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attapullman · 6 months ago

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Robert's Laundry Service | Neighbor!Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: A broken washing machine and a clogged bathroom sink lead you and Robert to explore the next part of your secret relationship.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Bob Floyd x afab!reader, no use of pronouns, no y/n, a little angsty, very smutty, 18+ ONLY as always, unprotected PinV, use of sex toys, language, a lot of cum mentions, neighbor!Bob being perfect as usual

A Note From Mo: Did anyone else miss neighbor!Bob? He needed some love, and that's what he's getting today! Thank you to @roosterforme for inspiring this idea that I took entirely too far. If anyone needs me, I'm going to be hoping that he moves into the empty apartment next to mine 🙏 p.s. this takes place before Stupid White Car

It’s hard to pay attention to the bad diagnosis he’s giving when your visual is just those threadbare grey sweats. Painted to his strong thighs, poking out from behind the washer like a personal serving of eye candy. You’re meant to be shining the flash light, but you long abandoned that task in favor of the view.

“…you can borrow mine in the meantime. I’ll call a guy Monday.”

Reluctantly, you draw your eyes from his lower half. Just as his words sink in.

“It’s broken?!”

Robert gives you a kindly amused grin. “Sweetheart, did you hear anything I’ve been saying?”

You grace him with a sheepish smile, caught red-handed.

“The tube disconnected from the wall and needs to be properly - professionally - connected before you use it again. I know it’s not the same, but you can do laundry at mine until someone comes out. I can make you tea and we can watch that undercover dating show you like?” His soft smile is as sweet as his offer.

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “Hey now, you like that show too.”

Those cornflower blues shine, glad you’re not objecting. “I do, but only because it’s funny when you yell at the drama.”

He wraps his arm around your waist and guides you away from the laundry, back to where the two of you had been trying to decide on takeout over a game of checkers. Allowing him to drag you down to the couch, hips colliding into the soft fabric, you resume a lovely afternoon with Robert.

Robert, your helpful Mr. Fix It neighbor. And maybe, one day, your boyfriend.

Robert lending you his laundry room for the weekend is so generous. It feels a bit silly carrying your delicates through his back yard (especially when you know a few pairs are crusty from your…sleepovers) but you’ll take his selfless offer if it means clean laundry and a lovely afternoon spent with him.

As you work your way past the kitchen, you’re caught off-guard once again by how charming his home is. The little bits of personality, the framed photographs and handmade trinkets. While you know he can’t get any more perfect, his home makes a compelling argument.

The laundry room is fairly unremarkable - washer, dryer, large farmhouse sink for the unsavory jobs too nasty for the kitchen - but you do like his view of the neighborhood from the window. You’re almost curious if anyone will walk by and notice you standing in the wrong house, lacy balconette bra in hand.

Already regretting the amount of folded laundry you’re going to have to haul back through the gate after this, you begin prepping a load of lace and satin. Brainstorming ways to expedite the process, you overshoot pouring detergent into the water-filled drum and spill the cobalt goo all over your hand. Shit.

You rush over to the sink, subjecting yourself to freezing water to wash the detergent off your fingers. Once sufficiently clean, you reach for a cloth to dry off. And that’s when you see it.

Oh. You’ve never seen one in real life before, just in porn and the odd naughty ad while scrolling. It almost feels as if you’re being punk’d. Like if you sliced through it, it would actually be cake.

A cock ring, soft silicone and all. Casually sitting on the sideboard, freshly cleaned.

Every muscle in your body freezes as the implications of seeing something so private wash over you. Something meant between lovers that you had never seen in the weeks since that fateful night you let him in for a cup of tea.

It’s been a few days since you had last slept over. A scary sinking feeling fills your gut…was there someone else?

You had been so focused on the neighborhood not knowing. Staying in your homes, using the back gate. It wasn’t like you had ever verbalized your intentions with him. You couldn’t blame him for thinking the two of you as casual, as much as it twisted your insides.

As your thoughts spiral, there’s motion in the doorway and Robert is suddenly there, big shoulders and a soft smile on his face at seeing you in his space. Exactly where he wants you.

“You get it going in here? Find the detergent okay?”

Those kind cobalt eyes follow your gaze to the sink, where you can’t break your focus on the dark silicone device. The one he meant to put away before you came over. His cheeks flush as he steps into the room to attempt to explain why he has something so private sitting out - in his laundry room of all places.

But as he goes to open his mouth, you cut him off. “You don’t have to explain. I don’t need to know everything in your….sex life. You’re obviously welcome to do whatever you like in the privacy of your home.”

His eyebrows raise, unsure why you seem so upset when the only issue is a clogged sink in the ensuite last night.

You edge around him, desperate to get out of this space - his space - away from everything that reminds you of him as he figuratively slips through your fingers. “We never discussed being exclusive, so I get it.”

“What are you-?”

Tears threaten to spill over as he follows you toward his back door. “But if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with us seeing other people, so-”

Robert’s eyes bug out of his head. Seeing other people? His blood pressure rises as the dots connect behind those pretty eyes, and suddenly he’s racing to cut you off. You’re faster than you look, but before you can turn the handle of the back door he’s plastered his body against the wood, effectively blocking you from leaving.

The pain behind your eyes begs him to move, to let you run back to the safety of your own home so you can cry and despair over not locking him down sooner. Of course there’s someone else. Of course you’re not the only one who can see how great Robert Floyd is.

“Robert, I need to leave. I need a moment alone. Please.”

But he holds his ground. The second you walk through that door he knows he’s lost you. His eyes are cautious behind those thick lenses, wanting to obey your wishes but the risk of losing you making every nerve stand on end. Whatever is wrong, he can fix this. He will fix it.

“Sweetheart.” His fingers reach into the space between you, hand clenching into a fist when he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to touch you right now. “There isn’t anyone else. I promise, you’re…you’re the only one.”

You eye him hesitantly, wanting to believe his words. But that cock ring has never made an appearance in your sleepovers. Never once brought up when he’s standing between your parted thighs, lips slotted against yours.

“I really want to believe you, I do. But why else would you be cleaning your, erm, toy?” You can’t bring yourself to say cock ring without bursting into frustrated tears.

It’s now that the fight within him drops, and immediately his shoulders release. Embarrassment floods his features and he drops his gaze, no longer able to look you in the eye. This is not how he anticipated bringing this dynamic into your relationship.

“That…it’s…I-I use it when I’m alone. I like to, uh, edge myself.”

His cheeks are flaming and the burning despair inside you dissipates into intrigue. A flame traipses through your abdomen, curious and hungry.

“You use it…alone?”

He desperately nods, tentatively reaching out to grasp your hands, needing to feel you. Those thick, strong fingers rub against your knuckles soothingly. Despite the whiplash of emotions conflicting inside you, his presence immediately soothes and you lean into his touch.

“The nights you can’t come over…I prefer to save my orgasms for you. Only you.”

His blush reflects yours as you look into those ocean-deep eyes, the desperation clear across his features. He’s being honest, laying out every last secret he’s got to keep you here.

“So, there’s no one else?” Your voice feels so small, barely a whisper in the kitchen.

He shakes his head definitively, using his grip on your hands to bring you closer as he stares deep into your eyes. “There’s no one else. And the fact you would even think that means I’m not doing a good enough job proving how much I care for you. Because I like you so much, sweetheart, so, so much.”

The tension in your body breaks, and you allow yourself to lean into his strong body. His panic dissipates as he holds you to him, one arm flush against your waist as his hand holds your face to his chest. He’s never letting you go, of that he knows for sure.

He can’t believe there would be any doubt in your mind of his intentions. The sleepovers, the dinners in, the way he’s made a home between your thighs…that makes you official, doesn’t it? He’s never been one for the right words, but he was pretty sure his actions proved he was in this for the long haul.

You’re too important to mess up. To allow any seed of doubt to spread.

His nose traces along your temple, warm breath kissing the delicate skin. “Can I take you to bed, sweetheart?”

Your face lifts from his chest to take in his honest face. The loose tendril of sun-lightened brunette that’s escaped his neat hairstyle. The thin lopsided smile you trust in. Eyes behind corrected lenses that are serious and playful in the same breath.

In lieu of an answer, you mold your lips to his, drinking in his taste you’ve deprived yourself of for days. His kindness and sincerity sink into you, surrounding you the pleasantly overwhelming way his body does as he wraps around you. Holding your hips as he swallows your tongue, shifting himself to feel every dip and curve of your body.

As his lips find your neck, the laundry room comes back into view. A delicious thought swirls in your mind and the words burst from your mouth.

“Can I see?”

He nuzzles against your jaw, grinding his erection against your thigh.

“See what?” He’s distracted by how good you smell, how soft your skin feels beneath his fingers.

“I want to see you with the cock ring. Show me, please?”

Arousal floods his mind, images of you naked beneath him while his balls throb with cum just for you. No words needed before he’s pushing you in front of him to his bedroom. He’s ready to show you just how devoted he is to you.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, it feels like the first time with him all over again. Anticipation of the unknown, drowned in heavy lust.

His eyes rake over you as he enters the room, lust darkening those soft blue eyes. You’re exactly how he wants you always - in his bed, eager for his touch. Right now, he’s yours.

Taking the spot between your legs, strong fingers stroking along jean-clad thighs, his broad frame bends toward you to rest his forehead against yours. That button nose knocking into yours.

“There’s been no one else since the day you moved next door. I’m yours, only yours.”

The build up of emotions behind your eyes threatens to spill over as he presses his lips to yours. Cups the back of your head as he leans into you, applying the softest pressure. Pouring every ounce of his devotion into his kiss.

Your legs wrap around his slim hips, needing to feel his security and care. He’s the most helpful man to exist, and you know he’ll guide you through this dynamic.

Kisses turn sweet to frantic to passionate as Robert holds your face. Your lips are chapped when he finally pulls away, strong chest rising and deflating. You know you mirror his disheveled aroused appearance. His hand reaches behind to his back pocket.

He holds the black cock ring between you, freshly washed, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight peeking through the curtains. “Are you sure about this?”

Your apprehensive eyes meet his, although a slight smile plays along your lips. “Play dirty with me. Please.”

Condensation beads on the lower rims of his glasses as he dips his face to kiss you, his skin flaming hot. The kiss is sinful yet curt, not wanting to lose himself before practicing restraint. You run your tongue along the seam of his lips, savoring his flavor. He hums against your mouth as your hands find his waist, heart picking up speed as your fingers find the button of his jeans.

Robert clenches the cock ring in his fist, already struggling to hold his load as the softness of your skin wraps tightly around his hardening cock.

His eyes are lidded, thin mouth already agape from the pleasure of your fist stroking firmly up and down his shaft. Can barely keep focus between the way you squeeze his deep pink tip and the spectacular view down your top, his mind running wild at the all the skin he needs to touch. He’s practically forgotten the reason for his view until you lick your lips sweetly and ask.

“Can I put it on?”

Fingers unfurl and present the silicone ring to you, warm from his clenched fist. You press the ring between your fingers, taking in the smooth design and thick circumference. Glide your thumb along the little button that makes it vibrate.

He’s panting above you, already wrecked at the vision. The only two things he deems worthy of his cock, right in front of him.

Bringing the ring up to your lips, he watches as you run your tongue along it, gathering your saliva to glisten along the silicone for a smoother glide. Your fingers effortlessly slipping along the edge before you touch it to the sensitive tip of his cock.

His fingers curl around the nape on your neck, holding the hair there, grounding himself. Between your ministrations and the pressure of the ring slipping down his length, he’s dizzy with stimulation. His cock immediately swelling in response. Lip between his teeth to contain the gruff moans you’re desperate to hear.

Your eyes are focused on the firm grip the ring has on the length of him, sliding down until your thumb is brushing his heavy ballsack, pulsing with need.

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to last.” He’s panting against your forehead, trying so hard to be patient, but wanting nothing more than to thrust into your fist and chase his orgasm.

You tilt his chin to press a chaste kiss to his lips. A promise to take care of him, because you and you alone are responsible for his pleasure. Always.

Sliding back onto the soft coverlet, you raise your hips to remove your jeans. Skin growing warm at the wanton look of need in Robert’s eyes as you unbutton your top. His voice but a whine when you sit in front of him in nothing but the delicate chain around your neck.

“So beautiful.”

It’s impossible to tell whose whimpers are more desperate as you run the shiny-slick swollen head of him against your core. Moaning as it catches on your entrance, ready to sink deep into those velvet depths. Voices becoming one as you impale yourself on the thick shaft that’s all yours.

He can’t believe anything could be better. This is Nirvana. Until you reach between to where your bodies meet and hit that tiny little button.

“Fuck!” He never swears, and yet that filthy word streaks through the room with a bite. Yelped loudly as he buries his face into your neck. The combination of vibrations and warm, tight pussy sending him into a spiral. Groaning out praises into your neck like it’s his last day alive.

You can’t help the grin on your face as you experience him come undone. How had you been denied the pleasure of watching him like this? The salt of his neck, the wayward curl stuck to his forehead? It’s a toss up if you’re getting off on being stuffed with his engorged cock or by watching the way his chest heaves for breath as he fights off his orgasm.

“Are you going to cum for me?” You’re drunk on power watching him like this, rutting his hips into you over and over for a pleasure that won’t come until you decide. His nod so desperate it goes right to your clit. His swollen cock stretching you beyond what you thought possible. The frisson of skin on skin, those tiny yet powerful vibrations, and his affection for you is overwhelming.

The ring fully still in place, your orgasm wracks your body, convulsing over the sheets. Barely able to notice his soft lips brushing the arch of your breasts as he consumes your satisfaction. Drinking in the sounds of your moans as they mix with his wet thrusts.

Your sleepy eyes are all he focuses on as he chases his orgasm, fighting past his usual routine of stopping here when he only has his hand. Right now he gets to have it all - the constricted blood flow, the vibration, and you. Perfect, wonderful you. His hands fist in the bedding, rooting himself, as sinks his hips deeper with precise strokes.

He can do this. He will show you you’re the only one for him.

Body quivering, his face is bright red as he thrusts, exertion bringing the vein in his forehead out with a matching bead of sweat. Robert feels his body take on a new consciousness as you ask for his cum once more.

His grunts are filthy - animalistic and deep. The first stream of cum he’s ever experienced with the ring on filling your stretched pussy, claiming you as his. Head fuzzy, he takes a moment to pull himself from your soft embrace and jerk his engorged cock, shot after shot of cum pumping out across your body. A painting only he gets to witness.

His tank now empty, you feel the soft thump of his body fall beside yours. Hear him catch his breath in the quiet afternoon air.

Exhausted, his face knocks into yours - glasses already lost to the coverlet - as he comes to reality once again. Strong arms reaching to pull you to him. Lackadaisical kisses to your cheek before risking a glance down and laughing abashedly.

“T-there’s so much cum. It’s everywhere.” Another kiss. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

The carefree yet sheepish grin he gives you melts your heart. You kiss him back, not needing to look as you feel his seed dry on your skin in the golden hour light. He very truly marked you as his, just as he is yours.

Smoothing your fingers through his hair, memorizing every little detail of his face - what a handsome face - you ease his embarrassment. “It’s not a big deal. We’ll just throw the sheets in the washer and enjoy dinner. It’s fine, really.”

His washer currently filled with your delicates complicates things, but your big, sweet smile soothes his self-consciousness. He returns the grin back, holding you closer.

That night is spent eating Robert’s lasagna and playing cards until every light on the street went out. It’s far too late when the sheets are finally clean and dried, and even later when they’re successfully on the bed. But it’s worth it to him when you crawl under the duvet and beckon him closer, needing one last kiss from your boyfriend before sleep.

taglist: @bella-maria2018 @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @comishkat @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @erospecies @hauntedduckdefendor @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @himbos-on-ice @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @littlemsbumblebee @livingoutsidethetardis @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @melsunshine @meg-ro @midnightmagpiemama @nerdgirljen @nouis-bum @petersunderoos96 @pinkdaisies9285 @primroseluna @rhettsluvr @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @sydsommersss @topherwrites @unpretty-reader @whoeverineedtobe @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

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rodolfoparras · 8 months ago

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Oh to be with old man price right now drunk on shitty wine and dancing to hozier in a dimly kitchen.

It’s not every day that you get to see Price this relaxed. Usually his mind is spinning with hundreds of thoughts- wondering if an old man like him is fit for someone young like you, wondering if there is someone who could treat you better than him, someone closer to your age someone who’s not jarred from the years they spent living, someone better looking who you could spend the rest of your life with-

But tonight he can only think about what a lucky bastard he is to have a man like you in his life. He’s got this lazy smile on his face as he pears up at you over his wine glass, and having noticed his blatant staring you can’t help but ask what’s on his mind.

“Nothing” he says, and downs what’s left in his glass. It’s not often he allows himself drink, not ever since his doctor told him to go easy with the beers. His body can’t handle alcohol like it used to and many times it has shown him that. But every once in a while he’ll allow himself a glass, especially on nights like these and he can already feel the alcohol having its effect on him, the tension in his body slowly easing up, and tongue readying itself to say too much.

However you won’t let it go, arms slinking around his waist and pulling him into your embrace

“Tell me” you whine out, into his salt and pepper hair, mindlessly rocking side to side with him in your embrace.

“Keep up with that and I’ll throw up on you,” Price grunts out, eyes squeezing shut in hopes of lessening the effects of the rocking motions but despite his words he sneaks his own arms around your waist , sweat soaked forehead pressed against your chest while he moves along to the music that’s playing in the background.

Your skin feels ever so warm while pressed flushed against his, the faint smell of your cologne and laundry detergent invades his nostrils and standing this close he’s sure he can hear your heartbeat or maybe it’s his very own pulse roaring in his ears.

This is nice, Price thinks to himself, even finds himself humming along to the tune playing from your phone before he starts softly singing to you

“You know you’re bright as the morning, soft as the rain, pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape “ Price gets so lost in the moment, he doesn’t even notice the amused smile on your face as he continues to sing. “If you can sit in a barrel maybe I’ll wait. Until that day I’d rather take my whiskey neat my coffee black and my bed at three,”

For many years Price thought that death was his ever lasting companion, that God was going to punish him for all the crimes he’s committed, that he’d end up all alone and loveless, with only the Grim reaper taking interest in such a sad and lonely man yet here he was drunk and dancing with the love of his life in your shared kitchen.

He indeed is a lucky bastard.

The gentle touch of your hand on his cheek, snaps him out of the little world he disappeared in and when his eyes flutter open, he’s met with your soft gaze and the warm smile painted on your face.

“What?” He says, and clears his throat, feelings his face turn red as ever

“Nothing,” you shrug, echoing his words from earlier with a small smile on your face and just as he’s about to ask a follow up question, you pull him in for a kiss.

All thoughts disappear as you mold your lips onto his. You mostly tastes of wine and of something sweet, probably the slice of store bought cake you sneaked in as dessert and Price finds himself addicted to it, easily getting lost in the taste, and the feel of your prickly hairs brushing across his chin, all while sweet grunts and groans tumble past your lips.

In that very moment he feels a surge of pride washing over him. See Price may harbor many insecurities but he knows how to kiss and he sure makes it clear as his own hand cups your cheek to deepen the kiss.

It doesn’t take much before he’s slipping his tongue inside your mouth, free hand sneaking under your pajama pants and cupping you in the palm of his hand.

“Oh- oh fuck,” you breathe out in surprise, eyes wide as he feels you twitch under his touch.

“How about we take this somewhere else hm?” Price says, playfully nibbles at your ear before he pulls away from your embrace and who are you to deny such request?

#this is justa. random blurb pls excuse mistakes i JSUT needed to let this out #call of duty #john price x reader #john price x male reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #x male reader #male reader

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talaok · 9 months ago

Note

Hey, I just want to tell you that I like your fanfics so much! and you're truly an amazing writer! Can I please have one shot where the reader asks Pedro to join her on her skin care routine? like it's all so fluffy, and P just keeps looking at her and pecking her lips at the same time. I hope you see this. Thank you so much. We love you, bestie!

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

a/n: thank you so incredibly much love <3, im sorry for the wait, this beautiful request truly deserved better, and of course, i love you too babe❤️

Pedro had always liked to watch you, you'd learned that quickly.

He liked to watch you when you were doing your make-up, cursing at your products when they didn't do their job right, he liked admiring you while you chose what to wear, that cute pensive frown always on your forehead, he liked seeing you put on lotion and bake those amazing cakes you baked, and finally, he liked watching you do your skincare.

He always prolonged his own routine in the bathroom at night just so he could be present for your little ritual of cleansers and serums and creams whose names he couldn't even pronounce, but today, today something had changed, and he'd decided he didn't want to only watch,

"You want to try?" your lips pulled into a smile as he nodded, his arms around your torso and his head between your shoulder and neck as he hugged you from behind, admiring your face from the mirror

"wanna see what all the fuss is about" he murmured, kissing your neck "What makes my wife abandon me in bed for twenty minutes every night"

You gasped, laughing as you feigned offense

"I have never abandoned you in bed, you're always here with me"

"mhh" he hummed contemplating, inhaling your scent as he tightened his hug "Whatever you say sweetheart" he murmured with that shit-eating grin plastered on his face "now, where do we start?"

He moved to your side, his gaze attentively examining the products filling the counter as if he knew what any of them did.

"first" you started explaining, picking up your oil cleanser and a detergent "we've gotta wash our face"

"I did already"

You glared at him, disappointed at the fact that even after all this time, he still had learned nothing

"it's not washing your face if it's just with water baby, you need a detergent, here" you handed him the white tub and he only opened and closed his mouth as he accepted the product in his hands.

"You're not gonna use this?" he asked, watching as you squeezed some other product in your hand "is this the cheap one?"

"no" you snorted "I just need to use another cleanser before that one cause I'm wearing make up honey"

"oh" he breathed "of course- I knew that"

You both laughed softly at his obvious lie as he squeezed an ungodly amount of detergent onto his hand just to slap it on his face and started rubbing it in with the same delicacy with which he changed a tire

"baby you're not washing the dishes, you've gotta be gentle" you laughed, watching him open his soapy eyes to look at you

"oh- like... this?" he asked, trying to mimic the gentle massage you were giving your own face

"that's better" you nodded, smiling proudly before taking the residues of your makeup off with a cloth

He rinsed his face and watched you as you did what he'd just done, and finally, finally, you asked him something you had no idea how you'd never asked before

"why do you always look at me?" you said, rinsing the detergent off "I'm not gonna disappear into thin air you know?"

He chuckled, his manly and deep voice bouncing from the bathroom tiles

"Are you?" he asked, taking a step so he was once again, right before you, his fingers moving some hair out of your face and lingering on your cheek

"I look at you, because I don't get to do it enough, because it's all I would spend my days doing" he murmured, droplets of water from your face and his hands falling to the ground as your heart sped up "because you're a work of art sweetheart, and because in everything you do, I see all the reasons I love you"

There it is, the man you married, able to melt you up with just a few words, spoken like they didn't seem picked up off a book, like he wasn't the best man you could have ever wished for, like you didn't love him to goddamn death

You didn't say anything, you never could when he said stuff like that, you only spoke through your eyes, through that invisible bond between you, the words lingering on your tongue

I love you

Before you kissed him, the same feeling, the same message, finding him with it.

"that" you smiled "Is why you're never allowed to make speeches before me ever again"

God only knew how much you had scolded him for making you look like a fool at your own wedding when he made you and half the guests weep with his vows while yours looked like a child wrote them in comparison.

he chuckled, kissing you again, before you mumbled something about finishing the skincare and he pulled away, a grin from ear to ear on both your faces

he followed all your instructions, first came the exfoliating stuff, then the serum, then the creams,

He watched diligently as you showed him how to execute every step, and then copied you, his hands still moving a bit too roughly on his skin.

the only change he brought to your routine, was the kiss he couldn't help but steal from you after every step he accomplished, a soft and quick one, just because he could, just because he wanted, just because you looked cute as ever, and there was only so much he could do to keep his hands off of you.

And after everything was done, after your skin glowed as you looked at your reflection, his eyes too, focusing only on you as his arms wrapped around you, he decided

"I think I should join you every night"

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 9 months ago

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Yandere V + H: Aizawa Shouta and Hizashi Yamada

These two are the villains and you the henchman

A couple of villains perfectly prepared to take on the army of heroes

You’re probably one of many

Hundreds of henchmen under the villains are meant to be nameless and faceless

Just a pair of helping hands to whatever scheme these two seem to come across

“Sirs! I have something important to report!”

“WHAT!? What’s the matter?”

“Out with it! Tell us, then.”

“Mittens…she…”

“Our cat? Oh yeah, you took her to the vet, right? So what’s the matter?”

“She…”

“Go on! We can take it!”

“She’s…”

“...”

“She’s pregnant!”

“Eureka!!” “So, my suspicions were correct.”

“Congratulations! I’ve brought a cake to celebrate, the awesome news!”

"Wow that's awesome of you!" "Thank you, (Y/n)."

It's your focus on them as people that make them realize your worth

Unlike your coworkers who easily clock out the moment their hours are enough, you stay

Always asking if they’ve eaten, drunk enough water, or if they’ve been able to get to their laundry this week

First, its a key to their private home just to feed the cats

But then it's a meal plan of what they’ll want for dinner

Then the type of detergent for their clothes

And at this rate, they should will just start moving you into their guest bedroom

You’ve just become such an important part of their lives they can’t imagine their lives or their villainy without you:

Shota did a double take at the mass of eager minions he was prepared to lead. Not seeing a familiar face smiling and saluting among them. It would be unnerving if he didn’t remember that there were chores that he and Yamada assigned; it’d be safe to assume that’s where you there.

“Uhm babe, did you see (Y/n) on the cameras?”

“No, but I was going to. Did you?”

“Yeah…”

A look of worry and unease was on Yamada’s face, he pulled out his phone pulled up the feed of multiple cameras, and turned the screen to his significant other who had a bad feeling. The feed was clear, and a video of the cats and kittens walking around the house was sped up as the hours continued on. The speed-up footage seemed to slow as you stumbled into the room, wobbling haphazardly as the felines crowded around you as you prepared their food. He watched as you jerked and jumped to what seemed like sneezing. You eventually left but the thought of your state alone was upsetting.

“They’re…sick.”

“Yeah, but what’s worse they didn’t even say anything to me! What about you?”

“No.”

The couple grew silent, enveloped in an unnerved feeling as they looked at their beloved henchman through the screen. Shota was the first to look away, reaching for a device on his belt that held a blinking moving dot. He noted the time on his watch, humming to himself as he adjusted his cape.

“We’ve got time to catch our kitten, but we must be quick.”

__________________________________________

You felt despicable. More than your stuffy nose and rising temperature, you felt despicable with yourself. For getting yourself sick in the first place. How could you be the best henchman you could if your body wasn’t working correctly? It made you feel even worse.

You couldn’t properly serve the couple after they so lovingly offer for you to stay in their home. Granted they were awfully adamant about that going so far as to start moving your clothes and other things into the guest room in their house. But who were you to question their kindness when you were just a mere stepping stool to their villainous success?

Deep down you couldn’t help but let your insipid doubts creep in. Like why your heart beat so fast when you walked in to find the couple going through your fridge. Or when the couple send an uplifting photo of your ex being waterboarded. It shouldn’t strike fear into your heart that your employers were so involved. You were being ungrateful. That’s what got you sick. Your unwillingness to let them further involve themselves in your life is to blame for the weakness in your immune system. You’re not sick from stress…right?

“Here’s your medicine! Hope you get better hun!”

“Thanks, miss.”

Thanking the old woman as you retrieved your medication from over the counter. Trudging out the pharmacy you planned to begin the long trek back home. Completely unaware of a flashy hero stopping their route to slowly float next to you.

“Oh troubled citizen! May I be of assistance?”

The loud question grated your ears as you refused to focus on anything other than keeping awake.

“No. Go away.”

“But dear citizen I cannot for you seem to need help!”

You groaned at their insistence reminded of the enemy your employers were especially not fond of…infact—You finally looked with familiarized malice at the shining mass and recognizable hair at the hovering super-powered individual.

“You’re that one hero…aren’t you?”

“So you know of me? Good! Then you have the honor of being under my care!”

“We don’t think so.”

The monotone and distorted voice of The Eraser had you both looking up at the villains in shocked stupor. Both were fully decked out in their villain armor menacingly standing still in broad daylight. The Mic was uncharacteristically silent further upsetting your already flipping stomach. It didn’t seem that the hero felt any semblance of that though.

“You two? My it seems you have the most uncanny sense for where I am! Perhaps you’re stalking me?”

You could tell he was rolling his eyes under his visor but the villain still reached a gloved hand out to you.

“(Y/n) come with me, I’ll be taking you to our home, now.”

You didn’t know why your feet weren’t moving or why your hands shook as you reached out. Or why your heart was pumping so fast. Perhaps that was why you let the hero put an arm out in front of you as he lightly shoved you further behind his back.

“Do not hark their villainous temptations (MY/n)! They only wish to unsettle me with a hostage–”

His heroic declarations were interrupted by the sudden closeness of The Mic their speaker enhanced mouthpiece dangerously close to their exposed ear.

“Don’t you dare touch them!”

The hero cringed further keeping you behind him as he backed up. Holding the side of his head he swung it back and forth between the villains. With an unexpected battle cry he opened his palms towards the villains before frantically shaking it when he found no reaction.

“W-what is this?! Why can’t I–?”

“Did you forget who you were fighting? Idiot.”

“Wellll the idiot is realizing just how much of a moron he is maybe we’ll grant some mercy.”

“M-mercy?”

“Yup you give us our lovely (Y/n)! And we won’t immediately squash you to bits!”

“Immediately?”

“Do I hafta keep repeating myself? Just give us the kitten we’ll be up on and on our way! Okay?”

“That is until we return to beat you to a bloody pulp for so much as talking to them. See (Y/n) this is why you should just stay home, it just means more carnage for everyone else. Besides you’re so sick I bet you can’t even think straight, come home (Y/n).”

“Yeah precious how about we just go home…”

“You want watch us obliterate him would you?”

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wroteclassicaly · 5 months ago

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A/N: Just something that came to me and wouldn’t leave me alone. I promise I’m still working on inbox requests & other things! ❤️❤️

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, insecure reader, insecure Steve, mentions virginity/ loss, best-friends to lovers, self-esteem issues on both sides, and fluff!

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Wordcount: 1,988

“No, no. It’s okay, Steve. I promise. I understand.” You force a smile so wide that you internally cringe.

You hope he won’t notice, but he does - of course he does. It’s you. And as Steve watches you busy yourself with organizing the countertop snacks you had just unpacked together, slowly turning your back on him - he’s wishing someone taught him better communication skills.

It was a shocking conversation to have. Well, the ending anyways. You’d start off asking about dates and if he had any, he would ask you about that one guy who keeps coming in to rent Risky Business, all because you’d mentioned liking it his first time here. Whatever, that was yours and Steve’s movie, this guy could get lost. But then, you surprised Steve.

To the point, short and sweet… or crude? Steve nearly felt his teeth go through his tongue at your shyness entangled tone, as it wrapped around such a heavily sensual request.

“Do you wanna have sex tonight?”

At first Steve just shook his head, clearing all those fogs from previous head injuries, sure he hadn’t heard you correctly. You were probably asking him if he wanted to find someone to do it with. But you continued, “I do.”

That’s when it became a little alarming for him. Were you going somewhere else with this? To someone else? Or the other option that had his heart rate kicking him the ribs, dusting his bones to ash, making everything tighten, flood his body with heated flush. He’d managed to speak, voice trying to remain impassive.

“You’re a virgin though.” He deadpanned.

You couldn’t help but to roll your eyes. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. But I can still be horny. Probably hornier than you get.”

Jesus. That glaring stare you fixed him with as your manicured nails wrapped around a box of M and M’s. His jugular constricted around a painful vice. The images, ones he can’t deny picturing when he shouldn’t. Why would you want to be with him?

Your sigh at his lack of conversational participation, got him to snap out of it, following you to the candy rack and pressing his knuckles into the countertop to rest upon. He knocked them a few times, opening his line into the topic. “So, you’re sayin’ you really wanna do it tonight with this guy?”

It was causing anxiety to fester in both of you. He wasn’t getting it. You know him like the back of your hand, of course he thinks you want to be with the video renter dude. But that guy is the last person you would ever think about. You’ve learned to be the one with confidence when it comes to Steve in the last two years.

That was different before you’d gone through things together, became best-friends. King Steve and shy girl you. Cliche, only to evolve. You had jutted your hip, forcing a bravado to shield you as you looked into those sparkling amber eyes. His highlights reflect under the cheap lighting in here, making you nearly lose yourself - but you catch it.

“I’m asking if you’d like to come over tonight, have a meal with me, share a piece of cake, and then I want to know if you’ll…” Okay, you lost your train, fumbling into the winds.

Steve was too close, smelling of laundry detergent and cigarettes, his cinnamon gum lingering on his breath, his aftershave and cologne combo. When you had faced his intense gaze, you knew that he was awaiting your words with a reserved patience. As for Steve? He could barely catch his breath, fingertips down to his toes prickling with a nervous energy.

And then you say it… you ask him.

“Will you be with me tonight, Steve?”

You were asking him to be the first person inside of your body, like you didn’t just change his entire world. It’s not that he’d never been with virgins, especially Nancy. Her, even the others entrusting him in his King era - he always felt honored, wanted to make it good for them. But she was special, and you - you’re a different kind of important to him at this stage in his life. Someone he sees, the only person he sees with full certainty in his future.

His heart caved in the moment that his negative thoughts took center stage. You had never asked him out, never made a move. Sex. That’s what you want him for. He loves you and you expected him to have actual sex with you, guide you through painful, pleasurable, unfamiliar, intense sensations, knowing he’s the first and only to do so, and then carry on normally. It’s out of his mouth before he even has a chance to think through other options.

“I can’t, honey.” And once it starts, it just keeps coming. “We’re friends, and sex… the first time should be with someone you love, trust me.”

He was so caught up that he missed your crestfallen features, the way your bottom lip wobbled, and you began to fill in invisible blanks of your own trick-filled mind. Your body was light, feet heavy. You couldn’t do anything, say another word, so you made up something to do while you collected yourself. Boxes that were already unpacked and placed.

Steve kept going, “You understand, right? I’m sorry if I —“

You had cut him off.

Humiliation washes over you, your voice is unsteady. “No, no. It’s okay, Steve. I promise. I understand.”

Sounds stupid to you. You both know you’re lying. And you’re about three seconds away from crying, so you bend down and scoop some spare boxes into your arms. “M’ gonna toss these so Keith doesn’t have a lot to bitch about tonight.”

There’s a lot of things that Steve can do. He can deal with his miscommunication regrets, or he can try to explain things to you in the best way he knows how. Because if there’s anything he’s learned living in Hawkins - every single day is a damn miracle here, considering what people don’t know the truth about. And when he thinks about those vines being wrapped around your throat, he finds his own air supply cutting itself off. He’s out the back door and catching you around the elbow, just as you finish tossing in the last of the boxes.

You won’t look at him, a tell-tale sign that you’re crying and ashamed about it. His stomach feels sucker punched, his fingers reaching out to gently brush beneath your chin, bringing your head into a tilt. Yup. Your eyes are flooded over, soaking your cheeks. You go into immediate overtime, doing exactly what Steve is constantly doing - apologizing.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that position. I was being creepy and unfair. I know we’re friends, I know you aren’t attracted to me, I know that —“

He halts your hyperactive breathing, pressing his forehead to yours as a grounding technique. “Hey, hey. You always tell me to stop apologizing, and I need you to do it too.”

You’re breathless at this action, but it helps soothe your rising panic.

You find yourself incapable of anything more, leaving Steve room to tell his truth. There’s a shaking in his voice, a vulnerability he’s not felt since he falsely thought he loved Nancy still and told her (Nostalgia, it faded fast. He's pretty sure he realized he clung to that to save him from his fears of falling in love… with you. It didn’t work). Your breathing slows and he presses a kiss to your forehead, nose bumping yours as he breaks away. Here goes nothing… but everything.

“I said I can’t because I want you to be in love with the person you’re having sex with. That’s… “ he taps his fingers against his sides, nose wrinkling, and then he finishes. “That’s the most important thing. That he is someone you won’t regret. It’s a lot to handle when it’s your first time. It’s intense when there’s feelings involved, sometimes, even when there’s not.” He’s rambling, all the while you’re watching him practically pace, folding into himself, looking frustrated to put words together. “And I, honey… I just want you to have that. I want you to love the person that gets to experience being your first, because… I think that he would want you to love him, too.”

It hits you like a fucking freight train. Your heart explodes into your chest cavity, a painful ache lashing across your entire torso and sending off alarms into your brain. He said no because he’s scared… He is terrified that you’ll hurt him. So he doesn’t know? All this time and he still can’t tell the looks you give him are your forevers? That the babies he told Nancy he wants - you dream about carrying them someday?

You smile through your tears, wiping them away with the back of your hand, and it’s you that reaches for his massive palm. He squeezes back, wet lashes darting back and forth, trying to gauge what you’re going to say. Your spare hand finds his cheek, brushing along those marks, marveling at how wonderful he is and how he doesn’t know it. He’s so perfect, so beautiful. He’s your Steve.

This next part comes as natural to you as breathing.

Your voice is damp, words gliding right off, eyes wide to receive his reaction. “Why do you think I asked you, Steve?”

You can’t help the sob that escapes you at his free flowing tears. He isn’t hiding it, he’s shocked. He looks like he thinks you’re lying, that this is a dream. His irises dart back and forth at rapid paces, his hands holding onto you as if you’ll float away. “Are you sure that you want me? Because that means that you… It means you’re saying how you… feel a certain way.” He looks as if he can barely swallow.

You’re smiling softly, lifting onto your toes to nearly meet his mouth. Your statement tickles his lips, making his tongue glide across them, grazing you. It sets you both ablaze.

“It means that I’m feeling exactly what you said I should feel, Steve. And it means that I want you. I want to give this to you, if you want it?”

Steve answers without pause given.

“I want it,” His mouth is open, his breaths choppy, words trying to accumulate. His fingers trace behind your ear, resting there, his remaining hand cradling your jaw bone. “You don’t know how much I need it, how much I need… just you.” He says with certainty.

There’s a notion that’s settled within your chest cavity, a build-up fire starting between your legs, stirring flutters in your belly. You edge in closer, lips on his Cupid’s bow. “Show me tonight. What you’re like, what you feel like.”

Never in a million years could you have predicted that your first kiss with Steve Harrington would be by the dumpsters, in the back of Family Video. But as he leans down to dip his nose into your cheek, his lips capture your top lip — it’s all over for you both. That breathless, engulfing inferno drowns you, carries you into a place you won’t go back to, can’t come back from. He pulls you into his arms with a passionate embrace, just as your lips separate with a slick smack, your mouth trailing down his chin to his throat, before you bury your face into the surface of his chest, declaration mumbled right against where his heart races for you.

“Everything that comes with me, it’s always been yours, Steve. I promise.” He’s panting with pure, raw, need. A tightness in his chest and in his damn jeans.

His voice vibrates across your ears, rumbles through his chest when he speaks. “Everything I’ve got to give, you can have it, honey. M’ yours.”

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sensivs · 1 year ago

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Rating JJK men on how well they

wash their ass

(idk why but I’ve had this idea in my head for a while…)

S. Gojo

10/10

This man puts his personal hygiene before everyone else and has a morning routine and a night routine of skin care. His ass is spickiling and spackiling. He uses vanilla birthday cake scented philosophy body wash.

S. Geto

10/10

Geto is also very big with his personal hygiene, just not too much like gojo cs hes naturally pretty. He definitely grabs one cheek and pulls it open so he can wash his ass precisely. First washes his ass with dove soap bar for the clean and then uses treehut foaming gel wash for the smell.

N. Kento

Another 10/10

Nanami takes his ass-care VERY serious. That’s all I have to say ty for coming to my Ted talk. Definitely washes it with that 1-18 dr bronner soap, peppermint scented. (I also use dr bronner ((I use the rose one)))

Mahito

6/10

His ass is… questionable…. I wouldn’t say it’s like a swamp but.. the man does live the sewer so……….. I mean……. His ass isn’t the best. He probably shoves those squishy detergent dispensers up his ass to clean it.

Kenjaku

7/10

Kenjaku is also a bit questionable but slightly better than mahito. He forgets to wash his ass time to time but when he does wash it, he just lets the water run down between his ass-crack. He also uses some random shit to wash his ass like dawn dish soap.

Choso

8/10

Choso doesn’t wash his ass every day of the week, maybe 4 times a week but that’s it. When he washes his ass he definitely washes it with dove don’t ask me how I know I can just feel it in my vains.

I’m ashamed of myself for making his post.

#questionable #jjk x male reader #ummmm anyway #geto hcs #gojo hcs #nanami hcs #mahito hcs #kenjaku hcs #geto x male reader #gojo x male reader #nanami x male reader #Mahito x male reader #kenjaku x male reader #choso x male reader

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sorrowfulrosebud · 1 year ago

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𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙: 𝔦𝔫 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥 𝔎𝔞𝔱𝔰𝔲𝔨𝔦 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔟𝔞𝔡 𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔭𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢

𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝔰𝔪𝔲𝔱, 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱 (𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔶 𝔬𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱)

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖘: 𝔭𝔢𝔤𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔵𝔢𝔡 ��𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔡𝔢𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫, 𝔡𝔬𝔪/𝔰𝔲𝔟 𝔡𝔶𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔠 𝔟𝔶𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔦𝔱’𝔰 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔎𝔞𝔱𝔰𝔲𝔨𝔦, 𝔟𝔢𝔤𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔡𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔶𝔭𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔞, 𝔲𝔫𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔢𝔵, 𝔠𝔲𝔪 𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔥𝔲𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔭𝔢𝔱-𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶 𝔫𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰 (𝔭𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔶, 𝔭𝔲𝔭), 𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔞, 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔭𝔢𝔱 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶, 𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔫-𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔟𝔞𝔩 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫 𝔞��𝔢 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔶, “𝔪𝔞𝔪𝔞“ 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨, 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔭 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔢𝔵, 𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰, 𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔰

The thick mahogany door creaked open as you stirred Katsuki’s favourite spicy noodles in the pot. A low grunt echoed as Katsuki pulled off his heavy combat boots, almost tripping himself up as he stumbles into the living room.

He looked an absolute mess; hair ruffled with chunks of debris lurched precariously amongst the dandelion fluff; blood caked into the microfibres of his shirt and arms, his frown lines embedded deep into his face.

“Hi sweetheart. Bad day at work?” You murmured to him, slowing the bubbling of the noodles and gently approaching him. He had a tendency to slip into fight or flight mode after a particularly rough day at work; your face could melt into one of a villains in the span of an excited hug, often leading to cries of “no Suki, it’s me!”. You learned his triggers, and abided by them solemnly.

Your hands caressed his shoulders, taking in his dishevelled appearance. Fiery eyes blinked slowly into yours, thoughts still chugging away. This was also a nasty side effect of his job; sometimes it took him a while to process his feelings after a horrible day, leaving him nonverbal and heartbreakingly vulnerable.

He looked into your eyes desperately, mouth attempting to talk but only allowing gaspy breaths to leave. You smiled at him softly as you removed his eye mask.

“You don’t have to speak, my love. Let’s just eat and forget this entire day, alright? I washed the sheets with that laundry detergent you like, and we can continue reading that book we started. Does that sound okay to you?” You asked him. You found that it was still appreciated to include him in decision making, even in this current state.

Katsuki managed a small nod as you kissed him gently and escorted him to the table. A steaming bowl of ramen was placed lovingly in front of him, the waft of eye-watering spices tantalising his nose. He managed to pick up his chopsticks with trembling hands, before attempting to scoop up a bite.

The ramen plopped off the chopsticks tauntingly, splashing Katsuki in the cheek. He let out an annoyed grunt before attempting again, only to be met with the same reaction.

You lowered your chopsticks and looked at him with worry. Just what happened today to make him so upset?

“Suki? Are you alright?” You asked him gently. For some reason, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back as he released a singular sob. Then another. Then another. Until the poor man was trembling so harshly he nearly fell off his seat.

You rushed over to your husband, arms shielding him protectively as he bawled into your arms. Gentle arms rocked him soothingly, threading your fingers through his ash blonde locks.

“I know, my love, I know. Let it out, just get it out of your system. You’re safe here, nothing can go wrong. I’ve got you. You’re safe and warm in my arms,” you consoled him as his tears stained your shirt.

You didn’t bother with the “I understand what you’re going through” bullshit or convince him that you knew he did the best he could because that was not what he needed to hear. He just needed you to be his grounding anchor, someone to rest his weary body against and to relinquish his sorrows.

“That’s it, my love. Get those horrible memories out,” you murmured as Katsuki clung to you intensely. It took a good twenty minutes for his sobs to progress to hiccups and then to the occasional sniffle. He looked at you after he was done crying, as if he was actually looking at you for the first time in years.

“Welcome back, Suki. I missed you baby,” you kissed his nose and rested his forehead against yours as he slowed his breathing.

“‘M sorry you had to see that. I’m a fucking pro hero for fuck’s sake, I can’t be getting that emotional,” he muttered lowly.

Although he never intended to fall in love with you, it felt like fate. Your love was like emerging into a breath-taking grassy valley after spending years alone in a sewer. Your kindness and warmth is akin to the quirk that flows through his blood, crackling and soothing. You were like a goddess, cursed to fall in love with the foolish mortal who had in turn been incapsulated by your beauty. He needed you to breath, more than the oxygen pumping his unworthy lungs.

“Katsuki, you’re more than just a pro hero. You’re human too, a human blessed with a power that allows him to save people. You work in a job that is so, so dangerous and see things that would leave other people begging for death. You forget that you’re human too, so please don’t blame yourself for acting like one,” you lifted his teary cheeks up and kissed his forehead.

He could feel his eyes sting with unshed tears. You smiled at him and gently held his hand, massaging the tough callouses.

“I think you need to take some time off, sweetie. You’re struggling to eat, and I’m not having you collapse because your hands won’t stop trembling,” you said firmly, shushing any protest that came out of your husband’s mouth.

“Now. If you like, I can make you a sandwich if ramen isn’t working for you, and I’ll go run you a bath to clean up,” you told him, looking at him for approval.

“Something with meat in it, please,” he asked quietly.

“Of course baby.”

Katsuki’s bath went off without any major troubles; it wasn’t unusual for him to take his anger out in the comfort of the bath, where tears could roll down his face but could blame it on the scorching bath water. Well, before you turned down the water a few degrees to stop him from burning.

He ambled out smelling of his usual scented bath soak, hair freshly washed and stubble shaved. He looked better, and yet the bags under his eyes were yet to move. He found you lounging on the bed, reading a book by lampshade, and he swore his heart has never beat any faster. Just the simple domestic act of reading in bed, his bed, comfy in his stretched skull t-shirt and a pair of his boxers.

Your book was gently closed and set aside as you smiled at him.

“Hi baby, how was your bath?” You asked him, petting the bed beside you. Katsuki let out a tired hum.

“Was nice, thanks. Nice ‘n warm,” he mumbled, not quite looking you in the eye. You immediately caught on to this.

“Suki? Are you sure there’s nothing upsetting you? You can tell me anything, you know,” you offer worriedly. Katsuki sighed.

“It’s nothing, just… we had a call in today about a villain terrorising a local town. Smoke and debris everywhere, really fuckin’ awful. Kirishima and Dunce Face were there but.. we weren’t enough. A young woman about our age died in my arms, begging for me to find her daughter. And when we did find them…” Katsuki stopped himself when you rested your hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t help but think. What if there’s a day where I’m not there, and you’re hurt, or worse and I can’t save you? What if you get hurt so bad due to my incapability to save everyone, and I’m left alone?! I can’t fucking lose you, I don’t know what the fuck I would do without you!” He placed his head against your shoulder and allowed the tears to fall, the day finally catching up to him as he let out his anxieties.

“Oh my love, I’m not going anywhere. I trust you more than anything to keep me safe,” you murmured.

“P-please make it go away mama,” he whimpered, tearfully rolling his hips against your thigh. You were surprised and a little concerned.

“Baby, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re upset and had a bad day-” you were cut off by a sob.

“D-did I do something wrong? Please, I don’t wanna think anymore mama, make it go away! I don’t like these thoughts, jus’ wanna be yours!” He whimpered as you stroked his side.

“Alright my love, settle down. As soon as you feel any discomfort, and I mean any at all, you’re safe-wording right away. Do you understand Suki?” You asked him, deadly serious. Katsuki nodded his head intensely, desperate to be your good boy.

“Alright then. Get mama her toys and prep yourself whilst I get ready.”

Katsuki lay nestled in amongst the satin bed sheets, gripping them as tightly as he physically could. The bed sheets grounded him slightly, the soft feeling between callused fingers stopping him from losing his mind as you teased your silicone cock against his ass cheeks.

You smiled lovingly at him before drawing small circles on his quivering hole. He looked sweet like this, so vulnerable and exposed.

“Mph, how are you doing sweetheart? You enjoying this baby?” You murmured into his ear. Katsuki let out a combination of a grunt and a whine simultaneously as you continued to circle his tight little hole.

“Aww, such a cute little slut. You look so adorable, trying not to cum,” you teased, sliding one finger into Katsuki’s ass. He let out a whine at the intrusion, biting the pillow that lay under him. You let out another giggle.

“Shut the fuck up and just- hngh! Fuck me already!” He demanded, voice slightly muffled by the pillow.

“My my, such a needy boy, aren’t we Suki? Just let me take care of you, such a good boy,” you coo into his ear. Katsuki’s face turned a deep pink at your reading before grinding his ass back to meet your knuckle.

A smile graced your face as you added another finger. Katsuki let out another whimper as you shushed and soothed him.

“I know, sweet boy. I don’t want to hurt your cute little ass, so we have to make sure it’s stretched properly. Look at you being so good, I’m sure you’re desperate to cum,” you murmured into his ear. It was such a breath of fresh air having him like this; pliant, needy and willing to submit. It was so sweet seeing him abandon his big, nasty feelings for a bit and allow himself to become brain-dead mush by your hand.

“Mph, p-please, I- I need to cum!” He begged, fingers flexing and leaky cock rutting against the sheets.

“I’ll tell you what baby, take one more finger and I’ll let you cum, alright? Can you be a good boy and hold it?” You cooed. Katsuki nodded his head quicker than anything you had ever seen, biting his emotional support pillow as you placed in the third finger.

“Such a good baby boy for me Kats, such an obedient little puppy. Look at your thighs, they’re trembling so hard! I can’t imagine how badly you want to cum,” you giggled sultry in his ear.

Katsuki couldn’t see from the lustful tears in his eyes, only focusing on trying to contain his sperm. Your fingers worked diligently, pumping deep and slow, making careful tries to brush his prostate.

“Mph, feelsh sho good mama, so fuckin’ go-ahh!” Katsuki whined as he came, white semen streaking the sheets underneath you. Your hands grabbed into his needy cock, pumping it quickly. Katsuki squirmed and cried underneath you, overstimulation already kicking in.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll get all of those icky thoughts out of that pretty little head,” you cooed. You ceased pumping his ass and turned your attentions to his adorable nipples, turning pink and hard at each passing minute.

“Go on your back, pup. Show me those pretty tits of yours,” you commanded gently, landing a delicate smack to his porcelain ass. Katsuki whimpered and immediately did as he was told, spreading his legs and arching his back.

“Look at these juicy fucking tits, I love them so much. How can that dumb little head think I’d leave you alone when you look so delicious under me,” you groaned in pleasure. Your husband’s face melted in absolute euphoria.

Nimble fingers began poking, pulling and flicking each pebbled nipple until your husband was hiccuping from masochistic pleasure, back arching off the bed.

“You’re so fucking cute, already to cum on mama just from her playing with your nipples? Well, alright then. Cum as hard as you want,” you gave him permission.

“Ngh, thank you mama, fank you so much,” he mewled as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, cum spraying from his tip and up your back.

“Suki baby? What’s your colour?” You asked him worriedly, afraid you pushed him too soon.

“G-green, please don’t stop,” he begged, grabbing your hips and rolling his reddening cock against your clothed core. You ached with need, but tonight was about your husband.

“If you promise, baby,” your dominant nature returning.

“Are you ready for me to blow your back out, puppy? Do you want mama to turn your silly little brains to mush whilst you ache and groan on my cock?” You teased him.

“Please mama! Lemme suck your cock, Suki can do it! I’m a good boy!” He whined. Jesus, he was so deep in subspace that it was gonna take him a month to come out.

“Okay then baby, get on the floor, on your knees. Show me that smart little mouth,” you ordered. Katsuki scrambled to the floor, eager to please you.

“Open wide, Suki, and hollow your cheeks. Remember to relax your throat,” you coaxed him, patting the silicone against his tongue. He took the first inch and suckled on it seductively, tongue flicking around the tip as he grasped your thigh. You rubbed small circles to keep him grounded.

He tried taking another few inches, head bobbing and pulling away to kiss the underside of your cock. His usually sharp tongue did an excellent job at running up and down your cock, making your core throb with need.

“You needy little whore. Look at you, showing off that cute little mouth. God, I could just shove this down your throat,” you growled, eyes widening when he managed to deepthroat all 6.5 inches of plastic.

Lewd sounds of sucking and saliva dripping filled the room as Katsuki choked and gagged on the fake cock as his throat memorised every vein and wrinkle. It was snug and he couldn’t breath fully, but it felt like home.

His stomach began to tighten, impending another orgasm. Yours began to tighten too, just needing that final push.

“God I fucking love sucking your cock mama, tastes so fuckin’ good,” he murmured as he deepthroated once more. His hips rolled against your thigh as the two of you came together, your juices dripping down Katsuki’s face. He licked them up eagerly before displaying his tongue.

“Get your ass on that fucking bed so I can destroy you,” you growled. Katsuki followed immediately as you hoisted his ankles above your shoulders and sheathed your cock in him in one fell swoop.

“Ngh, ah~! Mama, please, AH!” He hiccuped as you pounded his ass ferociously, his whole body bouncing due to the ferocity. His tits jiggled alongside him, eyes crossing in pleasure as his tongue lolled outside his mouth.

“God I fucking love this little puppycunt, you’re fucking mine forever. I’ll fuck you every day to remind you of that, do you understand? You’re my husband, I’ll fuck your brains out whenever you ask. Any time that stupid little brain of yours tells you otherwise, I’ll pump you so full of cum you’ll end up pregnant,” you grunted like a fucking animal, hips speeding up at each slap of his ass cheeks.

The room was filled with the sound of skin-on-silicone and a cacophony of harmonious and broken moans that put the choirs of churches to shame.

Katsuki was utterly gone; meaningless babbles of “more” and harder, please!” were reduced to mindless mewls and cries. Your hands found his as you chased your climax together.

“Fuckin’ cum with me baby, that’s it. That’s my good fucking boy, cum for me!” You cried in pleasure, your body feeling white hot as your orgasm peaked. Katsuki looked like he was having an outer body experience; tongue lolling, eyes almost closed and body a deep red.

You pulled your strap out, making a small whine pull out from your fucked out husband. Your hands massaged his cheeks as you simpered at him.

“I know baby, let’s get you cleaned up.”

After Katsuki was wiped down with a damp towel, hand fed a bottle of water and a wasabi mint, he snuggled up next to you. His head was placed over your heart, slowly falling asleep to the steady beat.

“I told you Suki. I’m not going anywhere.” Katsuki opened his eye a crack before snuggling back in.

“If you do, then tell me. Because home is whenever I’m with you.”

#bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader fluff #bakugou #bnha x reader angst #domestic bakugou #bakugou x reader smut #katsuki Bakugou x reader #sub Bakugou #sub katsuki #bakugou smut #sub Bakugou smut #subby Katsuki best Katsuki #omfg I love this smut piece

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here-but-forgotten · 1 year ago

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drabbles and concepts / call of duty

alejandro x reader / Rudy x reader / soap x reader / Gaz x reader / price x reader. I am currently feral.

implied fuller bodied reader. implied f!reader.

If you want to use any of these as a prompt for your own story, please do! just tag me I want to read it >:) you can also talk to me ab them in my ask box if you’d like.

tags / @lucyisdoingfine @frogchiro

guess who’s ovulating

♡ soap being a menace panty stealing thief but not really. like, he is a menace, and he is stealing your panties; but he never takes too many and he always washes them in a nice gentle detergent after he’s cum in them multiple times :(( he’s a gentlemen I promise. just ignore the part where he sneaks into your room daily to steal your newest pair or to lay out a pair for you to wear when you get out of your shower ♡

♡ the only people able to keep up with a feral darling who’s just in a wonderful hell of ovulation being Alejandro, Kyle, and Johnny. on a calm week, captain price is in there too. they’re the only ones who can keep up with you; keep you cumming and making you rest and drink enough water before delving back into you.

♡ Gaz taking your panties off and making you rub his thigh, having the denim rub against your clit, making a wet spot on his thigh while he watches you; you completely bare and exposed while he stays nice and dressed with your pretty pussy rubbing against him.

♡ alejandro with an s/o who loves to bake. Alejandro who loves to come in on them baking, pushing them against the counter with his hips, pressing his hard-on against your hips, before pushing you onto a clean section of the counter and breeding you. Grabbing your hair and holding your throat with his hand, only to rail into you harder. Groping your pretty body before you’re allowed to cum; alejandro making you finish your cake before resuming, musing you for being willingly overpowered by an older man. Spanking your ass before you finish; his focus on making you have a shattering orgasm, leaving you leaning against him with your body weight. just for him to pick you up and clean you up before your cake is done baking <3 this is definitely not based off of anything I’ve been talked about doing with an online friend

♡ your perfect and wonderful and charming husband rodolfo cornering you in the restroom of a family holiday gathering, covering your mouth with his hand and groping your body under him just to leave you needy. Doing that two more times until you’re rutting your hips against his own, keeping you on the teasing edge until the gathering is finished and you’re fucked on the couch. definitely not based off of anything spoken about pt. 2

♡ alejandro coaxing you onto the couch with him, getting you to bounce on his cock, slapping your pretty ass every so often to keep up your pace. telling you how good of a girl you’re being, how good you feel, how you’re so good at taking his cock and making him feel good. Keeping you riding him till it’s too much for you, just for him to flip you onto the couch and rail you into mush </3

♡ rudy is a menace who loves your ass so much. he is groping. he is grabbing. he is massaging. he is holding it while you ride him and while he rails into you and while he takes all his stress out on you. asks for ass photos. Will buy you cheap panties just to cut and rip them off of you so.

♡ you know what rudy is a panty thief too.

♡ Gaz will offer to help you remove your mascara by fucking your throat <3 looking up at him while mascara runs off your face and his eyes looking at you so lovely. praising you for taking him so well and gagging on his cock. petting and stroking your hair while tears roll off with your mascara <3

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respectthepetty · 3 months ago

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Addicted Heroin (Th) Cut Scenes and Colors - Episode 3

I've been reporting on the missing scenes from YouTube's version of Addicted Heroin [first, second], so although I felt petty because Only and Tiger were missing from the third episode, I put my pettiness aside to write about this week's missing scenes.

But first, let me squeal about colors because now that Hero and Pop spent time together outside of their school uniforms and work uniforms, it was clear they are a Blue Boy and a Green Guy. Hero even has a blue bike!

And the universe is on their side because when they went to buy shirts, blue and green were the only options.

And even when Pop's dad told them to take showers, they were handed a blue and green towel with the change of clothes.

Which brings me to the first cut scene:

We see Hero and Pop actually take showers, but Pop keeps on his pants, which makes Hero question him about why because Hero thinks wearing clothes while bathing is odd and is all for showing off his goods. Hero thinks Pop is just shy about what the pants are hiding, but instead of Pop responding to that comment, he simply tells Hero to put his pants back on (he doesn't).

Which brings me back to the colors with Pop in his green shirt that says something about a person losing themselves and Hero wearing Pop's shirt that has green writing across the chest and seems to be for a detergent because it says it can quickly get rid of stains. For a Green Guy who is falling for Hero and getting rid of stains, the shirts are telling.

But now for the second cut scene:

Hero takes his (ex?) girlfriend to a hotel even though she wanted to stay at his aunt's house. He refuses because he doesn't want to disrespect his aunt by bringing a girl into the house, and because she is under eighteen, he had to sign for the room.

She starts looking through his bag and sees the notebook where he practices handwriting. She asks why he is doing it and who is teaching him. When Hero says Pop, she gets upset. She thinks Pop is only being nice because Hero is rich, but Hero says Pop isn't like that.

And that's when she figures out that Pop doesn't know Hero is rich. She tells Pop that in order for her to keep it a secret, he has to stay over for the night because he was planning on going home and leaving her there alone.

As they lay in bed, she tries to sex up Hero by circling her hand around his chest and slowly moving it down, but then Hero, who isn't even fully paying attention, brings up Pop out of nowhere, and homegirl is not pleased! The mood is ruined, and she goes to sleep upset.

So it's even funnier that we keep learning throughout the episode that Hero's mind is always thinking about sex (not very Blue Boy behavior!).

Which brings us the third cut scene:

So this is where even I got a bit confused. This is what I know and what we were shown in the edited version - Hero misses school because he goes to see his (ex?) girlfriend, and Green Guy Pop misses him so much that he actually uses a blue pen, which only Hero has been shown to use.

Then after arguing with his (ex?) girlfriend, Hero rides away only to crash and end up at Pop's house with a moon cake, which causes Pop to look at him like he wants to eats more than the moon cake.

And there is no missing scene in between! Not even in the unedited version! We have no idea how Hero ended up there or when he got the moon cake or anything! Is this moment even real or is Hero still laying on the ground dreaming all of this?

He doesn't seem to be because Hero and Pop go outside so Pop can get the full moon cake experience under the full moon, yet it's raining, so they can't see the moon.

But while they are standing outside, Hero thinks about what his (ex?) girlfriend screamed when they were arguing and decides to confess to Pop that he is rich. But Pop doesn't believe him already knew and punches him for lying.

This is the third time we have been shown that Pop isn't weak and can overtake Hero. Hero even states that to his (ex?) girlfriend when they are in the hotel, so if this Green Guy from the very beginning of the show is Pop, I'm sure he is going to knock Hero out when they get out of that water.

But right now, we end the episode with Pop sleeping in his green bed while Hero thinks about kissing him.

Because apparently we have new scenes:

One of the missing scenes in the second episode was Hero and Pop drinking during the shift and talking about their parents, BUT those scenes did NOT include the ones shown in this episode where Hero tells Pop that he doesn't really talk about his feelings or family with people especially other guys.

And we also learn that Pop responded with the following:

So apparently the gay romance started last week, but we didn't know it started last week until this week through flashbacks and the people who aren't watching the unedited version have no idea what those scenes are actually about or when they happened.

Is the company trying to tank its own show with these odd editing choices because it's actually pretty good? This is so strange!

Bonus, because we all deserve it:

The plushie sunflower that Pop got is a rainbow flower, but the shot only featured the green and blue petals.

And Mork put a rainbow flower on Day's shoes in Last Twilight, so let's hope this is the new symbol for the BL boys.

Finally, the show has little figurines of the characters for sale, and the boxes and the bases for the models are color-coded.

God, I am not your strongest solider, so I'm going to need you to tell these companies to stop selling color-coded merchandise. My bank account doesn't appreciate me acting like I have McDonald's money.

#addicted heroin th #addicted heroin the series #color coded boys in love #the colors mean things #uncut version #episode 3 #I think I got them all #these scenes matter!#so I have no idea how they decided to cut them!#WHAT ARE YOU DOING SHOW?!

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butchcarmy · 7 months ago

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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

#carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy the bear #the bear fx #my fics #alexithymia fic #GOD. IT'S FINALLY HERE. THIS ONE'S A BEAST.#ch 6 is gonna be the climax..... it's gonna happen yall. it's finally here. hahahaha #anyway this one took so long to write because it was so revealing for me... as i'm sure yall have guessed. sigh.

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