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carmyboobear · 1 day

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ALEXITHYMIA CH 5: detergent, thrifting, and cake

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Chapter Rating: T (11k)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I try. What’s the occasion?”

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

“Oh, okay.”

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

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

“Is it your birthday today?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course,” they reply quickly.

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

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

“So, uh, is that a yes, or…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way. I didn’t say shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For some reason, that makes Richie laugh.

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

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

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

“Y’think so?”

“I do. You?”

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

“Friend. Sure.” Richie snorts.

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

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

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

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

“You're strangely full of wisdom today.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shitty parents club,” Carmy repeats hollowly.

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? You're doing this and a cake?”

“Um,” Carmy repeats intelligently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It reminds him of himself in every way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Where we headed first?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not weird?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. You should. They fit well.”

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

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

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

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

“Carmy.” They glare at him.

“What?” He feels himself smiling.

“You can’t do this to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll ask Richie.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re giving me no choice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's no response. Good enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn't mind.” Not if it's you.

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

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

“Ready?” He asks quietly.

“I'm ready,” they whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah…” The first missing piece.

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

“What happened?”

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

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

Suddenly, he thinks of Michael.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do. Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...And that is?”

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

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

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

Without another word, Carmy pulls them into a hug.

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

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

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

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

“Better?”

“Yeah. A lot better.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

“I know. I get it.”

“I know you do.”

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

“Thanks for telling me. About everything.”

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

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

“I found you,” they tell him.

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

Me?

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

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

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

Fucking hell, he thinks to himself. Fuck.

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

“Can't we both be lucky?”

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

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

“...There's no other shoe?”

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

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

“Me neither.”

“...”

“Do you…want to eat your cake now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I'm a chef, you mean?”

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

You're my best friend.

…

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

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

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

“Y-Yeah. Unless, uh, you don't—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until them.

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

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

And with that, something in him lets go.

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

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

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

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

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

@zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @carmenbrzatto @thehouseofevangelista

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

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oneeyedgrimes · 2 days

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Beat This World.

Summary: you were inlove with Daryl. you had been for a while but you hid it telling yourself you’d tell him one day, one day too late.

Tw: major character death, angst, pinning, all that good stuff.

ELLO TUMBLR This is my first time writing here I just needed to write for my husband because if I didn’t I would COMBUST. this DEFINITELY isn’t proof read as I started this at 2 and it’s 4 now so if there’s any errors don’t be afraid to let me know, constructive criticism is always welcomed and appreciated, enjoy loves!

You had always noticed Daryl. Since the day you stumbled upon the quarry, you’d been by yourself for who knows how long and when you finally found the group, he was the first person you laid your eyes on, pointing his bow ready to shoot and end your life at anytime and the only thing you could think was how pretty his eyes were in the sunlight.

From then on you found yourself trying to get to know him more, sitting next to him when the group would cook the squirrels he found, trying to get him to teach you how to hunt. The two of you even found yourselves up late unable to sleep and you would find eachother and just sit and look at the stars and that was all the both of you needed, you’d barely speak on nights like that you’d just soaked up each others presence.

By the time the group found Alexandria you and Daryl’s relationship was better than ever, though with the recent loss of Beth after just finding out she had been alive, watching her die infront of him Daryl had been more closed off, but you understood, ofcourse you did, so you gave him space, made yourself busy working on things around Alexandria.

But soon distance became barely seeing each other, and that only made your heart ache for him even more, you so desperately wanted your bestfriend back even if that was all it would be, even if you wanted him to yourself, even if you did want to feel the feeling of his lips on yours, you would take what you could get.

You’d finally found Daryl sitting on carol’s porch sharpening his knife, you stopped just before you came into his view and just looked at him, seeing him up close after not seeing him for so long, it felt like you’d fallen inlove with him again right there and it hurt.

“ Daryl can we talk please? I get it if you’re too busy but I really just wanted to talk to yo-“ Daryl looked up at her the slightest bit of a smirk sitting on his lips before he cut off your rambling “ hey, I ain’t ever ta’ busy for ya’ wha’s up” Daryl’s attention was fully on you and now you were nervous.

“ I miss you. I’ve barely seen you since we got here at this place and everything’s so weird and these people look at me like I’m some kind of alien and I know you’re working and doing things to keep people safe and this may be selfish of me but I miss you and I want you to be around more” Tears prickled at your eyes, whether it was from frustration or genuine sadness you didn’t know. Daryl looked up at you and and sat the knife down and brought his finger up motioning you to come towards him

“ c’mere,” You looked at him and slowly walked over to the porch sitting next to him blinking away the tears now feeling embarrassed you let your emotions get the best of you. “ why ain’t ya’ tell me ya been feelin’ like tha’ i woulda’ done som’ ‘bout it” Daryl guided your head to his shoulder, his voice a soft tune he only ever used with you. “ because i.. you were busy and I didn’t wanna bother you and I just..”

You trailed off going silent realizing you’d almost said something you’d probably regret, and Daryl just pulled you in closer wrapping his arm around you “ I’m sorry I ain’t been checkin’ on ya, I’m gon’ try an’ be around more, can’t promise nuthin’ but I’m gon’ try”. You got your friend back, and that was more than enough for you, even if your heart screamed to tell him what you really want.

It was a few weeks later, and Daryl did what he said he would, he was around a lot more and he kept you company whenever he could, and you were the happiest you could be. You were both sitting on Carol’s porch eating whatever cookies she made that day when Rick walked up to the both of you asking if you guys were up for a run with a few others from the group, you agreed and went to get ready.

As you walked inside your house you told yourself you’d tell Daryl how you felt when the two of you were back from the run, you thought of how you were going to do it as you finished putting on your boots and grabbing your bag putting a few water bottles in your bag. Daryl came and got you walking with you to the gate helping you into the car and you laughed looking at him thru the window “ thank you mister strong man” He looked at you with a straight face though you could see the tiniest smirk on his face “ stop.” He told you as he got into the car nodding to Rick as he pulled out of the gate.

Everything was going fine, they found a few cans of food and some bottles of body wash in a nearby store, you turned your back for just two seconds, you saw a toy you thought Judith would like and you smiled and reached on your tippy toes to grab it, at the same time a walker turned the corner from behind the shelf and fell onto you knocking you down to the floor, you reached for your knife but couldn’t reach it, atleast not before the walker sunk its teeth into the side of your hip causing you to let out a scream as you finally got your knife out of the holster plunging it into the back of the walkers head pushing it off of you as Daryl came running to you.

“ wha’ tha’ hell happened “ Daryl kneeled infront of you he saw the walked beside you and looked back at you all the confusion on his face gone “ you ain’t bit are ya’?” He looked up at you waiting for your answer, his face falling a bit when he saw the tears building in your eyes, his face now filled with worry as he looked down seeing your hand covering your side, he gently moved your hand lifting your shirt revealing the bite “ no, no you can’t fuckin’- this ain’t fair! You can’t leave me y/n you can’t” Daryl’s voice became wobbly and his lip quivered, something you had only ever seen a few times “ I’m sorry d, it all happened so fast I couldn’t get my knife out fast enough” You looked at him squeezing your waist tighter, your own lip started to wobble. “ you know what’s funny? I was gonna tell you that I’m inlove with you after we got back from this run, was gonna take you to my house and take you up to my room, and I would let you lay in my lap and run my fingers thru my hair and tell you how I’ve been inlove with you since you held that big crossbow at me” you laughed regretting it after as you started to cough harshly, Daryl just stared at you his eyes wide in shock “ I’ve loved ya for a while y/n a good long while too. Wasted all dis’ time when we coulda’ been ta’gether”You smiled finally letting the tears fall

“ we would’ve been a match made in hell dixon, will you be okay?” You ask him holding his face in your hand that wasn’t covered in blood “ Hell no, I don’ know how i’ma go on without’ ya. “ “ you’re strong I know you are, you’re gonna live for me and you’re gonna be okay I know you will I love you Daryl.” “ I love ya’ too girl.” “ then beat this world for me Dixon”

You smiled at him with the last bit of energy you had before your eyes shut and your movements stop completely, daryl sits there almost as still as your own lifeless body before he pulls out his knife stabbing you in the back of the head and sits with you for a few more seconds before he stands up picking up your body laying you in the back of the car as he calls the rest of the group, and they all see it on his face, so they don’t ask. They have a makeshift funeral and Daryl dressed up in his best button down he has, and when he goes to his room and it’s late at night and it’s quiet and you’re not there to fill the room, he doesn’t cry but he whispers into the air

“I’m gonna beat this goddamn world for you .”

#daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon #daryl x female reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion imagine #x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #the walking dead #daryl imagines #Spotify

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renspacesz · 2 days

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WARNING: EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY, I do not condone.

Guys did you know there was a trans teen who planned to shoot up his school during the day of columbine's anniversary. The media said this person was columbine obsessed, and that got me thinking he would've had a tumblr account somewhere. I think all tcc followers have a tumblr account to find a place where they could talk to people about the crimes and the murderers. Also why wasn't this mentioned here, this news was everywhere and it came up on my youtube recommendation as well.

Other than that, there was also another school shooting happened just yesterday in Texas. Maybe eric and dylan was right about this.. the day of their attack carried a legacy, 25 years from now on. Gun violence without columbine involved is common, but columbine nearly doubled the effect of it leaving many dead just because the shooters wanted to be edgy. I know that's not the only case, people like them already had mental issues from the start, and the lean onto this case to find something to relate to, but sometimes things can get excessive quick and becomes a habit, so you get more desensitized and used to things like this. Then push them to the edge one more time, when they finally snaps, and write their manifesto. I'd say school shooters are a mix of suicidal-ness with some homicide urges. I don't think anyone would want to kill themselves or to face consequences if they only wanted to kill others. Suicide from the start and maybe their reasons came from hatred of humans (misanthropy), nihilism, detachment, depression, and it disturbs the mind.

People always say they don't know what happened to these guy and what makes them do such things. Well it's complicated and there's no simple answer, they all got their own reasons and motives. No simple answer also means no simple solution, it will take a while for people to get educated on such heavy and complex topic. It takes deep cognitive skills & empathy to understand the minds of others. No medication or therapy can truly fix homicidal problems, although they may reduce the urges.

I believe homicidal urges in human, is only nature. Some has better control over their anger and rage, which reduces the possibility of it turning into homicidal urges/thoughts. Depends on quality of life, when people are frustrated, have declining mental health, personality disorders, cognitive impairment, social-problems, etc, it can lead to troubles, and a small percentage accounts for killing people. You can't really stop them, sometimes they look normal on the outside, which is called masking. But if theres anything that tells you "there might be something wrong about this person", delving deeper into it could lead you to a useful conclusion.

#dylan columbine #eric and dylan #eric columbine #rebandvodka #tcc columbine #tcc fandom #tcc tumblr #columbine 1999 #tccblr #columbine massacre

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stupidlittlespirit · 2 days

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Claustrophobia

Rating: NSFW, mdni Type: Longform, smut Tags: Trapped in a closet, Dubious consent, premature ejaculation, dry humping, fingering, no pronouns but female body described, slight gaslighting, Reigen being a disgusting pervert, female body described and skirt/stockings but no pronouns. Word count: 9,140 (sorry it's so long) My other works: here on tumblr and here on Ao3!

Reader and Reigen get locked in a closet during a job gone wrong, and Reigen doesn't know how to behave. (inspired loosely by @vasiktomis's fic)

Reigen isn’t in the habit of taking solo jobs he can't handle alone. Not anymore, anyway,

He's learned that, quite understandably, no one can be reasonably expected to just drop what they’re doing to serve his whim when he finds himself facing a threat bigger than the boots that he places himself in sometimes. Nowadays, he sticks to what he knows and picks the work that's least likely to result in an untimely death. Without any psychic abilities of his own, Reigen tends to go for the less spiritually-inclined call outs.

When he'd taken this job, he had assumed it to be one of those times.

The client, Kawasaki, had bemoaned a supposed ghostly presence lingering in a rundown property of his, causing damage and defacing the place, and stopping him from renovating the house for new tenants. As loath as Reigen had been to help a landlord, the price of the job had been decent enough to convince him otherwise and so he had taken it on.

Kawasaki’s description during his consultation had sounded like nothing more than squatters or trespassing teenagers looking for somewhere quiet to make out. Serizawa had agreed; broken locks, leftover beer cans and abandoned trash aren’t common signs of spirits and so Reigen had thought little of attending without any psychic backup. If he can manage without Mob or Serizawa, he will. They’re both busy enough, it wouldn’t do to drag them away from their studies or their friends for no reason. Besides, Reigen is confident enough in his own ability to handle things, for better or worse.

Still, he isn’t dense enough to wander into an abandoned den filled with potentially unfriendly squatters and disgusting creepy-crawlies all on his lonesome. Reigen can be stupid, but he’s not dumb. Instead, he had requested (see: demanded) the help of the only other person in the office he knows rarely has anywhere else to be: You.

He’s well aware that you don’t have much going on outside of working hours and you’re usually moderately willing to stretch your legs a bit when the day has been slow. A person can only stand to look at paperwork for so many hours a day, he supposes.

When you’d asked why, exactly, he needed you of all people to join him, Reigen had been blunt: “I’d rather not get stabbed over a property dispute, if that’s alright with you. Plus, I need someone to keep an eye out for roaches.”

According to his expert assessment, the work would be simple: Get in, sweet talk the people inside into moving along, and collect the fee.

Except, as is often the case, nothing Reigen ever does is simple.

When the two of you arrive, the building is empty. There isn’t a single sign of life nor death inside the entire house and he isn't really that surprised. The place is absolutely rotten. Dirty wallpaper peels from place, the once rich-looking wooden fixtures are soft and stained a gross green colour, their usual glossy surfaces dull and sickly, and the interior is so degraded that he's not sure how the landlord intends to salvage the place, regardless of damage done by potential unwelcome visitors.

Sleeping on the street would be preferable to staying here.

“So much for squatters,” he hears you mutter, the beam of your flashlight swinging around the room. It skims from tattered floorboards to broken down shelving, circuiting the room as you turn on the spot in search of the client’s woes.

“Maybe they left,” Reigen says, peering into a side room. “Makes our job easier anyway.”

“I wouldn’t hang around here, I know that much,” you sigh.

“Why?” Reigen smirks. “Not scared, are you?” He can never pass up on an opportunity to provoke you. You’re always a breeze to wind up and Reigen would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching your hackles rise. He’s proficient in the art of being a dick, especially when it comes to you.

You roll your eyes at his attempt. “You wish. We should check upstairs at least, just to be sure.”

Reigen agrees, though in his ever chivalrous nature, he invites you to be the first one to brave the weak looking staircase. Each step you take up the rickety stairs is cautious, ensuring you won’t fall straight through the rotted wood and accidentally impale yourself on an exposed nail, and Reigen follows your footsteps perfectly.

It’s even darker up here. The windows are shuttered, boarded up tight beyond a few ripped out panels, and there doesn’t appear to be anyone hiding in the rooms; they’re equally as dilapidated as the ones downstairs. There are remnants of life in the house, though, besides the leftover trash: discarded boxes filled with long-abandoned books and menial belongings, old furniture and forgotten blankets, but they all appear to be as old as the home.

They’re covered in grime and clearly haven’t been touched much. The squatter theory looks weak without fresh signs of habitation, but there’s always the chance people are breaking in to snoop around.

Dust particles catch in the light beams of your torches as he takes you deeper inside, glittering and wispy, passing through the air like tiny little fairies uprooted from their hiding spots. Reigen swallows a sneeze and turns away from you, covering his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.

Dimly, he supposes he should have gotten masks for you both; the last thing he wants is a health and safety insurance claim on his hands if you inhale something gross. “If you see any asbestos, keep your distance,” he warns. “I’m not paying your hospital bill.”

“Thanks,” you reply, tone so dry it’s practically parched. “What does it look like?”

“No idea,” says Reigen, shrugging. “But don’t breathe it in.”

“Asshole.” He can almost hear you roll your eyes and he bites down on a grin.

The air is much cooler upstairs, icy enough to permeate Reigen’s suit and he suppresses a shiver as you follow his lead down a long hallway.

Despite his confidence in the office that the presence of a spirit here would be unlikely, he can’t help but feel nervous. Downstairs had been gross, but upstairs feels decidedly…. Unwelcoming in comparison. Like something is waiting for you both, hidden in the darkness and waiting to strike.

He knows it’s probably his imagination. This isn’t his first rodeo and usually a spirit makes itself known the moment he pokes around a bit. You’re just paranoid, Reigen thinks to himself, get a grip.

Your voice breaks through the silent air: “Can you feel that?” You whisper, coming up close behind him.

Anxiety rolls off of you in waves and Reigen can sense how tense you are even at a distance. He really ought to be a decent boss and offer some reassurance to the least experienced member of his team. You’re not usually the one who’s dragged into spooky places like this with little to no preparation; your expertise extends to paperwork and filing cabinets, and with no Esper abilities to speak of you’re completely exposed to danger. Reigen is too, he supposes, but he’s used to charging into unfriendly dens of danger without much care for his wellbeing.

He should be considerate and give you some warm words of comfort, offer to protect you if all hell breaks loose, yet he knows you’re not the type to cling to him like a frightened fawn and he’d only insult you if he suggested anything of the sort. Instead, he decides he’ll break the tension in a way that only he knows how.

He pauses at your front and you almost walk into the back of him, too busy looking behind you to pay attention. Reigen puts a hand out to keep you steady. “What do you mean?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“I’m not sure,” you say, flicking your flashlight around in the darkness. “The air…. It feels heavy, don’t you think?”

Reigen hums and comes to stand behind you, swapping places and standing close enough that his chest bumps your back. “Actually, now that you mention it….”

Without a word, he reaches past you and motions for you to raise the flashlight a little, and you do as you’re asked, pointing it towards an empty room just off of the corridor. The beam is too weak to fully penetrate the darkness as you point it inside however, and the light barely makes a difference.

“What is it?” You whisper, craning your head around to see if you can spot whatever has caught his attention. The light is swallowed by the black expanse and it makes it seem as though the building is ten times as big as the distance you’ve just walked.

Reigen doesn’t answer your question.

The silence is deafening.

Reigen is so close to you that he can see the hairs rise on your arms in his own torchlight and he’s quite pleased when you lean away from where you’re pointing the light, pressing back against him unconsciously in order to distance yourself from whatever might lurk in the shadows. You might not be the sort of person that needs protecting, but he can’t deny that something stirs inside himself at the thought of you seeking him out for support anyway.

Nothing moves in the dark.

No one speaks a word.

It’s the most perfect set-up Reigen could imagine.

“Boo!”

His hands grab at your sides as he shouts right down your ear, as loud as he can manage. The scream you let loose is close to inhuman and in a pure panic, you lurch away from the source, scrambling aside until your shoulder collides hard against the wall. You swing your torch out violently in a feeble attempt to protect yourself from the unseen threat and Reigen dodges the heavy lump of metal, laughing his head off at his wonderfully successful prank.

The watery light lands on his doubled over form, collapsed against the opposing wall in a fit of ugly giggles, his body shaking with the force of it. He cackles at the terrified sight of you, hands still outstretched from where he’d seized your waist. “Your face!” Reigen gasps, struggling to breathe through his fits. “Man, you’re too easy!”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re very admirably restraining yourself from throwing the torch at his head. You look like you’ve had the fear of God put in you, face paling and eyes wide, clutching at the ruined walls like a cartoon cat on the ceiling. The big grin that splits Reigen’s smug face suggests he’s overjoyed that he’s gotten such a reaction from you; he always is.

Furious, you lash out with one foot to kick at his shin. “Fuck off!” you hiss, breathless with fright. “Fucking asshole!”

Still laughing, Reigen nimbly avoids your attempted assault again. He looks far too pleased with himself and as soon as you can breathe again, you flounce off down the hallway and make your way back towards the staircase, leaving him pitched against the doorframe whilst he tries to get his breath back.

The darkness clearly doesn’t seem as frightening to you now that it’s clear the biggest threat in here is your jerk of a boss and you stride back the way you came, ignoring Reigen’s half-hearted shouts for you to wait. He won’t let you get too far without him. Although the house is empty, it’s still run down and dodgy as fuck. The last thing he wants is for you to be so angry with him that you fall down the stairs or cut yourself escaping his mean spirited jokes.

“Wait a second!” Reigen shouts, still struggling to sound completely serious. He scrambles after you, following the sound of your heavy footsteps as you stomp back the way you’d come.

“It’s not funny,” you snap over your shoulder. “Get lost. You can go-!” Your sentences halts halfway through, cut off almost comically, and Reigen is mildly disappointed that you’re not throwing rabid insults his way.

“C’mon,” Reigen cajoles, pushing his luck as he rounds the corner to the landing. “Don’t be like that, I thought you could take a joke!” He’s still got a stupid grin on his face as he comes closer and he takes a breath to say something else when abruptly he realises you’re standing stock still in place.

You look even more terrified than you had moments earlier and briefly, Reigen worries he might have caused permanent trauma “What is it?” Reigen asks, suddenly sounding a lot less jovial. “I didn’t scare you that badly, did I?”

At the foot of the staircase, the floorboards squeak and a foreign voice speaks aloud into the damp air: “I thought it was funny.”

He freezes mid-step, one foot suspended in the air. The voice doesn’t belong to anyone he recognises and judging by the look on your face, it doesn’t belong to anyone you know either. A cold and unpleasant sensation slides down the back of his neck, like a fat droplet of ice water trickling along his skin. The heavy, dense atmosphere is back, even worse than it had been when you’d first come up here.

Cautiously, like he’s afraid the room might explode, Reigen edges toward where you’re standing. You don’t look at him at all, eyes fixed on whatever has spoken at the foot of the staircase, and it makes Reigen’s blood run cold again. Very slowly, he ekes his flashlight up from where it points at the floor to join yours and shines it’s weak beam towards the source of the sound. It illuminates the bottom most stair and as he raises it higher and higher, the form of an impossibly black figure reveals itself.

It’s vaguely human shaped, except the limbs are longer than they should be and they’re bent at uncomfortable angles, like it’s stuffed into the space it crouches in. The thing is big enough that it takes up the entire doorway at the foot of the stairs and it seems to almost absorb the light of the torch, watching the two of you closely with a featureless face. No, not quite totally featureless. Rather than have eyes or a nose, or any other defining characteristic, It has a big, horrible smile, made up of crooked teeth that peek out from behind non-existent lips.

Reigen hears your breathing hitch in fear and this time, his responsible boss attitude does take over. He curls a hand around your wrist and inches in front of you, sheltering your body with his. The spirit is big. Bigger than the usual ones he faces off against. With only a bag of salt in his pocket and a hopeful prayer in his heart, Reigen knows he’s limited in options on how to deal with this. There’s no Mob and no Serizawa to back him up. He’s on his own for this one and he really doesn’t want to give you the impression that he can’t handle things by himself.

Maybe he can use the only trusty weapon he has in his arsenal: His mouth. Reigen holds his free hand up in an innocent gesture. “Sorry,” he says, plastering on a fake smile. “Didn’t mean to disturb you. We were just, uh, exploring….”

The spirit makes a sound of disgust, like two rusty metal sheets rubbing together, and it begins to crawl up the stairs, inch by inch. “Exploring each other, more like. Why is it always my house you kids come to fuck in?”

Reigen chokes on his tongue, his face burning. “Hey, come on, it’s not like that!”

“Of course you are, you’re all the same.” The spirit’s mouth draws back into an impossibly wider grin. “Why can’t you just get handsy in the car like everyone else?”

“Fuck off,” you snap, though your voice is weak. “No one’s coming to this shit hole to have sex.”

The spirit’s grin turns downward into a furious scowl and Reigen barely predicts what’s about to happen in enough time to yank you away from harm. The grotesque creature launches itself upward, its long limbs allowing it the capacity to make short work of the remaining stairs, and it lunges straight for the both of you with a snarling shout of indignance at your insult of its home.

Reigen manages a shout of warning before he yanks you aside, grabbing your hand in a bruising grip, and he pulls you out of the thing’s path with all the strength he can muster. You have the good sense to let him manhandle you across the landing, abandoning your torch in favour of hanging onto him, and you stagger alongside towards the hallway again.

The creature crashes against the wall at the top of the stairs, the force of its strike knocking over the old furniture that’s been discarded there to grow mouldy and old. The wood crunches horribly on impact and Reigen is always impressed by the way spirits, for such non-corporeal beings, manage incredible ways of destroying their far more material environments with ease. Right now, however, he’d rather not go the same way as that chest of drawers. He doesn’t plan on dying in a place like this and there’s no way he’s about to let you meet a grisly end either. He’s far too fond of you for that.

The spirit has the stairs cornered, which leaves little else in the way of an escape route. Reigen has no choice but to take you deeper into the house and hope to lead the thing around in a circle to free up the stairway. Barrelling down the corridor, Reigen is running blind. He realises he must have dropped his flashlight in the chaos, too, because everything in the house is so incredibly dark that he feels like there’s a bag over his head. It’s almost impossible for him to see where he’s going, there’s no way he’ll be able to get his bearings well enough to loop the property like this.

That is, until a sliver of light from another room catches his eye. Reigen pivots on his heel at breakneck speed and heaves you sideways with him through the open doorway, ever the nimble little weasel. He slams the door shut behind you and scans the room for a hiding place, breathing hard and keeping a tight, sweaty hold of your hand.

“What do we do?!” You gasp, out of breath from both the running and the fear. “We can’t get out, what do we-!”

“In there!” Reigen points across the dim room. On the far side past a broken down bed and several piles of boxes and filthy duvets, there’s a slim little closet. It’s the only thing in here that seems to still be whole and mercifully preserved from the rot that’s infected the rest of the building. It’s the best bet either of you will have at staying hidden.

Reigen doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, he lugs you towards it and wrenches open the doors, tumbling inside. Reigen’s back hits the wall as he flattens himself against the interior, his body folding awkwardly in order to fit into the cramped, tight space, and he hauls you in after him. You’re all elbows and knees as you land on him, scrabbling for purchase in a panic, and your body shoves at his while you try and find your balance in the darkness.

He pushes you against the opposing side, his hands clutching your waist to stop you from wobbling and falling right back out into the open, and his legs tangle up between both of yours. By some stroke of good fortune, you have the presence of mind to snatch the doors shut after yourself. They close with a mercifully quiet click! and then it’s just the two of you, panting hard and fast into the dimness as you listen for signs of your undead pursuer.

Several somethings clatter around in the hallway, followed by the sound of breaking glass and a frustrated growl, and Reigen strains to hear if the sounds are moving any closer to the bedroom you’re sheltering in.

After a few long moments, however, nothing comes.

Reigen breathes a silent sigh of relief and then feels you shift in place. You’re virtually painted onto his front, your chest squashed against his own and your face not even half an inch away from his. It dawns on him that this is quite the intimate position to be in with a person he’s supposed to be in charge of, and he feels the cool sweat of adrenaline turn into lukewarm awkwardness.

You tilt your head a fraction to give yourself a bit of room to speak and your lips brush up against his cheek. “What were you thinking?!” you scold him in barely a whisper.

“Huh?” Reigen murmurs back, trying to ignore the sensation.

“We’re sitting ducks in here,” you breathe. “If that fucking thing finds us, we’re dead!”

He hadn’t really considered that. The closet is tiny and dark, only a tiny filtering of pale light from a broken window board across the room reaches through the thin slats sitting just above your heads. It smells like dank old oak and probably a few different cultures of microorganisms. The only thing there’s room for in here is mould and dust. Neither he nor you will be able to escape if the spirit figures out where you’re hiding.

“Just shut up,” Reigen mutters, flexing his hands on your waist. “Stay quiet until it gets bored and then we can sneak out.” It’s a weak plan, but it’s all he has right now.

A few rooms over, something crashes against a wall and you flinch against him.

Reigen can feel the warmth of your body seeping into his own through your clothes, your breasts brushing the front of his shirt, your hips locked with his own. Your arms are forced almost around one another, both of you clinging to the other’s sides. Perhaps it’s the excitement of the chase, or maybe the thrill of escaping yet another near-death situation, but Reigen’s blood feels like it’s catching alight. He’s warming up all over, perspiration beading at his temples, and he isn’t quite sure how to stop it. Were he to purse his lips, he might even accidentally kiss you.

Reigen is technically in charge of you. It’s well known in the office that all of you work side-by-side, however on the paperwork side of things, he is legally your superior. He’s supposed to uphold a certain air of respectability around his colleagues yet when it comes to you, he finds that responsibility getting more difficult by the day. You argue back and forth with him, always ready to challenge his overpowering confidence when it starts to get out of hand, and he can tell you enjoy the verbal sparring as much as he does.

There’s something unsaid between you both, something heavy that’s only been building over time, but Reigen is too afraid to drop his façade of being The Boss Of You to investigate it further in case he’s read the entire situation wrong. If you were to refuse him, to laugh in his face, he'd never live it down. He couldn't handle such a dent in his ego and he'd rather die than admit it aloud.

He does his best to hide it when he chances little looks at you and so far he’s only been caught out on his less-than-professional observations once, by Ekubo. Horrible little fiend that the ghost is, he’d caught Reigen sneaking a peek at your ass as you’d cleaned a cupboard in the staffroom, chatting away to him and none the wiser of his perverseness; you’d been on your hands and knees, half disappeared into the space under the sink, and Reigen had seized the opportunity to drink in a spectacular view of you from behind.

Your skirt had risen ever so slightly too high, revealing the top of your stockings and the thin sliver of the clips that held the fabric in place, and Reigen had lurked silently in the doorway, watching closely and committing the sight to memory.

Until, of course, Ekubo had materialised out of thin air, as he is so often wont to do, grinning lasciviously, and scared the shit out of Reigen so badly that he’d almost tumbled backwards out of the room. Despite the rude interruption, he’s never forgotten the sight.

Reigen knows it's wrong, that it's fucked up that he'd view a staff member, a friend, like that, and yet he's never had the willpower to put a stop to it. Images of you in raunchy positions just like on that day have haunted his mind on late, lonely nights whilst his hand has wandered into the waistband of his underwear of its own accord.

He’s fully aware that he shouldn’t be jerking himself off every night thinking of you stuck under the sink, unable to get away from his curious hands, but he can’t ever feel guilty enough to think of anything else.

Right now, he wishes he'd at least tried. The memories of those imagined scenarios are stirred up by your closeness and he thinks, distantly, that if he'd tried to be a good person for once and made an effort to ignore them then he might not be struggling as much as he is currently. He’s never intended for you to find out about his fantasies and getting caught short like this is probably not going to go down well. He needs to stop thinking about all of this before it gets out of hand.

The sound of floorboards groaning out in the hallway outside makes you startle and you squirm between his legs, straining to look through the slats of the door. One of your thighs rubs up into his crotch, sleek material gliding against his suit, and he’s reminded that you’re wearing another skirt today; the smoothness of your legs means you’re more than likely in stockings again and the memory rears its head. Reigen grunts softly, gritting his teeth. “Stop it,” he grinds out quietly. “Quit moving.”

Much to his distress, you don't. Rather than obey his command, you use his body to push yourself further up to peek out of the slats and Reigen is forced to tighten his hold around your middle, dragging you back down. If you won't stop, he's going to have to make you. He digs his fingers into your side, bunching them up in the fabric of your shirt and pulling it downward to still you.

“Let go of me, you idiot,” you hiss, attempting to pry off his grip and straighten up. “I can't see!”

Reigen is sure you don’t intend to do it but the motion of your movement forces your hips to rock forward into his and he bites down on his lip so hard that he thinks he's drawn blood. He attempts to move away again, only to bump his knees against the wall under you. Reigen sucks in a sharp breath, ready to snap at you again to force you to back off, until the door to the room you're in bursts open like a group of police officers exercising a warrant. It slams against the wall loudly, the whole thing vibrating with the force. Nose to nose with him, you share a look of panic.

Something lets out a rattle of breath outside.

Reigen leans his head aside to press his mouth against your ear. “Don’t fucking move,” he says, barely audible, and he does his best not to notice the way you tilt your own head to let him fit in closer. His breath is hot against your skin and if he isn’t mistaken, you might even shiver a little.

The creature outside prowls into the bedroom, grunting and growling to itself as it searches between littered furniture for the two stowaways. Its nails scrape on the floorboards, the sound getting louder and louder until it pauses, right outside the closet. There’s a chittering noise that reverberates in Reigen’s chest and just beyond the wood, barely a hands-width away from your heads, the spirit sniffs up and down the seam of the closet. It sounds like there’s something wet caught in its throat, each draw of breath a phlegm filled rattle, and it scratches its claws on the door, seeking out any living forms within.

The spirit smells foul. Its scent is somewhere between death and rancid meat, and Reigen swallows against the saliva that rises and swims in his mouth, trying not to gag. The freezing air on its dead breath ruffles the hair at the tops of your heads and washes you both with the scent.

A swaying cobra, its form moves across the light that filters into the cupboard, turning it murky and dark but not quite removing it entirely, almost as though it’s trying to peer inside despite its lack of eyes. After a few minutes of unbearably intense silence, the spirit seems to give up on sniffing you out. It lashes out at the closet doors with its talons, tearing into the surface of the wood, before turning tail and lurching out of the room to continue its search elsewhere.

The aggressive swipe it takes at the closet makes the whole thing rattle loudly, bouncing the doors inward with force, and you jolt as though you’ve been hit. Instinctively, Reigen turns his head to check that you’re not hurt and at the same time, you turn yourself into him even more, afraid of the thing lurking outside. In the tight space, with barely even enough room to breathe, the motion forces your mouths to slot together. It can hardly be called a kiss; you’re doing little more than exchanging oxygen with one another, yet it’s so close to one that Reigen’s body betrays him almost instantly.

On your breath, he can smell the sugary strawberries you’d eaten on the way over here and again his mind conjures images, unbidden, of your lips wrapped around the fruit’s soft flesh as you’d eaten them in the passenger seat of the hire car, of the smile on your face when he handed them over; a bribe from a stopover at a gas station to stop your complaints about the long drive and an entirely selfish gesture on his part, purely for the reward of your attention (and perhaps, too, for the guilty pleasure of watching you lick your fingers clean when you’d finished).

The thought reignites the heat in his body and almost instantly, all of the blood in his brain sinks to his crotch. Reigen gets hard so quickly that he almost passes out. He isn’t sure where he finds the resolve, but somehow he manages to hold back the tiny little groan that threatens to spill from his throat, instead breathing in sharply through his nose at the sensation. Reigen’s eyes flutter shut momentarily, both in pleasure and in anticipatory fear of the look on your face.

He knows you must have noticed; his suit fabric is cheap and thin, barely a barrier to hide behind, and with your own legs exposed by your skirt there’s no way you could miss it. The weak light allows him to make out that you glance down and then back up to him.

Embarrassment burns on his face.

“It’s my cell phone,” Reigen lies without hesitation, defending his pride before you can even begin to question it. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He knows better than to throw out an insult to protect his own decency, however he’s starting to panic a little more than a seasoned sleuth should be and it has nothing to do with a ghostly presence.

You clear your throat softly and nod, looking away. The smirk on your face only makes his cheeks burn more; you’ll never let this go if he doesn’t act fast and distract you. “Look, we need to make a run for it while we still have the chance,” Reigen says quietly, trying to will away his arousal as best he can. “We open the doors and sneak back to the stairs. Don’t say a word and follow my lead, got it?” He’s being stricter than he usually is, partially to conceal his humiliation and partially because he needs to put his mind to something that doesn’t involve his dick.

“Sure thing, boss,” you whisper back, and Reigen can hear the amusement in your tone. He chooses to ignore it. When you get back to the office though, he’s going to make you clean that damn sink again in penance and he won’t feel the slightest bit of guilt for watching you do it. Maybe this time, he’ll even take a picture for his private collection….

Lower down in the closet, the light is completely swallowed again by darkness and Reigen has to blindly take one hand off of your waist to slide it along the door until his fingers bump against the knob. He takes hold of it and twists, attempting to push the door outward slowly. Except, the door doesn’t move. It doesn’t even budge. Confused, Reigen twists the metal further in case he hasn’t moved it around far enough and tries again. Still, nothing happens.

“What are you waiting for?” you say, frustrated.

“It won’t open,” Reigen grunts, rattling the doorknob as hard as he dares. He can’t afford to make too much noise and draw the spirit back towards you both, but he can’t risk losing the chance to run for it, either.

“Please tell me you’re fucking kidding,” you say in a strained whisper. “Reigen, stop messing aroun-”

“I’m not!” Reigen growls, jiggling it again. “I can’t get it- it won’t open!” He applies a little more pressure, wrenching it back and forth a few more times until, after one particularly frustrated yank, there’s a sickening crunch of dead wood and more light pools into the closet via a new, small hole.

He’s ripped the entire thing off.

“Oh,” says Reigen quietly.

You stare at him in utter disbelief.

“This place is falling apart,” Reigen says, immediately protective of his screw up. “It isn’t my fault-”

“You pulled the fucking handle off, Reigen!” Your voice rises momentarily before you wrestle it back under control at Reigen’s rather brusque shhh! “You pulled it off,” you repeat, far quieter this time but still distressed. “We’ll be trapped in here for hours, you idiot!”

You’re right. The only two people who know you’re both here are Mob and Serizawa. Mob is busy with friends and it’ll take Serizawa a little while to catch on that something is wrong. The job is about forty minutes from the office; allowing for travel and the time it takes to complete the work, Reigen can safely estimate that it’ll be a while before your absence is questioned. That means he’s going to be stuck in this stupid little closet, half hard and totally distracted, with you glued to him for a long time.

He tips his head back against the closet wall and sighs, closing his eyes as he tries to wrack his brain for potential options.

Reigen wonders if he should just try throwing himself at the door and facing off with a hungry spirit. It might be more preferable than his current situation, at least.

It’s uncharacteristic of you to be so mute when Reigen fucks up, and after a few minutes of miserable silence he opens his eyes again to check that you’re still there. You are, of course, but there’s a look on your face that Reigen rarely sees you wear. Despite the shitty light, he can just about make out that your eyes are becoming wide, gaze darting around the closet, and he can feel your chest beginning to rise and fall far quicker than normal, just like it had when he’d made you jump. Your breath is coming in fast, short pants and your hands grasp at the front of his shirt.

You’re starting to panic.

Abruptly, Reigen remembers you confiding in him a while ago whilst the two of you had watched some terrible horror movie together, lounging around in his apartment one evening, about how much you disliked the thought of being trapped.

The protagonist had been buried alive and you’d barely been able to finish the rest of the movie, too caught up in the anxiety of the scenario to remember how unlikely it would be for a similar fate to befall you. You’d clutched his arm so tightly that he’d found a small bruise the next morning in the shower and he can still recall how excited he had felt to have a souvenir of your presence….

Focus! Reigen warns himself, straightening up as best he can to force himself back into the moment. Now isn’t the time!

He squeezes your waist gently, a reassuring reminder that he’s right here with you. “Calm down, I’ve got it all under control,” Reigen lies through his teeth, slipping back into his false bluster the moment he knows he’s fucking things up. “We can wait until the spirit goes back to sleep and then-”

“Spirits don’t sleep!” You snap. “I’m not waiting-”

“They totally do!” Reigen replies, annoyed that you’re questioning his ever profound knowledge. “Look, I’m the professional here, you don’t even come out on jobs so why don’t you just-”

“You got us stuck in here in the first place, mister professional,” you say angrily. Both of your voices are stage whispers now, caught between concealing your presence and yelling at one another. “There has to be a safety release in here!” Your body twists viciously as you squirm around, hands flitting across the inside of the closet in an urgent attempt to free yourself from its confines.

Somehow, despite the tiny space, the ferocity of your search manages to turn you around until your back is flat against his chest instead, your body ramming his.

Reigen is torn between biting his own tongue off in frustration at the feeling of you writhing against him and yanking you closer to seek more contact. He drops the doorknob onto his foot, praying the sound will be muffled enough that it won’t draw attention and freeing up his other hand to grab a hold of you before anything more mortifying occurs. He needs to distract you, for his sake and yours.

“Hey, stop!” He attempts to prevent you from going any further, wrapping his arms around your waist and anchoring you down. “Easy, just stay still-”

“Get off of me!” you snap, tilting your head toward him and wriggling against his grip even harder. With every move, your ass bounces off of his lap and Reigen prays to whatever god is listening that he doesn’t make any more of a fool of himself than he already has today. The sensation is sinful, like he’s fucking you with your clothes on, and Reigen isn’t sure that he can hold out like this.

“Wait,” you pant, halting your search in the darkness to reach behind yourself for his slacks’ pocket. “Your cell phone, you said you brought it in, right?” You slide your hand down behind your back, right past his midriff, and grope around for the lifeline, palming at whatever you can reach. “Call Serizawa, he can exorcise that thing and let us out!”

Those gods must be laughing at him.

Abruptly, Reigen lurches his body aside, feebly trying to avoid your intrusive touch and acutely aware that his lie is about to be found out. “Stop,” he begs you softly, starting to panic himself. “Please. You gotta stop touching me or I’m gonna-” He drops his hands from your waist to grab yours where they rest, halfway into his pockets and you wrestle with him for a second to try and move him away. Reigen swears under his breath.

The proximity and your wriggling make a horrible, delicious concoction and his body reacts accordingly: Reigen is hard again. He can’t fight it anymore, not with your hands so close to his cock and your breath so hot against his cheek.

What happens next is a complete accident, an automatic move he makes before his brain catches up: Hands clamping down around your waist, Reigen purposefully rolls his hips into the soft curve of your ass, hard enough to gain the exact, exquisite friction that he’s been denying himself the entire time he’s been in here with you. Everything occurs so fast that he just about has time to clamp his hand over his mouth to stifle a pathetic little sob as he cums, hard, in his pants. He squeezes his eyes shut, stars blooming behind his eyelids, and pants desperately as he tries to catch his breath.

At his front, you’ve gone very still.

For a few minutes, no one speaks. Only Reigen’s ragged breathing and the sounds of birds somewhere way off beyond the confines of the house fill the silence, until you finally find your voice again: "Seriously?”

Reigen isn’t a stranger to making an idiot of himself, but this is definitely a new low for him. He knows how much trouble he’s going to be in when the two of you get out of here and he can practically smell the oncoming harassment lawsuit wafting through the stale air. Although, maybe that’s just the scent of his sweaty embarrassment….

Ever keen to save face though, Reigen does his best to play stupid. “What?” He asks, voice frayed at the edges.

“Did you just blow your fucking load-”

“Absolutely not-!”

“My ass is wet, Reigen,” you hiss. “I can feel it through my skirt!”

The thin material around the front of his slacks is soaked through, he knows you can. “No, it isn’t,” he scoffs, denying it without hesitation. “You’re imagining things.”

“Liar.” You tilt your hips back minutely, just enough to rub up on his spent erection, and Reigen breathes in sharply. “I didn’t realise you were so into ghouls and near death experiences,” you whisper, sounding amused in spite of your annoyance.

“It’s not a ghoul,” Reigen corrects automatically, mouth moving independently of his brain. He swallows thickly and shifts in place. “And even if something like that did happen,” he says, trying to sound dismissive. “It’s because you won’t stop moving, it’s only natural.”

“That’s… A pathetic excuse,” you admonish, head tipped back toward him. “Even for you.” Your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip, however in such close quarters, the motion effectively wets the corner of his, too. Hot spit brushes against his lip and Reigen’s mouth parts almost of its own accord, an automatic reaction to the stimulus. The angle is awkward but your mouths slide together, the slickness of the skin unbelievably arousing.

“S’not an excuse, it’s your fault.” Reigen protests weakly, lips catching against your own as you nudge your nose along his cheek. He knows he should really apologise for his indecency, that he should try to find a way out of this situation as quickly as possible, and yet…. That heavy, unspoken feeling that so often follows him around when he’s with you is filling up the interior of the closet like thick cotton wool. Your words are sharp and stinging, but you don’t seem to be as disgusted as you sound. It makes his head swim and his legs feel weak, and in some kind of unfortunate miracle, Reigen can feel his cock stir with interest again already.

“You’re really blaming it all on me? You’re the one who dragged me along to this and you’re the one who got us locked in this closet.” You laugh quietly under your breath at him, disbelieving and more than a little entertained. “God, you’re insufferable.” You press backward again and Reigen chokes back a whimper.

“I told you to stop-”

“Stop what, boss?” you ask, feigning innocence, and fuck does he hate how much you’re able to get under his skin. No one else toys with him like this, teases him. No one else dares to question his leadership or to wind him up until he explodes. No one else except you.

Reigen grits his teeth so hard he swears he feels them creak under the pressure. “If you don’t quit moving around like that, I’m not going to be held responsible for what I do next,” he grinds out. He knows you’re provoking him on purpose and he shouldn’t fall for it so easily, but he’s powerless like this and if there’s one thing Reigen hates; it’s feeling fucking powerless.

“Oh? And what are you going to do about it?” You ask, words heavy with ridicule. “Cum in your pants again?”

Reigen has had enough of your attitude.

“Fine,” he snaps. “You want to play dirty? Let’s see how you like it.” He’s been aching to touch you for so long; if this is the only chance he’s going to get, he’ll take it. Reigen isn’t one to watch opportunities pass him by. He wants to grope and grab and feel his way all over you, and he just doesn’t have the willpower in himself to resist it anymore, especially when you’re winding him up like this.

Reigen’s hands drop from where they hold your waist, inching to your hips and down to grope at your ass. It’s just like every wet dream he’s ever had about you; you’re stuck with nowhere to go, at his mercy as he touches and grabs whatever he can reach.

You breathe in sharply at his touch and your back arches, silently seeking his attention. “That’s so inappropriate,” you whisper, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. You don’t mean a word you’re saying. “I should report you.”

“Oh yeah? So do it,” he challenges, pawing at the curve of your backside greedily. “I’m sure they’d love to hear all about how you started it.” It feels like a dam has broken inside him, a flood that he’s held at bay for so long that it’s too overpowering to put a stop to now that it’s begun to overflow, and without your outright refusal, Reigen feels justified in his act. His hips rock forward again and he shudders, his own arousal not forgotten.

At his front, you snicker to yourself at his neediness to chase the feeling and he feels one of your arms snake upward to loop around his neck, your hand clutching at the back of his hair. The action prickles goosebumps along his skin.

“Fuck,” Reigen gasps as he moves, words tumbling out in soft pants. “You couldn’t just stay still, could you? Moving your ass like that, in your stupid fucking skirt and your stupid fucking stockings.” As his hips roll into you, his fingers travel to your skirt to find the tops of said lingerie and he runs his touch up the nearest strap of your garter belt.

You make a soft sound of surprise. “Stockings? How do you know I wear stock-”

Reigen pings the elastic, cutting off your words and making you gasp at the sensation, your fingers tugging at the strands of his hair. Reigen smirks, pleased to finally get the upper hand even if only for a moment. “I’ve seen them before, in the office- drives me fuckin’ crazy, ” he pants into your parted mouth. “Every time you bend over, your skirt is too short.”

“It is? I had no idea….” You pout, lower lip touching his. The words are faker than Reigen’s confidence and it makes him grin.

“I knew it,” he says, ego emboldened. “Tease.”

“Pervert,” you fire back with a smirk, legs opening a little wider as his curious hand trails up from the band of the lingerie toward your inner thigh.

“D’you wear them every day?”

“Only when I know we’ll be alone together,” you confess.

Something about your admission turns Reigen on even more. The thought that you’re only wearing them for him, for his attention, is mind blowing. He can imagine you slipping them on in the morning, thinking of him as you study yourself in the mirror before you leave for work. Reigen squeezes your ass again and uses the leverage to his advantage as he continues to work himself against you, head filled with the intimate images.

His fingers slip up your leg until they brush against the crotch of your underwear, the curve of your pussy hidden underneath. Much to his pleasant surprise, he notices that he’s not alone in his needy desire. He can feel that you’re similarly affected by the closeness, enough wetness seeping through the lacey fabric that he suspects you might have been aroused for just as long as he has. “Look at that,” Reigen teases softly, a smug grin spreading on his face. “Acting so high and mighty when you’re just as desperate for it.” He can’t deny the swell of narcissistic pride that rises in his chest; he’s making you wet. You. The object of his obsession, the person he’s only ever dreamt of having like this. It’s his touch that has you keening and sighing, even if you won’t admit it.

You scoff, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Am not-!” Your protests are smothered in favour of a hushed groan as Reigen’s thick finger nudges past your underwear and slides easily up into your cunt, your wetness offering no resistance at all.

“You were saying?” Reigen smirks, slowly inching his finger in and out, bit by bit. You’re so warm and tight around him, hips grinding down, back and forth in time with his motions. Every movement has your ass rubbing on him and Reigen lets out a shaky sigh as he presses up to meet you.

His dick strains against the fabric and silently, he wishes he had the room to free himself and fuck you silly. Now that he doesn’t have to pretend to be anything but the perverted mess that he is, Reigen ruts against your ass like a dog in heat. The enclosed space feels stifling with both of your bodies heating it up, sweat pooling at the back of his collar as he works himself up all over again. He knows he'll look a mess by the time you both manage to escape this place.

You’ve begun to make pretty little sounds against his mouth, hushed moans mixing with his desperate pants as he works his finger inside you and it’s so obscene that Reigen almost finishes on the spot. You’re both making too much noise and at this rate, you’re at risk of getting killed if the spirit returns to find you both doing exactly what it had accused you of breaking in for. Reigen knows he needs to quieten down and find a way to shut you up, too. In the fraction of free space between you, he nuzzles his mouth to yours. Although what you’re engaged in is amorous enough, the gesture is so intimate in comparison that it makes his heart flutter. “Can I kiss you?” Reigen asks, surprisingly timid considering how vigorously he’s fucking your ass.

Debauched as you are, you roll your eyes. “Finally,” you murmur. “He asks.” You sound almost relieved by his request, as though you’ve been hoping he might offer such a thing, and Reigen grins to himself.

When he kisses you, it’s sloppy; messy, unskilled and full of spit. He licks his way into your mouth enthusiastically and sighs at the touch, a trembling breath that whistles through his nose and dampens the skin of your cheek. You grunt at the force but you allow him to continue, coaxing his tongue with your own in an attempt to slow him down. Reigen doesn’t listen. He’s too confident in his own ability to take advice from you and far too excited to calm himself down anymore.

Between your legs, he presses a second finger into you, relishing in your gasp of pleasure. You’re so wet that his palm is quickly becoming slick with your arousal as he pumps his fingers and Reigen relinquishes your mouth with a lewd smack. “Fuck, you’re really into this aren’t you?” He says, bumping noses with you. “So wet and-!” Reigen’s words end in a choked off moan as you let go of his hair and drop your hand to reach behind you, cupping his cock mid-thrust.

You grasp him firmly through his damp slacks and let him grind into your grip. “You’ve got a big mouth, Reigen,” you pant, teasing. “Someone ought to teach you how to use it.”

Your hand is all he needs. Reigen is too greedy to stop himself when he knows his end is near and even if he wanted to, he’s helpless to stop it. He ought to at least try and hold on, to make up for his earlier premature finale and prove that he’s good at this kind of thing so you’ll think he’s somewhat of a decent fuck and maybe even ask for it again, but he just can’t.

A tension builds in his lower stomach, red hot and carnal, and then he’s cumming all over again, spilling into his already-filthy underwear. Reigen shudders violently, seizing you in another clumsy kiss. He almost bangs heads with you as he attempts to cover the pathetic little moans that bubble up out of him by smothering them into your mouth. Reigen’s knees feel weak again and he slumps against the closet wall behind him, breathing hard and totally spent.

You tip back the short distance with him and laugh . “So soon? I was just starting to enjoy myself….”

The back of Reigen’s neck heats up and he curls his fingers. “Sounded like you were enjoying yourself plenty,” he snipes, out of breath but still able to find a sharp-tongued reply.

You choke on a moan and wiggle your ass to encourage him. “I could stand to enjoy myself a little bit more,” you say, cheeky.

Reigen grins. He might be selfish when it comes to his own pleasure, but he won’t leave you high and dry (or wet, as the case may be). “Relax,” he whispers against your ear, cocky now that he can have you at his mercy instead. “We’ve got plenty of time, you said so yourself, right?...”

•••••

In the end, it takes Serizawa three hours to come to your rescue. He exorcises the spirit and frees you both in under five minutes, and when you finally return back to the office, Reigen still has you clean under the sink before he lets you go home for the day.

reader during this fic like

#reigen arataka x reader #MP100 #Reigen x reader #self insert #reader fic #Reigen Arataka/reader #mob psycho 100 #mob psycho reigen #reigen arataka #reigen is gross #reader insert #interaction banners by cafekitsune #smut #reigen arataka x you #reigen arataka x y/n #i hope this is okay bc i hate it #they don't get it reigen im kostrafobic!!!!

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orange-demons · 2 days

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we all love avatar/bosch, but i offer you avatar/ed as a concept, because i'm deep in the ship trenches

Ohh! Avatar/Ed is such an interesting ship. and srry for the wait! I didn't forget about you I swear! I honestly thought he would have more fics on tumblr because of how popular he is. And here I thought Bosch was the underappreciated one. Dude barely has 5 fics to his name. Also I didn’t know if this was a statement or a request, so I present you with some headcanons. Enjoy!

Ed doesn't want civilians getting caught in his fight to free people from Shadaloo's experiments. So he tells you that if you stay with him you may regret it.

He’s quite distant and cocky when he talks to people, so expect some push back when you try to get close to him.

That’s kind of expected when he tells you to get lost after you reached your full mastery with him.

He doesn't care about who you used to be or if you have regrets about the past, he only cares about the version of you in front of him. The You now.

His friends are important to him, they're like his family, so he would want you to be on good terms with them before he continues the relationship.

He hides most of his feelings behind a wall, but when he finds people he cares about Ed will develop a soft spot for them.

He's one of those people who can take a punch better than he can take a hug.

But that doesn't mean he'll push you away if you decide to be affectionate with him. He'll tense up at first, then he'll relax once he realizes you aren’t a threat.

Ed would want you to meet Balrog someday, and meet the man that shaped him to be who he is. Well...he'll bring you to him whenever Ed decides to reach out to him.

Every person who wields Physco Power uses it in a way to enhance their own individual skill. So he'll work with you to help you find your unique style to the best of his ability.

As your master and potentially your future bf, he wants to make sure you're not using Physco Power all willy-nilly. It's dangerous and he doesn't want you to get seriously hurt, despite you telling him you can handle yourself.

His observation skills are sharp so he can pick up small things about you that you probably haven't noticed about yourself. Like habits or certain mannerisms.

So he can tell when you really want something when your eyes linger on it for a split second longer. Which he ends up getting for you because he likes to see you smile.

Ed can also see when you want to be affectionate with him in public. He saw you catching glances at his hands when walking beside him. But you tucked your hands in your pockets after a while of contemplating. He reluctantly offered his hand to you, because as much as he hates PDA he likes you more.

He still has nightmares every so often that makes him wake up in a cold sweat, so please hug him and tell him everything's fine.

In SF6 there are hints of corruption in his KO win pose where he laughs manically. He snaps out of it fairly quickly when you point it out and gets ashamed for letting his emotions get the best of him.

As much as a hard ass he is, he appreciates it if you check up on him just like he does with you.

Like that fortune teller said, Ed is scared of losing himself and turning into something else. Would you even recognize him?

He does get concerned if he hasn’t heard from you in a while, which prompts him to go on a full-blown search. Even if you don’t think it isn’t a big deal, he does. So he wants to make sure you’re okay.

If you’re not feeling well mentally, he’ll lend his ear to you. He has his fair share of rough days, but if there’s anything he can do to relieve some of your stress he’ll do it.

On the flip side, he doesn’t want to pick fights with you but it sometimes happens when he gets frustrated. Ed has a lot of burden on his shoulders and it doesn’t help if you’re always sticking your nose in dangerous situations all the time.

He cares, he really does. It’s just that he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you.

Falke would knock some sense into him if he ever goes too far and forces him to apologize to you. Makes him get on his knees and everything.

Balrog was his unofficial official father figure so Ed picked up on some of his habits later on in life. Good and bad. And his inability to show his emotions without it turning into frustration is one of them.

He’ll try to tone it down for you in the future, but it is something he’s going to have a hard time with, especially since he’s already having an internal conflict with himself on a daily basis.

There are 2 types of kisses I can see him giving: short and abrupt or long and passionate. It depends on his mood and if he’s in public. He would hate to be seen as that couple who can’t stop locking lips at the train station. He’ll get embarrassed.

He would also want to spar against you and help you fix your form when you’re off balance. As mean as it sounds, he’ll make you fall on your ass and tell you to do it again. In his head, he’s teaching you how to be a better fighter. But if it gets too much, tell him. And he’ll adjust his demeanor towards you.

Like those cheesy romcoms. Ed would give you his oversized jacket when it got too cold outside. But don’t tease him too much about it because he’ll threaten to take it back. He won’t.

Ed roams freely at night, so most of your dates will consist of street food and fighting. He also likes to go to the movies with you and watch those shitty horror movies whenever he has downtime.

But ultimately, he’s never in one place for too long. And if you want to keep in contact with him, you better like long-distance relationships.

Because of the distance, he’ll call you at least once a day no matter where he is, because he wants to hear your voice. How’s it been? Are you doing okay? Any assholes giving you shit? Etc.

But similar to his father, if things get too dangerous on his end, he’ll contemplate cutting you off from his life.

He's the type of lover who genuinely wants the best for you, with or without him.

#street fighter x reader #ed x reader #ed x avatar #sf6 x reader #sf x reader #street fighter 6 x reader #street fighter ed #ed headcannons #street fighter #street fighter 6

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tinyywriterr · 3 days

Text

WHO WILL IT BE?

*+:｡.｡.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·.｡.｡:+**+:｡.｡.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·.｡.｡:+*

{Toji + POC Reader}

∘°∘♡∘°∘𝓒𝓗𝓐𝓟𝓣𝓔𝓡 𝓔𝓛𝓔𝓥𝓔𝓝 ~ 𝓓𝓔𝓒𝓘𝓢𝓘𝓞𝓝𝓢 & 𝓓𝓔𝓐𝓛𝓢∘°∘♡∘°∘

⟿ Song to Go with the Chapter: Off To The Races by Lana Del Rey [Toji + Reader theme song for this chapter] {literally like idk why I didn’t think of this song before}

⟿ Word Count: 4,900 +

⟿ First Toji + Reader smut scene | finally Toji fluff | Nanami + Reader smut scene

⟿ Summary: Over dinner Nanami asks Toji a question that really shocks you. They finally clue you in on their little scheme and you’re truly taken aback. You also somewhat come to the conclusion that you have feelings for Toji that same night. Around four months later Nanami decides to stay home just so you and Toji could go on a date together. Through out the past four months you’ve enjoyed having Toji around along with his son Megumi. It’s like you all are one big family which is something you could only dream about.

*+:｡.｡.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·.｡.｡:+**+:｡.｡.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·.｡.｡:+*

𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: contains smut, pet names, fluff, cream pie, fingering, oral sex, dom/sub, light brat taming, fem reader, black fem reader/you, and etc. [please don’t read if easily triggered or not 18 +]

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: 18+ please & please don’t copy and paste my story anywhere else. This chapter is slightly shorter then the last chapter by about 400 words. Mainly because I wanted to write some sweet moments and some smut before shit hits the fan again. BUT ANYWAYS, this is my first tumblr fic so if you leave a heart, reblog, or comment it’s greatly appreciated! If there are any errors I am open to anyone correcting me in the comments, leaving feedback, or dming me. I hope you will enjoy this as much as I did when I wrote this!

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝐸𝒩𝒟 𝒪𝐹 𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒦 | 𝒴𝒪𝒰𝑅 𝒫𝒪𝒱✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

When you woke up the next day and realized Toji didn’t leave so you knew Nanami was planning something. Throughout the whole week, all of you continued to have incredible sex and just enjoyed each other's company. Nanami finally was able to leave the house not worrying about you being home alone or bored. Along with being able to work on his bakery business having Toji around want half bad. Toji always took the opportunity whenever Nanami was gone to rock your world and when Toji would be gone for the day Nanami would do the same. It was amazing having the both of them separately or at the same time almost mind numbing truly. It was like the best dream ever but it came to life.

‘I wonder what Nanami said to him. I love both of them and could see a future with all of us together. But I could also just see me and Nanami together and inviting Toji over whenever. But there’s something about Toji,’ you think to yourself as you prepare dinner for everyone. Today you decided to make something you’ve been craving, Sunday dinner. It was something your mother would make on rare occasions or when you’d visited your grandmother. It consisted of baked chicken, yams, green beans, baked mac n cheese, and lastly some cornbread. It was kind of hard to find the cornbread box mix you liked so you decided to just follow a recipe of it you found online. You started early preparing the meal so it’d be ready around the time you and Nanami usually would have dinner. This is the first time you’ve cooked in a long time so you’re kind of nervous to see what the two men will think of an African American cultural dish. You plated the food and set down each plate at their respective spots before calling for them to come to the kitchen.

“Wow, y/n what smells so good?” Nanami asks as he comes into the kitchen waving the air to get a better smell.

“Fuck, I’m so hungry…” Toji groans as he takes his seat and digs in immediately.

“That’s what you get for not eating breakfast,” you tease smiling from ear to ear as you take your seat. Nanami sits down last rubbing your back as you begin to dig in as well.

“This is really good y/n! You said this was called ‘Sunday dinner’ back in the States? Maybe we should move there!” Toji jokes in between chuckles before returning his attention back to his plate. Nanami chuckles as well and starts to eat savoring every bite still lovingly rubbing your back with his free hand.

“Ya, it’s usually something you’d eat after church. My mom only made it a few times but when she did it was a cause for celebration,” you explain trying not to talk with your mouth open.

“This is really good and hardy y/n, you should cook more if you’re comfortable,” Nanami praises as he has finished his plate rubbing his stomach proudly.

“Where the fuck did your food go?” Toji says flabbergasted as he takes his last bite.

“I should be saying that to both of you,” you tease as you point at your food showing a still semi-full plate. Everyone erupts into laughter then soon after Nanami gets up to grab some whiskey from his office.

“I hope everyone wants a drink I already poured 3 cups,” Nanami says as he walks back with three glasses with 2 shots of whiskey in them. You and Toji nod thankfully as you both take a glass sipping on it and both of you puckering your lips after. “You guys are some wimps,” Nanami teases grinning softly before taking a long sip and not making a face after.

“You just like the taste. Grab me something to smoke it’ll go great with this whiskey,” You command waving at Nanami who shakes his head as he walks upstairs to grab you a cigarette. After a couple of minutes he comes back down and he grabbed three cigarettes. Nanami individually pass one to each of you before he lights your cigarette for you. He then passes the lighter to Toji to spark his own cigarette. Once the lighter found its way back to Nanami he lit his cigarette taking a long drag.

“So have you decided Toji?” Nanami asks turning to Toji lifting up an eyebrow. You stare back between the two men as Toji looks like he’s thinking about what Nanami just asked him.

“Yes, I have and it’s a ‘yes’. Now don’t try to kiss me or anything,” Toji teases standing up and walking to Nanami to do a very interesting brotherly handshake that Nanami awkwardly accepted.

“So…who’s gonna fill me in?” You inquire standing up and putting your cigarette on the ash tray. You have finished eating and picked up all the plates to put in the sink. You make your way towards the sink as you wait for an explanation.

“My love, me, and Toji made a deal. I proposed to him that we all could become a poly couple. I see how you look at him and how he looks at you. So, I asked him and he had until today to decide.” Nanami explains grimacing as Toji puts his arm around Nanami's back giving it a good slap.

You’re speechless for a second as your back is turned to them. You put the plates in the sink and stand there for a moment. ‘How did he notice? I mean I know I brought up the threesome but this is for real life crazy; it feels like Nanami can read my mind. Or am I just predictable?’ You question to yourself but you pull yourself out of that spiral turning around and smiling.

“So, that’s why hmm interesting didn’t see that coming at all. Crazy how you all didn’t feel like including me in the conversation but I’ll let it slide this one time. You should be glad I love you both,” you tease walking towards them both. “But Mr. Nanami you never cease to amaze me. I’m glad our fun doesn’t have to end and will only continue.” You add playfully then lean in and kissing him softly letting both of your lips dance together. You pull away suddenly kissing Toji on the lips as you palm Nanami’s dick only his pants being the barrier. You moan softly letting Toji slip his tongue into your mouth letting your tongues explore each other. You smile in the kiss before pulling away and palming them both. “Or maybe I won’t let it slide and torture you both…” you coo smirking deviously. Both men look at each other wide-eyed both wondering what you’ll do to them or not do to them. You pull your hands away swiftly and pick your still lit cigarette up off the ash tray and take a puff of it while twirling away from them snickering softly. “Nothing for either of you tonight,~” you tease loudly as you walk up the stairs. Slamming your door you lay on your bed and stare at the ceiling.

‘I can’t believe Kento would ask that question that’s so left field of him. And I can’t ignore my fucking feelings for Toji. FUCK, how will this turn out?..’ you think as you continue to puff your cigarette.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*𝟦 𝑀𝒪𝒩𝒯𝐻𝒮 𝐿𝒜𝒯𝐸𝑅 𝑀𝒜𝒦𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝐼𝒯 𝒥𝒰𝒩𝐸 | 𝒴𝒪𝒰𝑅 𝒫𝒪𝒱✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You wake up slowly rubbing your hand on Toji’s chest and your leg on Nanami’s leg as you all had a sleepover in the sex dungeon. Fully awake now you look at the two men sleeping like babies as they both snored softly. You stare up at the ceiling recounting how life has been as of recent. Nanami is about to open his bakery and Toji has finally moved Megumi in but sadly it’s only during the summer break. You slowly slither out of the grip the two men had you in and throw on a silk robe. You open the door quietly you walk out of the room doing the same as you close the door. You make your way up to your room and close the door plopping on the bed lost in thought. You hear your phone buzz and roll over to grab it. After getting up again fully with phone in hand you walk over to the big windows facing the backyard. You unlock your phone the time reads 9 am and a ton of notifications flood in. You have a couple of texts from Angel, one from Trina, and a couple from your sibling group chat.

You smirk softly as you open Angel’s it reads; ‘girl when are you coming to see me I miss you!!!’ sent at 10:30 pm ‘I know you’re enjoying your soft life but don’t forget about me!’ sent at 1:45 am ‘YOU ALSO GOTTA TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!’ sent at 5:00 am.

While chuckling soft you respond with saying. ‘You’re so silly I'll come see you sometime soon I'm gonna be in the city next week anyways!! We should go get drunk or something. AND BITCH THERES A LOT TO TELL!’ You send the message then go to Trina's message.

It reads; ‘Good morning girlfriend! What hairstyle you wanna do next week?’ sent at 11:00 am.

You respond with; ‘Good Morninggggg! I'm thinking crochet locs. What you think?’

You send it and swipe to your sibling's group chat with your brothers. You have tons of messages from Angelo they read; ‘You forgot all about us!!! It’s okay though I know you’re busy and a grown up now. I can’t wait to see you! Nanami has taken great care of us and I’m happy you found him,’ from Angelo sent at 7:30 pm.

‘Daran is forcing me to do homework tell him TO LEAVE ME ALONE,’ from Angelo sent at 8:54 pm.

‘Don’t listen to him enjoy yourself big sister we both just miss you," from Daran sent at 9:15 pm.

You laugh loudly as you read the messages and you respond saying. ‘Mannn Angelo do your homework and I miss you both very much. And could never forget y’all I hope you know I love you both equally. I can’t wait to see you guys too! I might actually come to you all but don’t quote me on that.’

Once sent you hear a knock at your door; “come in!” You yell turning around as the door opens.

“Hello Mx. Nanami, I am hungry…” Megumi practically whispers as he looks around the room.

“Okay, I can make you something what would you like?” You ask as you walk towards him beckoning him to follow you.

“Hmmmm, pancakes please..” he says skipping a little as he follows you down the steps. You both enter the kitchen and you start to gather the ingredients to make breakfast. With Megumi sitting on the kitchen counter he just watches as you make his pancakes. “You’re very pretty Mx. Nanami. Will you be marrying Mr. Nanami soon?” Megumi inquires leaning closer to you and waiting for your answer. He’s the spitting image of his father and Toji was right he’s not as loud. But having him around reminds you of the old days of taking care of your little brothers.

“I sure hope so wanna know a secret?” You ask leaning in closer to him making Megumi become wide-eyed. “I really love Mr. Nanami..” you whisper leaning back and smiling then refocusing on flipping the pancakes making sure they don’t burn. Megumi has a shocked look on his face clasping his hands together before jumping off the counter.  

“I’m going to tell Nanami!” Megumi teases grinning devilishly just like his father.

“Ooooh no you won’t! Also, he’s still sleeping and your pancakes are ready!! Sit down at the table,” You say shaking your head as you point towards the table. Megumi huffs and puffs as he makes his way to the table thanking you as you place his plate on the table. He takes his time eating looking around and savoring every bite. You sit down next to Megumi both of you chatting and laughing as he finishes his food.

“I’m gonna go play now,” Megumi announces once bored with the conversation and running to his room slamming the door shut. You can’t help but laugh as you stand up pick up his dirty dish to put it in a pile in the sink. Once the plate hits the sink you suddenly hear a door swing open. You whip around to see Toji beckoning you to come to the sex dungeon.

“He’s upstairs playing he’ll be busy,” Toji says raising a devious eyebrow. Rolling your eyes you walk towards the room still in your robe. As you walk in Nanami walks out stopping you to kiss your cheek before you both continue walking.

“I’ll be look out and I’ll whistle if anything goes wrong,” Nanami explains before closing the door and locking it softly behind him. You turn your attention back to Toji who’s already pulling his boxers off.

“Come over and relieve me brat,” Toji commands as his boxers fall to the floor. You walk over to him and he shakes his head. “Turn around and do it again. But crawl to me this time and take that stupid robe off,” Toji teases winking at you. “I’ll take you out after I wanna have some alone time with you. I already told Nanami he’s gonna take Megumi to the bookstore," he explains in a sincere tone. Within seconds you have already turned around and got on your hands and knees.

“I’d enjoy that very much daddy,~” you coo winking back at him as you crawl towards him keeping eye contact the whole time. As you get right under him practically under his balls he points his dick down to touch your lips.

“I get your mouth today, we did rock paper scissors,” Toji explains as you part your lips softly licking his tip. “Ughhh don’t tease me brat you know I can’t take it,” Toji groans bending his knees slightly to force his dick deeper into your mouth. You smile softly before taking as much as you can into your mouth. Your jaw still hasn’t gotten used to Toji or your throat so you're expecting to be a little hoarse after. You hollow out your cheeks before placing your right hand around the rest of his length and playing with his hairy balls with the other hand. You earn a moan and a buck of the hips out of him making you moan softly. You bob your head at a decent pace not wanting to tire yourself out. Toji had other plans like always, he grabbed the back of your head as he meets each bob of your head with a deep thrust of his hips. You gag softly trying not to make too much noise as slobber starts to spill out your mouth. The lewd sounds coming from you two was always so enchanting and arousing. You swirl your tongue as best as you can still trying to keep up with Toji’s thrusts. “Fuckkk y/n your throat is so good,~” Toji praises loosing his grip on the back of your head and beginning to pat it instead. You quicken the pace as you feel his dick swell and decide to grip Toji’s hip with your right hand. You try your best to deep throat as much of his length down your throat. “Such a good brat, I saw you roll your eyes earlier at me you thought you’d get away with that?” Toji teases slightly tapping you on the cheek with a free hand. You look up at him and wink making him melt instantly he whispers a string of curse words tilting his head back. “You know me so well beautiful,” he says between groans trailing off at the end. Toji’s dick twitches as cum shoots out of it making your eyes water and gag hard. He bucks his hips again making cum shoot out your mouth and dripping down to your chin and to your chest. You swallow as much as you could as he slowly pulls his dick out. You open your mouth showing the cum you still have left to swallow. Toji bends over and grips your cheeks lightly making you keep your mouth open. He slowly lets a line of spit fall in before bending up again and smacking your cheek lightly. “Swallow,” he commands while patting your head. You do as he says and then slowly stand up wobbling a little as your legs had fallen asleep.

“I’m glad I can please you, daddy.” You say smiling softly as you use your finger to wipe from your chest to your mouth seductively before licking your finger. Toji groans smirking at you before kissing you passionately and full of desire. You bite his lip softly making him grunt before grabbing your throat softly. He bites your lip back and nipping at it before pulling away.

“Fuck, get dressed I’ll meet you outside. Wear a dress a white one with a matching thong and bring a pack of smokes with you too,” Toji says as his choke turns to caressing your cheek softly. “I love you in a dress,” he says as you put your robe back on and walk out the door. Nanami and Megumi were already gone you yelled at Toji from upstairs that he could come out. You rummage through your closet looking for a cute white dress. You picked a short one that stopped at your upper thigh and was flowy so you could feel cutesy more than sexy. You walk back down the stairs and see Toji wearing black jeans and a gray tee shirt smiling at you.

"Zip the back up for me please," you ask showing your unzipped dress.

”You look gorgeous, breathtaking actually. We’re going to the horse track," Toji states as he zips your dress up slowly savoring the sight. "JUST TO WATCH NO GAMBLING!” He says before yelling the last few words as he steps away.

You laugh before walking to grab some white slip-on mules; “NO GAMBLING TOJI!” You tease matching his energy as you open the front door and walk to his car. You lean against the car waiting as he grabs his keys and walks out slamming the front door. “You need to work on that,” you say in a playful tone as Toji opens the car door for you.

“What exactly brat?” He asks mocking your tone and then staring you down hoping you’d crack.

“Slamming doors.” You say in between giggles as you get comfortable in the car, lean back into the seat, and with that, Toji slams the door making you erupt into laughter. You both make your way to the horse racing ring and Toji holds your hand leading the way. He plops down in a seat and you sit next to him. You pass him the pack of smokes before grabbing two out of it for yourself knowing you're not getting that pack back. You both watch the race betting against each other who would win; not with money of course. It helped him not gamble and it was like harm reduction and thankfully, it was fun to go out with Toji. You guys talked the whole time making each other laugh and smile. Soon all the races were done and Toji got up helping you up as he did.

“I’m hungry,” you say pouting as you both walk to the car.

“Nanami made lunch come on I know you get HANGRY,” Toji teases opening the car door for you. You plop in crossing your arms as you stick your tongue out and once again he slams the door. The drive home is quick once home you barely even wait for Toji to park the car before you’re running towards the house. You basically burst in making Nanami and Megumi snap their neck towards the front door. Toji runs in after you rubbing the back of his head. “She’s hungry, really hungry,” Toji teases playfully following behind you as you walk into the house.

Nanami laughs pulling your chair out for you as you plop down he pushes you toward the table. A beautiful sandwich sits before you with your favorite chips [insert your favorite sandwich & chips]. Your mouth practically waters as you dig in not noticing Toji passed you a soju to wash it all down. Once done everyone just chuckles as you lean back in the chair and your mood changes completely smiling at everyone. “Thank you, sorry Megumi you had to see me so hangry.” You say laughing at yourself a little Megumi just shrugs his shoulders chuckling a little too before returning to reading his book. Nanami rubs your shoulders making you lean your head back to look up at him resting your head on the back of the chair.

“You had fun today?” Nanami asks smiling down at you still rubbing your shoulders and giving a slight massage. You nod your head ‘yes’ closing your eyes and smiling softly back at him.

“I’ll chill with the kid you guys go fuck off somewhere,” Toji says waving his hand at you guys to leave. Both you and Nanami chuckle before you stand up taking your plate to the sink and dragging Nanami around behind you. “You see kid those two need help,” Toji teases making Megumi laugh. You both begin walking upstairs and thankfully Nanami didn’t forget the soju. You open your bedroom door closing it shut and locking it once Nanami is fully inside.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day..” you whisper leaning close to Nanami making him blush.

“Oh really? I’ve been thinking about you too you know. You must have something on your mind,” Nanami inquired before kissing your forehead. “Come lay with me let’s talk a bit,” Nanami commands as he lays on the bed making himself comfortable. You grab another cigarette for yourself out of the vintage cigarette dispenser and pass one to Nanami sparking both of yours. You both talk about mindless things and feelings as you drink your soju. Soon you are both cuddling into each other loving the private intimate moment.

“I have a question y/n?” Nanami asks softly in between kisses on your head as you snuggle into his chest.

“Shoot.” You say in a sleepy tone as you have drunk your soju way too fast.

“What is it you’d like to do? I feel like you have more to show the world,” Nanami says turning your head up towards him looking deep into your eyes.

“I used to sew my own clothes when I was younger I always enjoyed creating I just have to find the motivation,” you explain before kissing his chin.

“I can definitely see you doing that. If you ever want to talk about it let me know, okay?” Nanami says sincerely making sure you understand he’s here to help. As you nod your head ‘yes’ he slowly lets go before snaking his hands around your waist. “Why are you so soft?” He asks softly before kissing your cheek. “You said you were thinking about me. What were you thinking exactly?” Nanami asks as he whispers into your ear making a shiver go down your spine.

“Of you fucking me...I miss your touch daddy,~” you coo looking back at him. Nanami’s cheeks are flushed red as he smirks softly.

“Hmm, to fuck my princess or not?” He asks out loud pretending to think. You roll your eyes and turn away from him leaning back into his chest. You feel his hands slowly unzip your dress and pull one strap down. “Ooh no bra ah? Who was this for?” He teases as he slips your dress off leaving you in a white thong. “He must’ve told you to wear white. Toji has great taste cause you look delicious,~” Nanami coos before leaning you forward so he can stand up and strip. Once nude he slides back in bed beckoning you to get under the covers with him. “We gotta be quiet but that won’t be a problem will it princess?” He asks as he snakes his hand up and down your body. You both face each other smiling softly at one another before your lips collide. You have memorized the way his lips taste, how they feel, and how he moves them. You love every second of it moaning softly once he starts to caress your breast. Nanami shifts down so he can put one in his mouth as he plays with the other breast making sure neither was neglected. You moan softly as he does and continues to switch back and forth. Soon he snakes a free hand down to your thong tugging on it before he practically rips it off of you.

“You’re taking me shopping tomorrow,~” you say between moans smiling softly as he grunts in agreement. Soon he's feverishly kissing up and down your body.

“Of course, I’ll take you out to go shopping tomorrow. Lay on your back, my love. I love to see you melt underneath me,” Nanami commands letting go of you so you can do so. Once you’re on your back he hovers over your love spot. He spreads your legs apart propping them on his shoulders as he lays on his stomach. Nanami spreads your lips apart showing your glistening slick entrance gaping from arousal. “So hungry to be stuffed hmm?~” He teases looking up at you smirking deviously.

“Yes daddy please eat me out then fuck me till I can't speak,~” you beg as even his touch is driving you crazy. Not being touched after sucking Toji’s dick was like torture and they both knew that. Nanami chuckles before licking slowly between your folds and sucking on your lips. You buck your hips wanting more of him which makes him lift his head up.

“Patience princess,~” He coos before going back to eat you out slowly drawing out each lick and suck. You moan loudly as your clit begins to throb he chuckled at you as you bite your lip remembering to be quiet. Soon after getting tired of torturing you, he sucks on your clit slowly making you almost bite your own lip off. Your stomach starts to tense up and your legs tremble as you start to cum showering Nanami’s face in your juices. He licks his lips and slightly his chin before fully sitting up. “Spread those legs beautiful,” he commands as he crawls back on top of you. You do so and suddenly he swipes his swollen head against your entrance. Groaning softly he slowly thrusts into you inch by inch before picking up the speed holding your legs now. “Your pussy is so tight princess, fuck,~” Nanami whispers into your feet making your toes curl. He starts slamming into you stretching you and demolishing your walls what’s crazy is his full length wasn’t fully in you. You grab at the sheets trying not to lose your grip but fuck he’s killing you. Nanami chuckles softly before putting your legs on his shoulders and rolling so you're more on your upper back. With your ass, slightly in the air, he holds your legs to support himself as he’s somewhat planking on top of you. Your toes point towards the headboard as he slams into you slowly basically drilling down into you. Nanami has reached a deeper part of you plowing your cervix. As he does so he groans softly bowing his head more and closing his eyes. The lewd sounds of your bodies colliding alone were loud so Toji had to turn on a T.V super loud downstairs shaking his head. As he does this you have been rendered speechless mouth open but nothing coming out as your cervix is getting demolished. You let out a soft moan as heat erupted in the lower half you truly didn’t even know where. You clench around his dick as you cum your legs shaking as you slowly crumble underneath him. “You are so beautiful princess,~” Nanami coos between deep guttural moms. Soon his thrust becomes sloppy as he slowly descends back to fucking you in missionary. He bites your neck softly as he grips onto your love handles slamming deep within you and making your back arch. Nanami curses softly in your ear then says your name as he paints your insides white. Hot cum coated your cervix, your walls, and spilled out of your pussy making you moan softly. Nanami bucks his hips a couple more times before pulling out fully and falling next to you. “You feel so good princess I’m addicted to your love and touch,~” Nanami confesses in a breathy tone.

You smile at him as you crawl on top of him now laying chest to chest. “I’m glad I could please you daddy, it was really good. I love when you fill me with your cum,~” you say in between kisses. "I love you, Ken my heart is yours," you say softly inches apart from him as you both touch foreheads holding hands.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Once again I hope you enjoyed this one and can’t wait to upload the next chapter! Also let me know how you guys like the little fluff and the smut in this one overall. I liked this chapter going on a little date with Toji likeeee. And for story purposes Megumi is like 5 or 6 right now. I’m so happy people on here actually like this story or smut it warms my heart. But, don’t forget to comment, leave feedback, leave a note, or anything truly. It’s all appreciated! ( v ω v)//

[Please don't copy or plagiarize my work thank you. I don't own any rights to JJK and all photos are from pintrest or here I'll try to tag people if I can]

⟿ Link for my AO3 lovers: {also it’s 24 chapters posted on here}

⟿ Credit for the inspiration for the Chapter:

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