweet scent of the light roast floating towards him. 

“Okay. Then, happy birthday,” he says as casually as he can.

“Thanks, Carmy.” He studies their expression, searching for annoyance in their content expression, but he doesn't find any. “That's not even really what I meant by today being special, though.”

“How else did you mean it?” The eggs are done. He reaches over the hot pan to cut the heat.

“Well, y'know. I dunno if we’ve ever had a full day off together.” They're carefully scooping grounds into the filter fitted on top of the glass, creating a small hill. “I think I managed to catch you coming home early on my off days sometimes, but never a full day.”

“Huh.” Carmy has to take a minute to think about that one. “Yeah, I don't know either. I think you're right.”

“Then, like I said. It's special.” They seal up the bag of coffee grounds, and then they frown. “Shit. I forgot to turn on the kettle. Can you—”

“Already did it,” he reports, pleased, and his sense of accomplishment only doubles at their sigh of relief. 

“Thank god.” There's the familiar clicking sound of the kettle reaching the perfect temperature. “Just in time, too. Can you hand it to me?”

“Yes, chef,” he says, because it always makes them laugh. Today is no exception. He slides the metallic kettle over to them. 

“So what delights did you whip up over there?” They ask. They begin pouring the almost boiling water over their coffee grounds in a slow circle, gradually inching towards the middle. “It smells amazing. I want the full break-down.”

“The full break-down, got it.” On two circular plates, he's carefully placing a fried egg, thick cut bacon, and a slice of toast with jam and butter. “Uh…it's nothin’ special, just stuff we had in the fridge. We've got a, uh, brown-butter fried egg with a little paprika, sage, pepper, salt…”

“Oh, just an egg made with liquid gold, no big deal,” they imitate.

“Cut it out,” he snips back, but he's smiling and they know it. “There's honestly not much to it. This thick-cut bacon was in the back, so I cooked the rest of it. And the toast is just brioche with salted honey butter and blueberry jam.”

“Carmy. C'mon. That's nothing special to you?”

“I mean.” It's not quite nothing, he thinks. “I can make nicer breakfasts, is all.”

“That's what you said when you made me garlic bread, and that fucking blew my mind.” They set the kettle down with a thunk. The glass is full of dark coffee. Prepped next to them is their favorite glass mug alongside Carmy's. He's not sure how they knew that it was his favorite, but he doesn't question it.

“I'm just letting you know that you should wait to be really impressed.” 

“Too fucking late, man.” He's turned around and placed the two breakfast platters on the kitchen island, and they gawk openly at it. “Holy fuck.”

“It's ready,” he says, surprisingly meek. He can't comprehend why anxiety's hitting him now of all times. He's served acclaimed food critics, top-security government officials, and celebrities more times than he can count. Before that audience, he never faltered, but in front of his roommate in their crumpled pajamas, his heart stutters. 

“Oh, wow…” They regard the food with undeserved softness. Like a punctured balloon, his anxiety immediately begins deflating. They're staring at the food like it's a painting in a museum. “You seriously didn't have to do all of this.”

“I know. I just wanted to.” He feels heat on the back of his neck. “Is…is that okay?”

“It's more than okay.” Suddenly, he notices their eyes are puffy, like they were crying. “Goddamnit, get over here.” 

He only registers what's about to happen for one second before they're hugging him. Their palms are on his back, and the top of their head tucks under his chin perfectly. He makes a small, surprised noise. 

“I, I'm glad you like it.” He links his arms around them, allows himself to rest his chin on their head. With their face turned to the side, their ear's pressed up against his chest, and he's instantly struck with the paranoia that they're gonna hear his rapid heartbeat. 

“I haven't even taken a bite yet, and I love it.” They lean back then, arms still wrapped around him and head craned upwards to look at him. It's far too intimate for what they are, and Carmy hates how his heart beats even harder. “Thank you for doing all this. Seriously. I…”

“The breakfast's just a side thing, I'm, um, still baking you a cake.”

“What? You're doing this and a cake?”

“Um,” Carmy repeats intelligently.

“Carmy. Carmy, Carmy, Carmy.” Their words ooze affection, but surely he's just imagining it. Their hands are crawling up his back. “God, I could just ki—”

“There's the timer,” Carmy blurts out, because his phone's ringing and so are his ears. At the sound, they let him go, and he grabs two towels to retrieve the two circular cake pans from the oven. A toothpick poked through the middle comes out clean, so he sets them on a wire rack to cool. 

He needs to focus on the cakes. That's the most important thing.

“Oh my god.” They lean in close to the cake and take a deep breath. “Is this—”

“Devil's food cake, yeah.” The heat searing his face is surely from opening the oven. 

“You—how did you—” Their smile is luminous with joy. “You really pay attention to every little thing, don't you?”

“Sometimes. When it counts.” He fidgets awkwardly, nails picking at the sides of his fingers. “Wanna eat by the window, or…?”

“Fuck yeah I do. Can you bring the plates over? I'll have the coffee over in just a second.”

Carmy sets up at their little table first, placing the plates just right across from one another. The morning sun casts a cozy glow through their speckled window, streaking planes of light across the floor. He patiently waits and watches them pace from the fridge to the counter, splashing cream into their mugs. Through the transparent glass, he watches the white fizzle into the dark coffee, blending into a warm brown.

“Just a tiny spoon of sugar for you, right?” They peek over their shoulder, catching his stare, and he nods. He's also not quite sure how they know that, either. They've had coffee in the morning maybe a handful of times before.

He supposes they also pay attention sometimes, when it counts.

“Alright, here we go.” They bring a mug in each hand and set them delicately down on the table. He notes that his coffee is the perfect color. “Oh, thanks for waiting. You didn't have to.”

“I, I guess so, yeah. It's just, uh, you always wait for me, so…”

“That's—that's true.” An odd tension sets in their face, but they laugh it off, and it disappears. “I guess I’m not used to it anymore.”

A part of him wants to ask further by what they meant by that, but they're already taking pictures of his food so dutifully. He doesn't want to ruin it, so he eats. 

It's nice to have a solid breakfast for once. He had taken their advice from the other night and had been drinking milk with protein powder. It was nice not to feel like he was teetering the edge by lunch time, but truthfully, it was a bit unsavory. This breakfast platter is much more palatable. It also helps that his stomach pains aren't active today. 

Time rolls by slowly this quiet morning, and Carmy recognizes the oddity of it immediately. It's clear to see when by this time, he's usually already done at least ten laps through the restaurant. An irritating signal in his brain is telling him that he needs to get up and do something, not sit around and eat, but for once, he doesn't want to listen. 

A memory from roughly two weeks ago (or was it one week?) unearths all of sudden. He was up early, drinking shitty coffee and sinking into dissociation. Mornings were lonely, as he was usually the only one up, but not that day. His roommate came stumbling into the kitchen, awake from a restless night. They chatted before he had to head out, and he remembers wishing he had more time in the morning to spend with them. 

He imagined a morning just like this one, with pajamas, food, and messy hair. He daydreamed about having all the time in the world, and he thought about getting to spend it all with them. Now he’s sitting in that moment he imagined, except that it’s real. They're across from him in their wrinkled pajamas and bedhead, contentedly mowing through their food. There's a smear of jam on the corner of their mouth. He takes a sip of his coffee, and it's perfect, just as they made it for him. 

This amount of good should scare him, needs to scare him, but he just can't bring himself to care anymore. He wants more than nightmares, cigarettes, and floating just above the budget. He wants this.

He tastes his coffee and reminds himself that he’s still here. The moment hasn’t passed him by. 

“Is it good?” He asks quietly. It’s a rhetorical question, it always is, but he can’t help himself. He wants to hear it from them. 

“So. Fucking. Good.” They have to finish chewing before they answer. “You always knock it out of the park. If this is the prelude, I don’t know if I can handle what’s next,” they say, gesturing towards the cooling cake.

“It won’t be ready for a while yet. You have time to prepare yourself.” That makes them smile. All according to plan. “Got anything in mind for today?”

“Nothing glamorous. I was just gonna go out for a little. Go thrifting, maybe watch a movie later. Smoke a joint.” They shrug. “Just my usual sort of thing.”

“Mm.” He dusts off crumbs from the toast off his fingers on his pants. “Sounds like a good time. You still wanna go?”

“I do, yeah.” They stare at him for a moment, as if processing his words. Or just him. “Do you…wanna tag along, or…?”

Whenever they ask him if he wants to spend time together (whether it’s grocery shopping, smoking, or watching a show), they usually offer it with an air of nonchalance. Carmy’s assumed it’s been out of politeness, restraining their expression as to not put any pressure onto him. That’s the person he’s used to, not this uneasy anxiety, someone afraid to ask him to spend time with them.

It reminds him of himself in every way. 

“I’d love to tag along,” he answers easily, just as they’ve always done for him. ��I’ve got the whole day off, after all.”

“Right. ‘Course.” He watches their little smile double in size. “I promise to not make you watch me try on clothes for too long.”

“I wouldn’t mind. I like thrifting, y’know.” And you, he thinks to himself. 

“You do? Oh, of course—” They make a contemplative noise to themself. “Vintage denim. I always wondered how you managed to have so many pairs.”

“Once you know where to look, they’re pretty easy to find. I can help you find some, if you want.”

“I’d love that. I realized the other day that I don’t have any dark wash jeans, so—actually, the truth is that I do have a pair, but they’re so fucked up and old that I never wear them anymore. Anyway, I need new jeans. Think you could find some dark wash blue jeans for me?”

“If you’re willing to hit up more than one store, then definitely,” he replies, just a smidge cocky.

“I’m willing to hit up even two more stores.” He pretends to gasp, to which they nod confidently. “Yeah. That’s right. Maybe even three.”

“We won’t need three,” Carmy promises. “I’m better than that. Probably won’t even need two, but…” He shrugs. “We’ll see what they’ve got.”

“Okay, Mr. Confident over here,” they tease. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

They head out after they both clean the kitchen and freshen up. Carmy gets the flour out of his hair and rewets his hair to revive some of his curls. He silently thanks his past self for showering the night before. With the passage of the morning cold and the rising sun, the afternoon weather’s become brisk and pleasant. However, the weather’s barely a factor in how he’s dressing. 

Is this too much? Is this not enough? He’s switching shirts and pants in the mirror like he’s about to go on a date. He knows he’s not, swears to himself that he’s not, but he’s put product in his hair and cologne on his wrists and temples. It’s not a date, but he can’t fucking decide what to wear. 

He sucks it up and settles on a gray sweater, light wash blue jeans, and white sneakers. From under his collar and at the bottom of his sweater peeks out a brown button up. It’s probably too much, but this is his sixth outfit change. He’s fed up with it and himself.

After adjusting the gold chain that got hidden under his collar, he steps out. 

He finds them already waiting by the door in this thick knit cardigan and fitted plaid pants that makes his heart stutter. When they hear him approaching, their head snaps up from their phone, and their skin sparkles with touches of makeup. 

“You look really nice.” He has no idea how he let that slip, but he’s more shocked that he didn’t stutter once. 

“Ah, th—thank you,” they stammer, fingers fidgeting with the edge of their sleeve. He’s not sure if it's their makeup or their skin that’s doing the blushing. It’s nice to see them being the one tripping over their words for once. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

“Oh. Um.” Handsome? It echoes in his head. He instantly feels self conscious. So much for being the more suave one for once. “Thanks, uh…I just didn’t wanna wear my work clothes,” he lies in an attempt to ease his embarrassment.

“I gotcha.” He’s glad they don’t challenge him on it. “Shall we head out?”

“Yeah. Where we headed first?”

They take the metro to their personal favorite shop a little up north. The metro’s surprisingly busy for a Thursday afternoon, but the crowd forces the two of them to be huddled next to each other. They’re both standing close to a pole by the window, each with one hand wrapped around the metal. 

As passengers come and go, they step closer to him to move out of the way. Eventually it just gets to a point where they’re standing nearly pressed up against his chest. He tries not to dwell on how that makes him feel, but he can smell the fragrance they put on, and it’s very distracting. 

Luckily, the ride is short. Any longer on the train, he might’ve put an arm around their shoulder, god forbid. 

“If we can’t find what I’m looking for here, maybe you can show me one of your favorite spots to go thrifting,” they say as they enter the thrift store. The interior is decorated, clean, and lovely, and unlike the metro, it’s not packed to the brim with people. It smells faintly of incense, and there’s local art framed all over the walls for sale. It oozes warmth and excitement, much like them. 

“There’s a ton of shit here, so maybe we won’t need to after all.” He finds himself intaking everything at once, eyes flickering from sign to sign. “I’ve never been here before. This is really cool.”

“It’s my favorite place to find new clothes.” They trail down the racks, finger flitting between clothes. “I hope you can find something you like here, too.”

“I’m sure I will.” He’s already walking to their denim section and immediately spots some contenders. “I think I already have.”

He’s not sure if they mean to spend hours in there, but he certainly does. There’s more than just clothes to look at, although that’s what takes up most of his time. There’s dishes, furniture, cds, vinyls, books, even electronics. He goes back and forth with them, clothing articles piling up in his arms as they sit on battered couches together and peruse scratched cds. Everywhere he looks, there’s just more, more, and more. 

“Okay, I’ve gotta cut myself off,” they say as they leave the furniture section. They’ve sat on nearly every chair in that place. “I already have so many clothes to try on, and that’s not even including the jeans you’ve picked out for me.”

“If it helps, some of these are mine.” Carmy flips through the layers of hanging jeans that have built up on his forearm. “If you can believe it, I even found some stuff that isn’t denim.”

“I’m not sure if I can, but seeing is believing.” They thumb through some long-sleeves he’s carrying that are seeping out from under the jeans. “I’m just glad you were able to find some stuff for yourself, too. Not that I was that worried.”

He hands them the jeans he’s found for them, all dark wash and in their size. To his surprise, they also hand him an article of clothing for him to try on. 

“I thought you’d look good in this. You’ll have to show me when you try it on,” they say, and it’s innocent, completely meaningless, but as soon as Carmy agrees and rushes to hide in the changing room, he views in the mirror and sees his flushed face. 

Doesn’t mean anything, he repeats to himself, over and over and over. Stop getting in over your head.

He tries on his items of choice first. The first is a dark green henley that looked better on the rack than it did him, so he puts it in the reject pile. The second is a dark blue long sleeve that fits just right. It’s cheap, too, so it’s an automatic purchase. He presumes the way to word it is that it hugs him in all the right places, but he’s not sure. The rest are jeans, of which only one he decides to buy. A bit pricey, but for the brand and year, it’s worth it (although he basically always uses this reasoning with himself). 

Now, for the piece of clothing they picked out for him. It’s a dark brown t-shirt that seems like it’s just the right length. It’s a muted, yet warm brown, a bit rosey in hue. He doesn’t realize it’s a v-neck until he gets it over his head and down his shoulders. 

“I’ve never worn a v-neck before,” he calls out to the room next to him. 

“Oh, are you trying it on? Do you like it?” Their slightly muffled voice calls back to him. 

“Um…I’m not sure,” he admits with a shaky laugh. The collar is lower than he’s used to. It dips below his collarbones, and between them dangles his chain. “Should I show you?”

“Yes! Hold on, lemme get some pants on. …Okay, I’m stepping out!”

He hears their door open alongside his. When they see him, their expression snaps into what he believes is surprise and delight. He’s sure he looks somewhat the same. 

They’re wearing one of the vintage jeans he picked out for them—dark blue Levi’s. Although they’re rolled up a couple times at the bottom, it seems to fit them just right. As he stares, he’s reminded of his many pairs of Levi’s, and it’s more or less like seeing them in his clothes, which is. Which is. Uh. Yeah.

“I knew that would suit you,” they say with a grin, to which he realizes he can’t hide his blush. 

“It’s not weird?”

“Not at all. It looks good.” They tilt their head to the side as they openly look him over, hip cocked. Something in their gaze is making him hot. “No pressure to buy it, of course.”

“It’s different from what I’m used to, but…” He looks down, smooths the fabric with his palm. “It’s kinda nice, something like this. Um, and what do you think about the jeans?” He needs to direct the attention off him quickly. 

“Oh, I love them. The others ended up fitting not quite right on me, but that’s how it goes.” They move from side to side, almost twirling. It’s cute. “I love these, though. Just a little long, but I’m used to it.”

“That’s how it always is. I can hem them for you, if you want. I usually hem mine.”

“And he sews,” they say, seemingly to themself, but they’re looking right at him. Embarrassing. “If you don’t mind, that’d be amazing. Either way, I’m probably getting them.”

“Good. You should. They fit well.” 

“Yeah?” They glance back into their fitting room, likely examining themself in the mirror, and then back at him. “Okay, then. Definitely getting them.” With that and a cheeky grin, they go back into their dressing room to try on the rest of their clothes. Carmy follows suit, grateful to hide his embarrassed face. 

Carmy heads to check out with the dark blue long sleeve, a pair of jeans, and the brown v-neck. They’ve decided on the pair of jeans they showed him earlier and a little purple tank-top he wishes he got to see on them. 

“Will that be all for you today?” The cashier asks him as he checks out first. Even the cashiers here are pretty nice, he finds. 

“Oh, their stuff, too.” He nods to them, who’s standing right next to him. 

“Carmy.” They glare at him. 

“What?” He feels himself smiling. 

“You can’t do this to me.”

“C’mon.” He nudges them gently with his elbow. “It’s my present to you.”

“Oh, so the present wasn’t the breakfast? Or the cake? Or helping me pick these out?”

“Why can’t it be all of them?” He decides to stop this in its tracks and takes the clothes out of their hands, sliding it onto the counter. “Just these two, and that’ll be it.”

“Just you wait until your birthday hits,” they mutter darkly, shaking their head. “Just you wait.”

“I haven’t told you my birthday.” He pauses. “Right?”

“I’ll ask Richie.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re giving me no choice.”

“You could also just, I don't know, not ask—”

“I wouldn't have to if you didn't force my hand—”

“You guys are cute together,” the cashier comments with a smile, surely a harmless, meaningless thing, but it shuts the both of them up. Carmy can already feel the impact of it on his psyche, and he decides to tuck away the surging emotions to unpack later. At least, he'll try. 

“You really didn't have to get those for me,” they tell him when they're exiting the store. “But I guess I should just be saying thank you. So…thank you.”

“Sure. I mean, it would've been better if it was wrapped and stuff, but…” He shrugs. “Had to get you a real present, not just food.”

“Not just food, my ass.” That makes him laugh. “It'll be nice to have something to remind me of this day, though. That's one of the nice parts of getting gifts. Everytime I wear these clothes, I'll think of you.”

“Good. Yeah, that's…good,” he finishes lamely. He nods like their words haven't flustered him, but he's sure they can tell. They laugh, and he can tell it's because of his reaction. 

“I'm sorry that the cashier said that,” they say out of nowhere.

“Why're you apologizing? It's not your fault.” Any embarrassment he was feeling before is immediately replaced with a new, more potent sort of embarrassment. He was hoping they wouldn't mention it. 

“I guess that's true. I don't know, I just…” They trail off. “Just hope it didn't upset you.”

“Not at all,” he lies, and he prays they believe it.

. . . . .

The metro is less crowded on the way home. They sit comfortably next to each other and watch the city pass them by. A part of Carmy mourns the closeness they had on the way there, but the other part tells him to get it together and keep his distance. 

“I'mma take a nap,” they say with a yawn. Their cardigan and bag have been tossed onto the couch. The new clothes have been thrown into the laundry machine, and there's the muffled sound of running water. “Maybe we could smoke and watch a movie later, though.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” He peers into the fridge to check on the cake rounds. Just as he left them. “Have a good nap.”

“Thanks, Carm,” they reply sleepily. “Wouldn't be a good day if I didn't get to have a nice nap, after all.” With that, they shuffle into their room and shut the door behind them.

Carmy spends the next two hours flying around the apartment, baking, cooking, cleaning. The sun slowly sets as he goes. He keeps his body and hands moving in hopes that his head doesn't have a chance to catch up, but it manages to keep the pace. It always does.

The crumb coat's fucked up on the left, his first train of thought says. He inspects the surface, eyes following the circumference of the cake. There's a little loose crumb. With the edge of his spatula, he tucks the crumb away. 

The faint smell of chocolate wafts up from the cold cake rounds. He's hunched over the kitchen island, hands reaching between dark chocolate frosting and cake. The afternoon sun casts harsh lights onto the cake, and it glistens. He genuinely can't remember the last time he's made a layered cake. He's never been much of a baker, anyhow. 

You're going to disappoint them, his second train of thought interrupts, running parallel to the other one at full speed. Who do you think you are? You don't make cakes. 

He leans back, inspects his work. The crumb coats are perfect. 

Fuck off, he thinks back, triumphant. Look at that shit. He runs his finger along the spatula, picking up congealed crumbs and frosting. He licks it off, and it's delicious. And it tastes good, asshole. So shut the fuck up.

You're being a nuisance, the thoughts continue. Carmy's pops the crumb coats in the freezer for a quick set. They don't actually like any of this. They're just being nice to make you feel better.

They seemed happy to me, he thinks, but he's faltering. He's washing the dishes, and the sensation of the warm water feels distant. They loved the food I made.

Couldn't you tell they were lying? He doesn't understand why these thoughts are rampaging through his head now of all times. It's not unfamiliar, but it's inconvenient. Keep this up, and you'll actually be surprised when they drop you.

Without warning, a memory hits him . As his hands drip with soap, he's reminded of playing with Michael and Sugar in the summer when he was five. Or six, or seven, he's never quite sure. They were outdoors at a local park, and the heat made the metal of the playground searing hot to the touch.

He was blowing bubbles, and the sticky mixture from the bottle was getting all over his hands. In his memory, Carmy watches the way the iridescent bubbles floated away and left little circles on the surface of the plastic slide. He can't remember why he wasn't playing with the others. He can remember the sound of their laughing voices in the distance, gleeful and delighted without him. He thinks he tried to join in, but it didn't work. It often just didn't work, and it was all his fault. 

The memory ends, and Carmy's finished washing the dishes. 

This is working, he thinks to himself. His hands are dried out from the hot water and soap. I swear to you, it's working. So just stop. Okay?

There's no response. Good enough. 

He hears the door opening as soon as he's putting the finishing touches on the cake. With a damp paper towel, he carefully swipes away stray drops of frosting that fell onto the cake stand. He thinks it's best described as if a tiramisu was turned into a devil's food cake. It's not the best cake he's ever made, but it's definitely up there in terms of looks. All the components of the cake tasted good separately, so he hopes it makes sense in his mouth as much as it did in his head. 

“Have a nice nap?” He asks before he turns his head. They're standing in the hallway, bed hair hastily tied back.

“Sorta. It was okay.” Their eyes are glued onto the cake as they walk up to the island. “Is this…?”

“This is for you, yeah,” he finishes for them. They take a seat on one of the chairs at the island. “It's a, uh, devil's food cake with vanilla mascarpone cream on the inside. The outside's this coffee buttercream…” He trails off, not knowing what else to say. He could mention the dutch processed cocoa powder, the expensive vanilla bean pods, or the endless sifting, but it feels too gratuitous. 

“Wow…” They're still staring, as if it's not quite real to them. “I can't believe this is for me. It almost looks too pretty to eat, but you know I can't wait to tear into this.”

“We could, uh, have it now, if you, if you want,” he says hesitantly. 

“I don't know if I could wait.” Their smile grows wider. “You even put candles on it?”

“We don't have to light them or anything if you don't want to,” he adds quickly. 

“The candles are the fun part. I don't mind that. The song is…okay I guess, but…” They give him an expectant, excited look. “Were you gonna sing for me?”

“...Only if you wanted to,” he mumbles, suddenly stricken with embarrassment. 

“Would that be okay? If I wanted that?”

“I wouldn't mind.” Not if it's you.

“Okay. Then, yeah.” They pull out a lighter from their pocket. “I’d really like that.”

Carmy cuts the overhead lights before taking out his own lighter to help them light the rest of the candles. One by one, the dark room gradually illuminates until it's filled with a warm, orange glow. The flickering flames cast shifting shadows onto their smiling face and reflect into their glossy eyes. 

“Ready?” He asks quietly. 

“I'm ready,” they whisper. 

Carmy doesn't really need to clear his throat, but he does so anyway. He can't recall the last time he sang happy birthday to anyone, let alone by himself. This is the first time he's ever sung in front of an audience, too. 

I can do this, he thinks to himself. I can do this.

His voice is awkward and scratchy. He never uses it like this, has never sang for anyone in his life. His ears burn, and he hates the sound of his voice, but he reminds himself to focus on their delighted little smile and warm gaze. The room is far too quiet for his voice, making the words painfully clear. 

“Happy birthday to you,” he finishes singing, voice trailing off awkwardly. He's more than ready to finish singing now. “Uh, make a wish…?”

“Right.” The two of them sit in the flickering candle light for a moment longer, the silence thick. Carmy watches their face, their eyes boring into the candles with an expression he can only describe as longing. Then, they blow out the candles with a decisive blow, and the room goes dark. 

He moves to switch on the lights. When he turns back to look at them, tears are streaming down their face. 

“Hey,” he says softly. He props his elbows on the counter, standing across from them and tilting his head to the side. They're not meeting his gaze, glazed eyes boring into the dripping candles. “What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry,” they whisper with a sniffle, and it sounds like a reflex. Something about them suddenly seems so much smaller. “I shouldn't be crying.”

“It's okay. I don't mind.” That makes them smile, even if it's shaky. “Was the singing too much?”

“No, it wasn't your singing,” they say with a laugh. “Your singing was lovely. It's just—I'm so happy. You made today so special.”

“Yeah?” He fights the urge to reach over and wipe their tears. “I'm glad. I wanted to make it good. I…” He hesitates. “...I didn't like the idea of you spending it alone.”

“I didn't either. And I thought I was going to have to be alone…but then you—then you took off work, and you made me breakfast, you went shopping with me—even got me clothes—and now this—” Another rush of tears gushes from their eyes, and they hastily wipe at it with their shirt. 

“You've done way more for me. This is the least I could do.” Before he can stop himself, his hand is brushing hair out of their eyes. They freeze for a split second, eyes finally flickering up towards him. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It's okay,” they whisper back. “Um…” They let out a shaky sigh, the sort of trembling sound that happens after crying too much. “I feel like I should explain.”

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” he assures them quickly, “but I…I'd like to know. If that's okay.”

“I want you to know. I, I do.” They open their mouth to keep talking, but shaky breaths continue to stifle them. It's hard to watch.

“Breathe,” he reminds them, quietly. He visibly takes in a deep breath, silently encouraging them to breathe with him. They follow suit, closing their eyes and taking a slow breath. Tears slip silently from their eyes. Gradually, their breathing becomes less of a staccato, evening out into something much more manageable. 

“Thank you,” they murmur. He nods. They already sound a lot calmer. “I'm not sure where to start. I…I suppose I'll start with today.” Another deep breath. “I didn’t get a call from my parents today.”

“Ah…” The first missing piece.

“I knew they weren’t going to. But a part of me still hoped…” They stop and shake their head. “It's the first year that it's been like this.”

“What happened?”

“Uh…I went no contact with my family about a year ago.” Another pained, hollow laugh. The second piece. “I didn't even really want to—it was a complicated, shitty situation. My parents were being their usual shitty selves, and I just wanted them to apologize. It was over such a small thing, and, and I just…I don't know. I thought maybe I could fix things.” He's never seen them with such a heavy expression, etched with such weariness. “I just wanted them to apologize to me, Carm. That's all I wanted. And then they cut me off cold.”

Their voice is trembling again, and the tears are falling faster. The collar of their shirt is dark with moisture. Carmy hates that he doesn't know what to say. He hates just staring at them, silent as he tries to find the words. 

Suddenly, he thinks of Michael. 

“Michael never let me work in the restaurant,” he tells them. “That's why I went to culinary school. A big part of it, anyway. He just cut me off, didn't let me in no matter what I did, and it was…” He makes a vague hand gesture. “I felt insane. I was so fucking angry. I couldn't understand him. And I'm not saying that's anything like what you've been through, but…” He looks into their watchful eyes. “I'm sorry. I think I'm trying to say that I, that I understand. A little.”

“I…I appreciate that.” They give him a small, wobbly smile. He adores their smile, but seeing it through their tears twists something painfully in his chest. “He would've been lucky to have you. You're an excellent chef.”

“I am now, anyway.” He sighs. “Your family's missing out on you, too. You're…” Say it. Just say it. “You're a really wonderful person. I can't imagine…”

I can't imagine anyone looking at you and not loving what they see, he thinks suddenly, and he instantly realizes he can't say it. He can barely even comprehend that he just thought it. 

He can't process this right now. This isn't the time. 

“I keep trying to wrap my head around it all, wondering what I did wrong, what I could've done better… Sometimes, the conclusion I arrive at is that I must have done something to deserve this. That I just, I don't know, that maybe I'm just this permanent fuck-up, and…” They run a tired hand over their wet face, through their hair. “My parents fucked me up real good, man.”

There's something familiar about their words, and Carmy realizes it's because it sounds like him. He would've never guessed that under their easy-going smiles was a reflection of himself. He recognizes himself in their self-deprecation, the bone-deep pain. There was always a sense of sympathetic connection between the two of them, but he had no idea. He had no idea how far deep the mutual experiences went. 

A part of him still can't believe that this is the truth, that this is what lies at their core, but then he remembers. He thinks about the night they were throwing up into the toilet. They were sobbing, crying into his shoulder about how much they hate themself. 

“You know you didn't deserve it. Right?” Carmy's not sure when they started leaning in so close to each other. He's looking at their wet eyelashes with startling clarity. “You did all you could.”

“You don't know that.” Their words are so soft-spoken, but it still catches him off guard. “You don't know what happened.”

“You—” Irritation prickles inside him, his instincts itching to snap back, but he doesn't. He sees himself in them, and he holds back. “You're right. I don't know what happened. But I know you.” The shock is on their face as clear as day. “At least, I think I do.”

“I want to think you do, too,” they whisper. “But this—this messy bullshit is also me. I wish it wasn't. I wish you didn't have to see all this. I…don't want you to…think any less of me.”

“I don't think there's anything you could do to make me think less of you.” He doesn't resist dragging his thumb across a stray tear on their cheek. To his surprise, they lean into his touch. “Y'know when I almost burned down the apartment?”

“Oh my god.” They smile, and he feels their grinning cheek against his palm. “Yeah. Is it crazy to say I remember it fondly?”

“A little bit.” They laugh. It's quiet, but it's real. “Remember that talk we had after?”

“I do. Why?”

“You're allowed to mess up on onions,” he says softly. “It won't push me away.”

They stare at him for what feels like a long time. Their eyes refill with tears, but they don't spill. With a clammy hand, they shakily place their hand on top of his hand that's still cradling their wet cheek.

“Fucking onions,” they say finally with a wet laugh. Fresh tears drip onto his thumb, and he wipes them away again. As many times as it takes. “God damnit, Carmy.”

“No one deserves to have shitty parents, let alone ones that walk out on them.” He thumbs away more tears. “You being an imperfect person like everyone else doesn't justify that.”

“There must be something more I could've done,” they whisper. “Something I did wrong.”

“Maybe. But they're your parents, not the other way around. It's not your fault.”

“I know. I know that. I do. There just has to be a reason, because—fuck—the truth would just be too fucked up.”

“...And that is?”

It takes a long, still minute before they can get their words out.

“...It’s—it's that—” Their cries are verging on sobs, increasingly more staggered and uncontrollable. “It's that s-some kids—are just—some kids have parents that will never—never love—”

They can't finish. Their sobs have overtaken their whole body. Their body's hunched over the counter, curled into themself. Carmy can't think of a time where he's ever seen them crying so hard.

Without another word, Carmy pulls them into a hug. 

They cry for a long time. Through it all, fleeting condolences pass Carmy by in his head, but they all feel too cheap, too meaningless. So all he does is hold them tight, letting them grab onto his shirt and soak the fabric on his shoulder. It's all he feels he can really do. 

After a while, the tide subsides. He feels them wilting in his arms, exhausted from sobbing so violently. He doesn't actually want to let them go, but their sniffling nose sounds like it's completely stopped up. 

“I'm gonna get you some tissues, ok?” He says quietly. They make a quiet noise of acknowledgement, and they pull back. He snatches up a box of tissues from the coffee table. He places it in front of them before grabbing them a glass of water. 

“Thank you,” they mumble, voice scratchy. Carmy stands and watches as they blow through several tissues. The water gets downed instantaneously. 

“Better?”

“Yeah. A lot better.”

“Good.”

“...I think, deep down, I know I didn't deserve what happened. Or just having shitty parents in general.” They sigh. “It's just easier to think that I do. That I deserve it.”

“...Yeah.” That resonates with a part of him he's not quite ready to acknowledge. “You're one of the kindest people I've ever met,” he admits quietly. “If someone like you deserves a shitty hand in life, I'm fucked.”

“Carmy…” Their smile is small, but genuine. “Thank you. I want to be able to genuinely believe that, one day. I'm going to try.”

“I know. I get it.”

“I know you do.” 

That makes both of them smile, even if it's bitter. 

“Thanks for telling me. About everything.”

“No, thank you for listening. For just being there for me.” They prop their chin in their hands, their elbows resting on the counter. “Y'know, this past year, I've been trying to find a sense of joy in all this mess. Sometimes it just feels so far away, like…like any happiness is just impossible. But I think I've found it. Rather, I've already found it.”

“Yeah?” Carmy looks at them expectantly, but he never expected this—

“I found you,” they tell him. 

“...” He immediately fixes his shocked expression. He's at a loss for words. 

Me?

“I never found a chance to mention it, but…my parents are the reason I decided to live with you. That's why I wanted to be your roommate, even though we were strangers.” They shrug shyly. “My lease was up on my last place. I was gonna go home, but then all that stuff happened at the last minute, and…yeah. I needed to find a place to live.”

“Seriously?” They just nod. “Damn. Uh…Yeah, that's fucking crazy. I had no idea.”

“At the time, I was miserable. I kept thinking to myself, ‘I can't believe how shitty this situation is!’ Don't get me wrong, it was fucking awful, but…it led me to you, so…it wasn't really all that bad, in the end. I got lucky.”

Fucking hell, he thinks to himself. Fuck.

“If you hadn't roomed with me, I wouldn't have been able to come back home for my brother's restaurant,” he says, mostly because he's so embarrassed that he swears his whole body's red at this point. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. “I think I'm the lucky one.”

“Can't we both be lucky?”

“I guess we can. Just doesn't seem very realistic.”

“Little too late to say that. It's already real.”

“...There's no other shoe?”

“Not that I know of. I think the other shoe's already dropped for us a while ago. Surely there's no other shoes left?”

“I hope not. I don't know if I could take another one.”

“Me neither.”

“...”

“...”

“Do you…want to eat your cake now?”

“Fuck, oh my god—I completely forgot! Yes!”

Just as Carmy planned, the flavors go perfectly together. Even though he knew it was going to be delicious, when he takes the first bite of the cake, relief washes over him. They seem to be overjoyed, inhaling the cake at dangerous speeds. 

“You're gonna hurt yourself if you eat that fast,” he observes, both amused and concerned. 

“Can't talk. Need to eat this.” That makes him laugh so abruptly he nearly gets cake up his nose. “This is the best birthday cake I've ever had, both visually and taste-wise.”

“I'm glad. Like I said, I'm not really a baker, but…I make an alright cake.”

“You make a fantastic cake.” They’ve got a bit of frosting on the corner of their mouth. “It doesn't get much better than this—eating a cake made by you.”

“Because I'm a chef, you mean?”

“No, not that. Not just that, anyway,” they amend with a cheeky grin. “Because you're my best friend.”

You're my best friend.

…

I'm their best friend, he repeats to himself. I'm their best friend.

He thinks about crying. He won't cry, but he thinks about it.

“Oh,” he replies intelligently. “...Really?”

“Y-Yeah. Unless, uh, you don't—”

“You're my best friend too,” he blurts out, and the anxiety on their face fades away into a relieved, beautiful smile. 

“Thank god. That would've been pretty awkward if you didn't…” They shake their head. 

“I've never been anyone's best friend before,” he confesses. 

“Seriously?” They recover from the shock quickly. “Lucky me, then.”

“I thought you established we were both the lucky ones.” 

“Oh, right.” They chuckle. “Lucky both of us, then.”

Carmy thought that life would always be the same. He thought that he was fated to a routine of nausea and nightmares, never quite close enough to reach a rest point. He thought that he was okay with it being his fate, because he never knew anything else. 

He thought that loneliness, cigarettes, and memories would be enough, because it always stays the same. Nothing ever changes. 

Until them. 

He thought he had outgrown happiness, that his body had grown accustomed to living without it. That there was no longer space in his heart to withstand the weight of joy. But as he sits here with his roommate, chatting and laughing over a cake he made for them, he finds that's not true.

His capacity for happiness had never left. It had been there all along. 

And with that, something in him lets go.

Carmy sees it all at once. It starts from the beginning—he sees the first day he met them, an initially hesitant meeting gone surprisingly well. He sees the first time the two of them smoked together, deliriously laughing through shared smoke. He sees them in the mornings, messy hair and wrinkled t-shirts. He sees them in nothing but an apron. He sees them in tight black clothes that leave little to the imagination. He sees them laughing at a joke that he didn’t think was all that funny. 

He sees them in his dreams, red tomato puree bleeding from their gums. He sees them holding his trembling hands in theirs, soothing him back down from the storm in his hand. He sees them comforting him through his tears. He sees them sobbing, hot tears on their cheek and his hand. He sees them heaving into the toilet, whispering that they want to know him. He sees himself, embracing them tightly in his arms. 

He sees it all. He knows that he can't avoid it anymore. 

Carmy is completely, undeniably in love with them, and there is absolutely nothing that he can do to make that realization disappear.

…Some things, he understands, refuse to stay the same.

~

@zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @carmenbrzatto @thehouseofevangelista

[kindlingkeen]

Jason sees the batarang coming & manoeuvres the situation to his advantage. (Does he change positions so it kills the joker? Something else? Who knows!)

he’s been trained by Batman himself, I don’t think it’s outside the realm of possibility he’d be able to read Batman well enough to see the hit coming (although iirc it did bounce off a pipe. So. Maybe that’s harder to predict)

Does he change positions so it kills the joker? 👀 Yeeesssss

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

found the original outline i wrote for this scene of WINRN and i cant stop laughing at it

[doomspoon888]

Have you ever thought about how Mission would have turned out if Starscream had successfully kept him safe (as he could) and away from Megatron and the Decepticons until he was a fully grown mech?

An entire upbringing isolated from society at large would have left Mission a lot less trusting and eventually driven a wedge between him and Starscream. In the AU's I've thought about writing in this scenario, Mission would have ended up with the Autobots after separating from Starscream. His eventual first meeting with Megatron would have been a lot more violent.

But when Megatron learns the Autobot's new frontliner seeker that looks horrifyingly like that SIC he used to have is his son, there's Hell to pay, swiftly followed by the custody battle of the millennium between him and Optimus

[gulliblelemon]

Chapter 7

“Remember that club in Stockholm?” Simon’s heart started beating more quickly as he dredged up the memories of that night. “When you disappeared all night?” Nodding, he lifted the mug to his lips to hide his face a little. “Am I about to finally find out where you were?” Lowering the mug, he swallowed and nodded again. He took a deep breath before letting the words out in a rush. “I was in Wilhelm’s hotel suite” Holding his breath, he waited for Sara’s reaction. Her eyes widened. “Wilhelm as in…?” “Yeah,” said Simon, nervously fidgeting with his mug. “That Wilhelm.” “Jesus Christ, Simon,” she said, an incredulous shake to her head. “Why?” And wasn’t that the million dollar question.

Both Simon and Wille try to get over it.

Read in AO3. Or start from the beginning.

[yikesola]

phanfic writer proudly helping to increase phannie attention span since 2018✨