#hello there tag readers

[mickey708]

Doing a intro cuz ive been needing to.

About me:

Hello there gadies and lentlemen and those who are neither my name is Mickey!!! Im a young teen artist who just likes to draw for fun. So heres a bit of info about me:

I am a minor (so dont be a weirdo)

IM A LESBIAN

I use any pronouns!!

I have horrible social skills (but i try!!)

Im mainly on here for fun and to show art so im not big on drama

I used to draw but stopped so i am slowly reteaching myself art (since 2023)

Everything i know is self taught

Im usually always free to chat or answee any questions you might have!!!

I am hispanic but im a no sabo kid :/

I can tend to be busy sometimes so if i dont reply or answer you thats why

No. I am not mickey mouse.

Interests:

Im kinda weird so i dont have alot of interests srry im a bit boring.

SMG4 (since 2019)

Mario

MLP

TAWOG

Spongebob

TADC

Murder drones

Animation

FNF

Helluva Boss (i dont like vivziepop tho)

Might add more if i can remember..

Ways u can interact with me!!

My ask box is always open on tumblr so you can ask whatever (just nothing TOO personal ok)

I unfortunately dont do commissions but id be happy to draw something for you!! (As long as its fandom related no NSFW!!)

I also have Twitter/X !!! You can go and look at my art there too! ( doggybandit34 on twt)

For the love of god. Do not make me regret saying this. Yes. I have discord but pls DM me for my user im not gonna show it publicly.

Just know im almost NEVER on discord so i dont talk much (IM SO SORRY I JUST DONT KNOW HOW TO TALK TO PEOPLE)

These are the only places i post but i do have accounts for other platforms like Tiktok and pinterest i just dont post there.

You can use my art ONLY if yougive me credits pls. I do work very hard on these drawings man. Artists are human too (A.I. art isnt real art)

If you want too feel free to make art if my oc!! (Pls tag me in it i love seeing peoples art)

This is my oc btw:

With all that aside i hope yall learned a bit more about me and hope you enjoy my art!!

-Mickey

[headphonemouse]

[katsu28]

home is wherever you are

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: secretly falling in love with your best friend is tough. secretly falling in love with your best friend who also happens to be your roommate is even less than ideal. the solution? move out! (hint: it isn’t a very good one.) (5k)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, a smidge of google translated french lol

a/n: CHARLES LECLERC!!! CHARLES LECLERC!!!!LECLERC!!! LECLERAUGHCOUGHCOUGH

“I still cannot believe you’re abandoning me.” 

Charles shoved another box of your things into the boot of your car rather huffily, as if to reiterate just how unhappy he was. 

“I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving out of your apartment.” You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully at him. You passed him the last box off the ground, wiping your hands off on your shorts before propping them on your hips. 

“That is quite literally the same thing.” He mirrored your stance in total seriousness, frown unwavering. “And it’s not my apartment, it’s yours now too. Your home.” 

You’d been living with Charles for a while now, having been suddenly evicted from your own place three, almost four years ago. With nowhere else to go, you’d turned to your best friend, and Charles had welcomed you with open arms, giving you a home when you’d needed it most. 

There were many good things about living with Charles—he liked to cook (which boded well with you, seeing as you were no master chef yourself. Except for when he’d gone through a questionable phase of combining cuisines that did not go well together.), he was respectful of set boundaries and agreed upon rules. You had the same taste in shows and movies, which made for little fighting when it came to deciding on what to watch. 

But most notably, he loved to play the piano. It was a hobby he’d picked up during long days spent staying at home, and he was good at it too. An electronic keyboard when he’d first started out, just to see if it was something he was serious about, but as he zoomed through the basics with ease, he’d splurged on a gorgeous white piano that stood proudly in the living room. 

Soon enough, it wasn’t unusual for the apartment to be full of music, beautiful songs of Charles’ own composing. 

He played whenever he had the feeling. Whenever he had something on his mind, whenever he was bored, anything, he’d spend hours at the piano, playing, playing, playing. Some might’ve called it annoying, but not you. You found it rather soothing. 

It had very quickly become a habit of yours to fall asleep listening to Charles play. Something about it seemed to always relax you just enough to the point where you could pretty much fall asleep anywhere if he was at the bench. 

Your favorite spot was on the sofa with a big blanket, watching him get lost in the notes until you drifted off. More often than not, you could rarely get a good night’s sleep without Charles’ accompaniment—your very own version of white noise. 

But truth be told, this past year of living together with Charles had been trickier than the first couple. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment things began to change, but something had definitely shifted between you. 

You’d been trying to write it off just the two of you being very close, but you’d been dancing on the line of close friends and more than friends for a long time. Falling asleep together cuddled on the sofa, lingering touches whilst you were in the same room and in passing, hugs that lasted a little too long to be considered normal. 

The more your feelings for Charles grew, the more worried you became. Worried about what, you weren’t exactly sure. All you knew was you didn’t want to lose the longest and best friendship you’d ever had because you went and fell in love.

“I know. But I think it’s well past time I get out of your hair and try being on my own for once.” You said softly, stepping in to fold yourself into Charles’ arms. 

Most of that was true. You did feel like you needed to live by yourself for a chance, to see what it was like to be fully independent in your adult life. You’d moved in with Charles when you were twenty two, and you were twenty five now. It was time for you to venture out on your own. 

But the uncertainty of falling in love with your best friend was definitely also a contributing factor. 

He made a displeased sound at your words, but tucked you under his chin nonetheless. “I don’t want you to get out of my hair. My hair likes it with you here.” 

“I live fifteen minutes away, Cha. I’m not moving across the country. You and your hair can come over anytime.” You scoffed, giving him a gentle poke in the ribs. “And I’ll come over here all the time too, you know that.” 

“Fine, fine. I don’t know what I am supposed to do with your empty room now, but I’ll figure it out. Maybe I will take up scrapbooking. Knitting. Needlepoint, maybe. Turn it into a craft room.” 

“Maybe you can turn it into a music room. Move the keyboard in there, your piano.” 

“Ah, bien entendu, my piano. How will you ever fall asleep without my sweet, sweet melodies?” 

“I think I will manage just fine.” You chuckled. 

Charles held you at arms’ length, dark brows furrowing as he scowled. “What I’m hearing is you don’t love me anymore.” 

Oh, if only he knew. 

You smiled instead, patting his cheek good-naturedly. “Come on, you drama queen. I want to move in before the sun goes down.” 

Charles went full protection mode the second all your belongings had made it safely inside the apartment, intently checking every lock, window, door hinge, cabinet—not an inch of the apartment went uninspected by him. When he seemed fairly satisfied with his safety checks, he returned to where you were unpacking kitchen items over by the oven.

“Everything up to your standards?” You asked, pulling out a stack of plates wrapped in brown paper. Charles shuffled over, easing them out of your hands and unwrapping them to help put them up in the cabinet. “No one is going to break in through my window tonight?”

“Don’t even joke about that.” He grumbled, chucking the balled up paper at you gently. “Everything I checked is fine. You will be safe here.” 

Food was simple when it came time for dinner—takeout on the floor of your living room, because you hadn’t had the time to go shopping for a coffee table yet. Or a dining room table. Or even chairs, really. All you had were some pillows and an overturned cardboard box to put the food on. 

Charles had insisted on helping you furnish the whole place before you moved in but you’d declined, saying that you wanted to get a feel for the place before filling it with everything. The last time it would be this empty would be the day you moved out. 

He seemed a little quiet the rest of the night, but you didn’t press it until after dinner, whilst he was helping you with the washing up. Well, helping was a strong word. 

“You’ve been drying that plate for ages now.” You observed, tilting your head at him thoughtfully. Charles inhaled sharply, shaking his head like he’d been snapped out of a stupor. He glanced down at the completely dry plate, then back up at you blankly. “What’re you thinking about?” 

“You’re really going to be gone.”

“You say that like I told you I’ve only got days to live. I won’t be gone, Cha. I’ll be around.” You chuckled, flicking dish soap bubbles in his direction. Charles responded by flinging his towel at you, cracking a smile. You liked it when he smiled, hated it when he frowned. He was still unfairly attractive, but it wasn’t Charles’ scowl that made you fall in love with him. 

“We can spend the day together anytime, you can come over whenever you want, and if it makes you feel any better, I will give you your very own key.” 

That seemed to put him a little more in higher spirits. 

 “What will you ever do without me?” He wondered out loud, feigning a thoughtful expression. 

“Probably clean up a lot less. Be able to take a shower without running out of hot water halfway through. Oh! Have a bottle of shampoo last more than a month because someone—not naming names, of course, won’t use it because they’ve run out of theirs. Not have to fight for—” 

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Charles huffed, grabbing you by the shoulders and promptly shoving your face into his chest to stop you from talking. 

You grinned against the softness of his hoodie. “Shall I go on?” 

“No, no you shouldn’t.” His hold on you loosened, but you stayed right where you were, wrapping your arms around his torso. “Just admit it. You’ll miss me.” 

“I will miss you.” You said softly, pressing your cheek into the crook of his neck. If there was something Charles was unbelievably good at (besides literally anything he’d ever tried), it was giving the best hugs. Something about them made you feel safe, like nothing and nobody could ever hurt you as long as you were in his arms. 

“You already know how much I’m going to miss having you around.” 

“Yeah, I am pretty great.” 

A laugh rumbled through his chest. “You are.” 

“You’ve been the best roommate I could’ve asked for. Thank you for everything.” Your words were muffled between the two of you, and you were glad for it, because he didn’t seem to notice the waver in your tone. But he did squeeze you a little tighter, so maybe he did hear you. “I love you, Cha.” 

Charles’ voice seemed to waver just a bit too. “I love you too.” 

“Okay, okay, you really need to leave. Go before I change my mind and make you stay.” You blurted, pushing him away playfully. It was better than letting him see you get emotional. 

“Is that a promise?” 

“No, it’s a threat. Go home. I will see you soon.” You gave his hand one last squeeze, nodding reassuringly to rid him of the crease between his brows. “Don’t worry about me. Go, get some rest.” 

It was only then that he seemed satisfied enough to leave, but even then, he cast another backwards glance towards you on his way down the hall, as if he was waiting for you to beckon him back. You just smiled as best you could. 

You’d get over it. You had to. There was still a lot you needed to get done before you called it a night. 

It wasn’t until you were getting ready to go to bed that you started to feel lonely. You and Charles had your respective bedtime routines, but they always intertwined. 

You never liked being the one to turn off all the lights in the apartment because the switch was at the end of the hallway opposite from your bedrooms, so he knew to do it because you hated running back through the darkness after flipping the switch. 

He always filled a glass with water for late night sipping, but never remembered to actually bring it to his room until he was already in bed, so you always grabbed it for him so he wouldn’t have to make the trek back out the kitchen.  

The bathroom counter was where you’d find each other the most, terrible jokes and funny stories told muffled through toothpaste bubbles, even though you could’ve just waited until you were finished to tell each other. You’d flick water at him as you washed your face because he took up too much space at the sink, he’d turn off the tap in retaliation, things like that. 

Sometimes Charles would stay up later playing video games with his friends, or take some extra time to practice piano, so you wouldn’t get to do your well oiled machine routine, but he’d always take the extra second to pop into your room to say goodnight when he heard you bustling around, even if he was in the middle of something. 

The times you fell asleep on the sofa to Charles’ playing the piano, he’d camp out at the other end of the sofa for the night, or at the very least made sure you were covered with a blanket if he went to sleep in his own room. 

It was something you’d grown accustomed to over the years, oftentimes the well-needed end to a not so great day. Charles never failed to put a smile on your face, even with something as small and mundane as a bedtime routine. 

But there was none of that as you ran through your routine this time. 

You didn’t hear him shuffling around over in the other room, the muffled sounds of his shouts as he played his games, and most of all, you didn’t hear him and his piano. 

Because there was no Charles. Of course there wasn’t. You were in this new place that you hadn’t had quite nearly enough of a chance to get used to yet, alone, and it was finally settling in. 

Suddenly moving out and away from him seemed like the worst decision in the world. 

You knew it was only the first night. You had to give yourself a chance to reacclimate, and that would take time. So you inhaled a deep breath, trying to get as comfy as you could for a long, probably sleepless night ahead. 

It was nearing four in the morning when you finally decided to give up and call Charles. Part of you thought he might not even pick up the phone, because he was probably asleep. Any sane person would be sleeping right now. 

Much to your surprise, he answered on the second ring. 

“Why are you awake?” You asked, maybe a bit harshly. 

“Um, you are the one who called me? Why are you awake?” He replied, groggy voice still teasing. His accent always grew thicker when he was sleepy. You thought it was adorable. “You cannot sleep, can you?” 

“...No.” Your voice grew smaller. You felt embarrassed at the fact that you couldn’t even make it one full night without Charles around. “I just…I wanted to hear your voice, I guess. I miss you already, Cha.” 

Charles fell silent for a few moments, the only sound on his side of the line being his gentle exhales. “I miss you too. Do you want me to come over? I can stay the night, if you want.” 

“No. No, you don’t need to do that.” You said softly. “Can you just talk to me?” 

This was also something that had become somewhat of a ritual when either of you couldn’t sleep. 

You’d tiptoe into each other’s rooms quiet as a mouse, slipping into bed beside the other. Charles always stirred when he felt the bed dip under your weight, half asleep but still reaching out to pull you against his chest like it was second nature. On the occasions when he came into your room, you’d feel him tuck himself close to you, nosing against any part of you he could find with a content sigh. 

There was no rhyme or reason to the things you’d talk about in those moments, but eventually, somehow, you’d both end up asleep, usually fairly quickly. Maybe it was the extra added comfort of each other that helped, you could never tell. 

It wasn’t unusual to wake up a jumble of limbs tangled together, and neither of you ever addressed it either. Just went on with your business as usual, never talking about it because it was just something you did. To help each other sleep, of course. 

Another thing that really blurred the line between friends and more. 

Charles hummed a noncommittal sound, soft and fond like he always was around you. “I’ll do you one better. How about I play some music for you?” 

“Yes, please. Thank you.” You sighed, relieved. He knew what you needed without you even having to ask. 

You heard him get up, footsteps padding along until there was a thud and some shuffling coming from Charles’ side. A few warm up scales in and you were already feeling a little less anxious, letting yourself get comfortable. 

“Any requests from the audience?” 

“Been working on anything new?” You yawned, nuzzling a little deeper back into your pillow. 

“I have, actually. It’s still—fuck, how do you say it…a work in progress?”

“Anything you play is perfect.”

“You flatter me.” He snorted. “Alright, here goes nothing.”  

He began to play. You knew jack shit about music, so there wasn’t much you could think of to describe how it sounded, but you could describe how it felt. You could almost feel the emotion pouring from his playing, even through the scratchy quality of the speaker. 

It felt like something you’d hear in the background of a movie montage, lilting and delicate and warm notes swirling together to create a bright melody, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. 

Memories of good times with Charles flashed through your head—all the long days and even longer nights you’d spent together because you thrived in each other’s company, cooking together, binging Netflix shows until you both passed out on the sofa. 

Hushed laughing during dinners at fancy restaurants that Charles could get into by flashing his name, soft conversations accompanied with expensive food and even more expensive wine. 

Day trips up the coast with the top down on the car, pushing the speed limit just to feel an ounce of the freedom that it could give you. Walking through Monte Carlo on late night gelato runs, switching flavors because you both enjoyed each other’s choice more than your own. 

Most of all, you thought of the love you felt for Charles, ever since you’d first met him. You’d never been one to believe in the concept of soulmates, but fuck, it was so easy to think of him as yours. Never had you felt as much for someone as you did for him. 

God, why were you even thinking of those things? 

It would never happen. Any love that Charles had for you would be strictly platonic, limited to however much one could love their best friend. 

Surely he’d drawn inspiration from something else when he’d composed the beautiful piece. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know. 

Soon enough, you’d drifted off like you always did when Charles played, coincidentally right before he came to a lingering stop. 

Had you been awake, you would’ve heard him say that the beautiful piece had been inspired by you. Instead you were fast asleep, still none the wiser to anything. Maybe it was a good thing. You might not have believed it if you’d heard him. 

-------

Charles was on your doorstep first thing in the morning, coffee and pastries in hand when you opened the door for him. 

“Hello, good morning, your savior is here. And with breakfast!” He chirped, coming to just enough of a halt for you to slide an arm around his shoulders in a hug and grab one of the drinks out of the tray before he swept past you.

Bright morning sunlight poured into the open area, washing the whole place aglow. A warm breeze floated in through the ajar window, rattling the shutters only slightly, and you could hear the all too familiar sounds of the city in the morning coming from the streets below. It was a gorgeous picture of peace; one of the apartment’s many fun quirks that convinced you to go for it in the first place. 

The only thing that might’ve rivaled the beauty of the moment was Charles standing at the window, leaning against the sill drinking his coffee while the breeze ruffled his hair. His back was to you as he checked out the view, but even the mere image of him here was nice. 

You sipped your own coffee, smiling to yourself when you realized Charles remembered exactly how you took it. You didn’t even need to look inside the bag to know they were your favorite pastries from the bakery down the street from your former apartment that both you and Charles loved. He was always thoughtful like that. Things like remembering your favorite foods and drinks, and going out of his way to get them as a little pick-me-up. 

It seemed wrong to ruin the moment, but you felt like you had to say something. 

“I’m sorry for waking you up last night.” You sighed, taking a cross-legged seat on a pillow. 

Charles turned away from the window, shaking his head quickly. He took a seat on the floor next to you, long legs stretching out towards your crossed ones to nudge a sneaker against your socked foot. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, I’m glad you called me.” 

“Right, but it’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? First time on my own and I didn’t even last a whole night.” 

“Not pathetic.” He insisted, entirely firm in his words. He set his cup down as if it could strengthen his point. “It is a change, definitely. You can’t expect yourself to get used to such a big change immediately. It takes time, you know.” 

You messed with the lid of your cup, picking at the plastic with a scowl. “I know. But I can’t always come running to you whenever I need help. It’s not fair to you to have to keep rescuing me every time I need saving.” 

“Okay…” He trailed off, stretching out the last syllable in confusion. “I feel this is about something more than just last night. We can talk about it, if you would like?”

“I don’t know what it is.” You huffed. “I thought I was ready to be on my own, but maybe I’m not. Maybe I don’t know I’m doing and I’ll never figure it out, and—” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. Where is this all coming from?” 

“I don’t know,” You repeated, bordering on a whine. “But what I do know is that I can’t always keep relying on you for everything. It’s not good for me, or for you.” 

“You know, you could always just move back home if you’re truly not ready to do things on your own.” Charles offered, taking a casual sip of his own drink.

Home. He said it so casually, like home was with him instead of this new place you’d chosen to make yours. In a way, Charles was your home. Safety, comfort, love—all the things that made something home, you felt with him. 

That was the problem. You didn’t feel right relying on him for all those things, not without him being aware of how you actually felt about him. It seemed like too much of a burden to put on a friend, even one as perfect as Charles. 

His eyes met yours over the rim and he shrugged. “I still don’t know why you were so insistent on moving out in the first place.” 

You sighed, again. There weren’t many ways you could make yourself any clearer. Other than telling Charles one of the real reasons why you had to leave, which again, was more of a last resort (hopefully not at all) type of thing. “It was time—” 

“It was time for you to venture out on your own, yes, I know. But it doesn’t seem to be working out so well right now, does it not?” The last sentence seemed to slip out of Charles’ mouth before he knew what he was saying, because his mouth snapped shut right afterward. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I don’t want to argue.” 

But what had been done was done, what had been said was out there for you to know. Your coffee suddenly left a bitter taste in your mouth, and the traffic from outside became glaringly loud. The once peaceful atmosphere had been shattered now that you knew Charles’ true thoughts on it all. 

You stood up, letting your feet take you across the room from him. “No. Tell me more, Charles. Tell me how you really feel.” 

His nose wrinkled at the use of his full name. You never called him Charles unless you were upset with him, which wasn’t that often. Even hearing it come out of your own mouth seemed foreign. 

That seemed to change his reaction, because he stood too instead, doubling down on his words. “Okay. Yes, that is how I feel about you leaving. You barely even talked to me about it, and the next thing I knew, you were packing all your things into boxes! I didn’t understand where this—this sudden desire to leave came from. I still don’t.”

“You don’t have to understand it. It’s already done.” 

“Did I—did I do something wrong?”

You almost faltered. Almost.

“Did you ever think maybe me wanting to leave had nothing to do with you?” 

“Honestly? No. It feels like it has everything to do with me. It feels like you moved out because you didn’t want to be around me anymore!” Charles exclaimed. “And I have kept my mouth shut, I’ve been trying to be supportive of your decision, but I think I have a right to know. Am I why you wanted to leave so badly?” 

“That’s…part of it.” You admitted. Charles froze, brows flying up towards his hairline. “But not because of anything you did. Not because of the reason you’re thinking of.” 

“I don’t really see any other explanation. And I am sorry, but that is a shit excuse. I would’ve thought that you of all people would tell me the truth.” He didn’t sound angry, just disappointed and a little hurt. Somehow that felt worse. You’d rather him be mad at you than hurt by you. 

“I didn’t want to move out.” You said firmly. 

“Then why did you?” 

“I had to! I—I couldn’t live there anymore.” 

“But why?” He sounded desperate, begging for you to clue him in to any reason, anything at all that would help him understand. And god, as scared as you were of changing things by telling Charles how you really felt about him, you were infinitely more scared of losing him for good if you didn’t. 

“Because I’m fucking in love with you, Charles!” You blurted, finally. “I couldn’t live with you any longer, keeping this huge secret all the time, because it truly made me feel like I was about to explode. I just couldn’t do it anymore—pretend like everything was alright when every time I looked at you, all I could think about was how I felt about you! How much I felt for you.” Your voice rose with every word, emotion lacing your tone. 

You could feel the tears burning your eyes, threatening to fall no matter how much you willed them not to. “I just thought, maybe if we lived apart, if we didn’t see each other all the time, maybe those feelings would go away.” 

Charles blinked at you slowly. He scrubbed a hand over his cheek, across his mouth, letting it disappear into the neckline of his hoodie as he continued the motion near his jaw. Still, he said nothing. You weren’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one, but still you continued. 

“So no, it wasn’t because of anything you did. Or maybe it was, for making it so fucking easy to fall in love with you. I don’t know. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t say anything to me, but I’m not sorry for making the decision on my own. It was for the best.”

There it was, out there in the open at last. It felt like a proverbial weight lifted off your shoulders, but at the same time like a thousand rocks sinking to the bottom of your stomach, because he wasn’t saying anything. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how you’d fuck up the best friendship you’d ever had. 

Charles was silent for the longest time before he replied, and when he did, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it before. It felt unnerving. “You could’ve just told me.” 

“Told you?” You had to fight the urge to let out a bitter, watery laugh. “Telling your best friend you’ve fallen in love with him isn’t just something you mention at the bathroom sink one night.” 

“It is, if he feels the same way about you.” 

A coldness crept down your neck, shooting through your veins like you’d just had a bucket of ice cold water dumped over your head. 

“No you’re not—you don't...you can't.” You whispered, disbelieving.

Charles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “What, do you want me to prove it?” 

You couldn’t give him an answer even if you wanted to. You weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to say a damn word, just in case this was all a dream and you'd wake up any second, still alone, still without him there.

He must’ve taken your silence as a yes to his question, because he crossed the room in three strides, took your face in firm hands, and he kissed you. 

Despite your utter shock, you managed to kiss him back clumsily, fingers curling into his hoodie tightly. Charles kissed you like he was afraid to let you go, like you’d slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful enough.

A guiding hand curled around the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss, but only for a few seconds before he broke away, panting. His forehead stayed pressed against yours, soulful green eyes boring into your own in total seriousness.

“Do you believe me now?” 

“Maybe.” You breathed, letting your nose bump against his gently. This was not a dream. Charles was real and here and one hell of a kisser (just as you suspected).

“I am in love with you.” He murmured, stroking his thumb over your cheek fondly. “I have been for a long time. And I never thought you would feel the same way.” 

“I love you, Cha.” You were suddenly brought back to last night, when you’d uttered the same words to him. Only this time, they had a whole different meaning to them. 

This time, you knew Charles loved you in the same way you loved him.

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[skeletood]

[rafeandonlyrafe]

proper thank you

words: 600

warnings: 18+ only!, stepbro!rafe, sending nudes, stepcest, kinda dumb/baby reader???

“carry me up to bed rafey?” you coo at your step brother, fluttering your lashes as your pout turns into a giggle when he sighs, unable to resist your pleading face.

“you're the most annoying little sis ever.” rafe says, calling you the nickname just to tease you as he leans down, scooping you into his arms. he carries you like you weigh nothing, so easily slotting into the good older stepbrother role when your parents married, despite him being only a few months older than you.

“thank you rafey.” you say sweetly as he walks you up the stairs, your arms holding him around the shoulders, head leaned against his broad chest.

“yeah, you gotta give me a better thank you than that.” rafe rolls his eyes as he carries you into your bedroom. only once the door is closed do you press a wet kiss to his cheek as a proper thank you.

rafe plops you down on the bed unceremoniously. “there ya go.” he waves as he walks away, knowing it's not actually goodnight as you let out a whine.

“tuck me in?”

rafe hides his smirk before turning around, putting on his slightly annoyed act like he always does when you ask him.

rafe pulls the fluffy blanket out from under you. it's slightly weighted so it naturally tucks around your body anyways as rafe covers you, but his hands still move slowly, feeling your body as he pushes in the blanket until you're stuck tight underneath it.

“anything else? want me to tell you a bedtime story?” rafe says it as a joke, but with the way your eyes light up, he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, recounting three little pigs from memory the best he can.

“alright, you gotta get to bed now.” rafe glances at the clock on your nightstand as the hour hand ticks closer to midnight. “goodnight.”

“goodnight rafey.” you smile softly before letting out a yawn. “ill give you a proper thank you soon.”

rafe isn't sure what you mean until he makes it back to his room, scrolling aimlessly through his phone until a text message appears from you.

he clicks it to open up the image, his eyes widening and dick swelling as he sees you in a silky nightgown, the swell of your breasts clearly visible, nipples poking through the fabric. he recognizes the nightgown from a few days ago, but you clearly got further undressed.

rafes eyes bulge as the next image loads, the same pose, now sans nightgown, tits bare and thighs clenched together to make a delicious looking v that rafe wants to dive into.

a proper thank you ;) reads your text, along with one last image, this time with your legs spread, smile on your face as your cunt is on clear display. you took the marker tool to add to your lower stomach “property of big brother.”

rafe is in your room untucking you from your bed before the clock reaches midnight.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @yourenogoodforme @auryyz @mayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut

[teddybeartoji]

how cute would satoru look while helping you dye your hair:((( he's soooo focused, trying to part your hair perfectly so he can dye it perfectly.

laughing behind your hand, he locks eyes with you through the mirror and your heart stutters just a little. he has the little brush in between his teeth and colorful blotches adorn his skin. his freckles are painted in your new color and you're really matching with him now. he splutters out a what when you keep quiet while just staring at him with hearts in your eyes.

"nothing." you shake your head, dismissing his question with a smile.

he furrows his brows so cutely that you have to surpress the need to tickle him to death. but then his eyes crinkle at the corners and he's grabbing the brush from his lips.

"am i doing good?"

it's a whisper. he's a little scared to fuck it up but he keeps the concern to himself. he's more than a little scared – he's terrified actually. he doesn't even want to imagine the look on your face if he did it wrong. you know he won't though. he's your perfect boy.

"you're doing so, so good."

pink floods his face in an overwhelming wave. he freezes. he looks like a cartoon character, who's just been hit with a cupid's arrow. his heart thumps in his chest, trying to break free from behind his ribs – it longs to be in your hands instead. another laugh tumbles from you, breaking his little love bubble. he watches you tilt your head back through the mirror before letting his eyes fall down to meet your gaze without any restrictions, without any barriers.

you're upside down and you look beautiful. there's hair dye on your forehead and even a smidge on your nose (but he swears that he doesn't know how that got there). he doesn't mind when you rest your head against his lower tummy, staining a few of his happy trail's hair with your color.

matching. matching. matching.

his hands rise to cradle your face and he's so gentle, he's so delicate. the strongest man and his precious beloved. his lips stretch into a loving smile; dimples appear on his flushed cheeks and you reach out to poke at one of them with your finger. skin to skin, you rest against him.

and then he bites your finger, making you squeal in surprise. but he doesn't let you pull away, not even an inch. his hands are steady on your cheeks, holding you to him as he laughs at your big lovesick eyes.

"apologize. right now."

demanding – you look like a cute little kitten in his eyes. "i tell you that you're doing good and this is how you repay me. wow."

he loves it when you roll your eyes at him, he loves it when you fakingly try to bite his head off. he doesn't waste any time in leaning down and pressing his lips to yours in a soft backwards kiss. he can feel the wet hair dye on his skin, he can feel you on his skin. your fingers crawl over the side of his face, over his warm ears and scratch at his prickly undercut. he tastes like bubblegum, almost overbearingly sweet; he tastes like unyielding adoration.

he giggles into your mouth like a schoolboy – you just make him so giddy and so happy and so excited, he can't help it. he pulls away just an inch before pressing another kiss to your lips. and another. and another. he never fails to bring out the most cheerful, the brightest laughs out of you – it's his job after all.

he hovers above your lips and you breathe him in. "am i actually doing okay?"

your eyes are closed and so are his. a sweet moment between lovers – he wants your praise, he wants your blind reassurance and you will give him just that without a second thought.

"you're perfect."

satoru's lips graze against yours one last time before pulling away. he does it just enough to get a good look at you – his sweetheart, his everything. he'd do anything for you and he hopes that you truly know it. he'd let the world burn and he's thinking about doing so while simply dyeing your hair. he's whipped. he's in love.

he presses another kiss on the top of your nose and then another to your forehead, mumbling an i love you inbetween the simple acts of affection. he needs you to feel it, to know it—

— but luckily, the way you're staring up at him tells him that you do and he couldn't be any happier.

[opopsums]

Rip ethos you would have loved temu

[specialgrades]

Not really a request but what are your headcanons on the JJK men's dick sizes?

OHOHO cracks knuckles i can do that. going full in like nanami should be in me rn dick-scriptions time

characters: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, toji fushiguro, sukuna, choso, atsuya kusakabe

GOJO SATORU : a bit above average, a good 6.5 ~ 7in. slight curve upwards. a good 2.5 ~ 3.5in thick. pretty pink flush on the tip, shaft a few shades darker than his skin tone. cut. carpets match the drapes of course, he keeps it trimmed. fun trail tell me i'm wrong (i'm not). super sensitive vein on the underside. sensitive thighs too. grower.

GETO SUGURU : honestly, average cock size. he rounds up to five inches but we all know it's 4 3/4. two inches thick. like gojo, a nice pink flush and a few shades darker. no curve. for sure has a piercing, prince albert probably; silver jewelry. uncut. not a jungle, mildly maintained. sensitive head, especially with the piercing. shower.

NANAMi KENTO : nothing overwhelming, though still impressive. 7.5in long, 3in thick. cut, duel toned because of it. top half is more pink than the rest. short trim. curve to the left. right under the head is the key, he'll bite back a really embarrassing noise if you focus there. grower.

TOJi FUSHiGURO : i pray for y'all toji simps for real, cause fuck. 8.5in easy. 4 inches thick minimum. man built like a tripod. uncut, darker with red undertones. upwards curve. jacob's ladder. three of 'em. this man doesn't shower i'm so sorry. two prominent veins when you pull back the foreskin, sensitive but he'll never show it. shower.

SUKUNA : i pray for y'all as well. find a pringles can. it's bigger. ten inches long, four inches thick. curves upwards and a tad to the right. cut, pale so it gets a nice flush. his tattoos make an appearance, wrapping around the shaft a few times. grower thank god.

CHOSO : average length, 5.5in but thick. four inches. curve to the right, uncut. darker than his skin tone by around four shades. not super trimmed, a delicious fun trail leading to a mild bush. mildly sensitive head, though go for his navel and you'll get a lovely show of him getting all breathy and twitching. shower.

ATSUYA KUSAKABE : i've only just met this man but i want him. carnally. so... six inches in length and 2.5 in width. cut, duel toned though you can't really tell until he's flushed and the top half goes a pretty dark pink. like choso, tasteful amount of hair with the fun trail. one prominent vein that's sensitive, under the head too. grower.

[acekindaneat]

I don't want this to end.

A cute little date scene that I really liked from the fic The Big Woo by @tinkertoysdamn !!!!!

[katkat030]

Scar sits, balanced on a precipice at the crest of the world, and thinks. If he tilts forward just a degree too far into the sweeping abyss that engulfs the city below, he will fall. It’s a height that very few could survive, and he knows without a shred of doubt that he is not one of them. “Careful,” comes the warning in a tone that, if he closes his eyes, sounds awfully like Cuteguy. But of course, the voice that Scar hears so often through his earpiece is nothing at all like the unmistakable lilt of Pearl’s words. OR Pearl watches Scar leave his apartment in the small hours between dusk and dawn. When she follows to find him dangling his feet off the edge of the tallest building in Hermitopia, she decides to sit by her archnemesis' side, just for one night.

I wrote and posted my first fanfic, a oneshot based on the @hotguycomiczine universe!

[dilfhos]

WALKING ON GLASS.

#!WHO; SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS x fem!reader

#!CC: power play, o.sex (receiving), implications of demonic entities

NETWORKS @angelshub @bitchcraftinc @planetonet

The sound of dishes smashing against the floors was deafening as it carried throughout the manor. The splintering shatter of an expensive set caused the three three other house aids to grimace. In the upper room of Ciel Phantomhive, his eyes closed and he sighed, for regret was starting to cloud his mind in hiring you— the new maid. The help to what he’d already deemed, ‘A full house.’

Sebastian bowed gracefully, his head cocked slightly as he smiled.

“I will see to it that the mess will be cleaned young master.”

“Make sure that you do. I have very little patience left.” Phantomhive waved off. Sebastian then walked out shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He pulled at his pristine gloves as he walked down the hallways, a devilish grin splitting his face.

When he’d arrived at the kitchen door he’d picked up on quips of complaints from you and Mei-Ren.

“I’m going to be done for sure this time...” You whined, brushing glass pieces onto a dustpan.

“I’m sure you won’t. The young master is lenient. During my recent years I was such a klutz and Sebastian had to—”

The butler opened the door and the conversation halted with unease in the air. Mei-Ren stood nervously and you kept your head low as your fingers trembled to pick up the rest of the glass. The heat of eyes boring into the side of your head didn’t go unnoticed as they clinked softly together in the pile.

“You may go. I shall handle this.” Sebastian’s velvety voice remained low, his eyes glued on your crouched form. Mei-Ren gave a reassuring glance towards you and bowed quickly. After the haste retreating footsteps, the room was quiet except for the soft sound of tinkling glass shards.

“Stand please,” Sebastian hummed, his red eyes trailing your straned movements; your chest rose and fell slightly and he could hear the quickening tapping of your beating heart. Your eyes looked everywhere but at him, which he found a bit rude but another lesson to be made at a later date.

You clasped your hands in front of your body, ready to endure whatever verbal penalty was sure to be made. This wasn’t your first offense.

Countless of glassware had been destroyed by your hand, not to mention the mistakes you’ve made since you were hired by the young master. From nearly burning down the manor due to attempted meals, to using the wrong chemicals in the garden. All resulting in Sebastian’s stern dispraises. Phantomhive pegged you to be just as bad as his other servants put together.

Sebastian began to snake towards you, his movements precise and elegant. With ease, he’s stepped through the shards of remaining glass, not even trailing it behind him. As he got closer, you subconsciously shrunk back until you hit the far wall with a small gasp.

Sabastian brought his hand to his mouth, swiftly biting the fingertip of his glove and pulling it off, all the while his gaze never left yours. Leaving the glove on his left hand, he pressed both palms against the wall on either side of your head, effectively caging you in. He picked out the accelerated beating in your chest as his face lowered towards yours.

Sebastian was never going to admit this to any mortal, but he a part of him was looking forward to another slip up from you. Ever since the young lord hired you, your entire essence intrigued him. On more accounts than one, the need for self restraint became nearly intangible whenever you were around. He knew humans were creatures who could not reject temptation. Never had he thought he’d be acting just like them.

His eyes held a dark glint in them as his lips stretched into a grin.

“That set was a favorite of the young lord,”

“I’m sorry! I slipped and I really tried to catch my fall, but I only ended up making things worse.”

“Yes, the ordeal is quite unfortunate,” He continued. “The entire glass set was a precious family heirloom.” The demon lied, which was proven to be effective given the horror stricken look on your face. You were on the verge of tears and your lips parted to let out a soft sigh.

Sebastian brought a finger under your chin, pulling your head up in his direction. For the first time, you were made to look into his piercing eyes and you gulped.

“I’m sure I can come up with a reason for the destruction of the valuables.” His eyes shone mischievously and a second later, it hit you. And he knew that you were not going to reject the offer. In return, his knee slid upwards, dragging out a gasp from you at the sudden movement and the friction against your core. He smirked and lowered his sight to the rise and fall of your chest, zeroing in on your breasts.

“Lift your uniform and turn around.” His order was low and straight to the point, sending a shiver down your spine. He stepped back, allowing you to do so and once you were facing the wall, your cheeks heated up in how vulnerable you were now before the butler. A second or so later, you felt cool air hitting your heat and you whimpered, turning your head slightly. You then felt strong hands taking hold on your hips, gripping them in a way that sent dull pain throughout your legs.

“Face the wall.”

Sebastian moved closer, licking his lips at the scent of your femininity. It was different and he was intrigued. His finger hooked through the side of your panties, pulling them taut and exposing your glistening lower lips. He leaned forward, giving you a quick and experimental lick, causing you to release a not-so-quiet cry.

“I would strongly suggest keeping your voice down, yes? We wouldn’t want an audience.” He chuckled before returning his mouth to your pussy. You quickly clenched your uniform dress in one hand as the other covered your mouth, muffling your moans in your gloved hand.

His tongue flattened against you, teasing your clit before trailing back until it disappeared inside of you, writhing and thrusting against your gummy walls. Your body was growing flush as he worked his mouth against you, drawing more and more of your slick.

Sebastian’s movements started off as sensual and graceful, much like his surface personality. But each second his senses spent engulfed in your heat ignited something primal in him. His refined technique was abandoned and replaced with one less coordinated but more enthusiastic nonetheless.

Subconsciously, his fingers dug deeper into your hips releasing more added pleasure than pain. Obscene wet noises arose, synchronizing with your low moans. A hand left your hip to push past your folds and curled upwards, effectively sending a shock through your body resulting in a cry this time.

Sebastian hummed, taking the action into memory and his ministrations seemingly went lazy. At this point, it wouldn’t take much more for you to come and he knew this, doing it again.

His face pushed deeper against you, his tongue nudging your clit and at the same time curling his finger and this is what sent you over the edge.

The noise that escaped wasn’t suppressed behind your palm this time. Your thighs quivered as you calmed down, whimpering as the butler gave you a final few laps before standing. Now more than before, you wanted to feel him, see him, touch him as he ravaged you with what he had to offer.

Turning around slightly, you caught a glimpse of darkness, the air around you suddenly cold. Murkiness surrounded you, as you only caught a flash of his twisted face in a snarl—a stark contrast to his typical refined features. A shiver ran down your spine, his grip returning but tighter than the last.

“You still refuse to listen.” His breath was ticking your ear, tone menacing but the same velvet that compelled your limbs to relax.

Before you could come up with some half thought out apology, he sheathed his dick into you, grunting softly when he was flush against your ass. Not knowing when he had the time to release himself, you keened at the sudden intrusion as you shifted and tightened around him.

He sighed, strumming his fingers on your hips before pulling out and pushing into you firmly. His movements formed a rhythm as you were rocked against the wall. By now, your hand had fallen from your mouth and was instead placed on the surface in front of you. Movements increasing in speed as well as forcefulness, moans poured from you, wafting through the kitchen and you could only hope that’s where they’ll remain.

Sebastian grunted before yanking your hands behind you, wrists gripped under his one hand with precision at the small of your back. He’s reverted to fucking you with reckless abandon, his own breathing just barely ragged.

You, however were a mess, your vision blurred with wetness, voice producing a low mantra of the butler’s name as a desired pressure began to build up within you. Over and over, his thrusts hit that sweet spot within you that pushed you closer and closer to that moment of bliss.

“What do you think of this lesson?” It was a strange question, at the even most strangest time. It barely processed in your ears and you’re only half inclined to answer in the state you’re in. However, his hand reaches to tilt your head back, face ethereally perfect as golden pools stare into your soul.

“Hnn..?” You couldn’t think, much less articulate any response he was looking but that was alright. He just wanted to drink in the gloss in your eyes as your mouth moves, no words escaping. Your cunt pulsated around him, each stroke drawing more and more of your essence from your body. Perhaps, he thought, it would be wrong to indulge in a bit of the human soul. Not when you were so vulnerable and pliant under his mere gaze. You didn’t see him now. You didn’t see what he’d become again, as the only thing you that surrounded you was the grip of the cold and your cunt being stretched out.

Only when he released you with a low chuckle did the static disipitate and the pressure snaps, his hand quick to hold your cries.

Delicious aftershocks took hold of you, controlling your convulsions as you clenched repeatedly around Sebastian’s cock. You couldn’t see the subtle twist of his features as he approached euphoria as well, his grip icy as he held you against the wall. Following suit soon after, his hot come spilled into you in copious amounts, filling you until it trickled down your thighs.

He pulled out and your legs buckled slightly beneath you before he chuckled and you were spun around.

“Hey now,”

Sebastian was altogether neat. His uniform remained as immaculate as they were when he walked in, white gloves on and pristine. His face retained its usual fair skinned complexion, void of sweat or any indication of vigorous activity.

Meanwhile, you knew you looked a complete mess if it wasn’t obvious. Sebastian cocked his head and smiled warmly, a bright expression that contrasted the devil in his eye.

“Despite how pleasurable this lesson has been, I implore you to exercise caution and heighten your awareness. The young master would not appreciate any more recklessness from you and neither will I.” As he spoke his teeth gleamed only adding to the weight of his words engraved in your mind.

Still you straightened, your hands clasping tightly over your uniform as you nodded curtly.

“Yes Sebastian!”

After that encounter in the kitchen, your mistakes and slip-ups had been reduced to very little occurrences to absolutely none.

“See I knew you’d get the hang of things!” Mei-Ren beamed.

“Maybe I’ll let you cook something small again. Seeing how much you improved and all.” Baldroy had praised, fanning a smoking pot.

Each of the house aids were ultimately pleased you were doing better than you had been before.

Even Phantomhive seemed content, but not at all surprised knowing Sebastian had a hand in it. The butler was delighted as well, rewarding your improvements with favorable pleasures every now and again.

He still needed to teach you a lesson about listening after all.

DILFOS. do not plagiarize my content— current or archival.

[boopshoops]

TWST OC INTRODUCTION - TCOAV

Joel Bullion - Makings of Greatness

Name: Joel Bullion

Nicknames: Buzzbait, Thistle

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/they

Sexuality: Aromantic Asexual

Birthday: November 30 (Sagittarius)

Age: 39 (In canon and AU)

Height: 6'2 or 188cm

Voice Claim(s): Jellzybelle

Twisted from: John Silver from Treasure Planet.

Unique Magic: "Rattle the Stars" Summons exactly that in the palm of Joel's robotic hand: a star. However, this is not just any star, this star's life flashes before your eyes, resulting in a controlled supernova. It creates a burning hot flash bang, with tremors forming cracks in the ground depending on the magnitude of the star itself. The explosion knocks enemies away from Joel. The size of the star dictates how much magic they will use, as well as how much blot he will accumulate. He is unsure what the maximum size of a star he can create is, but he does know that he has gotten dangerously close to overblotting while trying. In his current state, the blast is not deadly and primarily works to stun opponents or, at most, render them unconscious.

Grade: Teaches Freshman, Sophomores, and Juniors

Class: Teaches Culinary Crucible, Astrology, and Tech. Occasionally aids with Physical Education.

Hobbies: Treasure hunting, finding constellations, hiking, traveling, spelunking, deadlifting, cooking.

Likes: Pernil, old school tech, adventure novels, hard cash, or anything he can sell for gold really, pranking Ezra and Crowley, telescopes, planetary science, zodiac signs.

Dislikes: Grading (this man should not be a teacher), any dish with fish in it, sticklers, staying still, overt formality, the cold, humorless individuals.

Fears: Immobility, optometric illnesses, not amounting to anything, not living his life to the fullest, birds.

Summary: "Why does he even teach?" is a question that crosses the mind of almost every NRC student in one of Joel's classes. He's shameless, sarcastic, and finds entertainment in messing with students and staff alike. Teaching is only a side job for him, his real passions lie elsewhere. Nonetheless, he is highly skilled in a variety of subjects, making him indispensable.

He abuses that privilege, of course, taking the time to have as much fun as he can in what he calls a boring dump of a school and make sure everyone around him suffers for it. Though this usually just amounts to light teasing and pranks. They do not behave like an educator or mentor. He does not typically enjoy interacting with most of his students in a serious manner, and the ones they do enjoy talking with are treated more like casual, distant friends.

With the responsibility of teaching so many subjects heavy on their shoulders, he does make plenty of time to shrug it off to work on his true dream: getting as rich as possible. Now, now, there are plenty of figures at NRC who want that, yeah? But Joel wants the lottery. He wants to struggle, look high and low, and come out above everyone with something ancient, shiny, and, hopefully, covered in expensive jewels. Over everything and everyone, they enjoy the hunt of it. To the point where he values it above people and relationships. Hell, they'd fly to the moon to get it if they had to.

Outfit Inspiration

Author's Notes: JOEL. Ahhh Joel. I'll admit, this was harder to write compared to the others! Everyone else's development, personality, struggles, etc. came very naturally to me, while, with joel, I really had to sit and brainstorm for awhile. Though, I can now say that he has grown on me a lot, and I plan on giving him more of a role in TCOAV like Ezra! I have lots of plans for him! Old ass man <33 (affectionate, /j) this will probably be the last new TCOAV oc for a while! But just know, there will be more >:)

Tag list! v

@lowcallyfruity @kitwasnothere @distant-velleity @thehollowwriter @justm3di0cr3

@skriblee-ksk @cecilebutcher

[theangelcatalogue]

YANDERE 2012!LEO WITH A VILLAIN Y/N (PLUS Y/N WORKS WITH/FOR ANOTHER VILLAIN) || ☆!

Gender-neutral !☆

Romantic !☆

TW: DELUSIONAL, YANDERE, MANIPULATION, GUILTY TRIP, OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, STALKING, FIGHTS, BAD ENGLISH, BAD GRAMMAR, OUT OF CHARACTER(?), SHORT HC AND THIS IS MADE BY A MINOR!! YOU DON'T NEED TO READ ^^

★ -> He feel for you when him and his brothers fought with you and P/N (That's mean Partner name,you can see it romantic or friendship)

☆ -> And after you two fight and you tease him a little,he is in love,oh god....

★ -> He is delusional,he thinks you are a good person,that you being forced to do everything you do and that you are asking for help while fighting

☆ -> He blames it on P/N,he thinks P/N is using you,manipulating and forcing you to act like that and doing everything you do,so he always will try to convince you manipulate and guilty trip you(he says to himself that is for your own good) to be on his and his brothers side

" I know that P/N is forcing you Y/N! You don't need to work for/with him anymore! "

" Come on! I hurt you and your brothers and you think i am a good person? "

" I know you are asking for help,i can help! "

" Gosh, you are kinda delusional, uh? "

★ -> He won't would say delusional, he knows you are a good person nop you are just a villain lol

☆ -> He is obsessive, he knows everything about you

★ -> Fight style? Yup! Favorite food? Yup! Favorite color? Yup! What do you said to him in their second fight? Yup! How? Maybe he already stalked you and heard your reunions with P/N...

☆ -> In the middle of your two fights, he would say things to make you join his side, resume?

★ -> Manipulation and Guilty trip!

" Look, you can join us! I know P/N is forcing you! But i- I mean, we can't help you! Set you free! "

" Pls Y/N i know you are a good person...! "

★ -> And when he sees P/N he focus more on him than you, like if he wanted to destroy him

☆ -> And he wants! He is the motive you are like that! When P/N be gone, you will be free

★ -> Because everything he is doing, is for you

☆ -> He already said about for his brothers, April and Splinter, did they understand him? No.

★ -> But he does not care! One day will you be in his side

☆ -> On the lair, on the good side, where you belong.

PLAYLIST FOR THIS HC (SOME SONGS DON'T MAKE SENSE, SORRY)!★

NOTES || ★

✮ I WANTED THIS TO BE LONGER BUT IDK WHY IS SHORT AAAAHHH ✮

✮ Tbh i dind't watch Hazbin Hotel,but Lute and Adam's designs are ✮

✮ and a person said that i could use these two in this hc,so here we are ✮

✮ I AM GOING TO MAKE A PART 2,WITH A SURPRISE(?) WAIT FOR THIS *Evil gigles* ✮

✮ Leo could be more delusional and obssesive than Donnie,omg(?) ✮

✮ Idk just remember of drink water and take care of yourself ✮

✮ Thanks for reading! ✮

[aroveri]

lonely wizard is my spirit animal fr fr

[priestess-of-yuri]

A PICK-A-PILE FOR THE QUEER GOTHS 🔪🥀🩸

(and really, anyone who wants to play)

WHAT'S HOLDING YOU BACK FROM LOVE?

rules: feel out the vibes of each set of images. you can take as long as you like, you can choose more than one or all if you want, either way it's better to go with your gut instincts. then read the corresponding info under the cut. take what resonates, leave what doesn't, have fun! 🩷🖤❤️

also note that this can be interpreted however you like. it doesn't have to be romantic love; it can be any kind of love -- platonic, familial, spiritual, or some secret other thing. anything you like. your limit is your imagination.

Pile 1.

Pile 2.

Pile 3.

Pile 1.

You are holding onto something or someone in your heart that is blocking the flow of your emotions. Whether this be a person in your life right now, a ghost of what was, or more like a collection of memories, God is encouraging you to let go. You don't have to forgive or forget, but moving on is essential for opening up yourself to new love. You need to make the space for it.

You need to remember that you are growing at your own rate, and that's okay. Comparison is the killer of joy. Allow yourself to breathe, and be kind to your own being, as you make progress.

You have someone you want to be closer to, and you could very well be if you pursue it. It's important to take the initiative. You never know unless you try, and you only increase your chances of love if you try.

You need to practice being assertive to be loved. Asserting your boundaries is an important aspect of healthy relationships and the key to being loved the way you need. You need to teach those around you how to love you, even if there's already an emotional connection. Real love takes effort.

You've been pushing yourself too far and too hard as well. Maybe you've been taking care of others without letting yourself be cared for in the process. You need to relax and take a breather! Let yourself regain your energy, because you need to learn how to love yourself amongst learning how to love others, too.

Pile 2.

Things feel chaotic in your love life right now, but instead of shying away from it, try leaning into it. Try looking at things upside-down. You might like what you see.

You've been reaping the benefits of your sown harvest. Your emotional capacity is plentiful and abundant, and so you could try giving where others are in need! What you give to the world returns to you tenfold; this is how the world and God's part in it works.

Your appearance is unassuming, perhaps... but you know the strength you hold within. This is a gentle reminder to not let the opinions of others sway you when you know that you are surrounded by love, warmth and prosperity.

You're nearing the end of a cycle. You'll be collecting the fruits of your harvest, and you can take time to enjoy them; the good and the bad and the in-between; learn and live. You will see another spring just like this one.

A difficult decision is to be made, but you know what you're going to do. You need not hesitate, and you will feel relief in the fallout. You will find your way forward from this, it will not last forever.

You have things you've been keeping from people, and not maliciously -- but it would do you good to get it off your chest. The other person might have something to share too, and you can grow closer through trusting each other.

Face your enemies and stand your ground. You don't have to sacrifice your agency for them. You don't owe them that. You're facing these difficulties because of them, and it is not your fault. Be good to yourself by allowing yourself to be heard.

You've been facing so many situations that are outside of your control, but the way you behave is not outside your control. You know what you need to do, and being good to yourself is part of the journey. Pick your battles. Listen to your inner voice that knows which ones to fight.

Recenter yourself. You've been wearing thin because of these struggles you've been facing, so take time for yourself. Find that balance, reacquaint your body and your mind. It will help you when you need it most.

Pile 3.

Seeds remain dormant for many years waiting for the right conditions to sprout. Now is the time to bide your time. Wait until you're sure you're ready.

You're plentiful in emotional energy right now, bountiful and steady in ways, but someone around you could be struggling. Who haven't you heard from in a while? Maybe you could check in with them.

Your needs are being overlooked by others right now; consider communicating to let yourself be heard. If you have communicated multiple times and it's never gone well? Consider cutting out that which doesn't help you prosper. It's courageous to choose yourself first and foremost.

Taking a break from love is not weakness, it is strength in its own right. You need time right now. You need time to process, to meditate on things. And that's okay. So take all the time you need and know your worth.

Take a step back and soak up some restful energy in the sunshine. You need to tend to your anxieties and worries; soothe them, or try learning how to soothe them. Become acquainted with yourself and how to self-soothe; it is essential that you relax right now.

You're grieving right now. Whether that be the loss of a relationship, a life or a connection entirely, this is a gentle reminder that you are not alone and that the love you cherished will return to you in a new form.

Thanks for playing! :) Please reblog and let me know how it resonated if you enjoyed! 🩷🖤❤️

[butchcarmy]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 2: alcohol, garlic, and lipstick

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 1 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it. 

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love. 

tags for this ch: alcohol use, throwing up, semi-permanent lipstick, accidentally embarrassing carmy in front of all his coworkers

Chapter 2: alcohol, garlic, and lipstick (8k)

He doesn’t get to see them for a couple days after that night on the couch.

This is more the rhythm he’s used to—early mornings and late nights, out of the house so long he never sees them. The next several days blur together into what feels like one very, very long day. When he sleeps, he doesn’t dream. It often feels as if he didn’t sleep at all. 

Their past exchange haunts him. He catches himself slipping, lost in thoughts as he watches the pot simmer. They’ve never had any sort of conversation like that before. Sure, they didn’t really talk about anything, but…

But in that same vein, Carmy can’t stop thinking about it. He wonders if they’re thinking about it, too. The thought feels like a tangled ball of yarn in the pit of his stomach, writhing and messy. He shouldn’t be thinking about it—they’re just roommates, after all. 

He’s restlessly worried about that moment on the couch, and yet, he can’t even muster up the words as to why. 

Because if you finally say it, it’ll all be real, he thinks vaguely, somewhat hysterically to himself, and that’s where it always ends. 

Wednesday evening, he comes in from home exhausted as ever. Nothing new. He feels the strain in his wrist when he shoves his shitty front door open—obviously overdid it in the kitchen. After shoving his sneakers off, he flicks the lights on in the kitchen, and he spots a bright pink sticky note on the counter. 

Now that’s new.

He walks up to it, squinting at the pink that’s almost neon under the fluorescents. It’s a note from his roommate. 

hey carmy, it reads, scribbled on in pen. im going out with friends tonight, so I won’t be back until later + leftovers in the fridge if you want any :)

Carmy makes a small noise of acknowledgement to himself. Picks up the note, puts it back down. 

Running a hand through sweaty hair, he opens the fridge. It’s full of ingredients, perhaps far too many for a guy who barely cooks for himself. Ironically enough, it’s the one who doesn’t cook for a living who keeps the fridge stocked. There's a lot of miscellaneous sauces, near empty coffee creamers, and mysterious tupperwares.

He spots a new tupperware that has another pink sticky note on it, so he grabs that one out of the fridge. 

He pops it open. There’s condensation on the inside of the lid, and it drips onto the floor. Inside sits pasta, potatoes, chicken, onions, and peppers, all cooked into a cheap, yet harmonious meal. It’s a familiar instant pot recipe. 

It tastes familiar, too. The ingredients together taste like home. He’s not sure if it even tastes like his home, although surely his mom cooked something like this. As he stews over the flavors in his mouth, Italian seasoning, garlic, and black pepper, he wonders if maybe this apartment is starting to feel like home. 

The thought is so ridiculous he shakes his head to himself, but…

It feels warm coming home to someone. He can’t deny that he likes that feeling. Maybe he’s settling into this place more than he thought. Maybe he’s…getting more used to having a roommate than he expected.

Maybe I’ll see them tomorrow, he thinks as he stares at his dark bedroom ceiling. He’s so sleepy he can’t even help himself from thinking about them. The lethargy always goes full blast as soon as his back hits the mattress.

Graciously, he doesn’t dream when he sleeps. Unfortunately, he wakes back up again in only a matter of hours. 

When he reluctantly wakes up and squints at his phone, he sighs. 1:14 am. Slapping his phone back down on his side table, he stubbornly shuts his eyes in an attempt to go back to bed. It would’ve been too nice if his body let him sleep throughout the night. 

Then, there’s the sound of the door opening.

He listens to the familiar sound of their footsteps against their old hardwood floor. It’s admittedly a little strange—it’s usually the other way around, with Carmy coming back home so late they’re already asleep. Except for this time. 

They’re in the kitchen, he deduces, carefully listening. It’s easy to hear everything, especially in the quiet of night. As he closes his eyes again, listening, he imagines them. 

The sound of the fridge opening. No, the freezer—it always squeaks when it opens. It shuts. Yes, now that’s the fridge door. He imagines them looking into the fridge just like he was a couple of hours ago, tilting their head thoughtfully to the side. He’s not sure if they know that they do that. 

By all means, it should be disruptive, the way they’re opening and shutting cabinets in the kitchen. And yet, as he lays there, snuggled drowsily into his sheets, it starts to sound like a lullaby. He listens to them, thinking of them cooking, and he begins to drift to sleep.

“Fuck—fuck! Shit shit shit—”

There’s a sharp yelp, and Carmy’s jumping out of bed. 

If he’s being honest, he probably wasn’t actually going to fall back asleep so easily anyway. He rarely ever does. 

He stumbles into the brightly lit kitchen, dressed in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. The lights are so bright that he’s squinting, struggling to adjust. 

“Sorry if I woke you up, there was a roach,” they explain meekly before he can think of what to say. They’re standing there, bottle of roach killer in their hand. 

Carmy looks down. As expected, there’s a big dead roach, sitting in a pale pool of roach killer. 

“I…see.” He yawns, a big one that makes the corners of his eyes tear up. “You didn’t wake me up, I was already awake. You just got back?”

“Mhm,” they reply, reaching for some paper towels, and that’s when Carmy really notices their outfit. Black, flashy, clearly meant for a night out at a bar. Dark colors always looked good on them. Their makeup matches, dark and smudged around their eyes. Seeing them dressed up like this makes it nearly impossible to deny how much he likes looking at them. 

He in particular likes the plunging neckline on their thin shirt, dipping right down their chest.

Stop stop stop, he thinks suddenly, tearing his eyes away. He’s lucky they’re not looking at him, instead preoccupied with throwing away the roach corpse on the floor. He looks around almost a little frantically to find something, anything else to talk about.

“What’s this?” Carmy asks, peering into the pan on the stovetop. 

“I, like, really want garlic bread right now.” They lean onto the counter, looking at the pan with him. “So I was making garlic bread. But then that fucking roach came and killed my vibe.” 

This is when Carmy notices that they’re rather drunk.

“Huh,” he says. “Isn’t this, uh, just a piece of bread?”

“Oh.” They pause, lifting the bread gingerly with one finger. “Um, this is so totally a piece of bread. No butter. No nothing.” They start laughing then, leaning harder onto the counter and covering their face. “Fuck, that is so  dumb.”

“You were getting there,” he comments, unable to resist an amused smile. 

“I couldn’t find the garlic powder,” they admit, face turning into a frown. “Or, like, anything else. But I need garlic bread, Carmy. I need this.”

“We have garlic cloves,” he points out.

“You cannot expect me to mince a fuckin’ garlic right now,” they retort, motioning at him with their arms so aggressively they stumble towards him. Instinctively, he puts his hands on their shoulders, and tries not to think too hard about it. 

They’re warm, and they smell like perfume, weed, and alcohol. 

“I think you should sit.” Carmy suggests, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t think he’s seen them this drunk before.

“Hm. Yeah. Imma do that.” They trudge over to one of their bar stools at the kitchen island, slumping onto it. Their shirt droops, revealing more skin, and Carmy pointedly looks away. There’s the sound of their forehead smacking against the counter, and then a groan. 

“Uh, you ok?” 

“I’m drunk and I want garlic bread,” they whine, flopping their arms across the counter. “But I can’t find the garlic—the garlic powder, and…I’m too stupid to make it right now,” they end in a miserable mumble. 

“I could make you some,” Carmy hears himself saying.

“...Really?” They tilt their head up to look at him, eyes big and full of wonder. “You would do that for me?”

“It’s just garlic bread,” he tries, instantly stricken with embarrassment. He hopes he’s hiding it well enough.

“But you’re making it!” They make a contented noise. “Imagine getting the best chef in the world to make you garlic bread.”

“I can do a lot better than garlic bread. Just so you know,” he says, entirely in an attempt to hide the way their praise makes him feel giddy. 

“I know.” His attempt backfires—their response is so genuine it makes him feel worse. “You could definitely do a million times better than garlic bread.”

“Maybe not quite a million, but somewhere around there,” he says, and then he starts working. 

He starts with a clove of garlic, mincing it quickly on their small wooden cutting board. He stands at the kitchen island with them, eyes flickering between the garlic and their watchful gaze. They’re still strewn across the counter, cheek pressed against the surface. 

“You literally mince garlic so good,” they mumble, eyes glued to his knife. “I wanna do it like you.” 

“I could teach you.” The garlic is chopped thin, and then scraped against the edge of his knife. “Just takes a lot of practice, really.”

“Teacher Carmy,” they say, almost like a song. They’ve got this big, dopey smile on their face that makes Carmy’s heart hurt. “Mr. Berzattooo,” they add, their smile growing more mischievous.

“I don’t think I like the sound of that,” he admits, words tinged with amusement, and they laugh. “I think we should just stick to chef.”

“Yes, chef!” They salute unnecessarily, and he chuckles. 

He takes out the butter—their nice butter, not the spread stuff. Heats it over their pan, scrapes the minced garlic into the hot butter, creating a delicious sizzle.

“You, uh, go out to a bar?” He asks, because he’s curious. It’s easier talking to them with his back turned to them, forced to face the pan. 

“Yeah, just went with a couple of friends. I wasn’t scheduled for tomorrow, so I thought a little fun would be nice. But I must say, bars are not exciting on Wednesday nights.”

“Seems like you got to have a good time anyway.” 

“Mhm, yeah. They had cheap drinks. I got so many.” They laugh. “They honestly didn’t taste that good.” 

“And you kept getting them?”

“It’s just ‘cause they were strong. Sometimes you just wanna get fucked up, y’know? Oh my god, it smells so fuckin’ good right now. What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s just butter and garlic,” he answers honestly. 

“This is the best thing ever. You are literally so nice.” The sincerity in their words is so palpable that Carmy feels his stomach twist. “Anyone would be so lucky to be with you.”

Fuck, Carmy thinks distantly. He adamantly refuses to acknowledge how this comment makes him feel.

“I dunno about that,” he replies, a safe neutral even though he can’t help the embarrassment. 

“Really?” They blow a raspberry at him. “Well, I like having you as my roommate. That’s something, right?”

Carmy’s glad he’s not facing them. He’s not sure what his expression looks like right now. 

“Well. Lucky for me, I guess.” He pauses, listening to the sizzle of the garlic. for a moment. “You’re a good roommate, too. I…didn’t know if I would like having one at all.”

“Oh yeah? You never had one before?”

“Not since culinary school, and they weren’t good.” He sighs at the memory. “But this…I like this.”

“I like it too,” they agree, almost a bit dreamily. “It’s nice not having to be by yourself all the time.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It is.”

He turns around then, garlic bread plated and in his hand, and they gasp, hands over their mouth. 

“Carmy,” they whisper. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” he says, smiling in endearment.

“Um, yeah. And you just made me garlic bread. To a drunk person, garlic bread is the next coming of Christ.” They slide the plate towards them, staring at it with big eyes. “And you put cheese on it!” 

“Should I not have?”

“Of course you should have!” They exclaim. “You could’ve put some shit on this I’ve never heard of and I would still eat it. You’re a wizard in the kitchen.”

“Well.” He laughs. Shakes his head. “I’m flattered?”

“You should be,” they whisper. They take a huge bite of it, resounding with a satisfying crunch. “Fuck.” They shake their head from side to side as they eat. “This is so fuckin’ yummy.”

“Good, good.” He nods, pleased. He props his elbows up on the counter, gauging their reaction.

“You are so talented,” they gush, continuing to eat urgently. “And so nice.”

Carmy knows he can’t hide the way his ears go pink. 

“Well.” He gives them a shrug he knows looks as half-hearted as it feels. “I do nice things for nice people,” he says finally, mostly because he can't just take the damned compliment.

“I'm nice people?” They repeat, so genuinely earnest that Carmy almost laughs. “That's a relief. I’m, like, so glad you think that, because I can be an annoying piece of shit sometimes.”

“Annoying?” The self deprecation surprises him. They don’t usually talk like this. “I don’t—I don’t think you’re annoying. Have I ever, uh, seemed like I—?”

“Nonono, it has nothing to do with you,” they interrupt with a hiccup, waving their hands. “I just, like, have issues.” They laugh, although Carmy’s positive there’s nothing funny about this. “And I really like you as a, as a roommate,” they stutter clumsily. “So I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“I, I don’t think you would fuck it up.” There’s something a little unsettling about all this, something that’s putting Carmy on edge. 

“I always find a way! I just do, because, I’m—I’m not good at being a person,” they blurt out, and then there’s tears spilling all over their cheeks, streaked with black mascara. 

Shit, Carmy thinks. 

“Hey,” Carmy says softly, gentle and careful. He looks up at them, concerned eyes searching their watery ones. He wishes he had the words, but they're talking again. 

“I just can’t do anything right,” they sob, bottom lip wobbling. He’s also not sure if he’s ever seen them crying so hard. Their face is scrunched in pain, skin drenched in tears. “I, I, I can't even fucking make garlic bread!”

“You're drunk,” he reminds them, carefully. “Very drunk.”

“I'm drunk, too,” they wail, and Carmy wonders if he said the wrong thing. “I'm a drunk fuck-up! I, I'm too damaged…”

“Damaged?” He echoes. Their own brutality towards themself takes his words away, and all he can do is repeat their cruelty in disbelief.

“My whole life, I've just,” they whisper, and something about it nestles into his chest and stays there. The feeling of it is familiar. “My—my whole life, I—oh, god—” 

They stop with a sharp inhale, slapping their hand on their mouth. It’s a movement that Carmy would recognize just about anywhere.

“Shit,” he curses, and he rushes them to the bathroom. 

They’re still crying as they throw up into the toilet, apologizing profusely. Carmy tries not to look, just focusing on holding up their hair. 

“I’m sorry,” they apologize again before shoving their face back into the toilet. 

“It’s okay. It happens.”  He absentmindedly notices that he’s never touched their hair before. It’s soft—must be well taken care of. “You’re doing great right now, okay?” 

“Thank you,” they sob, tilting their head to the side to rest their cheek on the toilet seat. He lets their hair fall behind them, instead just keeping one hand on their back. “I’m really s-sorry,” they say again, eyes watery and red. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, because it's all he can say. They seem grateful enough.

I haven’t thrown up like this since college,” they tell him miserably. “I don’t like it.” 

“Nobody likes throwing up,” he reasons, and they make a weak noise of agreement. 

“Last time, I threw up in my roommate’s bathroom—” they pause, as if fighting a wave of nausea, but it seems to pass. “And I barely missed the toilet,” they whisper, like it’s some sort of dark secret. 

“Damn.” Carmy’s not sure if he should be smiling, but he is, just a little bit. “Sounds like you were shitfaced.”

“So shitfaced,” they echo. At least they’re smiling back at him. That’s a good sign. “It was such a mess. I felt so bad.” 

“Were they mad?”

“No, they weren’t. They even cleaned it up for me.” They groan. “I felt soooo bad, Carmy. So bad. I was worried they would forever hate me for that.” 

“Well, if they weren’t mad at you, I’m sure they wouldn’t hate you for it.”

“I just really didn’t want them to hate me,” they say, and they’re looking so intently into Carmy eyes that it feels like he’s bearing his soul to them. “Are you gonna hate me?”

“I'm not gonna hate you because you're throwing up.” Their hair’s falling into their face, and he moves to tuck it behind their ear before he can think about it. Their cheeks are hot to the touch.  “Would I be doing this for someone I hate?”

“Good point,” they mumble. Carmy’s hand lingers behind their ear before moving back to the middle of their back, rubbing little circles. The touch is guiltily electric on his end. “Sometimes I just…think people are waiting for a chance to hate me.”

“I think it’s a bit too late for me to find an excuse to dislike you,” Carmy says. “But…I get it.”

“...You do?” 

“Yeah,” he says, even though he’s not sure what else to say. They’re still looking at him, clearly waiting for him to elaborate. “I’m not used to anyone caring much about me.”

“I care about you,” they whisper. “I care about you a lot.”

Silence settles between them as any words Carmy had disappear on the tip of his tongue. They just keep looking at him, their eyes gentle and searching, and he can’t tear his gaze away. He can’t tear his hand off their back, either. 

“You shouldn't,” he whispers, strangely honest. “I'm not worth it.”

“Too bad.” He can't look away from their gaze, their eyes that are infinitely knowledgeable. “If I can't care about you, you have to stop being nice to me.”

Carmy opens his mouth to protest, but he can't. They seem to know it, too, with the way a knowing smile creeps up their face.

“I don't wanna do that,” he replies finally. 

“Thought so.” Their face glows brilliantly with a smile, and it should be infuriating, but it's not. “So deal with it. Me caring about you.”

He laughs at that, because it's so stupid. 

“Stupid,” he laughs, and they laugh back, their giggles echoing into the ring of the toilet. “Y'know, I fucked up today at work.”

“Oh yeah? What happened?”

“I was cutting onions. I've done it a million times, but for some reason, I fucked it all up. Onions got all over the floor, and I had to redo it all. Well, my sous had to redo ‘em.”

He's not sure why he's mentioning this to them, or why he's even mentioning it for a second time, but he is. 

“I haven't fucked up like that in forever,” he continues, reliving the memory in the back of his brain. The knife hitting the floor, metal against linoleum. “It was stupid. I hadn't done something so fucking, stupid like that in—god knows how long.” 

That can't be the point, he thinks to himself. He can't just bring up him messing up onions just to complain about messing up onions. That's not worth anything, to him or to them. They're drunk, anyhow. Why is he bringing up his issues like this, right now?

“You're allowed to mess up on onions,” they say with surprisingly clarity. Their words carry a measured gentleness that doesn't seem possible from a drunk. “It would be crazy if you never messed up, y'know. Like, ever.”

“But it's been years,” he protests. There's a pressure building. “Years since I messed up like that. And someone had to clean up after my shit. They shouldn't have had to do that.”

“Hm…” They make a thoughtful noise. “It's not like you did it on purpose, right?”

“Of course not.”

“That's what friends are for,” they murmur. “And coworkers. Sometimes. It's ok that you messed up.”

“...” A part of Carmy wants to continue protesting, but it feels futile. “I shouldn't have brought it up, you're still drunk anyway,” he says, mostly to himself, but also because he can't stand to acknowledge it anymore.

“I don't care,” they whisper. “I like it when people talk to me about things.” Carmy feels something twist in his stomach, palpable and physical. 

“I’m probably being annoying,” he mutters, and as soon as the words come out of his mouth, he wants to bash his head in for saying something so childish. 

“No. You’re not.” They respond before he has a chance to take it back. “I want to know you, Carmy.”

“You already know me.”

“Not as much as I would like,” they mutter, eyes fluttering shut, and Carmy has no choice but to swallow the heavy truth. 

“You shouldn't fall asleep here. If you're feeling better, we need to get you into your bed.” He knows it's unfair, changing the subject like this. But he can't bear to look at it anymore than he already has. 

Luckily for him, they relent without any protest. They lean up against him as he helps them to their room. It's a bit difficult to wade through the piles of clothes on the floor, but Carmy's no better. 

“I really didn't mean to get this fucked up,” they mumble once they're laid back in bed. 

“No one does.”

“Maybe not no one,” they mutter, mostly to themself. No comment. They sigh. “What time is it?”

“Uh…2:35,” he says after a beat, searching eyes landing on their bedside analog clock.

“Motherfucker. I'm sorry. Don't you have work tomorrow?”

“I do. But…it's fine.” It's very much not fine, he has to wake up in a couple hours, and yet. Here he is, at the end of it. 

“You're sweet. You really are.” 

“I'm…not sweet,” is all he can get out, voice quiet. 

“Well, I think you're sweet to me. Taking care of me like this.” They outstretch their arms all of a sudden. “Come here? Please?”

He knows what they're asking. They've never hugged before. He’s only a hugger when it comes to family. He's seen them hug friends before, maybe, but him? Never. 

He shouldn't get closer, he really shouldn't. But he ends up doing it anyway, because he tells himself he likes the way they say please.

“Can I hug you?” They ask.

“Um,” he says. He nods.

They smile again, as brilliant as ever, and bring him into a tight hug. They smell like the mint mouthwash they insisted Carmy retrieve for them, along with their perfume.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” they say. He’s never heard their voice in his ear like this before. They wrap their arms around his neck then, and Carmy’s heart feels like it’s in his throat. 

“No problem,” he gets out, feeling a bit breathless. 

Before he can even form the next thought, they’re pressing a sleepy kiss on their cheek before flipping back down on their bed. 

Carmy feels like throwing up, but…not in a bad way.

“Good night,” they mumble, so sweet. “And thank you.”

Something in his brain shuts off after that. He walks to his room like a zombie, and he falls asleep nearly instantly. 

It turns out that going to bed at 2:30 am the night before work is not so fine at all. 

“Sorry I’m late, couldn’t sleep,” Carmy says groggily when he comes in, and everyone’s eyes are on him. They’re staring so intently like there’s something on his face. “What?”

“It’s, uh,” Sydney starts, but Richie swiftly cuts her off.

“Must’ve been a long night, eh?” Richie says with such a shit eating grin that makes Carmy pinch his eyebrows. 

“Fuck’s your deal?” Carmy bites back, gesturing at him. The length of his fuse matches the amount of sleep he got—slim to none.

“Nothing, cousin,” Richie replies, even though he’s still grinning like a mad man. “You better be telling me about it later though, got it?”

“Whatever,” Carmy mutters. It’s too early in the day to be dealing with this shit. “Just catch me up on what I missed.”

The day starts off rough, but he gets through it because he has to. Throughout the day, though, he can’t help but get the feeling that people keep looking at him when he’s not looking. Maybe it’s just his typical paranoia, but… 

“These look good,” Carmy praises. “Really good,” he reiterates, turning the delicate dessert around on its circular plate. Marcus beams, clearly pleased. It’s a small matcha cake with carefully placed layers of ganache and fruit. Carmy takes a bit of it with a fork, rolling the earthy and tangy flavors around on his tongue. 

“How is it?” Marcus asks, eyes firm on him.

“A little crumbly,” Carmy answers honestly. “Did you take my advice from last time?”

“I did,” he replies, frustration evident in his voice. “Think it’s the oven?”

“Maybe. Probably.” Carmy takes another bite. “Try a lower temp. Other than that, though, it’s excellent.”

“Thank you, chef,” Marcus says. “Means a lot.”

“Wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” He claps Marcus on the back, short and quick. “You’ve been working hard. That’s all.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I have.” He pauses then, staring at Carmy. Just like how everyone has been all damn day. “Uh, Chef?”

“What?” He feels the impatience bubbling up in him, frustrated and confused. “People have been staring at my goddamn face all day like I got some shit on it.”

“You do,” Marcus says. “It’s not shit, though. Looks like…lipstick,” he says after a beat. 

“Lipstick?” A rock drops in his stomach. Carmy raises his hand to his face, searching. 

“On your left,” he clarifies. “By your ear.”

He rubs aggressively there, but he pulls his fingers back without any color on it.

“Did I get it?”

“Well, I thought you did.” Marcus makes a noise, thoughtful. “Guess it’s one of those permanent ones.”

“Permanent?” Carmy repeats, a little hysterical. 

“Semi permanent,” Marcus clarifies. He seems amused.

Carmy rushes into their small, shitty bathroom, getting close to the streaked mirror. He angles his head to find the stain. Sure enough, it’s right here on his cheek. It’s a dark, reddish color, in the smeared but recognizable shape of a kiss mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. His head feels hot. It must’ve happened last night, when they kissed him right before falling asleep. 

Semi-permanent, he hears Marcus say in the back of his head. Of course it is.

With a wet paper towel, he scrubs at the mark so hard it hurts. Even so, it remains, still clear on his pale, reddened skin. He wishes his hair was long enough to hide it.

“It’s not coming off,” he says, stressed upon returning to Marcus’ station. He hopes he doesn’t sound as hysterical as he feels. Sydney’s there too, chewing on the matcha pastry Carmy had earlier. “Why the fuck isn’t it coming off?”

“You’ll probably need a makeup wipe. I think I have some in my bag if you want one,” Sydney offers. Carmy swears she has a halo around her head. “Just a warning, though, they’re old as fuck. I haven’t worn makeup in a long time.”

“It’s fine. Can I take one?” Carmy runs a stressed hand through his hair. “Can’t believe no one fuckin’ told me. I—I fucking greeted customers like this!”

“It’s cool, Carm. At least it wasn’t a hickey,” Marcus reasons, and Carmy thinks his ears go hot. 

“Thank god,” he replies, sarcastic, and they have the nerve to laugh at him. “Shut up,” he tries, but there’s no real heat behind it. Sydney leaves and comes back with a semi-dried up makeup a minute later. 

“Don’t get mad if it doesn’t work,” Sydney states, a cautionary disclaimer. “It might be one of those that has a specific remover.”

“Are you serious?” The sigh that comes out is full of disdain. “Fuck me.”

“Day’s already almost done, if it makes it any better,” Marcus notes with a cheeky smile, and Carmy just shakes his head.

The makeup wipe doesn’t work. Carmy tries not to get mad, but maybe he does. Maybe just a little bit.

“It’ll come off with enough washes,” Sydney reassures him. Tina’s standing with her now, too, eyeing him like a spectacle. Everyone seems to be enjoying his misery. 

“Just ask your girl to get rid of it for you,” Tina says, an eyebrow raised. She raises a thumb to his cheek, rubs at the mark like a mom. “Damn. Shit’s on there.”

“They’re not—it’s not like that,” he sputters. He’s been trying to get through the day without anyone asking about it, but now that there’s some down time, there’s no stopping anyone. 

“A one night stand?” Tina guesses, eyes widening. She laughs and smacks him on the arm. “Didn’t think you had it in you, boy!”

“It’s not that, either,” Carmy stresses. He knows he’s getting overly flustered about it, but he can’t help it. His eyes flicker towards the clock. They’re closing soon. “Just forget it, okay? Please.”

He can tell from their expressions that neither of them want to forget about it, but by some stroke of luck, they’re considering letting it go. Just for now. That’s enough of a victory for now, so he’ll take it.

At least, it would’ve been a victory if Richie didn’t take that very opportunity to step into the kitchen. 

“Been trying to find you all day, bastard!” Richie hollers, slinging an arm over Carmy’s hunched shoulder. Carmy sighs, expressive in his annoyance. “Looks like this baby’s finally growing up, huh?”

“I’m 30, asshole,” Carmy says, tiredly, but that never works. Richie’s still talking, anyhow. 

“So? Do I know the chick?” Richie’s grin makes Carmy want to punch him.

“No,” he replies, flatly. He’s so tired. “And it’s not what you think. It was just, they’re, uh…”

“Oh shit, cousin!” Richie’s laughing, obnoxiously loud in his ears. “Didn’t think you were capable of—“

“It’s not a one night stand. Already guessed that,” Tina interrupts him. 

“What?” He sounds annoyed, like he has the right to be more irritated than Carmy himself. “Then what’s the secret third option? Or are you lying to my face?”

“They’re my roommate,” Carmy explains, finally.

There’s a beat of silence. And then, uproarious noise.

“You have a roommate?” Is Richie’s first question. The second: “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“Is, like, dating a roommate a good idea? No offense,” Sydney says, hands raised in defense. “Just wondering.”

“It’s not,” Tina answers for her, sharp eyes narrowed at him. But strangely enough, she’s smiling nonetheless. 

“They’re my roommate, we’re not dating, and I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be weird about it!” He shouts over the noise, directing the last one at Richie. “Look—they were just drunk, and I was helping them because they were fucking throwing up. Happy now?”

“And they kissed you,” Richie points out. He’s grinning like he knows some big secret.

“Fuck, okay, can we stop fucking talking about this now? It was just an accident, it’ll be gone tomorrow, and we’re never gonna mention this shit again!”

Carmy gets saved by some distant catastrophic noise in the back, somewhere around the freezer. He leaves without a word. Behind him, he hears raucous laughter mostly to Richie’s tune.

Before he leaves for the night, he stops by the bathroom one more to try and get it off. Predictably, it remains stubborn and stalwart through soap, hot water, and scrubbing. The skin under it is red with irritation, and Carmy knows that he's getting nowhere. If anything, he's making it worse. 

His eyes linger on the blotted lipstick on his face. It's smudged, but he can see the cracks and the shape of their lips. His gaze follows the lines of it. 

The memory burns bright in his head for a split second. It bursts in like a flashbang, intense and unavoidable. There's a phantom sensation of their lips on his cheek, the smell of their perfume, the warmth of their embrace, and it's, it's just—

Carmy shuts the lights off and heads out. He needs this lipstick mark gone by morning. 

When he gets home, the apartment is dark. Unoccupied. As he flicks on the lights, he searches for them. They're usually home before him most nights. However, it seems tonight is an anomaly. He walks down the hallway past his room to theirs, and their ajar door reveals an empty bedroom.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. Just his luck. 

He opens his phone then, a last resort. He has his messages pulled up, but his thumbs hover over the keyboard and stay there. 

How the hell does he even word this?

Hey, I need lipstick remover. 

No, that isn't enough information. Who knows how many types of remover there could be? What if it isn't the right one? He needs to be more specific. 

Hey, I need lipstick remover for the lipstick you were wearing last night. 

That sounds even stranger. Too specific, although it's the truth. That's what he needs. But he can't just…type that, can he? No, there's no way. 

Is there any way he can get out of saying that there's lipstick on his face from last night and not make it weird? He wishes they were here so he could just show them. Words have never been his forte. There's little hope for him now. 

Please come home right now, he briefly considers typing. It's by far the worst one out of all of them. 

After pacing for a solid five minutes, he decides to send a hopefully neutral message. 

Hey, you out for the night?

It's still pretty weird. Carmy is not a texter. There's not much he needs to talk about that can't wait until he sees them next. They're usually the one texting him, and it's usually only about groceries or bills. However, he tells himself it's fine because there's no note left on the counter. They always leave a note when they go out.

…They always leave a note when they go out. 

This thought resets his pacing around the apartment, frantically looking for the square shape and vivid color of a sticky note. That's how they usually do it, and it's typically on the kitchen counter. So, it's honestly a futile effort to be looking around the whole place, but he does so anyway. 

He looks at his phone. It's been almost 10 minutes, and still no response. 

This isn't unnatural by any means. They always end up responding eventually, but the prickling anxiety is getting pricklier by the second. 

They've got to be so hungover. There's no way they're out again tonight, he thinks to himself, and he's positive it has to be true. 

They're missing, and you're not ever gonna get this shit off your face, his brain adds helpfully. 

That's what finally kicks him into gear and forces him to press the call button. 

It rings for a long time. The more it rings, the longer he stands there in the kitchen, the stupider and more anxious he feels. It's a pitiful feeling to be consumed by, but here he is, unable to resist. 

However, when they finally pick up, he's not sure if he feels completely relieved. A different part of his anxiety is spiking now.

“Carmy?” Their voice carries a trace of static through the phone speaker. 

“Yeah, hey. You see my text?”

“Oh, oops. Sorry, I missed it. Is everything ok?”

“Where are you?” He asks instead. 

“I'm just gettin’ a drink from the corner store. Why? You want me to grab something for you?”

The absolute nonchalance in their voice humbles him, reducing him to complete embarrassment.

“Uh, no, I don't need anything. I mean, uh, I do actually need something from you, though,” he amends hastily. 

“Sure, what's up? I guess it must be important if you're calling, right?”

“I, um—yeah, kinda important,” he says with attempted tranquility, completely ignoring how much he was freaking out earlier.  “So…you got, uh, lipstick remover?”

“Lipstick remover?” Their surprise makes him shrivel. “Well, I have a couple types of makeup remover…”

“I think it needs to be specific?”

“You think it needs to be specific? What exactly are we dealing with here?” Their voice carries bewildered amusement.

“It's, uh…” He swallows. He can't tiptoe around it anymore. “It's…yours?”

“...Huh?”

“You got some lipstick on me last night, and it's not coming off,” he says finally, mortifyingly, and the line goes silent. 

“Fucking—I'm so sorry, my memory is spotty from last night and I, I thought I imagined that, and, uh—” They awkwardly clear their throat. “I'm sorry, I really am. It's not supposed to transfer like that, but I guess it just…”

“It's okay,” he says, despite how hysterical it made him earlier. That part isn't their fault. “It's just, uh, really staying on there.”

“Shit. Of course. It's this super resilient lipstick I use for when I go out drinking, because it's not supposed to come off like, at all, so it comes with this specific remover—I'm sorry, I don’t need to be rambling like this.” They laugh nervously. “I'm on my way home now, but it should be on my desk if you wanna look at it. It's a black tube, which…isn't very specific, I guess. And my desk is really messy…”

“I'll start looking,” Carmy decides. 

“I'm sorry,” they reply miserably. 

“It's okay. You said you were coming home now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. I'll see you soon, okay?”

“Cool. See you.”

The call ends. Carmy just stands there for a minute. It's like a tidal wave just rushed over him, and now the water is slowly settling to a stand still. 

Black tube, he thinks. How hard can that be?

Very hard, it seems. 

Their room is comfortably messy. Definitely not as messy as his. There's some clothes on the floor, jackets on chairs, underwear he turns his gaze away from (don't imagine them in that lace one lying in the corner or the flowery one or the fucking thong he didn't see anything), but that's about it. Nothing outside of typical clutter, in his opinion. 

The desk, though. The desk. 

He doesn't think he can even see the surface of it. There's just lots of little things scattered across it, from piles of jewelry to stacks of papers and books. It's like an ispy book. 

He stares at it, trying to find a black tube. He quickly realizes how much of a futile effort it's going to be. 

In this moment, he thinks about how he's never spent much time in their room. The two of them usually hang out in the living room. Besides, he's not one to go snooping around in someone's personal space. Until being pushed to his limits and being given explicit permission, that is.

He leans in, peering closer at the scattered items. There's a little bit of everything. Receipts, make-up brushes, scissors, paper scraps, empty water cups, hair ties, empty candy wrappers, lipsticks…none of which are black tubes. 

Maybe it's not on their desk. Maybe it's on a different shelf. 

They said it was on their desk, a voice in his head says, but he’s not listening.

The next closest thing is their nightstand. It's a little messy, but nowhere near as bad as their desk. There's a melatonin bottle, some lip balm, a bedside lamp. He squints, seeing what might be more pills or maybe skincare until a dark tube catches his eye.

When he picks it up, he realizes it's not black, instead being a dark blue. Also, it's not a tube, it's more of a bottle.

The text on it also reads as lube, not lipstick remover. 

…Lube?

It's lube, his brain repeats, helpful as ever. 

I can see that, he thinks back.

“Hello? Carmy?”

A familiar voice has him scrambling to put the lube back. He moves it back to the night stand more quickly than he could have ever expected of himself. 

“Hey, I'm in your room,” he calls back, hoping that his fabricated nonchalance comes off as believable. He steps out of their room into the hallway, and they appear at the end of it. 

The first he notices is how much better they look when he saw them last. To be fair, the last time he saw them, they were sobbing and throwing up into the toilet, drunk out of their mind, but still. It's still an improvement. Their cheeks are flushed from the cold, and their hair is mussed from being outside.

“Hey. Did you find it?” 

“I couldn't find it,” he admits. He steps out of the way to let them through, and then he follows them back into their room. 

“Yeah, sorry, my desk is a fucking nightmare,” they mutter darkly, making a beeline for their desk. “I swear I took it out and put it right here…Ah, yes!”

Miraculously, they pull it out. It looks like a lipstick in itself, and when they uncap it, it just looks like a white lip balm. 

“So, do I just…rub it on?”

“Well—yeah, you should, but it emulsifies with water, so you just use water and then use a cotton pad…” Carmy supposes the confusion isn't too well masked on his face. “Can I see where it is?” They ask tentatively. 

Wordlessly, Carmy turns his head. He supposes they're just glad they didn't see it immediately.

“Oh.” When he turns to face them again, their cheeks are dark with color. It's not a look he's used to seeing on them. “I'm sorry,” they say again with a downturned head. 

“It's okay,” Carmy says again, and he means it. He brings a hand to his cheek subconsciously. “I just…”

“Let me take it off,” they insist, guilt knitted in their expression, and that's how Carmy ends up seated on the toilet seat. 

“Now I'm the one getting patched up on the toilet,” he says quietly. He wonders if it was the wrong thing to say, but it makes them laugh.

“So, um, when did you notice?” They ask. The tube uncaps with a small pop.

“A couple hours ago,” he admits. The balm feels smooth and oily against his cheek. “I had no idea, but my coworkers, uh…”

“Oh my god,” they mutter under their breath. “I just don't think I'm ever gonna stop apologizing for this.”

“It's fine, really,” he insists, even though he was manically scrubbing at his skin earlier. “It was sorta funny,” he adds, even though he was freaking out while everyone else was laughing. They don't need to know. 

“That's good, at least.”

“Yeah. It was—uh…”

He feels their thumb rubbing circles into his cheek, and the words disintegrate like sand in the wind. 

“Sorry, this is just one of those things that takes a little bit of work to get off.” Their tone projects a casual indifference to it, but their voice is so quiet that it feels unfairly intimate. 

“I didn't know lipstick could be this…intense,” Carmy hears himself say. He's far away, still trapped in the feeling of their hand on his face. 

“It's what you need for an intense night out,” they reply with a small smile. He looks up at them then, meeting their dark eyes, but they're concentrated on the spot on his cheek. When they catch him looking, though, they don't look away.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks quietly. He can’t stop looking.

“A lot better. Yesterday was rough, but I'm feeling okay now.” 

“Good.”

“Yeah. Um…” They lean back, breaking eye contact, and Carmy feels a pressure releasing. They grab a wet paper towel and carefully drag it across his cheek. “Thanks again, by the way. For putting up with me last night. I mean, it was more than just putting up, but…y'know.”

“Sure,” he says, much softer than intended. “It happens.”

“I think you're just nice,” they tease, fully intended to be light-hearted, but because Carmy's the way that he is, it weighs heavily in his chest. 

“Sometimes,” he mumbles, because that's all he can bear to say.

Because last night, they looked him in the eyes and whispered that they wanted to know him. That they thought he was sweet, he was kind. They spoke with such earnestness that for a split second, Carmy considered believing them about everything, even though that’s always the wrong thing to do.

Because once he believes them a little bit, he’ll start acting like he’s a good person. He’ll fool everyone around him, even himself. 

Then, the inevitability that is his self-destruction will arrive like it’s always promised. He will mess everything up like he always does, sharp-edged flaws unfurling from the inside out. They’ll slice everyone he was able to fool into getting close enough.

The least he can do is try and give some kindness back before it happens.

“Just take the compliment,” they say with a small grin. “Y'know, I don't remember everything from last night. There's bits and pieces I know that're missing. But from what I do remember…” They make one final wipe at his cheek. “You have to let me be nice to you.”

He remembers, too. 

So deal with it, they had said. Me caring about you.

“How could I forget,” he tries to joke, but his laugh comes out sounding far too breathless. Luckily for him, their laugh, much more tangible and believable, joins his own. 

“I said some crazy shit last night, I know.” They take a seat next to him on the edge of the bathtub. “But I meant it. I like being your friend, Carmy. I hope I didn’t say too much.”

“You didn't say too much. You were just drunk.” He feels a bit stunned. 

“Okay,” they accept after a beat. “I mean, you're right. I was just drunk. Um…” They gesture towards his face. “I got the mark off, by the way.”

Carmy stands up and checks his face in the mirror. Sure enough, it's gone. He feels relief wash over him like a breeze, and another feeling he can't place. It's…It's…

“Thanks,” he says, and they nod. 

“It's the least I could do.” They stand up, too, and walk out of the bathroom. They stand in the doorway for a moment before looking at him. “I'm gonna smoke. You wanna join?”

It's…

“Yeah, for sure. I'll be just a sec.”

Then it's just him in the bathroom, the door shut as he stares at his reflection. The harsh fluorescent bathroom light casts harshly down the planes of his face, creating dark shapes on his face. He stares at the spot where the lipstick mark used to be. The longer he stares, the more the unnamed feeling stretches outwards. 

When it drops in his stomach, that’s when he realizes.

The feeling is disappointment.

~

@zorrasucia