#um anyway this is why i say good morning & then i write for like 3 hours lately

[carmyboobear]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 5: detergent, thrifting, and cake

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Chapter Rating: T (11k)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I try. What’s the occasion?”

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

“Oh, okay.” 

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

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

“Is it your birthday today?”

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

“Why didn��t you tell me?” He hates at how worked up he sounds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course,” they reply quickly. 

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

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

“So, uh, is that a yes, or…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way. I didn’t say shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For some reason, that makes Richie laugh. 

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

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

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

“Y’think so?”

“I do. You?”

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

“Friend. Sure.” Richie snorts. 

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

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

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

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

“You're strangely full of wisdom today.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shitty parents club,” Carmy repeats hollowly. 

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? You're doing this and a cake?”

“Um,” Carmy repeats intelligently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It reminds him of himself in every way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Where we headed first?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not weird?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. You should. They fit well.” 

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

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

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

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

“Carmy.” They glare at him. 

“What?” He feels himself smiling. 

“You can’t do this to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll ask Richie.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re giving me no choice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's no response. Good enough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn't mind.” Not if it's you.

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

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

“Ready?” He asks quietly. 

“I'm ready,” they whisper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah…” The first missing piece.

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

“What happened?”

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

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

Suddenly, he thinks of Michael. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do. Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...And that is?”

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

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

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

Without another word, Carmy pulls them into a hug. 

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

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

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

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

“Better?”

“Yeah. A lot better.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

“I know. I get it.”

“I know you do.” 

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

“Thanks for telling me. About everything.”

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

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

“I found you,” they tell him. 

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

Me?

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

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

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

Fucking hell, he thinks to himself. Fuck.

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

“Can't we both be lucky?”

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

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

“...There's no other shoe?”

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

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

“Me neither.”

“...”

“...”

“Do you…want to eat your cake now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I'm a chef, you mean?”

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

You're my best friend.

…

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

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

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

“Y-Yeah. Unless, uh, you don't—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until them. 

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

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

And with that, something in him lets go.

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

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

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

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

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

~

@zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @carmenbrzatto @thehouseofevangelista

#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.

[slvtforoldermen]

Pedro’s Characters: The Dick-tionary

How big are Pedro Pascal’s characters and some NSFW headcannons

(WARNING: DETAILS OF PENISES AND TALKS OF SEX - MDNI)

Part Two <3

A/N: Sorry I never continued Fluff February :(, I lost motivation so I’ll just write them and post them as a prompt list for whenever…

Joel Miller:

Okay, all his characters are big, it’s a known fact, but Joel is 100% the biggest. Probably about 8.5 inches, with a pretty pink mushroom tip, and GIRTHY AGH! There’s a vein on it that is really visible when he’s hard. Oh and his balls are big too. Everything about Joel is just big. Not only is he big but you best believe he knows how to use it too. He’s got a daddy kink… Fav positions are missionary and cowgirl, however when he’s angry doggy or the mating press are a no-brainer. Daddy kink! DOMINANT!!! There’s no way this man is a sub, it just doesn’t work, he’s just so dom yknow, and when he’s soft, he’s the sweetest he’s ever been, but if he’s angry, hard dom Joel comes out and that’s a man you don’t wanna piss off if you wanna cum. He’s got such a daddy kink. “Fuck babygirl/boy, you’re so fucking sweet, sugar. So fucking good for daddy. Yeah baby? You like that? Such a good little girl/boy, so fucking sweet.” Daddy kink is such is a big thing for him. Hair wise? Well it’s the apocalypse so it’s probably hard to find the Manscaper 3000 or whatever. He trims his hair with some scissors, honestly he didn’t really care for shaving before you, so he just let it grow, but once when you were sucking him, you almost sneezed from how much it tickled your nose and made a little joke about it after, which made Joel feel a little bad so he cut them just a little shorter. Oh I’m sorry and did I mention… DADDY KINK!!!

Javier Peña:

(Here I’m purely writing about Javier Pena in a fictional sense AS PEDRO, not the real guy, this has nothing to do with the real Javier Pena)

Okay, Javier, my baby daddy. Um, who said that- ANYWAYS! Javier is probably the second biggest, in joint place with Oberyn, definitely about 7-7.5 inches, as he’s nicknamed by moi, the Pussy Slayer of Medellin. It goes without saying that Javier is rough, as we’ve seen, side note: I don’t know why I thought watching Narcos with my family would be a good idea… I was sat on the couch like “😀 okay, I’m watching Pedro have sex next to my mum, just a normal Saturday morning…” anyways back to it (hehe Negan reference) but Javier is rough, doggy and cowgirl are his favourite positions, but sometimes when he’s feeling a little somber he likes a little missionary. As how domestically-kinky I like my men, I’m a little disappointed that Javier isn’t a committed man, but he does have a tiny 🤏 breeding kink, he defo isn’t a fan of being called daddy, in fact just call him Javi and he’s yours, and he’s dom obviously. “Oh carino, you take my cock so well, you good little whore… fuck… my sweet little angel.” I mean, we’ve all seen his hair, so do we really need address it, that also might genuinely be my fav sex scene in all of cinema history.

Oberyn Martell

Okay, admittedly, I haven’t seen any proper scenes of Oberyn, because I’ve just started GOT, so I have no clue what his character is like apart from being a HUGE BISEXUAL SLUT, so he’s just like me 🤭

Oberyn, tying with Javier, is about 7-7.5 inches, and I feel like his cock is definitely a lot more tan than others, idk why, it’s just an instinct. Defo uncircumcised. His fav positions are definitely cowgirl OH and dude is the literal definition of a pillow prince, again, just like me. Suck his dick, please, just suck his dick. Again, I don’t know how he’s presented in GOT, but I’m like 74% sure he’s dominant? From the clips I’ve seen 🫣 Hair wise, do razors exists in the GOT world? Or does my man just shave himself with a sword.

Javi Gutierrez:

Oh my sweet baby Javi… he’s so kinky. I’m fully convinced he’s into full BDSM, not so much where he has to do it every single time, but maybe like once a month. When I was watching TUWOMT for the first time, when Nick is about to go into the room with all his merch and stuff, I was dead convinced it was gonna be a sex dungeon. There’s no way a man is this sweet and adorable without being into some freaky shit.

Anyway, Javi is about 6.5 inches, with a sweet pink tip and he’s definitely a giver not a taker, don’t get him wrong, he ADORES you with his dick in your mouth, but he prefers to eat you out/suck your dick for hours on end. Oh and he’s a sweet talker, when you guys aren’t being full kinky, he’ll praise you to hours on end, mumbling in your ear how good you are in that sexy accent of his. Is a little bit of a switch, but mostly dominant, soft dom if it’s a normal night but if it’s that special night, only your safe word will pull him out of hard dom space. Definitely the type to overstimulate you in a sweet way “you can take it right sweetheart? Mi amor~ just take my cock nice and good, ahí tienes.” Um, daddy kink for surely, but not like every single night like Joel. But when he’s between your legs, and he’s stimulated you so far into sub space, and you’re struggling to keep your eyes open, and you’re reaching up for him, babbling how good his cock feels in your hole, he can’t help but coo down at you and praise you so hard. He’s not bald, but his hair isn’t long, just trimmed to the point where it tickles your nose when you suck his cock.

Din Djarin

Okay, so I think it’s canon that Din hasn’t really ever felt human touch, so I feel he’s really inexperienced… but the dude’s got a pretty dick. Like it’s just so… pretty. About 6 inches with a sweet baby pink tip, he’s so sensitive too. He loves head but he really can’t say it, he’s just too embarrassed. I just get the vibe that he’s mostly subby. He tried to be dom once but the poor baby couldn’t handle it all. But then he tried again and he did so good, but it tired him out, so if he’s domming, which is once in a blue moon, he’s going to be soft, maybe even softer than Javi. Mommy/Daddy kink!! “Please, I’m good right? Please, please tell me I’m doing good… you always feel so so good, I love you so much.” Please, he’s so sweet I love him. It’s rare that you guys get off together because of reasons due to his upbringing and stuff so he just likes being taken care of, the sweet boy. Before you, he never really cared for shaving, so when you first strip together, he’s a little nervous about it, and then after that he trims it, quite short.

Marcus Moreno

If anyone says this man is a hard dom they’re just kidding themselves, this man is the sweetest man out there, obviously not as much as Din ofc <3.

Marcus has an obsession with using his hands, making you cum just by fingering you. Then when he’s inside you, he slips his fingers into your mouth, or around your neck, or on your cheek. His dick is about 7 inches, and like everyone else, knows how to use it perfectly. Angel is one of his favourite nicknames to call you. “My perfect Angel, taking my cock so good baby…” whilst hes thrusting into you ever so gently. Would never EVER do it when Missy is around, so quickies before picking Missy up from school are his go to, but he loves the days where his mom can take her out for the day or even a grandma sleepover so he can be with you for hours. You under him, over him, him inside you, his good girl/boy, his good angel. Pleasuring you until you get numb. The armpit hair in the scene of the gif gets me and idk why, I have never had a thing for armpit hair but maybe I’m just really horny, but his hair down there is nice and trimmed, not bald, never bald.

Tim Rock(Hard)Ford

Here we go…

Oh Tim man! I have a teensy 🤏 detective kink so when Pedro played this role it was over for me.

Maybe it’s the greying, like Joel, but I feel like he’s huge, just like Joel. He’s 8 inches, living his best life. But he’s just a tired old man, so when he gets home, please just get on your knees for him, he’ll just lay there, stroking your hair, praising you, telling you how good you suck his cock. Then he’ll bring you up to the bed and return the favour, making sure to always get you to tell him about your day as he does so. Saturday nights are always his favourite time to rail into you, he’s had the whole day off, just resting, watching you walk around, getting him so worked up. He has a domestic kink. So seeing you do chores get him so hard. Loves fucking between your thighs when you’re sleeping because he gets home so late and just needs a little relief, but you look so cute and peaceful while you sleep and because he’s so considerate, he doesn’t wanna wake you. “So good for me baby, so good for daddy, gonna fill you up, you’re not gonna let any of my cum slip out right, gonna keep it all in your tummy, yeah, that’s it, cum for me.” TALKS YOU THROUGH IT!!! Sleeps naked. Not trimmed, not shaved, just grows it out, he’s old so he doesn’t care, it’s not like anyone but you would be seeing him like this anyways.

Dieter Bravo

I love Dieter, he’s so cute.

Not dom, but not sub either, just dom enough to see you break under him but sub enough to whimper and get soooo desperate. Such a huge pillow prince, he loves it when you suck him, especially when you grab his balls and caress them, he cums so quick when that happens. He’s about 6.5 inches, and it loves fast, not as in quickie, but he loves seeing you fall apart as he jackhammers into your hole. When you ride him he gets so sweet, and he can last long, don’t worry, but you just look so pretty on top of him, he can’t help it, please don’t be mad at him. Has a thing for dry humping, especially in the morning when he’s too lazy to move properly. “So good baby, oh yeah, fuck, grind against me just like that, mmmf fuck…” loves to beg and watch you beg, he’s so good to and for you, don’t doubt him ever. He doesn’t shave, he trims it, but he’s so goofy, so once he shaved it into a heart.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javi gutierrez #oberyn martell #din djarin #marcus moreno #tim rockford #dieter bravo #slvtforoldermen

[moonstruckme]

I ADORE your writing it is so so so amazing. Could i request poly!marauders x fem!reader who works in a store (maybe like a supermarket or something) and they keep coming because they "need" stuff but they actually just wanna see her and its all cute and flully and stuff?? If you don't wanna do it, no worries at all<3

Thanks lovely! Hope you enjoy it :)

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

You’ve barely flipped the sign in the front to open and begun restocking the tomatoes when the door opens. “Good morning,” you say automatically, a Pavlovian response to the chime of the bell. 

“G’morning, lovely,” a familiar voice replies, the curly-haired boy flashing a smile at you as he stops below your ladder. “How’s your day going?”

“Well, it’s—” you look at the clock behind the counter “—quarter past seven, so…so far so good.” 

“Happy to hear it.” His dark-haired, sharp-edged friend appears, startling you, and the curly-haired one holds up his hands, ready to steady you if you need it.

“Shit, Pads,” he says once it’s clear you’re not going to fall, “you don’t sneak up on someone on a ladder like that. You scared her.”

You give them both a tense smile. “It’s fine,” you say, mustering your best customer service voice (not an easy task with two of your best-looking customers standing so close to you). “I’m alright.” 

“Sorry, dollface,” Pads says, sending you a half-sheepish grin in return. You don’t really understand these nicknames they have for each other, but embarrassingly, they’re the only names you know them by. The same group of three boys has been coming by your store for months, almost every day, and it’s reached a point where it’d be too awkward to ask for their names. They’re by far your favorite customers, but you only know them as what they call each other. There’s Pads, Prongs, and…

“Moony, weren’t you saying we’re out of eggs?” Prongs asks.

The tall one comes into view, already holding three cartons of eggs. “Yeah, but I can’t pick. What’s better, free-range or organic?”

“Free-range,” you say, feeling your face heat when they all look up at you. “I mean, it depends on your preference, but that’s what I’d get.” 

There’s a beat of silence wherein you suspect the boys are exchanging silent communication and have to force yourself to keep your gaze on the tomatoes, and then, “Dove, I hate to trouble you, but would you mind helping us choose?” Moony’s voice is soft, unobtrusive but compelling. Of the three boys, you find him the easiest to talk to. Prongs oozes charm and Pads flirts like it’s breathing, but something about Moony’s calm demeanor is disarming. “You seem like you know a lot more than any of us.”

“I don’t know about a lot.” You shake your head dismissively, but you’re already starting down the ladder. You miss the last step, and warm hands grab your waist, lowering you cautiously to the floor. 

“Easy,” Prongs murmurs. 

Your heart’s in your throat, more from embarrassment than from the alarm at your near fall, and you understand why you’re blushing, but you don’t get why he is. 

Your “thanks” comes out as more of a breath than a word, but he gifts you one of those dazzling smiles anyway. You turn to the egg cartons like they’re your lifeline, trying to steady your breathing while you read the labels. 

“Um, yeah, so.” You clear your throat. “It’s pretty self-explanatory, but organic just means they give the chickens food without chemicals or anything, and free-range means they get a certain amount of space to roam in. I don’t think it changes how the eggs taste or anything, it just depends on what you think is most ethical.” 

Moony nods, looking like he’s mulling this over, but you can’t stand to stay under his gaze any longer than that. 

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with!” you squeak, abandoning your ladder to go tidy behind the counter. 

You’d think after months of these guys coming in you’d be used to them, but you’re not. They wind you every time. They’re obviously close, and you like to imagine them as housemates, maybe even lovers, with the way they seem to interact with such casual intimacy. So many of your customers barely look at you as they go about their business, and you don’t blame them for that, but these boys always have something to say to you. They’ll ask how your day is going, or whether you’ve tried the coffee shop down the road, or what you think of a new jacket. The way they talk amongst each other is so easy, and they talk with you like it should be easy too, but somehow you always manage to make it difficult for them. You’re too quiet, too nervous, too awkward. And yet they keep coming back. 

You’re not allowed much reprieve before Pads is sauntering up to the counter, free-range eggs in hand. He sets them on the counter. “Thanks for the advice, sweetheart.” 

“It’s no problem,” you say, distracting yourself with the manageable, routine tasks of your job. Scan the item, open the cash register, ask “Would you like a bag for that?”

“No,” he replies just as cordially, “but thank you.” 

Before he goes, he tucks a bill into the tip jar on the edge of the counter, just like always, and just like always, you don’t really know what to do with yourself. It’s not like it’s ever a massive amount of money, but still. They’re only your age. Unless they’re all heirs to separate fortunes or something, they probably have about as much money to spare as you do. And it’s so, so unnecessary, especially considering they come here every day to buy one or two items, and then leave you a tip—for what? For ringing them up? For having limited knowledge of chicken ethics?

“You really don’t have to do that,” you blurt, shrinking in on yourself sheepishly when all three boys turn to look at you, nearly out the door. “I just mean, you guys come here all the time. You only ever get a couple of items, it’s really not necessary to leave a tip every time.” 

The three boys look at you with varying degrees of bemusement, and Moony gives you a small smile. “We don’t mind,” he replies, at the same time as Pads says, “We like coming here.” 

“I just…you shouldn’t feel obligated to leave a tip just because you need something from the corner store. I’m sure you live nearby, right? It’s not like you have a bunch of options in this area.”

The ensuing pause stretches a moment too long, and you tilt your head curiously as both Moony and Prongs begin to blush faintly. “Well,” the latter says, looking about the store with forced casualness, “actually…”

Pads isn’t so tactful. “We don’t live nearby,” he says, gray eyes frank and unflinching. 

You blink. “No?”

Moony shrugs, looking alarmingly shamefaced. “No.” 

“We used to live around here,” Prongs supplies. “We just don’t anymore. Haven’t bothered to find a new store.” 

“Oh.” You hadn’t taken them for creatures of habit, but what all do you know about them really? “Um, where do you live now?” you ask, then want to hit yourself. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that, I don’t mean to intrude—”

“No, it’s okay,” Moony says, in his usual kind way. “We moved down onto twenty second street.” 

Your mouth actually drops open. A giant O, and you can hear your mom telling you you’ll catch flies. Pads snickers at your reaction. But fuck, that’s nearly across town. It has to take them at least a half hour to get to your store from there, and that’s if they have a car. “I, um.” You shake your head, collecting yourself. “Sorry, that’s just so far. I used to live around there, actually.” 

Prongs perks up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, there’s a Tesco just a couple blocks down, on twenty third? And a Sainsbury’s and—oh! There’s a great local corner store not far from there, you should definitely check it out. They make their own bread.”

“Neat,” Moony says, nodding. “Thank you.” 

You smile, happy to help even though you’ll be sad to see them go. “Of course, anytime.” 

“Yeah, thanks gorgeous.”  Pads grins at you, tucking another bill into your tip jar and ignoring your squawk of protest. “See you tomorrow.”

You blink, wondering if you’d just invented the previous conversation, but they’re all starting for the door, acting as though nothing is amiss. 

Perhaps you’re feeling extra bold today, because you halt them for a second time. “But don’t you want to go somewhere more convenient?”

Prongs turns around, walking backwards towards the door. “Really appreciate the advice,” he says, “but we like this store just fine.” Moony shoots you a bashful sort of grin, and Pads winks—actually winks—over his shoulder. “So we’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

And, well, if they want to keep crossing town to come in every morning, far be it for you to stop them. You’d hate to drive off your best customers. “Yeah,” you echo. “See you tomorrow.”

#poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x y/n #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders fanfiction #poly!marauders fanfic #poly!marauders fic #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders drabble #poly!marauders oneshot #poly!marauders scenario #poly!marauders fluff #marauders fanfic #marauders era #marauders #marauders fic #the marauders era #the marauders #james potter #james potter x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom

[kodydrs]

The Vice Admiral’s Daughter - Portgas D. Ace (|||)

a/n: part 3!!! idk why but this part was honestly the hardest to write and idk why bc i always right smut. um, anyways, this is gonna have like 1 or 2 more parts and then it’s done 🫶🏻 and i’m back to other fanfics (i have an iceberg & franky one sitting in my ideas box). feel free to send in asks / requests, and comment & reblogs are appreciated!!

warnings: ace x fem!reader, pirate!ace x marine!daughter!reader, fxm, 21!ace, 19!reader, oral (f & m receiving), (slight) fingering, cunnilingus, smut, mdni, i’m bad at tagging, not proofread (it’s never proofread)

ib: tagged in earlier post

request: yes / no

You’re awoken in the (very) early hours of the morning a few months later when you’re back at Loguetown. The transponder snail that sits beside your bed feels like it’s screaming in your ear and you groan into your pillow.

‘Hello?’

The voice on the other side comes over clearly, and you’re almost motivated to hang up right then and go back to sleep.

‘Hey sleepyhead.’ Ace laughs quietly. ‘I’m surprised you picked up. Did I wake you up?’

‘No.’ You lie through your teeth, rolling in your bed. ‘I was just walking my fish.’

‘Oh. That’s good… Have you missed me?’

You’re silent on your end of the line, and you can hear Ace’s smile drop.

‘Ace? How did you get my number? It’s private.’

You hear his laugh crackle over and it warms your heart a little.

‘Don’t worry about that. I just need you to come into town. To that bar we met at last time.’

‘The Smog Cutter? That place has been closed for a few months. It’s all abandoned now.’

‘I know, but I really need you to meet me there. Please.’

You groan again, weighing out your options before inevitably agreeing.

You don’t bother properly changing into clothes. Instead you just throw a shirt over your bra and shorts before running out of the house and into the township.

Ace is standing outside of the Smog Cutter. You hadn’t lied when you said it was closed and abandoned. The paint that used to decorate the front of the building had long since peeled off, and you could barely read the name of the place.

‘So that’s where you live?’ Ace said, looking at where you’d come from.

You’re out of breath when you reach him, but you stand up straight with your hands on your hips.

‘Well yeah. It’s the Vice-Admirals house aswell.’

‘They do live well, don’t they?’ He scoffed. You give him a sideways look as you both walk into the empty tavern.

‘Did you just call me out here to make comments on my lifestyle or what?’

‘…I missed you.’ His smile stretched and you’re met with piercing blue eyes looking straight at yours. ‘And I wanted to talk to you.’

You freeze for a second before giving him a “are you fucking serious” look.

‘Why would you “miss me”?’ You ask, sitting on one of the counter stools.

‘Because you’re special. You could’ve turned me in at any point, but you didn’t. You’ve talked to me. And the second time we met, you drank with me and made me laugh. And we’ll forget about the 3rd because that was a little messy, but besides the point. But the point is you’re special and i can’t get you out of my head.’

You listen to him closely, finally breaking a soft laugh at the end.

‘Careful, Fire Fist. You’re making it sound like you’re in love with me.’ He blushes and looks away, and you realise at that moment what he’s trying to say. ‘Oh. Oh.’

‘What on earth do you mean “Oh”?! I just poured my heart out to you and your reply is “Oh”?’

‘It’s an “Oh”, as in “Oh. The Vice-Admiral's daughter was correct in thinking that Portgas D. Ace did in fact want to take advantage of a 17 year old girl that night.’

‘Well, duh. But that only because you said-‘

‘Oh just the fuck up.’ You grinned, grabbing his chin and pressing your lips together chastely.

It takes Ace a minute to register before he relaxes into the kiss, being quick to add more fervour. You wrap your arms around his neck and he steps off his own seat and stands between your legs. He wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer as he continues to return your kiss passionately.

‘This is stupid.’ He whispers, trying to pull back from the kiss slightly. ‘We should stop. You have no idea how much trouble you’ll get in if we’re caught.’ He smirks, knowing he’s about to get a reaction.

‘Oh. But my warnings for the past 3 years have been ignored? Seems a little unfair.’ He chuckles and rolls his eyes.

‘Fine. But I’m being serious. This is dangerous. What happens if your dad finds out?’

‘He just won’t find out.’ You’re quick to reply, and even quicker to lean back into the rejoicing your mouths. Ace grins, pulling you impossibly closer. You take the opportunity to deepen the kiss. 3 years seems long enough for a starved man. He sighs into your mouth, pulling back to see your slightly dishevelled look.

‘You look so beautiful right now.’

You smile, lightly nipping at his jawline.

‘I want you so bad, Portgas D. Ace.’

He brings a hand to the back of your head, guiding your face back up to meet his lips. He bites down on your bottom lip, inciting a moan from you.

‘That’s not helping. I’m gonna go crazy if we keep doing this.’ He groaned, leaning over you so your back was pressed against the counter, one hand holding him up. ‘But god, do I love you so much. I’m gonna marry you someday.’

‘A bold statement.’ You whisper as he begins to explore your neck and collar. ‘Especially to make to the Vice-Admiral’s daughter.’

He grins and nods.

‘Well, you know me, princess. I like to take risks.’ He winks, coming back up to capture your lips once again. Sweet noises drip from your mouth and they all go to Ace’s dick as he slowly grinds his hips against yours. His free hand moves from your hip down to your ass, grabbing at the clothed muscle. Your own hands run up his forearms, then down his torso til they’re resting just above the waistband of his shorts. Teasingly, you grab his belt, holding him like he isn’t as close as possible.

‘Cheeky.’ He hisses, littering kisses over your shoulders. ‘Don’t make me fuck you in an abandoned bar.’

‘It’d be awfully fitting though, wouldn’t it?’ For once, it’s your voice that drops to a seductive tone. Ace groans lustfully, pressing his forehead against your skin. You bring your hand up to pull on the hair on the back of his neck. ‘Come on, Ace. Please fuck me in the bar.’

He feels himself fold right there and then. All sense of dignity fell out of him faster than he dropped to his knees for you.

‘You’re gonna be the death of me.’ He sighed, kissing your stomach. Wanted hands followed slowly after him, tracing the bumps of your spine. He kissed each of your thighs, biting lightly then smoothing the wound, littering your skin in love bites.

Your back’s digging into the counter as he decorated your body, even with your arms keeping you stable. Calloused fingertips trace your inner thighs, parting them slightly. Black eyes meet yours, the pirate leaning back to look at you.

‘You’re so hot from down here.’ He coos, resting his chin on your stomach.

‘I could say the same about you.’ Your hand finds its way to his face, caressing his cheek. ‘You look good on your knees.’

A fire lights in him, hotter than the one already there. You’re so unbelievably attractive, and he can’t even begin to process how he’d come to be blessed enough to get you.

Your thighs are once again littered in kisses, marks all along your inner skin. Your lips are slightly parted as he gets closer to your core. The only thing obstructing him is your thin pajama shorts. Your eyes met again and neither of you need to speak to know what he’s asking. You nod, holding your breath as your soft, pink folds are exposed. The hand on his cheek moves to his hair, running your fingers through his soft black strands. His eyes don’t leave yours as he takes the final step, his tongue flicking out to taste you for the first time. You gasp, mouth open and your head back. Ace smirks, lapping at your folds, then slipped a finger inside you, watching your wetness already coat his digit.

‘Ah fuck.’ You moan lowly, harshly massaging your breast through your top while the other tugs at his hair. A groan from Ace sends vibrations to your clit, stimulating your core. He smirks against your cunt as he thrusts his fingers deeper into you, finding your sweet spot. You’re a whimpering mess in a matter of minutes, and you can feel your legs threatening to buckle beneath you. As if he can tell, Ace adds another finger, stretching you more as he thrusts increasingly deeper and eats you out.

‘A-Ace.’ You cry, tears threatening to spill. ‘I’m gonna cum.’

You’re holding his hair so tight you’re sure you’d have pulled some out by now, but it’s the last of your worries. His grin grows wider, feeling you pulsating around his fingers increasing his own arousal.

‘Cum for me, baby.’

Euphoria washes over you by his command, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back.

Touching yourself for the past 3 years had surficed, but this was by far the most intense orgasm you’d spent in your entire life, and all it took was Ace’s mouth and fingers.

Ace continued to lap at your folds, tasting and milking you through while you shake and shudder in pleasure.

‘Are you alright?’ You nod slowly, taking a moment to look down at him while you struggle to stay up. He chuckles softly, pulling back to look at you. ‘Quite the climax, aye?’

‘Shut up.’ You pant, pulling him up to his feet so you can kiss him again. You cringe slightly at the taste of yourself on his lips, but it’s so hot that you ignore it. As you’re making out, you run your hand down his torso, letting your fingers drag over his abs, then past his belt til you’re delicately palming his erect cock. He groans into your kiss, his body already trembling slightly from both your touch, and the adrenaline.

‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’ He whispered, holding your wrist. You’re quick to shake your head, pulling away. His hair is messier than usual, and he looks absolutely divine like this.

‘That wouldn’t be fair.’ You pouted, putting on a sad girl act. You hold his shoulder and turn you both around so it’s now his back pressed against the counter. ‘Plus, you mustn’t think I love you enough if you think I’m going to wait another 4 months to give you head.’

His gaze is one of surprise, but then a soft smile emerges.

‘You think I’m gonna disappear again?’

Your foreheads are pressed together, and you slowly begin to stroke his dick, watching his breathing change.

‘Please don’t lie to me and say you won’t.’

He laughs lowly, hands finding your hips.

‘I promise I won’t leave. Not now that I have you. Do you trust me?’

‘No.’ Your reply is plain and harsh, but yours holds more truth than his. ‘You’re a pirate, Ace. You’ll need to leave whether you want to or not.’

He shrugs, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips and holding your gaze.

‘True. But I meant more in the long run. I’m not going to leave you if you’ll be mine.’ He feels your smile against his lips, and it makes his heart flutter. You peck then quickly before lowering yourself to his knees.

‘I’ve been yours since Day 1, Fire Fist Ace.’

A shallow gasp escapes as Ace’s breath hitches, focused on your movements as you undress him. You’re working slowly, teasing him as you pull him free of his shorts. His hands slide round your face to your scalp, holding your hair back in a makeshift ponytail. A hum escapes at the slight tug. Eyes lock as your tongue pokes out in kitten licks against his tip. His reactions makes your insides giggle. His eyes roll back and his hands shake, hips leaning forward at your subtle touch.

‘You’re so sensitive, baby.’ You tease, peppering kisses down the length of his shaft. He just groans as you moan, your hand wrapped around him to pump rhythmically.

‘That’s because-‘ He’s cut off temporarily by a squeeze to his base and your lips pressed to his tip.

‘Because what-‘ You whisper, finally letting his cock slide into your mouth.

He shakes his head quickly, taking a deep breath to try to steady himself.

‘Because I’ve been avoiding other women since I saw you.’ A moan fills the bar, his dick plummeting deep into your throat. Your face lights up and you feel your heart melting at his confession. With an internal smile. you quicken your pace, stroking where your mouth can’t reach. Your other hand rests on his thigh, running your hands along the skin to keep him calm.

His fingers are digging into your scalp, holding your hair tightly as his hips involuntarily thrust forwards to meet your rhythm.

‘Oh fuck… I’m yours.’

You can hear your own muffled moans bouncing off the walls, and you should probably be concerned about who else can hear them. But that doesn’t matter when your boyfriend that you aren’t going to see for another long while is with you.

Ace’s breath becomes ragged, his other hand coming down to your cheek.

‘You feel so good, princess.’ He releases a long, low moan, his climax shuddering through his body. Your gag reflex kicks in as the fluid shoots down your throat, but you swallow it nonetheless. Common courtesy as he’d done the same for you. He’s shuddering in pleasure and relief while you milk him through, not releasing him until you’re sure he’s done.

You laugh quietly to yourself, pressing a few kisses to his thighs before standing and kissing him softly.

‘Are you still alive?’ You whisper, holding his waist. He gasps, heart racing and shaking, but nods.

‘Yeah… I’m alive.’

‘Good.’ You reply, pressing your foreheads together. ‘Do you need anything?’

‘Maybe water in a minute.’ He laughs, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

‘Mkay.’ You hum. ‘You lie down in one of the booths and I’ll get you a drink of water, ok?’

A weak attempt of helping him to the seat is made before you’re running off to the abandoned kitchen to look for cups. Ace’s eyes follow you as you run, filled with love and gratitude. You’re back in only a matter of seconds, 2 glasses of cold water in hand. You help him drink some of his water before taking a sip of yours and laying beside him.

‘Better?’ You ask, watching his carefully while love clouds your vision.

‘Much.’ You nod slowly, lips pressed together in a line.

‘Can I hug you?’

Ace stares at you with a raised eyebrow.

‘We just gave each other head and now you’re asking if we can hug?’ It’s a dumb question, you knew. But you’d have much rather asked and he’d said no than just “attacking him” and it’s not being reciprocated. You shrug and he just laughs, opening his arms to welcome you into his embrace. A welcome you take very quickly. Your face is quickly buried in the crook of his neck, feeling his breath fan against your skin.

‘If I was to sleep, would you still be here when I woke up?’

There’s a long silence between you both, and it makes the last event feel like a fever dream. It’s a silence that answers your own question.

‘You should come with me. To sea, I mean.’

You sigh, holding him tighter like he’s about to escape.

‘I can’t, Ace. Not right now.’

He hugs you just as tightly, twirling your hair around.

‘I promise I’ll be back soon. Ok? And then someday, I’ll come back and I won’t leave you.’

You’re not quick to respond, but a simple nod seems to suffice.

‘Ace.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I love you.’ You whisper, feeling your eyes start to droop and sleep start to take over. ‘And I’m really glad you manned up and asked me to be yours.’

Ace smiles softly, pressing his lips against your forehead for a long second.

‘I’ll make sure I never stop reminding you.’

You’re unsurprised when you wake up in your room the next morning, no sign that you’d even left (mind the slightly open window). There was a tinge of sadness knowing it would be a long while before you saw the pirate again, but you smile, tracing the marks he’d left on your body. These were the marks of your first time.

taglist: @rotin0

© kodydrs

all rights and reserves are copyright to kodydrs on tumblr. this material is not to be copied or translated onto any other platform or media.

#kody​☆ #kodydrs #kody’s corner #ace one piece #one piece ace #one piece masterlist #one piece portgas d ace #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece #one peice #portgas ace smut #portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #ace x reader #ace x you #ace x y/n #ace smut #portgas ace x you #portgas d ace x y/n #portgas ace x y/n #portgas ace fluff #ace fluff

[keirawantstocry]

poly morning crew but tubbo is insecure about his height and fitpac are trying to help him be less insecure about it :)

this got so incredibly off track i literally see one word and run with things swear down

hiii, um I kinda took this and ran with it? I will upfront say I am not a trans man but i am trans so i drew on my own personal experience to write this and dont mean to write anything… incorrect or anything of the sort <3 and if anyone reads this and i have accidently ending up portraying something incorrectly pls tell me immediately so i can rewrite

Most days Tubbo was fine with being trans. It was just part of who he was, like his brown hair or any of his birthmarks. Other days it bugged him. How much shorter he was compared to some of the other guys. How soft his body was. But he was fine. He wouldn't fucking talk to somebody about it, wasn't that big of a deal anyway. Nobody even noticed when he had his off days, Phil was focused on a thousand other things and the annoying voice of his husband in his head just prattled on and on about dumb shit before disappearing. 

He was working out when it hit him. A wave of dysphoria so strong he physically bent over and closed his eyes. Mentally he swore. Horrible timing. Pac was supposed to be over in less than à few minutes and he could barely stand without seeing himself and feeling sick. 

Speak of the devil, he thought as the doorbell rang and Pac's animated voice slid it's way through the house. “Tubboooo.” 

Tubbo groaned but he had no choice. Laying down the weights he had been using, he headed over to the door to let Pac inside. 

“Hey, Pac.” The man looked fucking gorgeous as per usual. It would sour Tubbo's mood if he wasn't so attracted to him. His infectious smile spread to Tubbo's face as they embraced. “It's good to see you, man.” 

It was easy at first, hiding the nasty self hatred boiling in his gut. Unfortunately Pac was incredibly more attuned to his feelings then either Phil or Tommy. “What's wrong?” he asked as they sat down on the couch together. 

“Nothing,” Tubbo blustered, avoiding his eyes. 

“Tubbo,” he said in an uncharacteristic stern voice. It softened again as he gently took Tubbo's face in his hands and turned his head to look at him. “What's wrong, meu bem?” 

With a long sigh, Tubbo accepted his fate. “I just feel like shit about myself today.” 

Pac's head tilted in curiosity. “Why?” 

“Honestly, I'm not sure what triggered it.” 

“But what do you feel shit about?” Pac took a second to look around, trying to find his words, his warm hands still against his cheeks. “What about yourself?” 

Tubbo laughed lightly, trying to shove down the churning in his stomach. “My body. I just wish… I wish I was born a guy.” Bile rose in his throat as he tried to choke down the shame. He hated being vulnerable especially with someone that he cared so much about. He met his eyes trying to gauge his reaction. The expression he was met with was one of pure confusion.

“I'm sorry I don't understand.” 

“I'm trans," he said as bluntly as he could.

Pac just blinked at him slowly as if trying to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. “That doesn't make you any less of a man.” 

“Easy for you to say that,” Tubbo scoffed. 

Unexpectedly Pac laughed as if it was one of the funniest things he had heard all day. “You do know I'm trans right?” 

Tubbo stared at him as he felt his brain short circuit. “What? No, I didn't fucking know that what the fuck.” Surprised laughter was bubbling its way out of his chest before he could stop it. The shame was dissipating at the speed of light because here was one of the prettiest, most attractive men he’d ever known and he was just like him. 

He laughed again before bringing his hands up to grab Pac’s face and kiss him firmly on the lips. Pac giggled into his mouth before kissing him back, sliding his hands into Tubbo’s hair. The kisses were sloppy, more shared laughter and wet open mouths than anything. But it felt so good, so right. 

They finally stopped kissing and Tubbo realized that somehow they had ended up laying back on top of each other on the couch. “How did I not know you were trans?” he said, still in awe. 

Pac laughed, light and airy. “You hate me and don’t pay attention to me.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Then for good measure he kissed him again to truly shut him up. Warmth had replaced the feeling in his gut and was now spreading through his entire body. For the first time he felt good about it; not bad, not neutral but good.

#qsmp #my writing #fanfiction #q!tubbo #q!pac #pacbo #TRANS TUBBO AGENDA #everyone is trans in my mind #so hey if someone wants to see a part two with fit telling tubbo that hes also trans then i meannnn

[ikeromantic]

The Old Switcheroo, pt 2

Arthur and MC (Haruko) are cursed and end up in each other's bodies. Part 2 of 3. Approx words. 3400. Yes, it is long - I had too much fun with the concept. TW for sexual harassment, gender dysphoric descriptions. Tagging @tele86 and @briars7 @greinny123 requested

The Old Switcheroo Part 1

Haruko was not having a good time. The stack of crumpled paper in the wastebin grew while her remaining confidence dwindled. It turned out that writing was a bit like work. All she’d accomplished was polishing off a small pile of fudge and two cups of coffee. The blank page in the typewriter still mocked her. 

“You coming or am I on my own today?” 

Theo’s voice startled her out of her funk. Haruko jumped off Arthur’s stool and nearly fell. Damn long legs, she thought. Easy to trip over. 

Theo chuckled. “On edge?”

“No. No, I’m fine. I was just . . . writing something scary.” Arthur’s voice sounded less certain than usual, but Theo didn’t seem to notice the change. 

“Should I leave you to it then?”

Haruko cleared her throat. “Nah. I’m tapped out for today. Let’s go.” She grabbed Arthur’s coat and scarf and followed Theo out. It was only when the carriage door shut that she realized she had no idea what Arthur and Theo talked about on these little outings. Women? Art? Politics?

“You missed a good breakfast this morning. Sebas outdid himself on those pancakes. Even Napoleon had seconds.” Theo grinned. “Hondje was a little off though. Kept calling everyone ‘old chap’ and ‘luv’. I think you’re teaching her bad habits.”

“Uh, no he’s - I mean, I’m not! She’s probably just having a bit of fun with you.”

“Maybe.” Theo allowed. “She looked tired though. And clumsier than normal.”

“I am not - she is not clumsy.” Haruko tried not to be too indignant. Would Arthur be? She wasn’t sure. He did like to tease her, but always kindly. 

Theo chuckled. “Defending your little bird? Well, you’re right. Hondje is usually more careful. I expect you’re to blame.” His blue eyes were inquisitive and challenging, as if he expected some sort of specific answer out of Arthur.

Haruko thought for a moment on what she would expect Arthur to say and then forced a laugh. “Uh, I might have kept the skirt up too late with my, um, with my . . .” Her face heated as she tried to find a way to finish that sentence. One she could convince herself to say aloud.

“You look sick. Are you sure you want to go out?”

“I’m fine. Just . . . tired. From the. You know.” Arthur’s hands flailed in the air as Haruko tried to make a gesture that implied something sexual.

“Right.” Theo raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, I’m meeting some artists at the tavern. There’s one I think you’ll want to meet. If you aren’t too tired.”

Haruko’s heart froze for a moment. Was Theo trying to hook her man up with other ladies? Is this what they did when they went out alone? A flash of anger boiled away her embarrassment. “I’m never too tired,” she replied, baring her teeth in a smile.

The tavern was bustling as usual, and the two of them had to elbow their way through a crowd. Haruko was surprised how easy it was to get through in Arthur’s body. He was so strong, and when he gave people a hard look, they moved! As herself, she just had to squeeze past or ask nicely and hope they were polite. 

“Why are you smiling,” Theo asked as they took their usual seats at the bar. 

“Hm? No reason. Excited to meet your artist friend, I guess.”

The Dutchman shook his head. “You are one weird klootzak sometimes.” He signaled the bartended for drinks. “They aren’t here yet, but it looks like your fanclub is.”

“My . . . fanclub?” Haruko followed Theo’s gaze, landing at a large round table. Women sat around it. Working girls, to be more specific. Dressed in faded finery, last year’s fashion with tattered edges, smiles painted on their faces and false laughter on their lips. 

That Arthur would cheat on her with these girls . . . paying . . . what did they have that she lacked? Was it just that they knew all of the - the bedroom stuff? 

The ladies noticed her looking and one got up and sauntered over. She had an amazing figure. Statuesque, with large breasts and round hips, and very long legs. She walked like a dancer. 

Haruko waited to see if she would feel the same stirring and hunger she’d felt in Arthur’s body that morning but . . . there was nothing. Not even a hint. Not even when the woman leaned forward to kiss her cheeks in greeting. 

“Arthur! You scabby dog! I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Off your leash again?”

“My . . . leash?”

She laughed. “The one your lady keeps you on.” The woman rolled her eyes. “Don’t play coy. You use it as an excuse every time you scoot out on us.”

“Right. Ah. My leash.” She felt her anger bubble up again. 

The woman shrugged. “I won’t tease. She sounds like a nice enough girl and she puts up with you for free.” She leaned against the bar and picked up Arthur’s whiskey, downing it in one swallow before he had a chance to drink it. 

Haruko tried to smile flirtatiously like Arthur would. “So, are we going to . . . do what we normally do? Me and you? Luv?” 

“What we usually do? Oh Arthur, you are so funny sometimes.” She patted his cheek. “I just wanted to come over and say thanks again for the walk home the other night. Me and the girls really appreciated it. I can’t think what might have happened if you weren’t there.”

“Oh? So I went home with all of you?” Haruko’s brows rose. 

She laughed again. “You do gallant deeds so often you can’t keep them straight? Well, if you don’t remember, I don’t need to be grateful, right?” She poked his chest lightly.

Haruko coughed. “I was a little . . . drunk?”

“Well, you were that. But you walked just fine. And whatever you said to those two brutes beforehand, they haven’t bothered us since. So even if you don’t remember, it’s appreciated.”

The woman gave Haruko what looked like a genuine smile. “I wish there were more gents like you. If ever your lady friend tires of you, I hope you remember the girls and I will be happy to let you cash in all your favors at once. You’ve racked up quite a few and you’ve yet to let us repay you in any way.”

“I haven’t?” Haruko blinked in surprise. She’d imagined Arthur would take whatever was on offer. And these ladies had clearly offered. 

She grinned. “Now you’re having me on. Of course not. You even turned down Serafine, and she’s my prettiest girl. You really don’t remember that?” Her eyes narrowed.

Theo rescued Haruko from the exchange. “Arthur’s not feeling himself tonight, Genevieve. He had a real long, tiring day. Writing.”

The woman’s brows rose. “Oh! Well, I suppose writers are allowed a bit of eccentricity. Anywho, we’ll talk later. I must see to my girls.” She blew them a kiss and walked away.

“What is wrong with you?” Theo grabbed Arthur’s shoulder and forced him to meet his gaze.

“N-nothing?”

Theo didn’t blink or shift or let Arthur’s shoulder loose.

Haruko took a deep breath. “Le Comte said we shouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Since when do you listen to him? You never had a problem breaking his rules.” 

“It’s . . . this is different. You have to trust me.” It was funny, saying those words with Arthur’s mouth, when she had such a hard time trusting him too.

Theo scowled. “Fine. I trust you. But you’d better have an explanation for me later.” He let go. “And don’t embarrass me in front of my clients.”

Harujo nodded. She wasn’t sure what she should or shouldn’t do, but she would try her best. Being Arthur at a tavern was harder than she’d expected. 

The Dutchman’s guests arrived soon after, a jostling and noisy bunch of men. She felt a certain relief that none of them were women. Theo wasn’t such a bastard after all. A mean tease, but not a bastard. 

A round of loud, enthusiastic greetings between Theo and the newly arrived group took up several minutes. Haruko downed a bit of liquid courage as she watched them exchange kisses and back-slapping, joking insults and genuine sentiment. Then she was pulled into the mix. Subjected to the same, with Theo introducing her as ‘the smart-ass writer’. She did her best to flash them Arthur’s winning smile and friendly greeting. 

The last one in the group was another Dutchman by the name of Willem. His grip was firm and his smile was almost maniacal as he said, “So you’re the guy that beat Theo at chess. It’s about time I got to meet you. That kloothommel has been trouncing me at every game since we were kids!” 

“Oh! Yes. I uh - I love chess! I love beating Theo at it.” Haruko tried to think of what Arthur might say, and then added, ‘old chap’ even though Willem was not old.

Willem laughed. “Glad someone’s there to show him his place. I don’t suppose you’d teach me your technique?” 

“A - a master never reveals their secrets.” Haruko barely knew how to play chess. There was no way she was giving tips to this guy. She’d need at least another glass or two of whiskey to try that. Maybe more. It didn’t seem to hit Arthur the way it hit her when she drank.

“Ah, come on! At least let us watch you play him! Maybe I can pick something up.” Willem looked to the others. “Don’t you want to see a game between these two?”

Theo frowned. “What are you on about? We didn’t come out here to play chess.”

Haruko nodded, but her agreement was lost in the enthusiasm of the other artists.

“I’d like to see it,” one said. “Yeah, it’d be fun to bet on,” said another.

The barkeep pulled out an old, well-used chessboard to several cheers. 

“Oh. I really - I don’t think - that is -” Haruko started to panic as several other tavern guests came to watch, including the evening ladies. This was not good. She absolutely could not do this. 

Theo, on the other hand, had a vicious smile. He knew something was different with his friend and he was very much looking forward to trouncing him at chess on an off day. With an audience. 

Haruko took a breath. There had to be a way out of this. Maybe she could pass out? Start a fight? Guys did that, right? Or just run . . . she glanced toward the door. “Er? What about . . .” She paused, an idea blossoming in her panic-saturated brain. “Why watch me play him all by myself when we could take him on together?”

“What?” Willem blinked at her.

“I mean, why don’t we play as teams. Team Theo versus Team Arthur. We can collaborate on our - our moves.” Haruko tried to plead with her eyes. She had no idea what Arthur’s face looked like making that expression, but if it was the one he made at her when he wanted another nip of fudge or just a few more minutes in bed, then it had to work.

Several of the gathered audience members didn’t wait for an official agreement. They started calling out their sides, grouping behind Theo or Arthur. Willem grinned. “Guess I’m Team Arthur tonight.” He slung a friendly arm across Arthur’s shoulders. “Let’s make Theo cry.”

***

Arthur felt like every part of him was tired. He barely had a moment to himself, running from task to task, always with Sebas on his tail. His feet were sore, his back hurt, his hands were dry and chapped. After a day of doing Haruko’s work, he was beginning to think she really was magic. How did she do all of this and keep smiling?!

His final task of the day was to run into town and pick up their groceries. He had a list, written in Sebastian’s tight, neat script, access to the carriage, and the money to cover the expense. Easy enough. And a bit of a break from Sebas. He rubbed his forehead in memory of the day’s many thumps.

The carriage let him off at the corner of the market street. There were some gentleman waiting for a hansome cab, wearing proper hats and fine vests. Arthur gave them a nod as he hopped off the carriage stair.

One of the men gave a low whistle and waggled his brows. The other laughed, and said loudly, “Why lady, what a lovely bounce to your chest! I hope you take every stair just like that!”

Arthur grimaced. “Keep your eyes to yourself, scrub!” 

The man took a step forward. “What did you call me, hussy?”

Arthur balled up his fist only to remember how small and delicate it was. Rather than reply, he snorted and began to walk away. But the now-angry-man followed. 

“Apologize to me you little chit. How dare you speak to me like that, when I tendered you a compliment.” 

An unfamiliar fear took root in Arthur’s gut. One born of the realization he was fragile - Haruko was fragile. He’d never been afraid to walk alone, to speak his mind, to answer insult to insult. But as Haruko, everything had a different feel. A danger to it that he had not expected.

“I’m going to make you sorry.” The man shouted after him.

“Let her go Freddy! You’re scaring the daylights out of her,” the whistling friend intervened. “Let’s just get our cab and go.”

The angry man frowned. “Fine,” he muttered, and shouted at Haruko’s retreating back once more. “Don’t forget the lesson, slattern.” They walked off, already laughing as if nothing had happened.

When Arthur was well away from them, he leaned back against the building, breathing hard. “I am never letting Haruko out on her own again,” he said quietly. Once he had himself back under control, he made his way into the market.

Catcalls followed his trek from one shop to another as he picked up meat and cheese, pasta and vegetables. He didn’t respond to them. Not again. 

The last shop on his list was a little bakery. He went in, his head down, his heart heavy. Why had Haruko never told him it was like this for her? He knew men liked to call out - he’d even been guilty of such a time or two. Never again though. Not after feeling what it was like to be on the receiving end.

The smell of warm, fresh bread soothed his jangled nerves. He looked up to see a young man smiling brightly at him. 

“Haru! I was hoping you’d stop in today!” 

“Oh?” Arthur’s malaise at the treatment of women faded in the face of his curiosity. Who was this gent who knew his lady by a nickname. “Were you looking forward to seeing me?”

“I was.” His smile widened. “I experimented with my creme recipe. I want you to try it out. If you hadn’t come, I would have to eat the batch myself! Or worse . . . admit it to Monsier Park!”

Park was the owner of the bakery, Arthur reasoned. The shop was called Park’s Pain. “I see. Well then, let’s have it, luv.”

The boy blushed brightly, his scattering of freckles standing out. “Love? Wh-why would say that, Haru? Just call me Jack, ok?”

It was quite clear to Arthur that this shopkeep had a little crush on his Haruko. But he bet she didn’t realize. It would be cute, except that she was his girl. A little spike of wicked jealousy speared his gut. “Sure thing, Jack. So. Where is this new invention?”

Jack led Arthur to the back of the shop. It smelled of spices and yeast and butter. There was a small table with a little ashtray. Two rickety chairs were propped against it. Arthur sat down in one.

The baker brought out little chocolate rolls. The creme inside them was a little green, rather than the usual white or buttery off-white. Jack set them down on the table with a flourish and then sat in the other chair.

Arthur picked up one of the rolls and sniffed it. He wanted to make some witty insulting comment, but the thing honestly smelled delicious. He took a tentative bite and was surprised by the minty spiciness of the creme. “What - what is in this, old chap?”

Jack laughed. “I can tell by you face that you like it. That's good. I packed you a little box of them to take home.” He picked up one of the ones on the plate and popped it into his own mouth, chewing slowly. After he swallowed, he answered. “I put some ground mint and a touch of coriander into the creme. I don’t like the color but the taste is a perfect match to the rich cocoa, don’t you think?”

“It is.” Arthur sighed. He hated it. It was too good.  

“Here, let me get you some coffee to wash it down.” Jack stood up.

“I could use a smoke too, if you don’t mind.” 

“You smoke, Haru?” Jack’s brows rose. 

Arthur gave a wicked grin. “I guess you don’t know me as well as you thought, hm?” 

Jack scratched his chin. I guess not. I don’t mind though.” He fished out a hand-rolled cigarette and handed her a match, then went to pour the coffee.

Arthur lit the cig and stuck it between his lips for a drag. He didn’t smoke all the time, but after the tension of his market walk, this one was well-earned. Except . . . when he took a mouthful of smoke, he began to cough and choke. His throat burned and his eyes watered. 

“Ah, Haru? You ok?” Jack set down the coffee.

“Y-yeah,” Arthur squeaked. “Not my usual brand.” He tried to laugh and coughed some more. 

Jack grinned. “Sure. Anyway, I added cream and sugar to your coffee but let me know if you want it more sweet.”

Cream. And sugar. In his beloved black coffee. Travesty! Arthur gazed into it’s milky depths and then drank it down anyway. He needed to soothe his burning throat. 

While Arthur sipped the abomination of sweetened coffee, Jack rattled on about his day. The weird customers he had, his boss, and so on. Arthur didn’t say much, which seemed to surprise the baker. 

“You sure are quiet today. Something up? Did your boyfriend cheat on you again?” Jack leaned forward, keen on the answer.

“I never - I mean, he doesn’t do that! He would never cheat on me!” Arthur was aghast. Did she really think that?

Jack shrugged. “Well you said last week that he didn’t come home until sun-up. And I can’t imagine what else a man would be up to when he stays out all night.” He reached across to pat her hand. “I’m here, if you need to talk, you know?”

Arthur jerked Haruko’s hand back. “She - that is I - don’t need to talk to you about our relationship! Arthur would never cheat on me. I trust him.”

“I know you do. I just - I worry about you. You should be happy. With a guy that treasures you enough to come home on time and shower you with love.” Jack smiled. “And maybe some tasty baked treats.”

Arthur wanted to snap back, but Jack’s words hit a nerve. Haruko did deserve a man that came home to her instead of making her worry. One that showed her how much he adored her. “You aren’t wrong, old chap. You aren’t wrong.” He stood up. “I need to get back.”

Jack sighed. “Alright. Let me pack up your order and the creme rolls I made you.” 

The whole ride back to the mansion, Arthur lost himself in thought. He never considered there might be someone else vying for Haruko’s affection so sincerely. Nor had he known what it was like to be a girl alone. He felt like he’d got so much wrong. And he wasn’t sure where to go right with it. All he knew was that he loved Haruko more than anything and he had to let that love guide him.

Next: The Sweet Ending

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp Arthur #arthur conan doyle #body swap #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #sweet ending

[gallant-basilisk]

HEY, HELLO I wanted to ask if you can do and todobakudeku x Yandere!reader but if you have done this already plese tag me in it and also, I love your writing <3

TodoBakuDeku X Yandere!Reader

(First time writing yan reader, apologies in advance)

Here's a quick heads-up! I'm only finishing this half finished fic and I'm not doing any editing to what was already written, therefore you may come across grammatical errors and a sudden change in story-telling.

.

"Good morning Momo, Uraraka!" You ran up to the two, tackling them in a hug. "Good morning, Y/N," Uraraka yawned and her lips tugged into a tired smile. "You seem unusually excited today. Did something happen?" "Ah, well.. no.. not yet, at least." "Ooh!" The brunette exclaimed with new found energy, "something's gonna happen today?" "I presume it's something good..?" Came Momo's addition and you pondered for a moment—what to say, exactly. "I actually have something to ask from you guys.. can we--" "Alright problem children, settle down already.." Aizawa's sudden voice made you jump slightly, and everyone quickly ran to their seats.

A few seconds after taking your seat you felt your phone buzz and checked it cautiously.

— - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - —

The three musketeers GC

Momo

I'm sorry about earlier. But we can resume the conversation after class...?

Uraraka

There's nothing happening rn, lets just talk here. It seemed like you wanted it to be private anyways @Y/N

You

Yeah, ur right. It also feels more comfortable over text.

Is that okay @Momo?

Momo

If it's that important, then I can't argue. I want to make sure everything's alright with you, since you're my dear friend.

Uraraka

Aww, Momo!

You

Thanks Momo, Uraraka ❤️

Uraraka

Alright, shoot the question bestie

You

😂 Alright, alright

So the thing is..

Ilikesomeonebutidontknowbowtogjfabkuttconfessing

Momo

Uh..

Uraraka

You like someone?? 👀🎉

You

Well, yes

Multiple someones, actually

Momo

I'm not trying to insult you, but what happened?

Uraraka

Come on Momo

They're flustered and just speed wrote 🤭

Momo

I wasn't aware there was something like that 🤔

By the way, @Y/N

You

Yes?

Momo

Who are you talking about? Are they in our class?

You

.. perhaps

Uraraka

OoOoOO

Don't forget any detail!

You

What detail?

Uraraka

Who they are, how many, do you want help choosing between them, etc

You know, what friends usually asks dear friends

You

You guys really like the term dear friend, huh

But I don't want to choose between them

Momo

Y/N I hope you're not thinking about something bad

Uraraka

Huh, wym Mom?

Mom*

Mom*

MOMO

GEEZ

Oops, i mean geez

😵

You

Lol

Momo

Are you.. okay? 😅

Uraraka

Yes, just autocorrect :/

Sorry

Where were we?

Momo

Right

So what did you think about doing Y/N?

You

Ever heard of polyamory? 😐

Momo

How do you know these someones would be polyamorous? Btw, yes, I had

You

That's why I wanted to talk with you guys

You are close to them

Uraraka

Alright, but WHO

You

.....

@Momo

Momo

We can't exactly help if you don't tell us.. 😅

You

😄

Uraraka

😶

Momo

I don't mean to pressure you or anything, just...

You know

Help us help you

You

😥

Fine

Uraraka

Finally!!!!!

Momo

😅

You

So it's kinda awkward, but there's 3 guys

Just um.. don't judge , ok?

Itsmidoriyaandbakugoandtodoroki

Momo

Please type one word at a time

Or space them

It's hard on the eyes

😐

Uraraka

Um

Momo

"It's Midoriya and Bakugou and Todoroki"

Uraraka

OH

Oh.

oh..

Are you sure??

You

Yeah, very 🙈

Momo

Well, I think Midoriya and Todoroki might agree to a polyamorous relationship if they like someone, but I don't know how they feel about you

no offense!

on the other hand Bakugou....

🤔

Well, tbh I don't know him that well

Uraraka

Balugou def not gonna agree

He's the type o guy who keeps his partners for himself and "doesn't like sharing"

Momo

Especially not with those two, yeah.

But @Y/N

You

Hoo boy, here we go

Momo

What?

Yk whatever not gonna question you anymore

But how come you like them all?

I mean, they're.. kinda different, personality and appearance wise. 🤔

You

Yeah, but it's not like I have an exact type either

Momo

Do you ?

I don't remember ever getting involved with your love life

Prior to now, that is

You

Cause I didn't feel this type of intensity before now

🥰

Momo

I see, well

How can we help

...

Speaking of we, @Uraraka

Smth happen?

Uraraka

What no

Y?

Momo

You just acted a bit off

Uraraka

How?

Momo

You didn't bombard Y/N with questions

Uraraka

Still haven't thought of one

It's so sudden

I never even noticed y/n liked someone...

Momo

Well, you have plenty of time to think about questions to ask

But we should help Y/N now

Uraraka

How? 😅

It's not like i or you have any experience, especially with more than one person

You

Ouch 😔

Momo

😅

We can still think of something

No?

Uraraka

If you say so..

I'll chat with you guys once I thought of something

Momo

Alright..

You

Thanks, again

This means a lot to me guys

❤️

Momo

Np 🥰

Uraraka

Yeah

😅

— - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - —

IRL

You turned off your phone and briefly glanced at Uraraka and Momo. The latter seemed to follow through the lesson without fail after turning her phone off, while Uraraka played with her hair anxiously and chewed her lips. "Heh.." You couldn't help your lips tugging up into a small smirk at the sight of her—hopelessly thinking. Just the sentence "I have a crush on Midoriya" threw her off so much, you wonder what would happen were you to go further.

But it's enough for now.

For now.

~

"Y/N.. Y/N..." "Mmm.. yeah..?" You murmured softly—with your head nested on the desk and covered by your arms—, and, after recognizing the oh so familiar voice, you sprung up from your seat so quickly you knocked your chair back. "Midoriya! Hi!" The words left your mouth in the form of sharp breaths. "Ahaha, hi." The flustered boy scratched his face and you quickly apologized for the jumpscare, even going as far as to bow down. Which earned you an embarrassed chuckle from said boy. "I didn't mean to bother you either, just wanted to ask for your help with.. something." Midoriya averted his eyes and you took this chance to quickly scan the classroom, only to realize it was only the two of you in the room. You were happy, but also a bit disappointed that no one could witness Midoriya's adorableness and flustered state, though you'll definitely carve out every bastards' eyes who stole a glance when you finally get the chance to. But your top priority right now was the flustered boy in front of you, with his soft locks of green-black hair partially covering his eyes that glanced up once in a while and an awkward smile resting on his face. The sight of him made you feel as it always did—you could barely suppress the urge to pull him into your chest and pepper kisses on every. single. freckle on his body. The way he'd whimper and needily grab onto you, starving for your touch just as much as you do. You wanted to spoil him, to spoil ALL of them. The way all three boys would gaze up at you with glossy eyes, impatiently waiting for your return when you leave. When they finally realize how much you mean to them they'd throw away any silly dreams or thoughts, like wanting to be the No.1 hero. They don't need to work to gain the fake appreciation of those good for nothing members of society. So long as they--

"As expected, it's unreasonable from me, huh.." What?- Oh, for god's sake, you got lost in your fantasy. Again. Now look at the boy—that adorable pout on his face that makes you want to cup his face and force his mouth open to-- alright, Y/N, get your head out of the gutter. "I'm sorry if I upset you." "No, no no no no no!" Before you could regain your composure, your hands shot out to hold Midoriya's. "..?!" Midoriya's sharp gasp was the one thing that pulled you out of your daze as you kept rubbing his hands, which were unlike his face—rough, scarred and full of experience. There's definitely no way you'd be able to take him on in a one-on-one combat. "So-sorry!" You blurted out, but still didn't let go of his hands. "It's-it's just that--that, you know--you have verynicehands!..." "Um." "I-I.. I'm sorry--that sounded incredibly weirdbutididntmeanitinaweirdway or anything--notthatithinkyoucansaysomethinglikethatwithoutsoundinglikeacreep--but-but--you get it right??" "To-to be honest, you were talking a little bit too quickly. Can you repeat it?" Midoriya flashed an innocent smile making you feel as if a thousand butterflies would burst out of you at any. moment. You sighed, and regretfully, let go of Midoriya's hands, already missing the rough texture of his skin against your own.

"Nevermind. To be honest..." You began, looking at Midoriya—staring back at you with a heartbreaking look on his face. "...It's--I'd love to--that, yes... I'd love that..." You cursed yourself mentally for not having the heart to admit you weren't listening to whatever he was asking you and can only pray that it's something you're actually capable of doing. You'd rather die than to disappoint him. But that can wait, you'd rather try to engrave Midoriya's beaming face into your memory. The way he squeezed your hands. The muttered "thank yous" and that warm laugh that classified more as childish giggle will forever be a cherished memory to you, only overwritten with even more intimate moments with him.

"Really, Y/N, you're really nice— I'm sorry for involving you in something silly like this." Midoriya bowed to you and, before you could say anything, ran off through the second door. And as soon as his footsteps faded away, the first door of the classroom slid open—Uraraka held the door with her head dipped so low she might as well been bowing down to you.

"Uraraka-chan!" You called out in a sweet voice, expecting a giggle or smile from the naive girl. "What's wrong? Do you need me to help with anything, dear friend?" Instead, she raised her head and glared at you—god, that annoying baby face really doesn't work in her favor, but it sure as hell makes your blood boil. The mere fact that she was here, most likely expecting to find Midoriya all on his own, to take him away from you even when you told her already how much you yearned for him, for Katsuki, for Shoto—It's obvious!— you are the only one who can have them. Yet, despite making it so clear to her, how they all belonged to you, she still can't give up on Izuku?

"Y/N." Now what, does she want to play the victim—to make you out to be the bad guy?

Probably...

"Yes?" The word escaped through gritted teeth wishing to brutally rip her throat out, maybe that, that would make her curse-like presence perish.

She gulped audibly and took a confident stance as if she was facing a fucking low-worth criminal.

The nerve in her..!

"Wait, no, before you continue..." You raised a hand and continued shortly after, "for how long did you eavesdrop on us? What exactly did you hear? If what you heard was the reason why you're... Mad at me, then you have no right to." "Wha--" "YOU were not a participant in OUR conversation, at the most, you were just stalking me or (my) Izuku and only happened to hear it—that does NOT equal being part of it. So if--" "SHUT UP!!" Uraraka shouted and held her head, tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

!?

"You knew it already, didn't you?" You cock your head, "what could you possibly be referring to?" Her lips form a straight line and the hurt in her eyes sells her out. "Oh, it's Midoriya. Well, I would've probably guessed that sooner or later." "You're so heartless.."

"You should stop, before something happens."

But she didn't.

"Seriously--"

/ Whack /

It stings... Your cheek stings and your ears are ringing..

Did...

Did she really...

She just slapped you...

SHE. SLAPPED.YOU.

You truly didn't expect for the dumb bitch to be this dumb. Not a single ounce of courage, merely stupidity.

"Oi." You slowly raise your head, only to meet with a truly horrified expression—all the blood left her face and she, mouth parted, made shallow breaths almost as if forgetting how to breathe, like a fish stuck on land. "I-I.." She stammered, robotically raising her hands in a defensive way, probably afraid you'd hit back.

Which you really wanted to. A lot.

But, alas, nothing goes according to your wishes.

Momo steps into the classroom with Todoroki by her side, and, judging by their expressions, they probably were witness to Uraraka's uncharacteristic melt down.

"Uraraka-san." Todoroki called out, but she didn't turn to face him nor Momo. "Y/N, are you okay?" Momo ran up to you and held your face in her hands, examing the red handprint that slowly formed on your cheek. Truth to be told, it wasn't anything more than a faint uncomfortable feeling and it's most likely gonna disappear after a while.

But.

"Hnn..Momo, did," you sniffled as small droplets of clear liquid trailed down your face and rolled down Momo's hands, "did I do so-something wrong??" "No, you didn't!" A golden opportunity was presented to you. She turned towards Uraraka, "We might've not been here the whole time, but I know that you wouldn't do anything bad intentionally. And so wouldn't Uraraka." Huh? "And I'm sure we can talk this out, right, Uraraka, Y/N?" "Momo..!" Uraraka smiled at Momo with shiny eyes, but you, on the other hand... You should just get rid of them already. They're only obstacles and they never helped you in any way. "Are you okay?" Todoroki's voice tore through the red clouding your eyes. Right. "I don't know why Uraraka-san would shout at and hit me." "That's--" "Why did you hit them?" Todoroki cocked his head and raised a brow, ever so slightly at her. "I..." Uraraka gulped and looked at Todoroki, then Momo. Then you. No. "Y/N's lying about me." "What?" Momo looked at you and Uraraka, a puzzled expression evident on her face. This is not. "Lying about what? You hit me! EVERYONE SAW IT!" "Y/N." Your name fell out of Todoroki's mouth, like a whisper. No. You hadn't prepared for this situation. And you're losing it. They're all looking at you. As if you're not the victim. And truth to be told, you weren't ever really good at acting, especially not under stress. This... THIS ISN'T RIGHT. What should you do...

"Is... Is this about our chat?" You put on your best pouty face and cling to Todoroki, peeking at Uraraka from behind him. "You're mad at me because you like... Midoriya?" "--Nnh...!" She grit her teeth and averted her gaze to the floor, clenching her hands so hard the nails dug into her skin. "Uraraka?" Momo stepped forward to stand before her. "Is what Y/N said true?" "No, I don't like him... I love him! But they knew!..." "Eep!" She pointed at you with a glare and you quickly hugged Todoroki from behind in an act of terror. He turned his head back, checking on you and smiled reassuringly. Aww, how cute. So caring. You almost feel as though you should get rid of Momo and Uraraka right now, before either of those idiots hurt Todoroki. But that's not right. Not yet. "Thank you, Todoroki." You try your best to put on a sad smile, but it's just so difficult when you're so happy. Even with the way things are, it doesn't matter as long as he only has you before him. Not those... Things.

But God does it piss you off how you can't just wrap your arms around him. Can't lock him up or tie him to you... Just yet.

Just a little more.

"This is a sensitive topic to both of you (I assume), so let's talk things out when we're back at the privacy of our dorms." Momo glances around worriedly and presents an uncertain smile, probably with the intention to lighten the mood. "Is that okay with you two?" Uraraka agrees to the suggestion without much hesitation, she trusts Momo's ability to find a solution for everything, after all. You, on the other hand, swallow every venomous word attempting to escape past your lips and begrudgingly nod along.

Your fingers twist the fabric of Todoroki's uniform tightly in anger, but the boy seemingly misinterprets it as fear— he turns towards you slightly and smiles. His hand twitched, contemplating whether he should comfort you with a reassuring touch, but to your disappointment he decided against it and settled with just a smile that turned awkward with uncertainty.

Momo releases a breath of relief and puts a hand on Uraraka's back comfortingly, and slowly leads her out of the classroom. But not before shooting a strange look to Todoroki that you can't quite understand, but you can guess it meant something along the lines of 'lets separate them' or... something, because the next thing you know Todoroki's walking out (in a different direction from the girls) and you instinctively follow him, still clinging to his uniform.

You don't say anything during the walk, and you only stop when you arrive to the entrance of the dorms and Todoroki turns around— forcing you to let go of him— and scratches his neck. "Y/N." "Yes?" You answer immediately, but it doesn't divert his attention from your intense staring. Though he doesn't comment on it. "...You like Midoriya?" "No! Yes– wait, um... This is a little more complicated than it seems." You huff and massage your temple, contemplating lying. Todoroki irks a brow, but doesn't speak any further.

Should you come clean? Todoroki's a rational person, plus he wouldn't judge you, right? Maybe telling him your feelings might provide a better solution than... Well, it's still a plan B, but you shouldn't jinx things just yet.

"So, let's say hypothetically I have a "crush" on Midoriya," you fiddle with your hands and avoid looking at Todoroki for fear of exposing yourself, "but at the same time— I have a crush on an another person too..... And one other. Hypothetically saying!" He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't seem to want to leave just yet, though you're still afraid from looking up and meeting his eyes, so you can't be sure. "What would that make me?" "... I don't know." He answers thoughtfully. "You like three people?" "Hypothetically only, it's a hypothesis! Like a "what if" question." You blurt out hastily, whipping your head up and finally meeting Todoroki's gaze. Fortunately or unfortunately, he doesn't seem to have an opinion formed, or he just doesn't show it with the stoic expression he's wearing.

"Okay." He says with a bit of a pause. "I'm sorry, I don't know what answer you want." "It's not– nevermind. Let me reword that— say, hypothetically, if you were the one I had a crush on... What would you do?" "One of the three?" "Y-yeah." You sigh and carefully examine as he raises his hand to his chin in thought, seriously contemplating your "hypothesis". "...What would that mean?" "What?" "If you had a 'crush' on me, what would that mean?" "That I like you? I really don't know what you're asking."

"Then I would say thank you." "....That's it?" "Yes... Was there something else?" "Sometimes I forget how annoying it can be to talk about certain topics with you..." You grumble under your breath, but you also know that no matter how dense Todoroki can be, he's still someone you genuinely love. Even if your love may be a little too intense..... sometimes.

"No, thank you for answering my hypothetical questions. But I have to go back to my dorm now, so see you later." You say dejectedly and wander into the building, and you feel a slight pang in your chest as you consider that Todoroki may be easier to convince under different circumstances.

~ At night ~

It's about time the bakusquad leaves for their respective rooms (and Bakugou will be alone), so you use your quirk to transform into a small cat and climb into his window to wait.

"...What are you talking about?" Your ears perk up to the sudden change in atmosphere, and you try your best to eavesdrop without being spotted. "Midobro! He told me he's dating someone." Kirishima exclaimed, flashing a toothy smile to Bakugou. "No way!!" Mina screeched, but even that ear-piercing noise couldn't deter your thoughts from wandering from what the redhead had said. "Are you sure it wasn't just a prank or some kind of test from the teachers??" "Kamibro, he was blushing and rambling the whole time we talked." Kirishima turned towards Bakugou for support, but didn't receive any. "The nerd's always blushing and rambling to everyone, besides, there's no idiot stupider than him who would date him." He grumbled, briefly raising his head from his phone, and quickly returned to it. "Man..." Kirishima groaned and looked out the window— you quickly ducked to the side, hoping he wouldn't see you—, then he looked around the room once more. "So you guys aren't interested in who's Midobro's date? Not even a little bit?" "No, dumbass. Because he doesn't have one. Tch!" Bakugou commented, not raising his head this time. Kirishima turned to the other two, receiving unsure grins. "I guess we should go to our own rooms already, it's getting pretty late anyways..." He pouts, and the trio leaves files out of the room, saying a brief "good night" to the blond, now laying on his bed and leaning against the wall.

"Mreow~" You quickly seize the opportunity and paw at the glass until Bakugou notices you, and opens the window. "You're early.." He says thoughtfully as you trot towards the soft bed, and curl yourself up next to the pillow. It's something you've been doing for a few weeks now, taking on the form of a small cat and hanging out with Bakugou late at night— the first time you were impatient, thus careless, and you almost got caught in your original (human) form inside his room. But a few days later, when you were on a walk you saw a young kitten and you got an idea— and to your delight, that idea worked out well and Bakugou allowed you inside his room, even petted you and allowed so many more things that would've been considered weird, or even creepy if you were to do it as a human. (Since then, you've also began visiting Midoriya and Todoroki in their rooms when they were alone, and when morning came you took something from there as a keepsake, of course being careful not to make them too suspicous).

He plops down next to you, but this time he lays on his back and pats his stomach. You happily climb onto him and nuzzle into his neck, purring and kneading as he gently strokes your fur. His lips tug into a small, silly smile and he sighs. You know how relaxing it is for him to pet you and you'd be lying if you said this isn't one of your favourite things to do. But in a few hours, after you made sure he was asleep you'd go to visit your Izuku and Todoroki, as you've been doing for the past few weeks.

Otherwise, how could you sleep peacefully, if there was a chance either one of them could be hurt or even worse... So you have to make sure they are safe, every night, even if they don't know, even if they never thank you.

— - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - —

I really don't want to make this too long. I really didn't know how to end this, so this may seem abrupt.

Ps. I wanted a build-up, but it definitely turned a little awkward. I just didn't want to write the typical (and cringy) yandere falls in love and is immediately killing everyone who even looks at the subject of their love.

I might write another Yandere!Reader x The trio fic (that would be a 100% better) sometime in the future, but right now I'm just glad I got this one off my shoulders. Thank you for reading! ':)

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #yandere #todobakudeku x reader #yandere reader #todobakudeku x yandere reader #bnha shoto todoroki #bnha katsuki bakugou #bnha izuku midoriya #reader insert #request #reqs open

[angstyaches]

eee! i’ve missed you on my dash so much! i hope you’re doing well!! <3 i saw your post literally as i was leaving my house this morning so hopefully i’m not too late, but no worries if i am!

initially, i misread and thought you wanted to write for those four characters in general, so i thought this prompt could be fun as a bit of a throwback to the more hostile shayne/eli days: "Think your delicate stomach can handle some itty bitty crackers?" (i’m including it here anyway because i immediately thought of them when i read it and just wanted you to know! it’s from a prompt list by whumpster-dumpster)

then i realized you meant you wanted prompts for the couples, so here’s one i thought would be really sweet for felix and eliot: “That’s the fifth time in the last two minutes that you’ve yawned.” (from a prompt list by thelonelyempath)

Thanks so much, friend! I'm still dying over the Shayne/Elliott prompt lol I may get around to using it one day.

Timeline: Future

Word Count: 379

CW: sunshine character is sad, strong character feels worn down, basically no one is doing okay in this part of the timeline

___

“That’s the fifth time in the last two minutes that you’ve yawned.”

“It’s alright. I’m alright. Anyway, what I was saying was that… um…” Felix’s rambling dissolved into yet another yawn. His warm breath tickled Elliott’s chest through his shirt.

Elliott combed his fingers through Felix’s hair, taking care not to pull too hard when he reached the knots near the bottom. “Seems like you’re ready to sleep. Why are you fighting it so hard, boo?”

“Because.” Felix’s voice went small, and Elliott got a sense of him slipping out of character. Between talking with everyone and keeping the house organised, he’d been so busy that Elliott wouldn’t have been surprised if this was the stillest he’d been all day. “The next time I wake up, you’ll be gone.”

Elliott’s stomach twisted. He stroked the back of his hand over the smooth, bare curves of Felix’s shoulders and upper back.

“I just want to savour you for as long as I can.”

“I’ll only be gone for one night,” Elliott said softly, though he wasn’t even reassuring himself, so he didn’t have much hope of reassuring Felix. The new order of things meant that nobody knew what a single night could bring. Even Elliott would have been hard-pressed to deny that he wasn’t just a bit apprehensive about the new mission.

“Elli, I don’t feel good.” There was no tremor, no intonation, no urgency in Felix’s voice. Not anymore.

“No?”

“I haven’t been feeling good for a while.”

“In what way, gorgeous?”

Felix gave a shaky sigh. “I don’t quite know how to describe it.”

Well, that was that, Elliott reckoned. If his loquacious Felix had run out of metaphors for his emotions, then nobody stood a chance of coping with anything anymore.

Felix yawned, deep and long, as though his body were desperately trying to draw in enough air to kick-start his system. But just like before, he exhaled heavily as his head flopped against Elliott’s chest again.

Elliott knew in his bones that he wasn’t faring much better, but just as Felix had spent most of his day keeping everyone else’s spirits up, it was Elliott’s turn to be there for him. He wasn’t sure if he had it in him; he just knew he needed to.

#StW Felix #StW Elliott #hurt comfort #hurt and comfort #angst #angst fic #whump #vampire whump

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

A Recipe for Disaster (Chap. 7)

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | on AO3 here

y'all. this was 17 pages on google docs by time I was done. 🙃

Waking from a restless sleep early the next morning, Steve rolls over and scrubs his hands over his face. He reaches for his phone, 5:04am.

“Fuck.” He scrubs his eyes again but decides to just get up, not thinking he’d be able to go back to sleep anyway.

He slides his glasses onto his face (he usually wears contacts, but he’s not awake enough for that yet), gets out of bed and pulls on some joggers and a shirt. Slipping on the god awful lime green Crocs Robin ordered for him for his birthday and grabbing his phone, he starts down toward the kitchens. He’s hoping to have some time alone to grab some coffee and maybe pilfer some sort of breakfast before he’s swept up into getting ready for the parade.

He sees a couple security guards and doormen on his way down, but otherwise doesn’t run into anyone until he enters the kitchen and who would be there at the small table but one Edmund Muñoz.

Steve didn’t actually register him being there until after he’d grabbed himself some coffee (black this morning, too lazy to put anything in it) and an apple. He’d turned to find Eddie sitting, frozen, and staring at Steve already. There was a mug of something and an empty bowl and spoon sitting in front of him on the table.

“Good mor–” Eddie’s voice is low and thick with sleep, which may or may not have a significant effect on Steve at that moment, but he stops to clear his throat before continuing. “Good morning Your Highness, sleep well?”

Steve stares at the other man. His hair is pulled back into a loose messy bun and he’s wearing some sort of band tee that is so faded that only the ghost of the band’s logo remains, the decal itself long washed away. The collar is stretched out and loose around Eddie’s neck and without knowing why, Steve just knows that if he could see the other man’s legs, they’d be in some sort of plaid patterned lounge pants.

He’s been quiet too long, Eddie is starting to fidget, looking slightly cowed and nervous. “I can go, I don’t want to intrude on your breakfast.” he stands and starts to gather the notebook and loose papers scattered on the table in front of him.

“No! Please, stay.” Steve puts his hand up that’s holding the apple, remaining fingers held up placatingly while still grasping the fruit. “I don’t want to interrupt yours either.”

Eddie gives a small nod and sits back down; an awkward silence settles over them for a moment before Steve asks “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Eddie shakes his head immediately, a surprised look on his face, but gestures to the seat next to him, along the side of the table to his right.

“Thanks.” Steve sets down his mug and shuffles onto the stool next to Eddie (His pants are actually red and black buffalo check print, not plaid, but close enough). Eddie returns to his journal and Steve pulls out his cell. 

“I like your glasses. They um..really suit you.” Eddie says in a small voice that Steve almost didn’t hear. 

Steve blinks at him, still writing something in his journal. The parts of his cheeks Steve can see are turning pink. “Thank you.” is all he can stutter out.

They sit in a surprisingly comfortable, still slightly tense silence after that; Steve is scrolling through Twitter and purposefully scrolling a bit quicker past any mention of him or the palace’s garden party yesterday. But to his dismay, it’s all people are talking about. Only one picture someone had managed to snap of him walking back with Dustin to the palace was circulating like crazy. The sopping wet state of his suit did him many favors, if he was not a person in the public eye already. This picture was taken right as he’d stretched his arms up to flip the towel he was given around his shoulders, and everyone was speculating on what had happened. Some chalked it up to him just being that clumsy and that he’d fallen into a pond on the grounds (no one had assumed the fountain, thankfully), but the majority were talking about Steve himself, and what had now been left with little to the imagination.

Steve audibly groans and clicks off his phone, putting it face-down on the table and takes an angry bite out of his apple, scowling down at the grain of the tabletop in front of him.

“I’m sure the parade today will give them something else to talk about.”

Steve hmmm’d around his bite of apple in response, still looking down at the table.

Eddie sighs and puts his pen down into the spine of his journal. “Ste–Your Highness, I have to apologize.” He corrects himself, not wanting to step over any lines. “If I hadn’t goaded you on like that yesterday, that picture wouldn’t have even existed for the masses to gawk at.”

Steve is stunned and looks up at Eddie, who is now looking down at his hands curled together on the edge of the table.

He swallows the remaining fruit in his mouth. “Oh, uhm. Thank you..Eddie”

Eddie’s head slowly comes up, meeting Steve’s eyes. Then he smiles. It’s a small thing, but it’s so warm and genuine that the bars Steve built up around his heart to keep Eddie out, instantly melt away into nothing.

Steve smiles back and goes back to his apple. Takes a bite and looks at the papers scattered across the table in front of him.

He’s about to ask about them when Eddie says “Is your side okay?”

Steve had taken a look at the damage yesterday and made sure to register any other odd feelings in the future in case he’d actually hurt something, but he hadn’t even thought about it since waking up. He stretches and twists…ow. Yep. That’s definitely going to stick around for a while. He lifts his shirt, the side he’d landed on the spout is closer to Eddie, whose breath hitches when he sees it.

The bruise is dark purple, almost black at the center, with webs of lighter blues and purples fanning outward from it. Now that he’s looking at it, It’s about the size of Steve’s palm, spanning out a bit more than when he’d looked at it in the mirror yesterday.

“Steve, I’m so sorry.” Eddie absentmindedly reaches forward and places his palm over the bruise, covering it completely. He snatches his hand away when Steve sucks in a sharp breath at his touch. “Sorry, sorry..” 

“It’s okay, you didn’t hurt me, your hand is just really cold.” Steve chuckles softly when Eddie reaches for his mug and wraps his slender fingers around it as if to warm them. Steve drops his shirt, “And it wasn’t your fault, anyway. I was the one who pushed you…sorry.”

“No need, I’m the one who kissed you.” Eddie’s eyes bored into Steve’s.

“I think we both kissed each other.”

Eddie smiles, “Yeah, I think we–”

“Good morning brochacho, Royal Brochacho.”

Steve and Eddie both jump in their seats and snap up straight, both of them having been leaning in toward one another without even realizing. Steve’s face burns in embarrassment and looks away towards Argyle.

“H-hey Argyle, good morning.” Steve greets the chef.

Argyle was definitely a character. If you ask him, he would tell you he just wanted a change in life when he’d moved overseas from California, but he was actually making the rounds as a viral sensation in his own food truck. Making all sorts of funky and delicious creations that landed him (highschool drop-out stoner and freshly 18) on a variety of Travel Channel shows. He’d impressed even the most stubborn of the world's best chefs and had somehow earned his food truck a Michelin Star. 

Then he’d closed up shop, saying he needed a change, and moved himself overseas. He originally applied just to work in the palace kitchens, but the chefs that came before him knew who he was and quickly shot him up the ranks to take over as Head Chef when the previous retired only about a year before.

“What are we up to this early, my dudes?” He hikes up his brightly colored pants a bit before straddling the stool directly next to Eddie and plopping down. His hair wasn’t up in his normal braids yet (how he’d wear it in order to keep it out of the way and out of the food), and his extremely long hair bounced a bit with the movement.

“Writing up some ideas for my next campaign. The various royal and non-royal gremlins really liked the one-shot we did, so we’re gonna try making a whole campaign.”

“Is this that Gargoyle game that Will and Dustin like?”

“Dungeons and Dragons.” Steve cuts in without even thinking about it.

“That’s the one, thanks royal bro.” Argyle snaps a finger gun at him.

He expects Eddie to continue, and looks over when he doesn’t. Eddie’s staring at him, eyebrows high on his forehead. 

“What?”

“You know D&D?”

“Oh, um. Kinda? Dustin talks about it a bunch, and so did ‘Lady Applejack’ when we danced at my birthday ball. Plus I saw your, what’d you call it? Oneshoot?”

“Oneshot.”

“Oneshot..the other day when I was passing by. You guys seemed like you were having a lot of fun.” Steve’s embarrassed to be telling Eddie this but he wants him to know? Like he wants to impress the other man.

Eddie continues to stare.

Steve clears his throat, “So, you making new characters or something?”

That shakes Eddie out of it, “Yeah, I am. Trying to come up with new NPCs, a couple locations too.” he shrugs.

“Very cool, my man. Would love to hear all about it sometime.” Argyle slaps Eddie’s shoulder then stands, heading over to the hook on the wall where his white coat was hanging. 

“Yeah, sure man.” Eddie rolls his eyes with a smile and gathers up his papers. 

Steve takes that as his que to leave as well. “You are going to the parade today?” He stands and busies himself with emptying his half-full mug and tossing the core of his apple, feeling stupid for hoping the answer is yes. 

Eddie had just finished stacking his papers away into his journal “Of course, I’ll always be there for you, Stevie.” and gives him a wink and a small smirk before turning to head up the stairs from the kitchen.

Steve’s brain takes a minute to reboot after that, but once it does Steve covers his face with his hands and grins stupidly big.

“Damn, that was smooooooth.” Argyle croons from one of the stoves.

--

Steve walks back to his suite in a daze. He knows his face still has that stupid goofy grin on it since Eddie left the kitchens but he really can’t help it. No, really. He tried to school his face back to normal and the grin would grow across his face once more.

He had just flopped down on his bed when Robin bursts in “Dingus, I’m in love.”

“Jesus Chr–Why the hell are you up so early?”

She barrels on. “Chrissy is the sweetest person in the whole world and I swear she was flirting with me yesterday…” Robin rants for a bit, and Steve just lounges back and listens to her. “I invited her to join in the parade but she said she was already going to be there, outside the orphanage. The orphanage Steve! She tutors orphans!”

Steve feels ashamed he didn't get that when he was busy peacocking Nancy around in his and Edmund’s weird fight yesterday

“Wow… that’s actually really amazing; Eddie and I were being asses yesterday so I didn’t really get to talk to her much…”

“Oh it's Eddie today, is it?”

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes then rolls onto his side, propped up on one elbow. “So you’re in love that quickly, huh?”

“No faster than you, Dingus.” She’s got him there.

She starts rambling on about Chrissy again. And continues to rant while he gets ready; and continues some more after she starts getting ready.

“I really think we could work out Steve, she’s–help?” Robin’s stuck halfway out of her hoodie so Steve moves to help her out.

“Okay stop talking for just a few minutes so you can safely get out of your shirt now, ‘kay?”

“You know what? I’m going to talk even more now. And louder.” She steps into his walk-in closet and starts yelling through the door. “As I was saying, I think she could be it.”

“Oh yeah? Does she like boobies as mch as you do?”

“Ugh, please don’t say boobies, and..I don’t really know..”

“Well I hope for your sake she does.”

-

He and Robin are wearing coordinated outfits today, Steve in a sunflower-colored ensemble from his own closet, and she is in his suit from his birthday; they’ve swapped bowties and she wears her sleeves rolled, otherwise, they’re a matching set.

“One of these days we’ll manage to convince people we’re actual twins.” She comments when they’re fixing themselves in Steve’s big mirror.

“The outfits will definitely help.” he agrees as he fixes his hair for the fifteenth time. Getting the perfect polished prince look while not looking stuffy is a hard mark to hit.

“Careful kids, you don’t want people vying for Madam Robin to become Genovia’s next queen.”

They turn toward Hopper’s voice. He’s wearing his all black uniform as usual, and it’s a stark contrast to Dustin’s. Each piece of his suit is a different color. Navy slacks, light blue shirt, yellow bowtie, burgundy shoes, and a deep purple coat.

“One, rude; Two, Dustin, really? What the hell is that outfit?” Steve directs at Hopper then Dustin.

“If you’re gonna be rude Your Highness, I’ll just leave and take this gift with me.” he turns toward the door but Hopper’s large hand grabs him by the shoulder and turns him back around before he can even take a step. He’s grinning his signature gummy grin when he is.

“Damn, why are you always getting the gifts around here? Some of us poor people want to get gifts too, you know.” Robin grumbles half-heartedly

Steve opens his mouth to snark back at her but Dustin cuts in before he can “Her majesty got this for Robin, actually.”

“Oh my god! Gimme!” Robin snatches the box out of his hands and starts fighting with the ribbon.

“You didn’t answer my other question Dusty, what’s with the outfit.”

“It’s all the royal colors! Duh, Steve.”

“Genovia’s royal family usually sticks to only burgundy, gold, and purple though.”

“Well yeah, Nancy’s colors are light and dark blue. Sue me for waiting to be inclusive.”

“Hey, help me with this Dingus.” Robin interrupts.

“Sure, I got you.” he takes the box from her.

“We’ll meet you outside in five.” Hopper says, dismissing himself and Dustin, who follows him immediately

Steve starts fighting with the ribbon. “I kissed Eddie yesterday.” he admits, and Robin gasps and slaps a hand over her mouth. “Almost kissed him again this morning.”

He finally pulls the ribbon loose and passes the box over to Robin.

“What does that mean? Just yesterday you weren’t his biggest fan.”

“Yeah, well, turns out I may have capital “F” Feelings for him” He clears his throat. “So, what did Dusty bring you?”

“Steve..”

“It’s fine Robin; we’ll talk about it later, I promise.”

He could tell that she really didn’t want to let this go, but she relented and opened the box.

“Well, I know what crown you’ll be wearing.” She tilts the box towards him and there was a small replica of his favorite golden crown, just a small thing that robin can pin into her hair to match him better.

Steve chuckles, “She knows us too well.” 

He plucks the small crown from the box and pins it around the artfully messy bun Robin had pulled her hair into on the top of her head, turns to his closet to retrieve his crown (and two pairs of matching sunglasses for them), and the two of them step out into the hall where Dustin and Hopper were waiting.

-

Once they get to the beginning of the parade route, Steve walks with Robin ahead of the carriage a little ways to his beloved BMW.

He had found the burgundy convertible 1986 325i Cabrio for pretty cheap back home (before he knew he was a royal) and had been working off the debt from the repairs that were needed when Joyce came back into his life and was kind enough to pay off the balance. He made sure to have it shipped with him back to Genovia when he was, and now she’d be in the parade line, all shiny, clean, and pristine. Nancy will be driving her through the route, Robin called shotgun as soon as she knew the car would be in the line, and Dustin and Claudia in the back seat, following Wayne who will be marching on foot.

Nancy is there already, chatting with Wayne and Claudia 

“Just promise you won’t run me over, your highness. I am not as fast as I used to be.” Wayne muses, earning him a lighthearted slap from Claudia.

“Oh hush. Ignore him, Your Highness, he’ll be just fine.”

Nancy’s in a sky blue, short-sleeved pantsuit and low strappy heels today, a silver crown in her hair “Of course not Prime Minister, I’m just glad they’re allowing me to drive it myself!” 

“You guys talking about my baby?” Steve says in greeting as he walks up with Robin.

“Good morning, Steve.” Nancy gives him a kiss on each of his cheeks. “And yes, if your baby is Prime Minister Henderson here.” She smirks.

“Absolutely.” He returns, and Wayne throws his head back in a full belly laugh, shaking his head before walking off with Claudia to talk to Hopper.

“You two look great!” Nancy steps back a bit from him and Robin, giving them an appraising look. “Did you get any pictures yet?”

“I’m sure Jonathan will get some, or do you mean for ourselves?”

“Both!” Robin answers for them and pulls out her phone “Nancy, will you take a couple of us?” 

Nancy smiles and takes Robin’s phone from her and she and Steve start in on their usual poses, three or four practiced poses that they always got together. They got two shots of the exact same pose, one where Steve is leaning on the windshield of his car throwing a peace sign, with Robin hunched slightly, hands on her hips, then the same pose but in front of the nearby storefront, where Steve leans on nothing instead.

Nancy’s laughing at the two of them the whole time, but soon says “Okay, okay, get a couple actual professional looking ones, you two.”

“We’re always professional, Nance.” Steve rebukes as Robin starts digging through his jacket pockets.

“Here you go, Dingus,” she hands him one of the two pairs of glasses and puts on the other. “What’s more professional than sunglasses, right?”

After one more super professional shot (Steve with his arms crossed against his chest, Robin with her hands clasped in front of her), Robin takes the glasses from Steve’s face, “Okay, now let me get one of the royal couple.” She takes the phone from Nancy, who moves to Steve’s side.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side, throwing off her balance a bit so she rolls into him slightly and catches herself with a small hand on his chest. He plants a kiss on her temple before pulling back and giving a regular pose for Robin.

Robin lowers her phone and steps up under Steve’s other arm to show the other two the photos on her screen.

“These are great Robin! Send them to me?” Nancy laughs at the one she took of Steve and Robin next to the beemer. 

“We look ridiculous, you have to post that on your Instagram, Robs.” Steve says. “Your fans will love that one.”

“Pfft, they’ll only like it ‘cause they’re thirsty for you.”

She scrolls to the one of Steve kissing Nancy on her temple “This one would be a great one for Jonathan to get posted across the palace’s social media.” Nancy comments.

“Only if he buys it from me, this’d go for some good money!” Robin gestures to her phone and the other two laugh easily before Hopper steps up to the three and Robin slides her phone back into her pocket.

“Highnesses, Madam Robin, are you ready to go? We are still waiting for her majesty, but as soon as she arrives we’ll be on our way.”

“Yep, we are good to go Hop.”

“Good.” He goes over the parade route once more before he heads back to the carriage where Steve and Joyce’ll be seated.

“Hello your highnesses, Miss Robin.” Jonathan steps up as soon as Hopper leaves, a warm smile on his face, and the screen of his camera turned toward the three of them. He’d captured a shot of the three of them together from a few minutes previously while Hopper regaled them with the parade route info, Steve’s arms still slung over the two ladies. 

“Wow Steve, you’re quite the ladies man.” Robin teases with an elbow in his ribs (thankfully, just above his bruise), making Steve drop his arms from the two women while Nancy stifles a laugh.

“Okay, okay, leave me alone. Alright,” Steve claps his hands together. “Let's get you ladies situated.” He sticks out his arm for Robin to take at the same time Jonathan extends an arm to Nancy. Steve walks Robin around to the passenger side of the car while Jonathan escorts Nancy the short way back to the driver’s side.

As soon as he shuts the door on Robin with an eyebrow wiggle to her and a glance to Nancy’s still red face even after Jonathan had stepped away to head down the route a bit farther, he jogs over to Dustin and Claudia.

“Hey Hendersons, we are about ready to go. Dustin, will you help your mother to the car?”

“Of course,Your Highness,” he puts on his fake haughty voice, and sticks out his elbow “Allow me to escort you to your steed, m’mother.”

She shakes her head at his antics with a smile, but takes his arm and they head off.

“He’s such a goof.” Steve says aloud to Wayne.

Wayne makes a sound of agreement “I’m glad he has friends like you and those other kiddos around, especially with the less than normal life he’s had since I became Prime Minister.”

Steve nods “He’s pretty great, like the little brother I both always and never wanted.”

Wayne gives him another warm laugh and claps Steve on the shoulder, “You and Eddie both.”

Steve’s brain stutters to a stop “Eddie?”

Wayne looks at him, confused for a moment, then his eyebrows raise in realization. “Yes, Eddie is my nephew. We really only just recently reconnected, so I haven’t told Dusty yet, but he’s already been a friend to him and I’m glad for it.”

“Oh.” is all Steve can muster.

Wayne gives him a slightly concerned look, but gives him another pat on his shoulder and a slight nudge back up the line.

‘So that’s the family Dustin said Wayne hadn’t wanted to be associated with when he married Claudia…Eddie’s his nephew…’

Steve sinks into the far seat of the carriage’s bench still reeling from the news when Hopper steps up onto the lip behind him.

“So, how are we feeling this morning, highness?”

“Honestly Hop, not that great.” Not anymore at least.

“Would it make you feel better if you called me ‘Jimmy’?”

Steve smiles, feeling some of the weight lift from his shoulders when he turns to smile up at Hopper. “I’d never do that to you, Hop.”

Hopper smiles down warmly at him and gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze. He faces forward once more when Hopper steps off to greet Joyce as she arrives, and Steve realizes the two horses that’ll be pulling them along are Sandy and Danny.

‘Of course.’ he thinks, and smiles at the little nips Sandy gives Danny’s neck. He flicks his tail into her but then nuzzles his snout into her neck in return. ‘Are these damn horses making me jealous now? Pathetic..’ Steve thinks to himself.

“Come along Hop, we’re already late.” Joyce says, and steps up into the carriage with the help of another guard. “Can’t keep the people waiting!”

---

Eddie reluctantly sits beside his father in the roped off section along the route for the local and visiting dignitaries.

“Ah, about time I see you again, boy. You avoiding your old man now?”

“Of course not.” He returns curtly.

He scoffs, but it seems to satisfy his dad and Eddie turns his attention to the teens in the row in front of him. 

He leans forward, “How is Will the Wise?”

Will turns around in his chair, and smiles “Hey Eddie, I'm doing great!” Eddie catches his glance to Mike in the seat next to him, who is turned to talk to another teen on his other side. “How is the campaign coming?”

“You only like me for my D&D prowess, I knew it.” Eddie places his hand over his chest in fake hurt, “You wound me.” 

“No, no, of course not! But Lucas and Erica are here for a couple days for Independence day, and I’d love to get them in on a session.”

“Ah, I see, This is Lucas then?” He says a bit louder which catches the attention of said Lucas.

“Hi, yeah, I’m Lucas Sinclair.” The boy on the other side of Mike reaches his hand behind Mike’s chair to shake Eddie’s hand.

“Pleasure, Lord Sinclair, I’ve heard a lot about you. Let me guess, Ranger?” he points at Lucas with a raised brow.

“Yo! How’d you know?”

“Eddie’s actually a mind reader.” Mike cuts in.

“We told him about yours and Erica’s characters already so he could plan the full campaign.” Will corrects.

Lucas nods in understanding.

“So, are you interested, Lord Sinclair?”

Lucas glances to Will and Mike, who each give him a slight nod in return.

“Yeah, I’m in.” he grins at Eddie

“I am too, not that you were gonna ask.” Eddie looks over to his left and down at Erica in the chair next to him.

“You’re correct, I wasn’t going to ask since I just assumed Lady Applejack would make an appearance?”

He can see her cheek lift in a smile while still looking down at her screen. “You assumed correct.” 

The parade procession rounds the corner up the road from them then. There was a marching band leading the charge, a selection of the Leapers of Libbet, then he could see Wayne round the corner just behind them. Eddie smiles at his Uncle, waving the little Genovian flag he’d be given and whistling at him as he passed.

The car just behind Wayne is a beauty, being driven by Nancy, surprisingly (he chuckles a bit at the sight of a whole-ass princess driving an 80s something beemer). Robin is in the passenger seat, Mrs. Henderson is behind her, and Dustin is sat behind Nancy. Eddie wonders whose car it even is, but his question is answered by Will.

“Who’s car is that?’ Lucas asks excitedly.

“It’s Steve’s!” Will calls over to him over the noise of the band, “He bought it in highschool, back in the states, and had it shipped over here!”

They all wave excitedly at Dustin in the BMW’s back seat, and Eddie clocks Ellie leaning forward over the rope a bit more to do so. Interesting.

He looks back up the procession to where he can see Chrissy standing outside the orphanage on the corner of the route.

She has a smiling infant on her hip and she’s turned to face up the road further from there the parade is coming from. She’s got the baby’s little arm in her hand and is making the baby wave its hand at something coming up the road.

That’s when Steve and Joyce’s carriage comes into view, pulled along by Danny and Sandy. He focuses solely on Steve, looking like pure sunshine in the sunflower yellow suit he’s chosen, and laughs as he does a small baby wave for a bit too long at the kiddo Chrissy’s holding.

---

Looking forward again after waving a bit too long at Chrissy and the infant she has in her arms, Steve can see the section of the crowd where the palace’s appointed guests sit along the route.

The Sinclairs have arrived for the celebrations; Erica is ignoring the festivities, fully invested in whatever game she’s got on her phone, while Lucas is also ignoring the parade in front of him to stare at Max from across the section.

He sees Max is sitting up straight and attentive, hands clasped in her lap, seeming nervous, but is smiling at the Hendersons, who are just passing that section now, a ways ahead of his and Joyce’s carriage.

Ellie is on Max’s left, grinning much bigger and leaning over the rope a bit to wave excitedly at Dustin.

On Ellie’s other side is Will, seeming to enjoy whatever it is Mike is saying from his other side; and Mike must be telling some grand story because he’s gesturing wildly and is turned completely in his chair towards Will.

And Eddie. 

Eddie’s there, just behind Mike and Will, and Steve’s brought back to their first meeting. Eddie’s hair is pulled half-up, half-down, and he feels the urge to swoon at Eddie’s crooked smile.

He sees them all, registers them, but then his attention is pulled back from somewhere behind the carriage. Since they’d turned the corner, the orphanage that had been on the right is now behind them and to the left, exactly where he’d heard something. He looks back, and sees Chrissy looking away from the event to a small boy on the other side of the steps from her, face laced with concern. Steve follows her line of sight and…

It’s him.

It’s him?

It was a small commotion that called Steve’s attention to the little boy with long, shaggy, auburn hair and lots of freckles he’d somehow not seen initially. There were two bigger boys pulling on his hair in turns, hiding their hands after they would, feigning innocence. Even from his distance, Steve could see the boy’s face scrunched up in a familiar way, one of his small hands pulling on a lock of his own hair for comfort.

Without thinking, Steve jumps from the carriage and walks around the back of it toward the orphanage.

“Halt!” he hears Hopper bellow at the procession, and he steps up to the kids on the curb, crouching down to their level.

“Hello, everyone.”

They respond with a scattered mix of shy and excited “Hello”s, and jumbled “Your Highnesses”. Steve hears one voice call “Hi Prince Steeb!” excitedly.

“Are you enjoying the parade?”

“Yeah!”

“I’m glad! Now can you excuse me? I need to talk to Miss Chrissy.”

The sea of children part, and approaches the boy he’d seen from the road, standing next to Chrissy now, giving her a small ‘hey’.

“Hello!” He says softly, squatting in front of the boy..

“Hi..” It’s barely a whisper.

“What’s your name?”

“Martín..”

“And did I see you two messing with Martín?” Steve directs over the boy’s shoulder to the two older boys that had been tugging on his hair. The boys faces drain of color and they jump down off the steps and run to hide behind Chrissy, who just shakes her head at them.

“They were tugging on my hair..They said it is too long. Like girl’s hair…” Martín says sadly.

“Well, my hair is long, and I say I am a boy.” Steve assures the boy. “What do you say you are?”

He thinks about it for a moment, adding in a ‘hmmmmm’, before answering “I’m a boy.”

Steve smiles at his assertion “Well guess what, I declare that today you are also a prince, just like me. How’s that sound?”

“But I’m too little. I’m only four.” Martín holds out the hand that isn’t tugging on his own hair, four fingers spread wide.

“That’s the perfect age to be a prince! In fact, I think you all are the perfect candidates for Princes and Princesses today.” he stands, speaking to all the curious faces around him.

He beckons a nearby vendor to him, an older man selling plastic tiaras. “Can we please get them all a crown?” He asks him quietly as the kids around them are screaming and yelling in excitement.

“All? Give them all free tiaras?”

“I’ll take care of it.” Steve pats the man on the shoulder.

The man is relieved at that “Thank you, Your Highness!”

Steve grabs a gold crown for Martín, and crouches down in front of him once more while Chrissy and the vendor help the other kids with crowns and wands of their own. “Would you like to walk in front with me?”

Martín nods excitedly and Steve places the crown on his head. He stands, holds out his hand for Martín to take, and leads them to the front of the pack.

He lets his hand go once he’s at the front, on the curb and moves a couple steps away to address the kids.

“Okay, everyone,” he calls, and all the kids fall silent to listen “You are all, now, Princes and Princesses.” He paces in front of them like they’re an army battalion. “So you gotta walk the way you think a prince or princess should walk. So… stand up straight, shoulders back,” he pauses to face them directly again, smiling at the way they all fixed their posture the best they could “and just have fun. You ready?”

“Yeah!!” they scream. 

Steve steps up next to little Martín, and holds out his hand for him to take. Grasping his little hand, Steve waves his other to Hopper.

Hop gives him a nod and says something into his earpiece as he turns and hops back up onto the back of Joyce’s carriage.

“Drumroll, Please!” Steve calls, knowing the drummaster was nearby, marching at the head of the group of soldiers that were behind he and Joyce previously. There’s a call back of ‘Give the prince a drum roll!’ from the man who’d been calling the directions for the soldiers, and as the procession begins to move in front of them, he takes the first step forward with Martín.

They march down the road a bit, and he looks back. All the kids are off the curb, and the soldiers have started to follow. He looks forward again and smiles, waving at the crowds with his free hand, and marching closer and closer to where his friends are sitting.

Steve looks down at Martín, who is smacking his free hand back and forth from his mouth and out to the cheering crowd around him. He also seems to already be losing steam, so Steve scoops him up onto his hip to spare the boy’s little legs.

“Whatcha up to bud? Blowing kisses to your adoring subjects?” he says once he’s settled on his left hip.

“Ya! Just like Queen Joy!” he answers brightly, and smacks his palm to his mouth once again.

Steve’s confused for a moment, but as soon as he looks up, sure enough, Joyce throws out a light kiss from her fingertips to one side of the road, then turns and waves to the opposite.

“You’re so right, that’s a great idea.” Martín’s smile when Steve starts blowing kisses with his free arm is going to be burned into his brain forever.

---

Steve and his new hoard of children are slowly marching toward them down the road and Eddie is fully in love.

Steve’s got one of the smaller boys on his hip at the front of the group and the little boy looks so much like a little version of the prince that Eddie thinks he could easily be his son. The shaggy length of his auburn locks, the freckles a good substitute for Steve’s moles, the bright smile.

The boy is smacking out clumsy kisses from his whole palm and when Steve says something to him, Steve nods and also starts blowing kisses to the crowd around them.

There are excited, high-pitched screams that erupt from the masses and Eddie rolls his eyes. He’s seen more and more Prince Steve fanpages crop up online recently, and he just knows that the photos and videos being taken right now will be at the forefront of peoples’ minds for a long time.

Steve’s nearly across from them now, waving to the opposite side of the road. When he turns his attention to their side once again, and sees the teens, he bounces the boy on his hip and points them out to him. The little boy beams and waves excitedly at the cheering teens in the front row. 

Even Erica and Mike seem to be excited to see the two, and give a smile and wave to their friend, and Max and Ellie are cooing at little Steve. 

Steve locks eyes with Eddie as they are about to round the corner and out of sight as they continue on, and blows a kiss directly to him.

Eddie’s hand jumps up to his heart and gives a fake swoon that makes Steve laugh and shake his head as he continues by.

Eddie glances around and it seems like no one caught the action, most likely thinking that Steve's thrown it to Max and Ellie who were giggling uncontrollably. 

His father is faced away from him so he didn’t catch his son’s movement, and is still grumbling about Steve letting the children join the parade being some “low, despicable, political trick”.

He risks a glance behind him. Erica is giving him a shit-eating, knowing grin, and Will is looking at him in awe and surprise. Eddie brings a finger to his lips in a mimed shushing, giving the both of them wide, serious eyes. They both nod in sync and turn back to the rest of the parade.

Eddie feels lighter than he has in months.

Part 8 here!

I love you all! @henderdads @steveshairychest @sidebarre @resident-gay-bitch @kaspurrcat @melkene @livewondrousss @sadcanadianwinter @steddieasitgoes @mightbeasleep @princessstevemunson @totallybitchin @potentialheartofdarkness @spectrum-spectre

#steddie #steve x eddie #steveddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #st #stranger things #st fic #stranger things fic #princess diaries au #pd2 au #pd2 #stephan artur harrington renaldi #lord edmund munoz #dustin henderson #jim hopper #joyce byers #jonathan byers #will byers #mike wheeler #nancy wheeler #chrissy cunningham #robin buckley #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #argyle #max mayfield #el hopper #eleven

[whorekneecentral]

hi anj!! following your recent mark webber blurb (loved it btw) could you show us your fav pics of him? and since he def screams daddy could you write about how you’d meet him as your sugar daddy and how he’d treat you overall? i know it’s a lot in one ask so feel free to do what you want, thx in advance <3

hi babes! I'm gonna put the photos in another post but I'll defo write sugar daddy!mark for you <3

he probably wasn’t even looking for a sugar baby, he just happened to be at this bar one night to meet up with some friends and took a liking to the bartender. 

you were only working the closing shifts at said bar because you needed the extra cash to cover your rent and your tuition for next summer. 

mark introduced himself and you poured him a drink, he asked what a young girl like you was doing working in a place like that -- to be fair, the bar was a little shady and grimy but it had its charm. 

yo explained to him why you were there and he asked you for a pen and a napkin after. he wrote his number down, he said to give him a call if you ever wanted a different job and you’re like um okay ?? 

anyways, a few weeks pass and the shifts were slowing down because they hired two full time bartenders so you dig the napkin out of your purse and gave him a call. 

mark asked you to meet him at some fancy restaurant and you did. your first assumption was that you’d be filling some role resembling an assistant or something; nothing prepared you for when he pull on asked you to quit your job and let him take care of you. 

you were a little skeptical at first; sex in exchange for money seemed at bit.. morally wrong? 

mark assured you he wasn’t in it for the sex, you didn’t have to do anything you weren't comfortable with. all he was asking was that you’d join him at parties and have dinner with him a few times a month, ad of course the occasional night over at his place. 

he also specified you two didn’t have to sleep in the same room either, he just wanted some company. 

it seemed reasonable so you said yes. mark drove you home that evening and told you to pack a suitcase because he’d pick you up the next morning as you two could take a little trip. 

again, you should have said no but he seemed so sweet and trustworthy so you said yes. 

and the next morning, he showed up at your door at 7:30, you figured he was coming for like 10 so you were sleeping when he showed up. you invited him in while you got ready. 

the two of you headed a few hours out of the city to a place he had closer to the water. 

the first few days were you two getting comfortable with each other, just spending a lot of time talking and getting to know each other. you took turns cooking or you cooked together, you also learnt he was a good cook. 

mark was sweet and he never made you uncomfortable, any physical contact you two had so far was initiated by you; he let you take the lead.

the last night, you two went for dinner at this little place by the water which wasn’t too far off. you ended up walking there and back but your feet were killing you so you took your heels off and mark give you a piggy back ride back to the house. 

you had had maybe one too many glasses of wine at dinner so you were somewhere between tipsy and sober when you told him you wanted to sleep with him. mark knew you weren't all the way sober so he made you some coffee and sat with you while you did. 

he didn’t say anything because he wasn’t sure if you were serious or not but when you brought it up again, he took you seriously. 

he let you set the pace, you took the lead. he didn’t want you to feel like you had to do something but you wanted too, you really did. 

so you did, you two started on the couch, moved to the bed, fell asleep, woke up the next morning and then ended up doing it in bed, and then the shower and once more in the garage as you packed up to leave. 

#sugar daddy!mark #mark webber smut #mark webber

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Hi, hello, hola, and happy Stab Caesar Day! Tumblr ate my original draft because, um, I guess its hunger is horrible and insatiable? But here I am for take two. Thank you to @artsyunderstudy, @larkral, and @forabeatofadrum, who tagged me today and who continue to craft delightful things.

Updates on My Good Egg (Good morning, good night, good morning): My plan of posting Chapter 4 today ain't gonna happen. I updated the author's notes, but the next posting date is TBD. I need to focus on my health right now, and then I'll be travelling for a bit (March 24-April 7). But hey, if you've been meaning to read this one, now's a great time to catch up? 🤣

In the meanwhile, I'll share a snippet featuring several of my OCs, Baz's queer, chaotic uni friends. Behind the cut for mild spice. 🌶️

Bunce goes off with Simon so that she can pump the American bartender for information, and as soon as they’re out of earshot, Emma leans forward, her eyes glittering. “Well?”

“Well what.”

“I told Liu and Ramesh you got kidnapped,” Emma says, waving her hand dismissively, “and of course we’re all very worried and hope you’re doing okay and acclimating to regular life again, but have. You. Ridden. That.” 

Baz regrets downing a few rats before they left for the pub, because it means he has enough blood in him to blush. “We’ve been figuring out this kidnapping situation,” he says coolly. “It hasn’t left much time for carnal pursuits.” 

“Baz,” Liu says, aghast. “Why haven’t you fucked that nice himbo? He’s clearly gagging for it - he couldn’t stop staring at your arse in those jeans.” 

“Is he a himbo?” Ramesh says. He pulls out a pen and starts to doodle a triple Venn diagram on a napkin. “He seemed like more of a twunk to me. And he’s got a great bear belly.” 

“Ladies,” Emma says, her hands fluttering in mock-distress, “please don’t objectify that sweet boy before Baz gets to objectify him. Baz will eat his fill of the man-meat and then give us a report.” 

(Please put in the comments/tags if you think Simon Snow is a twunk, a himbo, or something else delightful. 🤣)

Hello tags and tagbacks: @whogaveyoupermission, @cutestkilla, @facewithoutheart, @captain-aralias, @fatalfangirl, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @whogaveyoupermission (THE EDGING CONTINUES), @raenestee, @ileadacharmedlife, @shrekgogurt, @hushed-chorus, @shemakesmeforget, @theimpossibledemon, @imagineacoolusername

More about the hiatus for My Good Egg:

(Warning for some hard stuff, Big Feelings, trauma recovery. Feel free to skip and just bask in Ides of March posts instead!)

Okay, so introspective life/writing blather here... I keep meaning to write a post, at some point, about some of the best practices that I follow when I am writing about material that is heavy, like in Baker boxer teacher grief or the Rosethorn girl universe.

A lot of stuff that works for me is probably self-evident: go slow, be gentle, ground yourself, talk to safe people, have a release valve, be able to walk away, offer yourself a lot of self-care and self-compassion, take care of the soft animal of your body. And don't feel like you have to put everything in - some of what you can write can just be for you, and it can be enough to have written it, and not include it in the finished product.

I honestly didn't expect Good morning, good night, good morning to get me where I live. It is, as I've always maintained, a dumb horny rom com (that somehow developed a plot and backstory and plot TWISTS and OCs but ANYWAY). But there was a line in Chapter 3 that kept rattling around in me:

“You were a kid,” Simon says, his voice low and angry. “You were just a kid.” 

This is not the first time I've been triggered by own fic (and probably won't be the last, LOL!), but this one did me a doozy. I've had to take a few steps back, and just focus on recovering from trauma that's been reactivated in my body. It is wild what the body remembers, and how it holds onto pain.

(There is, at the same time, other stuff happening with my family with grief and estrangement and just a whole mischegoss of hard feelings, so that adds another element into the mix.)

To circle back round to My Good Egg: I'm putting it to the side for now while I tend to my health and just recovering from the past few weeks. It's funny - I don't think it's a particularly angsty story or one that does a super deep dive into trauma, but I need to take some pieces off my plate right now, and this fic is one of them.

I will always keep writing - the WIP game has been a delightful brain refresher, and I have a very fun Six Sentence Sunday post that I'm already excited to share. But for now, My Good Egg is gonna have a li'l nap. When I come back to it, I think I'll switch over to writing the second draft in its entirety, and then posting the chapters weekly, whenever that happens. I'm not putting a timeline on it right now.

Anyway, thanks for coming to my TED talk making your way through this personal essay, if you've gotten this far. I am continually blown away and delighted by everyone who engages with the fic, and I am so excited to serve you up some treats in the future.

To end on a lighter note, here is an exchange with my spouse, the inestimable EarlobeGreyTea who continues to offer thoughtful and nuanced feedback on this fic, Exhibit A:

EarlobeGreyTea: Did they fuck in this chapter?

Me: No Me: And they didn't fuck in the previous chapter Me: It's the EROTIC Grope Fest. It doesn't have to have explicit sex (yet) EarlobeGreyTea: Yeah, I guess it isn't the Sloppy Fuck Fest

Love you all. ❤️❤️❤️

#WIP Wednesday #My Good Egg #good morning good night good morning #life and writing #long boi #big mood #my fic tag

[astridthevalkyrie]

A Scene Popped Into My Head But Instead Of Writing A Whole AU I’m Just Going To Write That One Scene <3

—> Scene Capture Fics Masterlist

—> Today’s Feature: Assistant Petra!

—> a/n: yes, i AM posting a scene capture fic after a long time and yes i am doing it for petra and not levi. if you want to know, please read the first line in this post &lt;3

"Good morning," you offer coyly to the shirtless man next to you, who doesn't offer you anything more than a grunt in response as he types away at his laptop.

Yes, this is just a wonderful thing to wake up to.

"Are we dating now?" You stretch as you wake up fully, sitting up and pushing aside the strays of your hair from your face carelessly. Levi doesn't even grace that one with a sound, just a clear grimace. You smirk, not that he sees you. "Fine. You were good, though."

"I know that," he says dismissively, still not looking away from his Tetris game or whatever else must be so interesting on the screen.

Always a delight with him. Yawning, you toss on your bra and panties before stepping out of the bedroom, greeted by the too-bright light streaming through the window of the kitchen. If you weren't so high up, you'd be slightly concerned about someone seeing you.

Although, it looks like you don't have to worry, since someone who's already inside is doing all the seeing anyways.

A pretty redhead in a pencil skirt and adorable blouse takes you in, blinking in surprise a few times before she clears her throat. "Um. Let me escort you out, ma'am."

"Excuse me?" You raise a brow at her as you grab a plum from the bowl of fruits that Levi never eats but always keeps freshly stocked. "Who are you?"

She stands up straight, like she thinks you're appraising her—you're really not, you just wanted to know why some random lady was in Levi's apartment.

"I'm Petra Ral, ma'am. Mr. Ackerman's assistant. I organize his schedules, accompany him during all his meetings, and escort his...guests, off the premises."

You snort. "So you what, take out the trash? Not very feminist of you."

Petra flushes scarlet. Easily embarrassed, clearly. Levi sure knows how to pick them, this is the cutest assistant he's had in a while. You wonder if they...nah, Levi's too much of a dork to try anything with someone who works for him. "That's not what I meant to say, you put words in my mouth."

You could put something else in her mouth, something pink that you keep at home in your second drawer, to the left.

"Wasn't my intention, Ms. Ral," you mimic her formal tone back, "but you also don't need to worry. I'm not hanging around due to clinginess, I'm just hungry." With that, you take a large bite of the plum, taking care to swallow and lick the juice off your lips before speaking again (to your delight, Petra watches every motion). "Levi won't get pissy with you, don't worry. We're old friends."

Friends might be stretching it, but you've clearly made the cute girl awkward enough already, so you don't need to go further by saying you and Levi liked each purely for the sex.

"I...see. In that case, can I get you something, ma'am?"

"No," you offer cheekily, leaning on the counter, aware that you're only in your undergarments and that she's doing her best to pretend she's not trying to look at your chest. "Just your company is plenty this morning, Ms. Ral."

Once more, she blushes.

Holy shit, you chose the right night to hook up with Levi.

Still, you suppose he's not the only one with important affairs to attend to, so you really should get going. It's too bad, you really wanted to stay and flirt with this pretty girl, but duty calls. You finish your pear and give her a wink before heading back to Levi's room to change.

"Hey, darling?"

"Don't call me that," comes Levi's immediate response. Just another nickname to add the blacklist, then. "What?"

"I'm gonna hook up with your assistant. Just a heads up," you offer casually, before turning on your heel to head out.

"Fucking hell," you hear him mutter under his breath, "not again."

#aot x reader #petra x reader #petra ral x reader #petra ral #levi ackerman #assistant petra #scene capture fics #valkyrie stories

[jwritesstuff4]

Chapter 3

Synopsis: A girl going through college wanting to make friends, but is faced with two problems in doing so - her hermit lifestyle and social anxiety. However, as she navigates through college she meets a boy and they become fast friends. But...is that everything?

Warnings: slight stalker-ish behavior

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

• ───────────────── •

When Redd picked up Sam the next morning, Sam presented her with a loaf of uncut bread. Redd was very confused.

“My um,” Sam stuttered. “My mom made this as a thank you.”

“A loaf of bread…?” Redd asked incredulously, her jaw practically hanging open.

“We recently got a bread making machine and she wanted to use it. It’s blueberry muffin bread.” Sam looked at her. “I hope you don’t have any allergies.”

“No, no. We can have some on campus, I’d love to try it.” Redd composed herself and gave him a smile.

Sam gave a small smile before nodding and buckling himself in. The car ride was silent before Sam offered to play some music. Redd thanked whatever God there was, because the air seemed still in her car with Sam there.

“I like rock, is that okay?” Sam asked, slowly turning up the radio as he connected his phone to the car.

“Yeah that’s fine, I like rock too. Heavy metal is another good one…” She trailed off as she continued to drive.

The two talked about their music tastes, finding some middle ground in bands they like. Sam also made notes about some bands Redd suggested he listen to. It was an enjoyable ride back to campus, and Redd thought she felt their bond growing stronger.

I’m doing it! She thought. I’m making a friend!

Both of them were happily talking as they waltzed into the cafeteria, settling down at a table. It was crowded again today, but Redd didn’t seem to mind for once. She was so happy she made a friend, she didn’t have a care in the world right now.

“Hey, when do you leave campus?” Sam asked.

“Around four, why?”

“You want to grab some dinner?” Sam asked, a wide smile on his face. “I don’t have too much money on me so I hope you’re okay with fast food.”

“Oh yeah, that’s fine! There should be a Roy Rogers somewhere off campus, I drive by it all the time.” Redd was very excited now, practically bouncing in her seat.

“That’s my favorite fast food joint, can you read minds or something?” Sam teased.

Redd paused for a second, thinking he was going to say something else, but laughed with him in the end. “No, no. I just like it there.”

“Well then it’s settled. I have to run, but uh,” Sam quickly took out a piece of paper and a pencil, then scribbled on it. “Here’s my number. Shoot me a text after your last class, yeah?”

Redd took the piece of paper and looked it over. A grin spread across her face. “Okay, yeah, I’ll text you after my last class. I’ll see you then okay?”

“Okay. Bye Redd.” Sam reached over and grabbed a slice of the bread he gave her.

When he turned his back to her, she did a little victory fist bump. Her first friend in college! She was finally getting out there! Taking out her phone she put the number in immediately as a new contact, then began texting her uncle.

Redd: New friend alert!

Lance: Another one?

Redd: Well no. Sam gave me his number!

Lance: He better watch himself.

Redd: Calm down Lance, I’ll be fine.

Lance: If he asks you to the upcoming fair then I’m calling it.

Redd: Calling what?

Lance: Don’t worry about it yet.

Redd: Why are you always so vague?

Lance: Not always. Anyway, what do you want for dinner?

Redd: Oh I’m getting dinner with Sam :)

Lance: Yeah I’m calling it.

Redd: Calling what?

Redd: Lance??

Confused, she exited the conversation after a few moments. Seeing the time, she realized she also had to leave. Stuffing the bread in her bag, she quickly ran from her spot and out of the building to her class. All the while, a pair of ice blue eyes were watching her.

• ───────────────── •

A little short again, hope you can forgive me! I hope you enjoyed just as much as I did writing this tho <3 more updates to come

#jwritesstuff4 #original character #original work #original characters #not what it seems #maelstrom #redd nichols #lance nichols

[theinternetisaweboflies]

Irony Poisoning Chapter 5 (Chapter 1)

When morning came, Wednesday was still on her back, and Enid was still on her stomach, but Enid was also sort of… on… Wednesday.

Not completely, of course. Enid's arms were wrapped around Wednesday's waist, and Wednesday's arms crossed over Enid's back. Their legs were only a little tangled.

Enid was back on her side of the bed before she was even fully awake. She spent several anxious minutes watching Wednesday's chest rise and fall, not daring to breathe herself. Finally letting out a sigh, Enid looked away, only to catch sight of herself in the well-polished blade of the automated guillotine.

She had pillow marks on her face from Wednesday's collar.

"You should talk about your nightmare too."

Enid let out a little shriek that she really hoped no one else in the house had heard. "W- Wednesday! Wh- What did you say?"

Wednesday under her pillow and retrieved a piece of folded typewriting paper. She passed it to Enid.

"What is this?"

"I've been probing my own psyche since the incident at Nevermore. One of the final pieces of advice that Dr. Kinbott gave me was to try writing outside of my comfort genre. This is the first attempt. Its inadequacies should make you feel more confident in sharing your own narrative."

"Thanks," said Enid, "I think?"

She unfolded the paper. It wasn't full to the margins like excerpts from Viper de la Muerte Book 3: Till Breath Do Us Part that Wednesday had finally let Enid read ten days into term just to shut her up. There were only eight lines.

Monday's child was full of shit.

Tuesday's child was done with it.

Thursday's child had not a fuck

to give. Friday's was out of luck.

Saturday's child could finally rest,

and Sunday's child felt truly blessed.

You may think something was withheld,

but Wednesday's child was canceled.

Enid almost laughed, but if this was anything other than a parody of Wednesday's eponymous nursery rhyme, it meant she thought…

"You don't need to be canceled. Why would you think that?"

"I left you alone with a monster."

That came out of nowhere, but there were only two things Wednesday could be talking about, and it probably wasn't Enid's mother. "Um, are you forgetting I'm also a monster? And that I totally kicked Tyler's ass?"

"You got hurt."

"Just a couple of scratches," said Enid, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It was a small bed, and Wednesday's face was barely a foot away. "A little Clinique, and you can't even see the scars."

"How could evidence of your bravery ever diminish your beauty?" asked Wednesday.

Enid had no idea how to respond, but Wednesday spared her by continuing, as if the question had been rhetorical.

"I'm sorry," she said, and the word only sounded a little foreign on her tongue. "I shouldn't have left you alone. It was your first transformation. It was almost certainly your first fight."

Enid was quick to correct her. "I wasn't alone! Thing was there. He held my hand and everything."

"I should have been there," Wednesday barely more than breathed.

"I was glad you weren't there."

Wednesday's brow furrowed, and Enid resisted the urge to smooth it back down.

"You were?"

"Well, duh! It meant I didn't have to worry about you." Enid sighed. "At least, I thought it did, but of course you were running towards danger. I should have known. I did know you had a good reason, and I was right. Saving all Outcasts from genocide is a pretty good excuse for bailing, even on your best friend. Oh, and it meant you trusted me to handle Tyler by myself. That was cool."

Wednesday didn't speak much, but Enid had rarely seen her speechless. Eventually she said, "It wasn't your fight."

"Excuse you," said Enid. "I get to decide what my fights are. Anyway, what makes you so sure it was your fight?"

"I was the one who resurrected Crackstone."

"That's ridic- Wait. What?"

"Goody Addams cursed him," said Wednesday. "So my blood was required to break the curse."

"Your blood?"

"Yes," said said. "Laurel Gates cut my hand and used the blood to initiate the ritual. Did I not tell you about that?"

Enid was trying to remember that night, and things got a little blurry between all the blood and tears, but she was pretty sure…"I thought that was from the sword- the broken sword you used to stab Crackstone?"

"We might make a journalist of you yet," said Wednesday. "Goody healed my wounds right before you saved me from the Hyde."

"Wounds? Plural?"

"Crackstone stabbed me," said Wednesday, in the same sort of voice one might use to describe the weather. "He did a decent job of it too. I don't think I was his first."

The next thing Enid knew for sure, she was back in Wednesday's arms, she was being patted very awkwardly on the head, and a voice from somewhere above her was asking, "There, there?"

"It's not supposed to be a question," said Enid. It was only a little muffled.

"I'm new to this."

"Don't force yourself." Enid tried to raise her head, but Wednesday pressed it gently back to her chest.

"You scare me, Enid Sinclair. I'm not used to it. That does not mean I am forcing myself."

"I scare you?"

"I'm fairly sure it's fear," said Wednesday. "I've certainly never felt it before. I suppose that alone indicates you are… uniquely important to me."

Enid raised her head just in time to see Wednesday's cheeks completely ruin her monochromatic color palette. At first she thought it was a fever, but the flush darkened under further scrutiny. It turned out Wednesday Addams could blush.

Maybe Enid was a little competitive, but that felt like a win.

"You can say it," she said. "You won't get struck by lightning. Well, in this house, you might, but not because-"

"I love you," said Wednesday.

Enid choked on her own spit, and Thing had to come pound on her back.

Wednesday's shouts attracted an audience. They applauded politely when Thing had finished, and he gave a little bow. Then they all dispersed for breakfast, with an invitation for the girls to join them once Enid had caught her breath.

"Well, now they'll never let you leave," said Wednesday. "You owe Thing a life debt."

Enid's breaths were still stuttering and inconsistent, but that was barely a pop-up notification in the corner of her mind.

"Wh- What did you just say, Wednesday?"

"I said they'll never let you leave."

Enid growled. "You know that's not what I'm talking about!"

"Oh," said Wednesday. She put one finger to her chin in a caricature of thought. Between her twin braids and collared dress, she looked so young and innocent that it made Enid want to scream at the duplicity of it all. "You owe Thing a life debt."

"I'll kill you," said Enid, and Wednesday smiled.

"You don't have it in you."

"There's still time, Wednesday." She found it hard not to repeat her roommate's earlier words when everything Wednesday had ever said ran through her head on a loop like a 24/7 news feed.

Wednesday gave her an appraising look. Enid didn't know what it was appraising, but she sucked in her stomach, just in case.

"I suppose there is."

#wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #wednesday netflic #wenclair #enid sinclair #the addams family #thing addams #wednesday fanfiction #wenclair fanfic

[scoops404]

Tagged by the very lovely @amoxilwrites who i love dearly <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Under the Scoops pseud, 23, but 30 total

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

967,370 as of this morning (HALP)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

DNF primarily, but i've written for Dan and Phil and Teen Wold and One Direction

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I'll do just the DNF fics (because the highest one is for Teen Wolf)

Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

I've Never Fallen from Quite This High

The Curse and Cure of the Internet

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, absolutely. I've made some fun acquaintances in my comment section, and even some friends. I like discussing my stories and comments are a great place to do that without being annoying or bragging or a million other things my anxiety likes to yell at me for. I love answering questions and talking back about theories, etc. I think I've really done a good job of fostering a good comment section!!

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Um, it's a Scoops guarantee that my fics will have happy endings, but the angiest I would say is The Mushroom King and The Nightmare but I have other stories with angstier middles lol

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Lol, literally all of them I am such a sap

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I saw someone talk about me on tumblr once and they said I should drown, so? Not directly, but sorta? I dunno, it just makes me laugh. Sorry you didn't like my mpreg story, it was never that serious

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yup. I write all the things, with varying degrees of success. My smut is usually really emotionally focused with um lots of strange metaphor and a sprinkle of humor.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No, but never say never. Does Deep in Dream count?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of! *fingers crossed*

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I had someone do a very bad podfic of one of my teen wolf fics--I say bad because it's a mechanical voice and half of it doesn't even work

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Nope.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship

DNF, sterek, drarry (I know... I hate that JK Rowling ruined everything), Merthur, Phan

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Currently? Hits Different, but I know I'll finished that one. Of my old WIPs, there's a dan and phil one I'd like to finish

16. What are your writing strengths?

HAHA, bro, I don't know. Tension? Dialogue? realistic angst? Making unrealistic tropes seem extremely plausible. You tell me, buddy

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Setting. I always forget about the setting until the last second. Um, I'm not sure what else? Ask Alison

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'd prefer that if I can't figure it out in context, that it's written in italics or something and said to be that language. Unless the point of me as the reader not being able to understand is that I'm not supposed to understand along with the character, then that's fine.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Big sigh, Harry Potter. Then Teen Wolf

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Is anyone surprised? Deep in the Dream of a Game

Thanks for tagging me, Vesp!! This was very fun! I'm tagging @bottleofchaos @jestbee @sageafk @lucithornz I can't remember but I think Vesp tagged everyone else I would have tagged, but feel free to do it anyway <3

[waitmyturtles]

Um, WOW, okay, ha -- I did NOT see an Ohm-and-Film fight scene happening in my lifetime. Thoughts on Double Savage, episode 7: 

1) I wrote this morning that I’m just beginning to dive into New Siwaj’s oeuvre, and I’m wondering for this screenplay, if New Siwaj is really New Siwaj-ing himself here. The writing in this episode was choppy at best. Vignette after vignette with not the most connective tissue. 

I’m not convinced by Win’s continued and growing intensity against Korn -- although I like that Korn finally talked back, but again, without context (unless he was commenting on Win’s sheer IDIOCY for flashing a gun at a funeral, which fucking makes TOTAL sense). 

We’re also not getting enough of WHY Rung would make such a drastic change in her life to go to the same life that Korn is living. Plus, she knows something about her parents that we don’t, I think, but that’s also not made entirely clear.

With that crazy-ass test at the end, along with the previews for episode 8, I am thinking that episode 7 can’t stand alone without episode 8 (Li taking care of Ah’s wound?! What?). Anyway. 

2) Back to Win for a second. Does he continue to spiral because of the pressures at work? He’s clearly NOT getting pressure from his (very good-looking, cough) superiors to, like, arrest his own brother. 

I’m trying to figure out if there’s supposed to be a parallel between Win’s temper and his father’s temper. A patriarchially-inspired temper, basically given unto a man through societal expectations and not through, say, merit or empathic love for his family.

I mean, in other words, Win’s fuckin’ it up left and right, but I honestly am not sure how convincing it is on screen. UNLESS -- because he’s written so choppily -- if he’s MEANT to come off as inconsistent and terribly weak, then THAT’S working. That’s REALLY working. (Again, this might be New New-ing himself -- using an unfamiliar order of operations to make a character look like a fucking lame ass.)

One thing that I can think of on Win’s part is that Win never HAD to learn how to control his temper, the way Korn had to, in order to survive during their childhood. Win received all the praise. We continue to see it in the previews for tomorrow’s episode. Win hasn’t learned self-control -- and we see it emanating.

3) You know what I liked the best of this episode? (Besides Film’s drip, which WE’LL GET TO IN A SECOND.) 

I liked that the mother finally, FINALLY SAID to Win: “But why are you acting like you don’t know why [Korn] chose [his way of life]?”

And petty Win retorts: “You’re taking his side like you’ve always done.”

Come awn, Win. Maybe THAT’S what’s missing for me.

Win clearly understood the trauma of what his family was facing when they were younger. I think I’m realizing that I don’t believe, convincingly, that Win has TOTALLY forgotten it. I wrote last week that what Win is the most influenced by, at this adult time of his life, is the extrasocial factor of jealousy that’s driving his worldview. 

But I appreciate his mom calling him out for straight-up FORGETTING that it was patriarchal ABUSE that caused all of this. His mom is like -- COME AWN. YOU KNOW THIS. And you used to love your brother so much.

And Win is like, aw, Ma, I’m a tired old man, wah wah, I’m going home.

Weak ass. I mean, again, if the writing is SUPPOSED to shape Win like this, then great job. But I think the writing (COME ON, NEW) could have been a lot sharper and more convincing. Perth is like, electric with talent in this and could have had a lot more to work with.

4) Quick note on Korn. Korn’s failing in life is that he lacks subtlety, and I think Ah is taking advantage of it. Korn would be a much smarter and wiser person -- and maybe he’s gonna get there with Rung back at his side -- if he could be more sophisticated about the life he’s living and the illegal things he’s doing. He’s still holding onto a child’s black-and-white perspective, like almost everyone else around him (EXCEPT Ah, Mek, and Rung) -- and I wonder if his maturing into the gray is going to be a storyline for the rest of the series.

5) I have thoughts on the Asian compulsions for saving face and playing the blame game vis à vis Korn’s father, but I might save those for tomorrow -- I’ve been crazy writing the last couple of days. Let me just say this about Korn’s dad, and that interaction they had in the apartment. 

I understood it all. Very unfortunately. As HORRIBLY as that dad has treated Korn for the entirety of Korn’s life, I understood why Korn continued to help his dad, even when his dad went silent. I have that filial piety guilt on me every minute of every day. 

Seeing the dad shed a tear was a touch of karmic satisfaction, but it didn’t make me happy. Ugh. It was painful to watch. 

6) Let’s appreciate Film’s leather-and-eyeliner era. And those CARGO SWEATPANTS! And MOCK TURTLENECK gym shirt! I will submit a request to GMMTV to please get Film some muscle tees and a strength trainer, because I’d like to see some poppin’ biceps on my girl. I LOVE YOU, FILM, I LOVE YOU SOOOOOOO MUCH.

7) Finally, I just want to note that I have previously loved Foei in the few shows of his that I’ve watched on GMMTV (most notably Dirty Laundry, which I was obsessed with; his work in 10 Years Ticket, and the few episodes of Midnight Museum that I watched), and I’m really fucking horrified and disappointed by his social media behavior this weekend.

#double savage #double savage the series #double savage meta #ohmperth #ohm pawat #perth tanapon #film rachanun #korn x rung #rung x korn