#evelyn’s anons!

[bananadramaaa]

Wittebros X Little Nightmares crossover?.. Wittebanes LN AU? I have no idea, but it was soooo fun to think about (two obsessions combined together = a dangerous combo).

[fleuraimer]

neeeed more boxer!Carmy!!! can we please have boyfriend hcs for him 💖💖💖

AHHHH we lovvvvveeeee boxer!carmy sm that i’m making it a series, i’d be happy to supply 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

tw!! our carmy went thru it as a kid. some suggestive content.

bf boxer!carmy hcs coming right up!!

concept 1. concept 2.

bf boxer!carmy, me thinks, likes the calm of being around his pretty broad.

he’s a fighter (has been since the name calling turned into swirlies and books knocked out of hands and bodies shoved into lockers and heads smashed through glass and—

oh well)

so he’s used to calamity (devours it, to satiate that inherent ache in his belly, descended from generations upon generations of misplaced, misguided hurt), harnesses its power, the adrenaline, in every fight, focuses it. it’s why he’s so damn good at what he does.

but even he, carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto, the beast, the bear, needs his moments of solitude.

which is wear she comes in, polished and pretty in pink, just as always. her soft hand slips into his calloused palm like a puzzle piece, her silken lips settle into his own chapped ones like a key in a lock, and her body…

carmy’s never been good with words, but trying to describe the beauty of his girlfriend never fails to leave him speechless.

her supple figure, her delicate being, it fits to him, both literally and figuratively, unassumingly and forcibly, in ways he could never even begin to describe, can hardly begin to fathom. all he knows is that she makes everything… quiet. calm (when she wants to. sometimes, she’s gives him a bigger headache than any concussion ever could).

bf boxer!carmy fs pays for everything. like, hands down, every purchase his girl makes, from the day they start the talking stage to the dreadful day he fucks up their whole relationship and she leaves him (like he’d ever let her go), is paid for by him.

he will genuinely get upset if she even walks around with her wallet in her purse, let alone buys something with her own money; made her delete all her cards—debit and credit—from her phone and put all of his there instead.

he's not trying to buy her love (though maybe her forgiveness, nothing says ‘i'm sorry’ like a new pair of jimmy choo's and a westwood purse), fuck no—nor is he trying to place authority over her, stake some fucked up claim that twistedly means he now owns her—he only wants to spoil her, keep her safe and secure, offer her comfortability.

it used to be an issue, she couldn’t get it through that pretty, thick fucking skull of hers that the money she made was not to be touched, not unless it’s an emergency (like a literal emergency, cannot stress that enough).

once, still in the fairly early stages of their relationship, he took her out to a quaint little cafe down the road from his press conference for his upcoming fight, and she tried to pay for their coffee. he, sadly, broke one of her acrylics in the process of slamming the hand with her card against the chasier counter and snatching said card away (tears were surely shed, but after profuse apologies and a few—appeasing on his end, begrudging on her end—kisses, she was softly, sweetly reprimanded for being dumb enough to think she was ever paying for anything with him around). needless to say, she doesn’t pay for anything, and never even thinks to anymore unless she’s trying to get on his nerves.

speaking of acrylics, bf boxer!carmy definitely makes her match ‘em to the tip. he reads as a head scratch, back scratch kinda guy, too, so honestly the longer and pointier the better. he also lovessss her signature baby pink toes (can’t take his eyes off ‘em when he’s got her on her back with her feet pressed to his pecs, soft strokes, teasing, ‘til those baby pink toes curl ‘cause he hit that spot. then, he’s pounding—).

bf boxer!carmy likes coming home to food. doesn’t really care if it’s take out or home cooked, always appreciates the love his girl puts into her cooking though. but if there’s not enough for two (at least for six, he always has three helpings, if not more) this man will throw a FIT. what’s his baby gonna eat? and she best not get smart and say some dumb shit like ‘girl dinner’ bc he will shut her tf up (don’t threaten us w a good time bear 🤭).

any time she neglects to make or order food for herself, he leaves her standing at the kitchen island to go get her favorite from either the three michelin star restaurant down on 39th street or the bodega on the corner of their block.

sometimes, she does it on purpose:

“where’s yours, cub?” carmy huffs, duffle slipping onto his polished wood floors with a dull thud. his hair is matted with sweat and he stinks, he knows—can’t fucking wait to get in the shower—but he’s got a more pressing matter at hand right now.

his girl, scrubbing the dirty dishes in a ballet pink baby doll and silk bonnet to match, raises a perfectly plucked brow, and lifts her eyes to address him with a soft, conniving cadence.

“where’s m’wha’, bear?”

and god it’s so difficult to call her out when she’s looking at him like… like that.

he could knock her tf out right now (more like choke her tf out but).

he rolls his eyes, doesn’t miss her pleased smile as he turns on his heel, keys and wallet in hand, and walks right back out the front door.

bf boxer!carmy who can’t sleep without his girl in their bed, cradled in his arms, bundled between their satin sheets, fuzzy blankets, and a hefty comforter. keeps the AC on high all night long so he has an excuse to keep her close. he usually sticks to big spoon, though he’s certainly not opposed to being held (makes back and head scratches that much easier), he’d never pass up on the chance to stuff his face in his pretty broad’s pretty chest.

he drools and snores when he’s had a rough day or falls into the deepest sleep, and he always gets this cute scrunch to his face when he’s dreaming about something sad (sad, is her decided word, because that’s all she can feel when she kisses the furrow between his brows away).

when she can’t make it to one of his fights (which is few and far between) he spends as much of the night as he can on the phone with her just to stall the inevitable tossing and turning that’s waiting for him when the line goes dead (it’s the familiarity that gets to him, haunts him. it’s so easy to remember what it’s like, those restless nights, the constant noise).

and lastly (for now) bf boxer!carmy is suchhhh a control freak. as much as he loves his pretty broad, she irks him to NO END with the way she does the exact fucking opposite of what he so sweetly asks of her, too often to be good for his general mental health and wellbeing. he may push her buttons, but 8 out of 10 times it’s never fucking deliberate. she, the little fucking magenta devil, does that shit like it’s her only source of entertainment.

though, he can hardly complain. she may never learn her lesson, but at least she knows how to take a punishment like a good girl—

—

a/n: KEEP THE REQUESTS COMING PLS WRITING THJS EAS LOKE HEROINE INMY VEINSXHSHAHDGWJA

im fine. 😁.

not proofread!!

[idontcare4urmom]

sometimes i hate anon😕.i received by someone who had seen some pics of me in here(I deleted them days ago) and they called me ugly and said that there is no way i am natural,etc.!! they also told me that my writing sucks.honestly the only thing i am gonna say is get a grip for trying to insecure people

coming for a person who literally spend years to like myself and still not fully confident,and i am a new writer cause i started 2 months ago,i just don’t get the point of being rude to someone you don’t even know,like bitch nothing is going to happen if you just be nice

this is me btw,not my best photos since i don’t have much makeup on but you get the vision

[alottiegoingon]

our song

jackie taylor x gn!reader

summary: where the famous singer jackie taylor writes an entire album for actor!reader after three years apart.

warnings: cursing, angst but happy and sweet ending, not proofread.

you were the luckiest person in the entire world. the great jackie taylor, with her magnetic personality and soaring career as a talented singer, had chosen you to be her partner. with millions of fans captivated by her melodic voice and genuine charm, she wasn't just a star but a phenomenon. her albums topped charts, her concerts sold out within minutes, and her presence lit up every room she entered.

as for you, your career as an actor was blossoming. you had worked tirelessly to earn your place in hollywood, landing roles that showcased your versatility and dedication. small and perhaps insignificant ones at first but slowly turning into something that captivated the public. together, you and jackie were a power couple, admired for your talent, grace, and the undeniable chemistry that sparked between you both on and off-media.

♫

jackie reclined on the sun-dappled blanket, her fingers interlaced with yours as the two of you lay in the park, soaking up the warmth of the late afternoon sun. the serene setting offered a rare moment of peace amidst your otherwise chaotic lives, practically a miracle.

“it's still the same as when we first came here,” jackie pointed, eyes sparkling with the memory. “you tried to impress me by catching that frisbee and ended up tripping over your own feet.”

you chuckled, grip tightening around hand. “hey, i still maintain that the ground was uneven. besides, you were impressed. i saw you trying not to laugh.”

she rolled her eyes playfully. “i was laughing with you, not at you. there’s a difference.”

“of course there is,” you teased. “wouldn’t it be wonderful if every day could be as peaceful as this?” murmuring, you gently lose your grip on jackie’s hand to play with her fingers, twirling the rings adorning her index finger.

she exhaled contentedly, leaning her head against your shoulder. “it would be perfect,” she agreed. “though, knowing us, we’d probably get bored. like that time when we decided to make pasta from scratch at 2 AM and almost destroyed the kitchen."

you laughed, the memory bringing a warm glow to your heart. “you ended up covered in flour, and we had to clean the whole apartment. but it was worth it, even if it tasted vile.”

jackie giggled, her eyes widening. “vile? it was insufferable,” she reminds you, marveling at your different perspective, probably because you were too happy being with her to care about the food.

before you could respond, both your phones buzzed simultaneously, pulling you back to reality. you exchanged a resigned glance and picked up your phone to find a message urgently demanding your presence on your manager's office.

fuck. nothing good could ever come off this.

in the sleek, modern office, the atmosphere grew heavy. yours and jackie’s manager gave you both uneasy glances before addressing you.

“thank you for coming on such short notice,” he began, his tone serious. it couldn't be good. “as you know, the fan frenzy is getting out of control.”

that was his polite way of demanding your relationship to end.

jackie raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a wry smile. “so, let me get this straight. you think breaking up will magically stop our fans from being obsessed? what’s next, telling the sun not to shine?”

your manager sighed, running a hand through his hair. “it's about your careers. you haven't released new music in months," he faces jackie for a moment. "and your latest movie faced a lot of unnecessary backlash because of the rumors. this isn’t sustainable.”

jackie’s expression hardened. “so we should just give up on each other because it’s convenient for you? that’s absurd.”

"we’re not saying it’s forever, jackie. just until things calm down. you both have worked so hard to get where you are. don’t let this jeopardize everything.”

jackie took a minute to absorb the suggestion, and your lips parted in shock as she somehow seemed convinced by all that nonsense.

you looked at her, your heart breaking at the thought of losing her. half of you were furious, holding yourself to now jump on the mid aged man in front of you and ripping his fancy hair our for suggesting such a cruel idea. the other half... “jackie, you can't actually be considering this.”

she took a deep sharp breath. “i don’t want to lose you, but I also don’t want to hold you back," you wanted to tell her that she could never hold you back, but you had a immense lump stuck on your throat. "maybe... maybe they’re right. maybe we need to focus on our careers for now.”

“jackie,” you whispered, reaching for her hand. “this isn’t what i want. i don’t care about the fans or the media. i care about you.”

she squeezed your hand back tightly, her voice trembling. “i know. but maybe... maybe this is the only way. for now.”

yet, the 'for now' turned into three years.

♫

three years had passed since the decision was made for you and jackie to go on separate ways. for jackie, those three years became a period of creative hibernation, or at least that's what she told the media. once a prolific artist whose songs resonated deeply with millions, she withdrew from the limelight entirely.

meanwhile, your life had taken a different trajectory. the breakup had fueled a fire within you, driving you to immerse yourself in your work. acting roles came flooding in, and with each new character you portrayed, you climbed higher in the movie industry ranks. yet, no amount of success could fill the void jackie had left behind. you buried yourself in scripts, hiding from the emotions that threatened to break through.

your latest project had brought you to a new movie set, where you worked tirelessly to bring your character to life. the film set became your sanctuary and your proving ground, especially after your ex-girlfriend had came back to the public's eye, releasing a new album out of nowhere.

oh, that's why you had been receiving so many calls and texts and spending a lot of time ignoring every single one. it didn't surprise you that her name was all over the internet, doubling your efforts to avoid her name like the plague. you didn't give a fuck about jackie taylor.

or you liked to think you didn't.

it was during a rare moment of downtime that you heard it—her voice, lilting and haunting, spilling from the trailer of your co-star.

you stumbled upon the trailer nestled within the labyrinthine studio lot. melodies drifted through the half-open door, the familiar voice stirring memories you had tried so hard to forget. curious, you approached quietly, recognizing it instantly.

as you leaned against the doorframe, the lyrics unfolded like a poignant reflection of your shared history. you remained silent, unseen, grappling with the emotions stirred by each familiar verse.

as the song ended, your first instinct was to rush back to your own trailer, tears welling up in your eyes. you should have been studying your lines and preparing for filming, but instead, you found yourself hurrying to listen to your ex-girlfriend's new album after years apart.

with trembling hands, you opened your laptop, fingers shaking as you searched for jackie’s latest album. the cursor hesitated over the play button, torn between reluctance and a deep yearning to hear her voice.

you pressed play and jackie's haunting melodies filled the small space of your trailer. the first song washed over you like a wave, stirring memories long buried in your heart. each verse unveiled a tapestry of emotions—love, longing, regret—all laid bare in her soulful voice.

after listening to the entire album, you became a sobbing wreck by the time the final track ended. all that remained certain was the need to see her, torn between sadness for jackie, pitying her regretful confession delivered so cowardly, and fury at how she chose to reveal it all.

without a second thought, you booked a flight to the city where jackie lived, not caring about the scenes they were supposed to film later that day, leaving it all behind. you had better plans.

♫

jackie had just finished a late-night interview, her thoughts drifting back to you as they often did. the doorbell rang, startling her from her reverie. she wasn't expecting anyone to show up, and definitely not you.

opening the door, she was met with your familiar face, just like she remembered. her heart leaped into her throat, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

"really, an album? you couldn't have called me to tell me this is how you felt after three years?" your voice trembled with a mixture of anger and longing, finally beating the silence.

"it's nice to see you too. you look nice."

"really? i miss you every day since that day and you decided to put your feelings in a stupid album instead of talking to me?"

jackie's attempt to brush the awkwardness away was useless when you could perfectly see the fear in her face. "i didn't know how to reach out to you."

"you didn't know how to reach out to me?" you repeated, your voice rising. "we've been through so much together, and you thought an album was the best way to communicate?"

her expression hardened, hands clenched into fists. "do you think it was easy for me? do you think I wanted to put everything into songs?"

"yes, i do!" you stepped inside, forcing jackie to walk backwards, slamming the door behind you. "because that's exactly what you did! you hid behind your music instead of talking to me like a fucking adult."

"don't you dare judge me!" jackie shouted back, her arms gesturing in agitation. "you think it was easy watching you move on with your life, seeing you in the headlines?"

"move on?" you laughed bitterly. "you call that moving on? i was drowning myself in work because I couldn't deal with losing you. every script, every role, it was just a way to distract myself from the pain that you created when you agreed to that entire breakup shit."

jackie took a step back, her eyes eventually softening, but she kept quiet. she had a great way with words when writing songs, but not in situations like this. "i know," she whispered. "i didn't want to hold you back."

her words hung in the air, the weight of their implications sinking into both of you. you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"holding me back?" you repeated, your voice tinged with disbelief. "jackie, you were never holding me back. you were the one who kept me grounded."

"i thought i was doing the right thing. everyone kept saying it was the best for our careers, for our future."

"everyone but us," you said, your voice sounded like a broken whisper.

she looked at the living room, then met you again, her expression filled with regret. "can we just sit and talk?"

the last thing you wanted now was to sit and listen to her excuses. still, you had come all the way down there. you were just as scared as she was.

jackie motioned towards the couch, and you hesitated for a moment before following her lead. the place was dominated by an unsettling silence, the air heavy with unresolved emotions.

as you both settled into the cushions, she took a deep breath, her fingers nervously twisting a strand of her hair. "i know i fucked up. i thought i was doing the right thing."

you glance at her, she was having a hard time looking at you.

"i was scared," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "scared that if i fought for us and it didn't work out, it would destroy me. i took the easy way out, and i've regretted it every day since."

"yeah, you did take the easy way out," you said, a hint of bitterness creeping into your voice but soon vanishing. "but i guess i wasn't much better. i threw myself into the first plane and will probably get fired just to tell my ex-girlfriend how pissed i was."

she gave a small, insecure smile. "that's really stupid."

"tell me about it," you mumble, mirroring her sad smile.

jackie laughed softly, a genuine sound that seemed to lighten the room. "we're both a bit stupid, aren't we?"

you couldn't help but chuckle too, the tension in your chest easing slightly. "oh, yes. a lot," you nod, the sad grin shifting to a more comfortable one. "at least we were stupid together."

the corners of her eyes crinkled in that familiar way that always made your heart flutter. "stupid together," she agreed.

for a moment, the two of you just sat there, smirking at each other, a shared understanding passing between you. the silence was no longer heavy, but comfortable, like slipping into an old, worn-in pair of shoes.

jackie shifted closer, her hand reaching out hesitantly to rest on yours. "so, where do we go from here?"

you take a look down at her hand on yours, feeling the warmth of her touch. "well, i guess we start by being honest with each other. no more hiding, no more running away."

she nodded, her eyes earnest. "right. i can do that."

you squeezed her hand gently. "and maybe we can take it slow, figure things out as we go."

jackie grinned, a playful glint in her eyes. "does that mean no grand gestures like flying across the country without telling anyone?"

you laughed, feeling lighter than you had in years. "no promises. i might still have a few dramatic moves up my sleeve."

the two of you talked for hours, sharing stories, laughing about old memories, and making plans for the future. it felt like a weight had been lifted, and for the first time in years, you felt hopeful.

a loud snort falls from your lips when you hear a loud and sudden growl coming from jackie's stomach and she mirrors you, cheeks instantly turning pink.

"do you wanna cook something?" you ask, a specific memory showing up on your mind. "maybe pasta."

"absolutely not. we promised to never try that again," she added, grinning.

"maybe we should break that promise," you glance at the kitchen, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "try again and see if we can actually make something edible this time."

she raised an eyebrow, amused. "are you suggesting a rematch?"

your smile widened. "absolutely. I think we can do better this time. and if not, well, there's always pizza."

"alright, you're on. but no cheating."

"deal," you agreed, holding out your pinky.

jackie linked your pinky with hers, sealing the promise.

♫

the kitchen soon filled with the aroma of garlic and tomatoes, and before long, you were sitting at the table, enjoying a surprisingly delicious meal. each bite felt like a victory, not just over the failed attempts before that, but over the misunderstandings and pain that were now behind you.

it was past midnight when you found yourselves nestled in bed, illuminated by the gentle glow of the bedside lamp. your fingertips traced idle patterns on jackie's stomach, the hushed tones of your conversation blending with the city distant and muffled noises. with exhaustion catching up, you pulled her nearer, jackie's head resting against your chest as you wrapped your arms around her, finding solace in the shared peace of falling asleep together.

[the-owl-house-takes]

What your favourite owl house ship says about you! Because I'm bored.

Lumity: You're a majority of the fandom. It's basic, but easy to love. Huntlow: You think that Hunter deserves the world and that Willow is a badass. Also, you went crazy when they held hands in FTF.

Raeda: Your favourite episode is Them's the Breaks, Kid. Also, you like seeing gay elders.

Gustholomule: You think Gus deserved more screentime and that Matt was one of the funniest side characters.

Willuz: Your favourite season is S1.

Amillow: You think they could've been badass jocks together. Also your favourite episode is Labyrinth Runners.

Lunter: You think they make good parallels to Evelyn and Caleb.

Lavender Winter: You're a multishipper. I respect it.

Hootlith: Either you don't know that Lilith's aro, or you ship them platonically. They're a cute QPR.

Evelyn x Caleb: You think we got robbed of more backstory flashbacks.

-multishipper anon

-

[fixing-bad-posts]

It's kinda funny how, despite the fact that you're making erasure poetry, part of the point of this blog, from what I can tell, is to stop erasure :P

Wishing you well! . -- Evelyn

god, you're too sweet!

the joy and positivity this blog has brought to others is, tbh, a pleasant and humbling surprise, due to the fact that the point of this blog is actually that i am a petty bitch lol

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

different anon than before but to perhaps slow the villain origin story does anon know we have hq photos of him in angel street that might help soothe their aching soul

Poof! Some high res photos of Vincent Price from Angel Street.

[anyarlly]

Gimme any AP headcanons you have

omg okay let's go

patrick lives off of skincare magazines. like i believe he has a stash of them somewhere in his appartment.

if patrick lived in this day and age he would have a twitter where he would just complain and then retweet one aestetic photo of a tux or smth

patrick went to evelyn and tim's wedding. did not feel a single emotion. evelyn asked him to run away with her twice, he contemplated then relaized all that would be more trouble than it was worth

i'm stealing this from @leoblooms but, paul loves metal and also has a sister and has a cat. that's all canon to me

patrick doesn't tan well naturally (tanning bed or redness and itchiness for him), paul does tan nicely but he likes the convenience of a tanning bed

evelyn goes to art shows and she doesn't get any of it but she fucking tries so hard to understand modern art

evelyn has a whole other artsy friend group

hear me out but i think she sends her art to shows anonymously , and her friend group either rips it to shreds or thinks it's the most profound art statement ever

and it's a fucking.. like a lone shoe glued to a white box or something like that

[wackulart]

Caleb: Um… Whatcha got there?

Philip, holding the Collector’s mirror with them behind him: A mirror.

THIS TOOK SO LONG ON AGGIE BUT I HAD TO DRAW IT

[vinnystaysawake]

If Patrick Bateman was a woman he would still like women the Yuri gods told me

The yuri gods are correct

[agreyrose]

Sometimes I lay awake at night thinking about how Evelyn is so similar to Taylor...how taylor wore a green dress just like Evelyn and how the author confirmed on Twitter that she was inspired by taylor???

I didn’t know the author confirmed it??? But god me too! Reading The 7 Husbands really changed my perception of how Taylor presents herself in the public eye. Like yeah sure we see her holding hands with this man and that man, and she writes her songs with random little nods to vague characteristics of these men that media jumps on as proof, but really we have NO idea what is going on behind the scenes. Bottom line is she is an extremely smart, extremely talented woman, and she will sell the story she wants to for whatever reason she wants to or feels like she has to, and we can try to speculate and try to figure it out, but we will truly never know, unless of course this “all gets declassified in 50 years”

[is-that-plural]

ah okok!!

so, the ocs I wanted to submit we made when we were around ~9? I wanna say? It was way before we even knew what systems were but they feel very plural to us now!

so the world these two were in was very fantasy, and they had this thing called “other sides” which were kinda alternate, more powerful versions of you. think dragon ball z super sayians. EXCEPT. these “other sides” would, in practice, end up being very different from those they were based on!

take the main OC, Evelyn. she had this other side called “Ultra Power Evelyn” (very creative, I know.) but the name was shortened to Ultra. she looked very different from Evelyn, had an entirely different personality, and varying opinions on the same people, but they both shared Evelyn’s body!

also, take Evelyn’s brother, Ollie! His other side was Lizy, who was an entirely different gender, mental age, had a different personality, opinions, and appearance!!

and it’s implied that both of these OCs had trauma, and couldn’t reminder what their other sides did when they were in control!!!

very plural imo !!!

-🧂🪨 anon :3

!!

Rating: thats plural ! past you knew something was up !!

[fleuraimer]

i NEED to hear your thoughts on reader's arguments with boxer!carmy. what's their first argument about? who usually caves first?

you, anon, are a hero and a scholar and are about to receive the greatest blurb in the history of the the tumblr industry (pls someone understand this reference 😭😭)

BUT IT ALL SERIOUSNESS, this is fucking gold; i love you for sending this.

tw!! ooooohh they get into it yall. carmen being a man (ik, i’m sorry). some suggestive content. happy ending.

bf boxer!carmy and reader fighting!!

concept 1. concept 2. bf boxer!carmy hcs.

ok, so, me thinks bf boxer!carmy and his pretty broad actually argue a lot. so often it teeters just on the edge of being unhealthy. but, they also know each other and realize they’re two petty asf ppl (😭😭). so, even though they argue often, it’s usually over stupid shit, or their little fears (like who was supposed to wash the dishes that night, or how carmy’s profession holds a great deal of power over his life, enough to take it away—

she tries hard not to think about it too much; that argument is a losing game).

if carmy’s being frank, it’s half the reason he’s so fucking obsessed in love with her. she’s feisty—she’s trouble, and carmy’s never been good at staying out of it, even before he was the one starting the fights.

however…

when they fight—oh boy! do they fight.

i’d like to think bf boxer!carmy has a hugeeeee jealousy problem (lil insecure loser ☹️🫶🏽), and so that’s usually how their more heated fights begin.

i think their very first BIG fight has to do with a mix of his jealousy issue and the nature of how their relationship came to be.

allow me to set the scene:

so carmy wins the fight against timmy boy (surprise??) and starts talking to his pretty broad, finds out her and timmy aren’t exclusive, just messing around, and takes the green light.

a few weeks go by and everything is going smoothly—you know, the usual, extravagant dates and expensive gifts, lots of pampering and affection from both ends; the rose-hued, honeymoon stage—and carmy invites her as his plus one to some big party/event for his job.

he knocks on the front door of her apartment at 7:15 pm on the dot with a stunning bouquet—baby’s breath and lilies and anemones—of flowers in his right hand. he’s dressed to the nines; a fitted black tux—double breasted, with peak lapels, and slightly high-waisted trousers—and a brown dress-shirt, first thee to four buttons undone (whore 🥸) with a black chiffon, nearly iridescent slip over it that makes that same brown look an earthy, rich green at a swift glance. one gold bracelet, one gold ring for each hand (middle and pinky fingers), his unnecessarily attractive little gold hoop earrings, and a simple gold crucifix hangin’ ‘round his neck.

he raps his busted knuckles against the door with his left hand, and then patiently leans against the frame and awaits the telltale sign of her heels against the hardwood floors.

he counts to seventeen before her front door is swinging open.

the first thing he notices is that smile (that smile, the one she only ever gives to him—not eddie (god forbid), or nacho, or benny, or fucking timmy—just him). pearly whites, with bow and cherry gems (i loveeee teeth gems if my pfp didn’t make that clear), on display, framed by those plump, painted lips—brown liner, blackberry pink lipstick, and a nice, shiny gloss—that never seem to leave his head; burned into his memory, melded to his mind.

his eyes drop to the baby pink toes he’s become far too fond of, the white strap and silver chain of her dior heels placed prettily over top. flits his appraising gaze up to her ankles, the left one wrapped in the anklet he gifted her on their fourth date, a (boxing) glove charm hanging from the gold link. up—up, up, up—they go, trailing the soft ruffles and tedious buttons lining her long sleeve knit dress, hem hitting just at her shin, tight fitting—cinched to her figure—with a swoop neckline that shows off just the right amount of cleavage.

he stops when his eyes find hers again, brown sugar and saccharine.

he pushes off the door frame and steps through, ‘til they’re standing toe to toe and her head is awkwardly bent backward so she can keep eye contact.

“hi, bear,” she chirps, soft and taunting. grins at him while her jewel adorned hands slide up the smooth lapels of his tux.

the left corner of his mouth kicks up into a smirk as he snakes his left arm around her waist, dragging her closer.

his head spins with the scent of cinnamon and evergreen, and he wants to nuzzle in her neck because of it.

“hey, cub,” he rumbles back, and neither of them acknowledge the way she practically melts into her, she just curls her fingers into his lapels, and he tightens his hold on her waist.

she looks at the flowers in his right hand, “those for me?”

carmy turns his head to look at the flowers, lifts his hand with a noisy crinkle to present ‘em to her.

still, he shakes his head, puts on his best poker face and huffs, “nah, i’m taking that real pretty broad down the hall on a date tonight. just dropping in to say ‘hi’.”

her grin drops, face flat, eyes narrowed.

she unfurls her fists from his jacket, starts pushing him away, out from where he came.

“well, since we’ve finished swapping pleasantries—”

this time when he huffs, he’s huffing out a laugh, “i’m kidding. hey, baby, i’m kidding. swear.” he drops the flowers (unimportant; he can get more if she really wants them) to the ground at the side of their feet and wraps his other arm around her waist, crowding her space, barely giving her room to breathe, let alone slip from his grasp.

she wriggles in his hold, still shoving uselessly at his firm chest. “carmen, let go—”

and, well he’s definitely in trouble, but there’s not much to be done about that now, is there?

he takes both her tiny, pounding fists and locks them behind her back in one fell swoop “never. now look at me.”

she looks into the hallway, just over his shoulder, to piss him off.

his eye threatens to twitch.

“look at me, cub. don’t make me say it again.”

she rolls her brown sugar eyes, but does thereafter shift her gaze to look at him. raises an impatient brow.

“i’m sorry for saying that. it was a shitty joke—”

“it wasn’t fucking funny, carm.”

he grunts, “all right. wasn’t funny, i’m sorry, baby.”

she continues to glare at him for another 30 to 45 seconds, but then her shoulders are slumping and her face is scrunching in that cute little pout and she’s whining like a sweet little baby.

“wasn’t funny, bear,” she grumbles, and carmy snickers.

“y’already said that; gimme a kiss.”

she shakes her head, fussy, and now it’s carmy’s turn to raise an impatient brow.

“what was that? speak up, baby.”

“no,” she groans, stomping her foot, trying to free her hands from behind her back, but there’s no way she’s getting out now, not if she wants to act like a brat.

“try again.”

“n—”

he yanks her into his chest, “try the fuck again.”

but when has she ever just willingly rolled over?

“let me go, carmen.”

“give me a fucking kiss, cub.”

—

they show up to carmy’s work gathering an hour and a half late, but who’s fucking fault is that (this, too, is a losing game)?

when they step into the venue together, all eyes immediately fall on them. how could they not?

carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto, the bear, and his new girl.

timothy ‘timmy’ grayson’s ex girl.

they don’t let it phase them, the side eye and poorly disguised whispering, just find their way to their way to the open bar and mingle with their inner circle.

the night quickly descends from business to casual, but that could just be because they were so late. as the older patrons slip out, the inconsequential jazz humming in the background is shut off, and then the ceiling is shaking with the bass of keep it g by asap rocky.

somehow, carmy’s on his second glass of bourbon and his girl just finished her third glass of wine and they’re…tipsy.

it’s not even like the song playing is inherently sexual, at all, really, but carmy’s lips are trailing over the back of her neck, uncoordinated—messy—and his fingers are digging into her hips because the way she’s fucking grinding on him should not be legal.

“god, cub,” he grunts in her ear, rolling his hips back into her.

“mhmm,” she moans in the back of her throat, subdued, swallowed down, and places her hands over his that grip at her like a lifeline. she lets her head fall back, settle in the crook of his neck so she can nose at the hinge of his jaw and suck a pretty hickey there, too.

he fully thrusts into her, the bass of the speakers muffling the too audible slap of their bodies connecting.

she squirms and squeaks, “bear!”

he growls, “what?”

she giggles in the shell of his ear. “down, boy. i gotta hit the restroom.”

carmy, very reluctantly, lets her slip from his grasp and venture to find the woman’s room. he nurses on another drink—whiskey, this time—but paces himself as he waits for his girl’s return.

that is, until he sees his girl in question talking with timothy fucking grayson. then, he downs the rest of his drink like water and calmly—calmly—walks up to them.

now, if (and this is a very big fucking if) carmen wasn’t being a complete a***** ******* ****** ***** *****, then maybe he would’ve noticed the rather unkempt state of his pretty broad, her soured expression and guarded body language.

he was being a complete redacted though, so he just steps behind her with his chest puffed and his jaw set, just itching for timmy to say something fucking stupid.

and that stupid fucking smirk on his stupid fucking face might scratch that itch just enough to satiate him.

“what’re y’doin’ with my girl, timmy?”

he doesn’t register the way she bristles against him at the term.

my girl.

“just makin’ friendly conversation,” he shrugs, still smirking, and carmy has never wanted his knuckles to split so fucking bad.

“friendly conversation?” he nearly coos back, the condescending, possessive prick. “why don’t y’find someone else to go make friendly conversation with, yeah? fuck off.”

he walks away before timmy boy gets the chance to respond, dragging his girl behind him.

when they make it back to the bar, he finally has the decency to assess his pretty broad. or, hound her, more like.

"what was he sayin' to you? and what the hell were you doin' with him in the fuckin' first place? if he bothers you again you come straight to me, understood?"

he's met with silence.

he frowns, looks down at his girl to find the same expression on her face, and goes to repeat himself. "i said, underst—"

"take me home, carmen."

his frown deepens. he bends in the knee to try and catch her eyes, but she turns her head away as soon as he glimpses her brown sugar irises.

"cub—"

"take me home, carmen. now."

and they've fought, all right? small tiffs here and there, "pick your fucking shoes up, carmen!", "stop fucking touching shit, carm!", "god, carmen, just leave me alone!" but this is different. deeper.

he's still frowning as he nods, mutters "okay," softly, as to not upset her any further, and places his hand on the small of her back to guide out of the venue doors and out to the valet.

usually, after a date, carmen will pull in to a parking space and get out first to open the passenger door for his girl and walk her up to her apartment, before either getting sent off with a goodnight kiss or getting tugged through her front door to continue where they'd left off.

this time, though, she out the door before the cars even full parked.

carmen rushes to keep up with her takes the stairs to her apartment two at a time.

"cub, wait up!"

she does no such thing.

in fact, she only seems to move faster in lieu of his request (brat).

he nearly misses his window to at least say goodnight to her, with the way she quickly keys into her home and tries to slam the door in his face, but a foot in the frame easily rectifies that.

"hey!" he barks at her, shoving the door open and slamming it shut after him.

"don't slam my damn door, carmen!"

"don't try to slam your damn door in my damn face, then!"

she frustratedly groans, arms flailing in exclamation. he watches her cautiously as she looks frantically for something—something, anything—before she's bending down to take off her dior heels.

clearly, something has pent up—boiled, festered—within her, because she chucks a shoe at his head (and for someone so unassuming, she has a damn good arm).

he ducks just before it can hit him, instead banging into the wall.

"what the fu— ow!"

she doesn't miss the second time.

"fuck you, carmen!" she screams at him.

"fuck you! you just threw your fucking shoe at my head! twice!"

"and you fucking deserved it," she cries, taking a step closer to him, pointing an accusatory finger. "you dick!"

"what the fuck did i do?" he shouts back, taking a step forward himself, brows furrowed in frustrated confusion.

"you— y-you—"

he takes another step toward her, "huh? i what? spit it the fuck out, baby."

not for the first time, she pouts like a kicked puppy, and her hands brace on his sturdy shoulders, and she pushes at him, angry. but, certainly for the first, carmy actually loses his balance. nearly trips over his feet with the way he stumbles backward.

"ugh, asshole! you made a bet!"

he frowns, bewildered. "what?"

"don't fucking lie to me, carm—"

"baby, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"stop fucking calling me that!" she screams, "with timothy! you made a bet with him before the fight, a bet on me!"

carmy's mouth hangs open, forming to phantom explanations that all fall too short or get too intimate—personal; she doesn't need to know the backstory, the why in his road to success. she can't, not yet. not so soon.

she shoves him again at his lack of response, and, for the second time, carmy stumbles back.

"fuck you, carmy!" she screams, eyes brimming and— fuck, she was not supposed to find out this way (well, ever, really, but surely not in this way). he racks his brain for sufficient a justification.

"fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! is that how you fucking see me? i'm just another belt you meatheads pass around and compete for? fucking kill yourselves over?"

"that's not true, baby—"

"i'm not your fucking baby!" she goes to shove him again, but he's ready this time, steeled. she throws her weight into each nudge and push and shove she gives to him, grunts and grumbles through the exertion of it, but he's stock-still like a statue now, and immovable force to be reckoned with.

"you done?" he mutters when she's huffin' and puffin' too hard to keep going.

her eyes snap from his chest to his baby blues, glaring. "fuck—!"

"—me? yeah, you've already said that, several times actually. now are you gonna let me explain, or do you wanna keep screamin'?"

her eyes, somehow, narrow further, teeth barred.

carmy prepares himself.

"do i wanna keep screamin'? well, since you fucking offered," she gripes, pounding her fists into his chest again. and he lets her. "you don't fucking think, do you? just puff your chest and fucking take it if you want it, right? god, carmen, i'm not some fucking toy—"

"i never implied that you were—"

"so you didn't bet you could fuck me better than timothy at the weigh-in?"

he snaps his mouth shut.

she scoffs, shakes her head. "un-fucking-believable," she mutters under her breath.

she sighs, and the (arguably) worst is over. but it's not like he necessarily welcomes the tears, either.

she sniffles, red-rimmed eyes sparkling in a pool of saltwater, and weakly shoves at his chest again.

"f-fuck you, bear," she weeps softly, voice cracking, head hanging, and carmy's never wanted to fix something so badly in his whole goddamn life. more than mikey. "i thought you fucking liked me—

"i do—!"

"stop lying—!"

and suddenly, carmen's had enough.

"be quiet," he barks.

the room falls silent.

he sighs, grips hers arms to keep her close and up right. drops his head to rest on hers, eye-to-eye, and she's too tuckered out to fight it.

his adams apple bobs, "i'm sorry, y/n," he whispers, and she doesn't think she's ever heard him so earnest before, so sad. "i'm sorry i made a bet on you, and hurt your feelings because of it. you're not a toy, or a belt, or any other prize, boxing or not; you're a human fucking being. and i'm sorry."

she sniffles again, and he takes her lack of shoving and yelling as clearance to continue.

"i'm not fucking sorry it worked, though." he can feel her tense, so he hurries on before she gets the wrong idea. "i'm not fucking sorry i saw you in that damn pink dress, in your damn pink heels, with you fucking pink toes. i'm not sorry that i talked to you after the match, and made good on my promise to timmy."

"carmen—"

he squeezes the sides of her shoulders, "i'm not sorry 'cause i do like you, cub, so fucking much."

she lifts her head, teary eyes blearily finding his, and she frowns up at him, like she doesn't believe him.

"why're lying?" she whimpers, all watery and sad sounding, and carmy just wants to swaddle her in a blanket and kiss her tears away.

he smiles gently at her, "m'not lyin', baby. do you think i'd still be here if all i wanted was a fuck and duck? that's what the ring girls are for, cub."

she makes a face at him, "ew! g-ross, carmy, don't—!"

he bites back a smirk. "you drive me insane," cuts her off, sliding his hands from her arms to her shea butter smooth palms. "you drive me up the fuckin' wall, actually. but i love that about you. i love that you don't take anyone's shit, including mine. love that you put me in my place, and tell me off when i step out of line." his tongue peaks out to lick his chapped bottom lip before he continues. "i love the way you curl up in a ball every night before bed because you can't sleep any other way, and i love the way you bitch and moan about your bones feelin' too stiff in the morning because of it." he regards her fondly, eyes flitting over every feature. “i love your teeth gems, and your long ass nails. i love it when you’re bare-faced and bushy-tailed, or when you’ve got a— what is it?”

she chokes on a snotty laugh, “a full beat?”

“a full beat!” he repeats, enthusiastic and beaming. they both take a moment to giggle, carmy’s hands finding purchase on her hips to draw her in, chest to chest. “i am sorry i hurt your feelings, cub, so fucking sorry. but i would make that bet ten fuckin’ thousand times over if it meant i’d end up anywhere with you.”

and now she’s crying for a whole different, much sweeter reason.

she pouts at him cutely, “bearrr!”

and it’s like nothing even happened.

“whaaat?” he groans, feigning annoyance. “snotty girl, look at those tears,” he tuts, “such a crybaby.”

“that’s not fair—!”

“hush,” he muses, walking them back toward her bedroom, deft fingers working to unfasten the many buttons of her dress. “you talk too much, anyone ever told you that? whatever, you should let me fuck you.”

“what?”

“you should let me fuck you.”

“you literally ate me out for an hour before we left, that’s why we were so fucking late. and who says you fuckin’ deserve it?”

carmy smirks, that’s his girl.

fuckin’ trouble.

he quirks a brow at her, fingers pausing their decent.

“you gonna let me earn it?”

—

a/n: hope u like it babies bc getting this done made me SICK (im serious i can’t fucking breathe right or swallow properly anymore 🙂‍↔️🫶🏽)

not proofread!!

[idontcare4urmom]

imagine matt being all cuddly with your boobs while laying together😭

wait cause i can see the preview of being together in bed just chilling and chating or scrolling through your phones,and he just won't stop squeezing them through your shirt,and not in a necessary sexaul way😭 "matt can you get your hands off my fucking chest?" "mph,no,they are just too comfy"

[cafemilk-tea]

In those seventeen guide videos on YouTube, what info would people provide about evie? Like “blind bat #2”, or “the babied maknae (sorry Dino)”, or “graceful swan onstage, clumsy offstage”

Hope you’ve been well lately and are remembering to rest and eat ☺️

-🥕

I LOVE THISS!!

svt’s elegant main vocalist [mini compilation of her saying this as her introduction + best vocal moments]

“And what about it?” [An iconic phrase she said once in going seventeen that became a famous meme in kpop]

svt’s resident insect defender [clip of DK on weekly idol saying she protects them from bugs + mini compilation of evie squashing bugs]

if i fits, i sits [mini compilation of evie sitting on members laps/in the smallest spaces possible]

baby girl energy [mini compilation of her asking members to open things/ her pouting and being cute in general]

another blind bat [mini compilation of her squinting to read things off in the distance including her and wonu side by side squinting at something]

[ilygetou]

UR SK FUCKING UGLY

WHAT