#i remember i got that with butters (though i had a taste of him with sot tbf) and peridot

[weedle-testaburger]

i’d like to propose a concept called ‘blorbo-to-be’. it’s when you watch a thing having heard about a character where you know the fans love em and you feel like you’ll vibe with em

[upsidedownwithsteve]

[2.1K] Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+

The week following your night with Steve, you’d had absolutely no problem getting yourself off.

Every night, you lay in bed before sleep took over, your hand shoved down the front of your sleep shorts, fingers slipping clumsily and a little unpracticed over yourself, eyes clenched shut and lips parted silently as you thought about your best friend.

His digits were longer than yours, thicker, able to reach places you couldn’t, filling you up in a way you’d never felt before. But you could hear Steve’s voice in your ear as you swirled messy circles over your clit, chasing that throbbing feeling as you remembered his words.

“Has someone done that to you? Has someone put their mouth here?”

Cheek pressed to the pillow, pushing low whines into the cotton, legs spreading wider, knees hitched up as you fought to catch that feeling only Steve was able to give you before.

“Do you like it when I talk to you?”

He’d whispered it in your ear, breath warm against your cheek, hitching and gasping when you had tightened around him.

“My girl likes hearing dirty things, right? Like when I asked you if someone had gone down on you? If you’d had someone’s tongue here?”

Stomach tensing, the hook there tightening, skin too warm, the idea of your best friend laying between your thighs, your legs thrown over his shoulders too much for you to handle. Would he do it real soft for you? Would he lick over you like a man starved? Only breaking away to talk filth into your slick skin? Would he tell you how good you tasted, how sweet you were?

You came hard, back arching, a gasp leaving your lips, fingers moving until it was too much and you had to stop, sliding slick over your bare stomach as you relaxed back into the bed, butter on a hot day.

The next day, you vowed to ask Steve.

Just half a beer, that’s all it took. A few long drags, a movie that was never started, the tape half in the VCR and Steve’s bedroom lights low. Lingering looks, mussed sheets, anticipation heavy in the air like summer, a growing heat that settled on your skin and it fucking buzzed. It fizzed, it glittered.

“Did you really mean what you said?” You asked out the blue, pulling Steve from the TV set, leaning back on his pillows like you belonged there. “The other night, last week? About how it was a shame that no one had— no had ever… gone down on me.”

Steve stopped, the tape forgotten, his eyes wide as he looked at you over his shoulder. He watched the way your thighs rubbed together under your dress, a thin summery thing, delicate straps and material cut out of the sides, your skin on show between the buttercup yellow cotton. You watched him swallow, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his gaze got a little darker, the words he remembered telling you coming back to him.

“Shit, you look so damn pretty, you know that? I could do that for you though, if you wanted.”

Steve cleared his throat, rose up from when he’d been kneeling in front of the television, blurry static crackling, forgotten about. His knees bumped the edge of his bed as stood over you, breath hitching as he took you in, eyes trailing over bare legs and upupup until they settled on your mouth, the way you licked at your bottom lip nervously.

“Yeah,” he croaked, his voice already shot. You looked so pretty. He remembered what you looked like when you came, head thrown back against his shoulder, crying out his name in soft, heaving gasps. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. “Yeah, yeah. I meant it.”

“Could put my mouth on you, let you know if you’re really as sweet as you look.”

“Have you been thinkin’ about it?” Steve asked, his voice sweet and soft. He smiled when you nodded, huffing out a breath like it was all too much. “Yeah? Fuck, sweetheart, so have I. Did you get yourself off, did you manage?”

He wanted to be filthier, he wanted to ask dirty, dirty questions. He wanted to know exactly what you thought about when you touched yourself. If you thought about him, if you got as wet as you had with him the week before. He wanted to know if you made the same noises in the quiet of your own room, if you whispered his name when you came.

Instead, Steve moved onto the bed, a little clumsy as the mattress dipped but he stayed by your feet, a hand reaching out to bravely curl around your ankle, your frill lined socks tickling his palm. One tug and he could spread your bent knees open for him, dragging you down his bed until your hair fanned over his pillows and he could push your thighs apart. Steve wondered if you’d let him.

Maybe he could find out.

You nodded, lips parted and already panting, barely able to form words. Steve’s thumb was circling over the skin of your ankle, slowly coasting upwards until his warm palm sat against your calf. He rubbed there too, fingers pushing at your skin like dough, all plush and soft and pliant for him. Your thighs parted, if just a little.

“Every night,” you whispered, eyes closing at his touch, the heated embarrassment creeping over your skin at your confession. You weren’t sure you were supposed to look your best friend in the eye when you told them you’d come on your own fingers, thinking about them. “Couldn’t help it, just- just needed to touch myself.”

You heard the boy groan, low and throaty, his hand climbing higher, laying on his side at your feet so you could feel his warm breath ghost over your shins. You let your legs fall apart again, inch by inch, eyes still closed until your feet slid across the sheets in opposite directions, knees parting. You felt Steve’s lips there, on the inside, at the sensitive skin, a barely there kiss.

“Did you come?”

You swore, breath hitching, nodding as you chewed on your bottom lip, hands coming up to press over your eyes, as if you could hide from him. Mortification was crawling over you, despite how Steve had had his fingers inside of you mere days before, how he’d watched you come, how he had a clear view of your spread thighs and the damp cotton clinging to your cunt, right now.

“Can I make you come again?” The boy sounded wrecked and the question made you open your eyes, gaze stuck on his like honey. “Please.”

You nodded, as if you’d ever say no to that. Like that wasn’t what you wanted.

You expected the boy to launch himself at you then, to grab and pull and kiss and nip. But as heavy as Steve’s gaze was, he moved slow, careful. His hands found your ankles again, one around each leg and he dragged them further apart, his eyes on yours. The static of the TV fizzed and outside the open bedroom window, you heard the Harrington’s sprinklers turn on.

“Lemme see,” Steve whispered, his tone that same sweet rasp as before. He nodded encouragingly when your hands found the hem of your dress, his smile soft, if not a little dirty. His chest was falling and rising faster and faster, his white t-shirt taught over his broad chest and shoulders. “There’s a good girl, fuck, honey.”

You flushed as you did as you were told, the hem of your sundress dragging up your thighs by your own hands. The material was still fisted between your fingers as you held it around your hips, legs spread obscenely, cotton underwear a cherry red, lace trimmed and with an obvious damp spot.

“Can I use my mouth?” Steve asked, murmuring, already moving between your knees, his stomach pressed to the bed. “Wanna taste you properly. Shit, can I do that? Please? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

You whined, high and needy, nodding enthusiastically as you sucked in a breath. “Fuck, can you? Please, Steve, I want that, god, I really want that, haven’t stopped thinking about it, imagining it, shit.”

You swore Steve’s eyes rolled at your words, his hands coming to curl around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him, nose pushing at where your hands lay over your stomach, still clutching your dress. He pressed a kiss there, lips grazing over the skin under your navel.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You didn’t get a chance to reply before the boy was bringing his mouth down, open and pushing against your clothed cunt, tongue a hot, wet press over your folds, prodding gently until he found your clit between them. It was an instantaneous reaction, your body seizing up at the unfamiliar touch, an electric sensation, your body a livewire under Steve’s lips. He hushed you softly when you gave a weak cry, pushing at your inner thighs to keep you open for him.

He licked up your cunt, tongue dragging over the cotton, soaking it more and more until the fabric was clinging to the outline of you, until he could tease the tip of his nose over the spread of you, bumping against your clit. The noise your cunt made as he finally pulled your underwear from you was filthy, a wet sound that made his cock kick up in his jeans.

“Feel good?” Steve cooed, voice sticky with affection and awe for you. Your dress was rucked messily over your stomach, one strap sliding off your shoulder as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, bringing your bare cunt closer than before. Each word settled over your slick skin and made you twitch. “Nice, yeah? You gonna tell me, honey? Tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel, huh?”

“So good,” you breathed out, voice and words garbled between moans, your hands dropping from your stomach to clutch at the sheets on each side of you. But Steve wasn’t having any of that. He tsked, letting go of your legs only to coax your hands into his hair instead, hissing when you grabbed hard. “Fuck, Steve, please. More, please, feels so good, too good, I can’t, I--”

He wouldn’t have you begging, he wouldn’t dare. Steve wanted to give you everything you wanted, so he wasted no more time, surging forward the mere few inches it took to get his mouth back on you. Steve kissed over your cunt with the enthusiasm of a man who’d been starved of the one thing he wanted most. Lips pressed to you, tongue sneaking out to taste you, gathering up your slick only to press it to your clit. He hummed as you cried for him, eyes squeezing shut as you pulled on his hair, tugging him closer until his tongue was pushing into your entrance and his nose was nudging your clit.

He was shiny with you, mouth and chin wet and slick, eyes fluttering shut and rolling to the back of his head every time you gave his hair a good yank, your hips lifting to catch his tongue. He groaned, murmuring out pretty phrases like, ‘such a good girl’ and ‘so fuckin’ sweet for me.’

Steve lapped at you until you came, tongue soft but persistent, intent on you making you fall apart with just his mouth, groaning in want as he watched your entrance clench around nothing. He sucked and licked at your clit until you shattered, until you couldn’t take it any longer. Your back arched like last time, head thrown back into the pillows that smelled like him instead of against his shoulder, but Steve decided he liked this view just as much.

The boy tasted like you when you kissed him, half dragging him up your body as you panted, dress still messy around your waist, unabashed in your nakedness. Unlike the time before, Steve was miraculously still hard, desperate and aching under his jeans as he’d tried his best not to rut against the bed as he ate you out. Your palm grazed over his cock, smiled into his kiss when it twitched under your hand, his hips canting into your touch.

You only pulled away from his lips to press him onto the bed, switching your positions. Your dress fell back down, covering your sticky thighs and Steve was ready to protest, until you tucked your fingers around the button of his jeans and popped it open.

He let out a curse, breathing heavily, eyes half lidded and watching you. You quirked a brow, asking a silent question you were pretty sure you knew the answer to - this wasn’t a case of a friend helping a friend, not anymore.

You waited. Steve nodded.

[bubblegumbarbie33]

The Lost Boys Using Slang From When I Headcanon They Got Turned

David, 1910's: This hunt is gonna be duck soup, don't worry about it. Marko's just being a goldbrick cause he doesn't want to deal with dumping the bodies. Yes- we DO have to dump the bodies Marko, remember that time in the 40's you ended up in the hoosegow because you ripped those honey-mooner's throats out and left the evidence behind? Oh, you wanna go, ya bimbo? Yeah, that's what I thought. You gotta quit letting me get on yer nerves ya crackpot.

Michael, leaning over whisper to Dwayne: What the fuck is he saying?

-

Marko, 1930's: Ackamarackus! It's gonna be aces! Quite talking that booshwash and gimme a five-spot so I can nab us some rotgut from the convenience store. Don't be a tightwad, Paul, I know you've got some dough in your pockets. I can't just filch it from 'em, last time I did that the coppers got on my ass and I had to rip their throats out.

Michael, whispering softly to himself: What the fuck?

-

Dwayne, 1950's: Well, half of the time Marko and Paul act like little ankle-biters. Somehow they always manage to feed girls on the boardwalk some smooth apple butter though. Although last time Paul got a little too excited and flashed his teeth- had those girls beating feet pretty quick. They had a bitchin' ride, really burned rubber on the way out, but we caught 'em. It should be easy for you to draw in the ladies Michael, you're a bit of dreamboat. Oh, don't have a cow David, no one's stealing him from you. Besides, Michael's a bit too nerdy to impress me. I mean it! Word from the bird!

Michael, mouthing silently: Word from the bird?

-

Paul, 1970's: You're not gonna get all flower power on us, are you? I'm gonna be honest Michael, sometimes when we're rapping it gets a little too peace and lovey for my taste. Wait, hang on, I wanna listen to the lick in this song. There it is. You know, these guys are doing a gig up in L.A. later this year- I'm stoked. David thinks they're a little off the wall, but I just think they've got a certain X-Factor, y'know?

Michael, nodding: I can actually understand the words that are coming out of your mouth right now.

-

Bonus, Star and Michael, 1980's:

Star: Ugh, bag your face Michael, you look like you just got hit by a truck.

Michael: I had to book it back here, alright, I didn't have time to clean up.

Star: That's cause you're turning into a total couch potato. You just lie on the ground after you eat- y'know it's just like a man-

Michael: Star, don't be a hoser alright, it's not because I'm a MAN-

Star: No, I'm being legit, like, I've been reading a lot of interesting literature about feminism and how woman are socialized-

Michael: Where are you getting books from?

Star: Dwayne has a library card. Y'know Santa Carla's got a primo library.

Michael: What- Oh, shit, some of that skater didn't go down right, I think I'm gonna ralph.

Star: Smooth move, Travolta. Ugh- dude, you puked on my shoes, what's your damage?

David and the boys, watching from the corner: Kids these days sound so weird.

[toxictigertonic]

Okay. Here me out. I know I already asked for something and this i can't ask for anything ever again from you but please your magnificents I am but a poor little British boy asking for the crust of your bread:

WHAT IF THEY WERE HOSTING A BAKE SALE. WHAT IF.

Keep asking me things!! I love to yap!! My bread crusts are free, I shall even throw in some butter for them!!

A bake sale hosted by the prime assets for the reagents would be the most hectic, hilarious, and probably dangerous thing you've ever seen, and that's saying a lot. Where did they get the baking materials? Did anyone follow a recipe? Should you eat anything that Franco or Leland had a hand in creating? Who knows!

COYLE

- He cannot bake to save his life.

- It's both underbaked and overbaked at the same time. Outside's burnt to a cinder and the inside is still batter. Turn down the heat on your oven you fool.

- He'd either try to make something really simple, like oatmeal cookies, or he'd think he's a God at baking and try to make some shit like macarons or a soufflé.

- Kinda guy who thinks he can just fuck with the measurements and imgredients in a recipe and still have it come out the same. Also doubles his recipes and forgets to double the baking soda (I'm guilty of that ngl)

- The reagents would buy his baked goods just to use them as throwable items. Bricks are out, Coyle's homemade oatmeal rocks are in.

- Honestly I think he'd be good at making things taste good, he just can't bake them properly.

- As for being at the bake sale, he's immediately jealous of how good Phyllis' desserts look. They've got that homemade charm but still look amazing.

- Takes some comfort in seeing the mess Franco is serving up though.

- Would tell people that if they don't like the way his cookies are baked then they should make them themselves. I payed 2 tickets for these cookies I deserve to complain.

MOTHER GOOSEBERRY

- The QUEEN of the bake sale. Bow down to her.

- She spent an entire month planning and prepping for this bake sale, this has been the only thing on her mind for 4 goddamn weeks.

- Makes at least 5 or 6 different desserts, ranging from mini apple pies, to simple chocolate chip cookies, to actual perfectly made macarons. This woman is magic when it comes to baking.

- She even has cute little packaging for all of her baked goods. This woman went all out and you better appreciate her.

- Will offer you a sample if you don't know what something is, but if you say you don't like it you better be ready to answer to Futterman.

- Futterman is not allowed to advertise the baked goods. Mainly bc anyone who says they aren't interested is chased down. There's no more room underneath the table to hide unfortunate reagents.

- Besides, Phyllis is already amazing at advertising her own baked goods. Her personality makes people want to try her stuff immediately (and the table smells heavenly).

- By the end of the bake sale, her table is empty. Sold through everything and had people begging to order stuff from her. (There might be some angel dust in those cookies but don't tell her I told you that)

- Franco was not allowed to try any of her baked goods. Samples are only for paying customers, little man. He tried to snag one secretly many a time but he's almost gotten a drill to the hand as punishment.

- Coyle and Franco fight over who gets to lick the spoon when she's done mixing batter. Neither of them get it, Futterman gets the spoon.

FRANCO

- I want you to be honest now. Would you really eat anything he made? Would you trust his baking skills?

- Remember how I said he likes his cookies severely underbaked? That's what he's bringing to the bake sale. Just nearly raw cookie dough. And it's not even good cookie dough.

- I love him, you know I do, but he would not change spoons between taste testing the dough.

- Forgot about the bake sale until the day of and just threw something together so Phyllis wouldn't yell at him for not participating.

- The only way I'm trusting anything he makes is if Phyllis is supervising him. They can make thumbprint cookies together :)

- Honestly I'd probably just give him 50 dollars and let him buy things rather than allow him to sell things. Let him buy some cake pops.

- The reagents bully him for his shitty baking skills, and the poor guy had to hand Lupara off to Phyllis at the door. He's just gotta take it, or start a fist fight.

- He'd throw a mini tantrum anytime somebody bought from the other two. How DARE you not buy his cookies, he made them with love! And potentially teeth.

- Spends most of the bake sale trying to steal a single thing from Phyllis bc she won't let him have any samples. Hides under the table and keeps getting his hand slapped by her.

Keep sending in requests, art or headcanons I don't mind! It gives me something to do and I love any chance to draw or think of the sillies.

[braxlrose]

Hi!!! A new fan of tokio hotel here and I was wondering if you could write some dating headcannons for gustav for a gem reader whose also in a band? Much love btw <3

I've been looking through the requests and finding georg and gustav stuff so yall can get some more so here we go!!

dating gustav

cw: mentions of sex, cockwarming, kissing, oral (f and m recieving), etc.

✮ he's the type of guy who holds the side of your waist while walking down the street. not for possessiveness or any of that shit, just because he likes it and it makes you feel safe. He also knows the sidewalk rule. keep that in mind ladies.

✮ even though gustav is a fantastic cook now, he mostly just made stuff from boxes in the 2000s. but yall would always make stuff together.

✮ when you're on your period, he always makes you stuff. especially milkshakes. he's got a signature one, which is just vanilla ice cream, peanut butter and bananas. but it tastes amazing, and gustav always puts so much love into it.

✮ he gives you backrubs, and footrubs, brushes your hair and brings a heating pad for you. im telling you guys, he's literally the perfect bf.

✮ when yall finish a song on stage he comes up behind you and gives you hugs and kisses. and the fans eat. it. up.

✮ but if he's not wearing a shirt and he comes up behind you, he's gets you all sweaty. I just love you so much I can't help it. he says. but let's be fr. he's just a little shit. we still love him though.

✮ he tries to teach you how to play the drums, he sits you on his lap and holds your hands and wrists to show you what to do. and he rests his chin on your shoulder which he ends up breathing in your ear. totally doesn't make you clench your thighs and get wetter and wetter every single. but mans also gets soooo annoyed when you're doing something wrong 😭

✮ cockwarming while teaching you how to play drums is a must. i don't remember who wrote it, but I swear I remember reading it somewhere. @bored0writer edit: THIS IS WHO WROTE IT AND ITS AMAZING OMG

✮ like I had said in my last post, gustav is a soft dom. disagree w/ me all you want, but it's true.

✮ after concert cock sucking is so good. you both love it so much. you have adrenaline running through your veins and it feels so good.

✮ he has the softest lips in the entire world, it's insane. so kissing him is so nice.

✮ he takes you on the cutest dates. whether you two are going out to dinner, to a movie, or just staying at the hotel rooms, they're always amazing.

✮ he's also got super soft hair which is amazing to run your hands through when making out or fucking.

✮ he'll lay between your thighs for hours after teasing and leaving hickies on your thighs.

✮ he likes to hold down your thighs when he's eating you out and fucking you with his tongue because it gives him better control and he likes that. a lot.

✮ whenever you try and rut against his face while he's going down on you, he'll slap your cunt as many times as he wants until you learn your lesson (if you're into that).

✮ and on the other side, he's a big sub too. always moaning and groaning and whining and wriggling underneath you as you pump and suck on his cock. ironic huh. he's so sweet and whiny. and he's totally got a mommy kink. big time mommy kink.

✮ loves it when you ride his thigh. thinks you look so sexy.

✮ if you play the guitar, you'll try and teach him how to play too but he'll end up complaining how his fingers hurt. poor baby :(

✮ you two always share hotel rooms and stay up watching movies together

✮ I STAND BY THIS. he is the best cuddler to exist. he's so soft and squishy, and since he's got some chub on his stomach, he's so nice to cuddle with.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed!! TY for all the requests

tag list:

@burntb4bydoll

@hearts4kaulitz

@saumspam

@spelaelamela

[aishangotome]

Alfons Sylvatica: Chapter 10

Chapter 9

♡———♡

The moment I tried to hastily pull away, he firmly clasped my waist and placed me on his lap, smiling broadly.

Alfons: See…it’s all the carriage’s fault that you’re getting so worked up in this place…

(......ngh--)

Alfons: This position is nice... It's easier to pamper your good parts.

Kate: Nngh, let go... I'm going back to my seat--

Alfons: ...No, I won't let go.

He unties the ribbon behind my neck and my blouse slides down my skin.

Before I could resist, he takes the initiative and quickly ties my hands together behind my back.

--CHOICES--

I continue to resist

I beg him to stop

I give up

-------------

Kate: Ah, let go, Alfons...

The voice that came out was so sweet and melting that even she could tell it betrayed her words.

Alfons: Don't let go, do more... That's what I hear you saying.

Alfons: Am I right?

Kate: Ah...

The carriage jolted again and my body fell forward, pressing my breasts against Alfons' face.

Kate: Ah...!?

My blouse had already slipped off, exposing my bra right in front of him.

Alfons: Oh my... what a troublesome carriage, isn't it?

When my bra was pushed aside, the tips of my breasts swayed and spilled out.

Right in front of me, Alfons' red tongue touches the spot---

Kate: Ah, ah, ah....!

His teasing caresses made the places where our bodies touched throb with a feverish heat.

Alfons: Let's make you feel very good until we get back to the castle... Kate.

I meant to shake my head.

But the carriage jolted again - my head bobbed up and down.

Inside the carriage, rushing through the London streets under the gaslight, I continued to sway on his lap.

-

--The next morning, when I went to the dining room, it was still empty.

(I'm glad I woke up early. No one's here yet...)

I was relieved and took a bite of toast without butter or jam.

I didn't have the mental capacity for that this morning, and I'm sure anything would taste the same anyway.

(It's all Alfons' fault.)

(I feel like my reality is being invaded by Alfons more and more.)

(Even though I wasn't being shown an illusion, yesterday too...)

Thinking with a cool head in the morning, I could only say that I was completely "swept away."

(I never did find out if Alfons was really enjoying himself...)

In the end, I was the only one who felt good until we got to the castle, and I didn't have the energy to do anything about him, nor did he try to use me to satisfy his desires.

I try to remember his expression, but all I can recall is his bewitching smile, his sweet, hot tongue peeking out from his mischievous lips, and his upturned eyes that looked incredibly sexy when he occasionally lowered them.

Remembering all this, there was no way I could calmly analyze what his true intentions were.

(...Just thinking about it makes my face hot.)

Ellis: Kate, your face is red. Are you okay?

Kate: Huh!? Oh, yes, I'm fine...!

I turned around in surprise and saw Ellis sitting next to me.

(Wh... when did he get here? I must be in pretty bad shape if I didn't notice...)

Further back, I saw Jude reading the newspaper.

(It's unusual for these two busy people to be at the castle in the morning.)

Our eyes met briefly, and I greeted him with a light "Good morning."

But Jude just glanced at me in disgust and immediately turned back to his newspaper.

Jude: Leave her alone. She's probably thinking about something stupid anyway.

Ellis: If you're not feeling well, don't push yourself.

Kate: Yeah... thanks.

(I can't say anything...)

I'm sure my head was full of dirty thoughts this morning.

I feel guilty and apologetic, and I'm becoming unbearable.

Alfons: Oh my, are you feeling ill?

Kate: Eek!?

Arms slipped around me from behind in an embrace, and my body jumped in surprise.

Alfons: Let me take your temperature.

Kate: Ah, ah, Al... Alfons...

I turned around and my forehead bumped against his, and he peered into my eyes.

(So, so close!)

My face grew even hotter.

Alfons: Hmm, this is serious. Would you like me to give you an injection?

Kate: No, I'm fine, I don't need it!

Alfons: Don't say that. You're going to be my exclusive Fairytale Keeper, aren't you?

-That was a promise I did make last night.

(But to say it here...!)

Alfons: Then you need to be healthy.

Alfons: You know I like to go out at night. You won't be able to keep up if you don't have the stamina.

I can't see because my vision is filled with Alfons, but I wonder how Ellis and Jude are reacting at the breakfast table.

(But these two wouldn't talk to anyone else about it...)

Harrison: Huh? Who's exclusive to who?

Kate: ...!

(Harrison, Roger...!)

I was planning to just eat my toast and go back to my room, but it seems like it's become breakfast time before I knew it.

(And of all days, everyone is actually on time for breakfast...)

It's a healthy thing and all, but honestly, I just want to throw away my toast and run away right now.

Ellis: Kate wants to be Al's exclusive Fairytale Keeper.

Harrison: Huh? What's that, seriously?

Alfons: Yes, yesterday Kate expressed her desire to be my exclusive Fairytale Keeper.

Roger: Oh really? From yesterday to today, you've gotten yourself into quite a deep situation, haven't you, lil lady?

William: Wanting to spend all day and night together is quite a passionate proposal.

Victor: Huh? Who's exclusive to who?

Harrison: ...Could you not repeat my words exactly?

Oh, right. I need to apologize to Roger for yesterday...

While I was trying to escape reality like that, the members of Crown appeared one after another, and the dining hall, which was quiet until a while ago, became completely lively.

Alfons: This means we're officially a couple, aren't we?

Kate: Um, maybe "exclusive" was a bit reckless...

Alfons: No way! I was so happy, was it a lie...?

(Wha...!? )

Elbert: ...What's wrong?

Elbert appeared, tilting his head curiously.

Alfons: El, I'm going on a little heartbreak trip, so don't look for me.

Alfons turned away from Elbert and wiped away fake tears.

Elbert: ...? ...Okay. ...If you're coming back properly.

Liam: Huh, Al is going somewhere?

Liam also appeared, and all the members of Crown were gathered in the dining hall.

Roger: If Al is gone, Liam won't have anyone to vent to.

Harrison: El's collecting habits and diet are also going to be a mess.

Elbert: ...When will the pain of lost love heal?

Like a game of telephone, the wrong information spread that I rejected Alfons and he's going on a heartbreak trip.

William: ...The peace of Crown Castle seems to depend on you, Kate.

Kate: Ugh...

Alfons is still crying on Elbert's shoulder.

(Even though they're clearly fake tears...!)

If he left, I had a feeling he wouldn't come back for a few days, just to sulk.

Kate: ...Ugh... No more...!

I sighed, reached out, and grabbed the sleeve of his coat.

Kate: I, it's not, a lie...

Kate: I'll take on the role of your exclusive Fairytale Keeper...

Alfons: ...Oh really?

There were no traces of tears on his face when he turned around.

He smiled and rested his cheek on the back of my chair.

Alfons: No, I can't believe it. Say it more cutely and apologetically.

Kate: Don't get cocky!

Alfons: I'm not getting cocky. I'm just testing your sincerity.

(This guy...!)

Unable to respond, I opened and closed my mouth, and Alfons looked down at me and smiled.

Alfons: Ah... You really are cute, aren't you?

Kate: ...

(This smile... is real.)

(Alfons' real smile.)

He's definitely enjoying teasing me from the bottom of his heart.

(Even just seeing this, maybe it was worth being teased...)

(No, no, I don't think that!)

The warmth in my chest from his happy smile is probably, surely, because of the illusion of love that was planted twice.

-

A few days later --

Alfons: Hey, hey, exclusive Fairytale Keeper. If you don't follow properly, you'll lose sight of me.

Kate: Wait a minute... Where are we going today?

Alfons: Hmm, where could it be?

Led by the hand, I walked through the streets of London alongside him.

Along the way, he wanted to hear stories from my time as a mail carrier in the city, and I told him whatever came to mind.

The story of how a single letter led me to run through London at dawn.

The story of how I agonized over the wording of a love letter with a girl who wanted to send one but didn't know how to write it, even though I had never written one myself.

Alfons: It must have been an exhausting daily routine, facing each person so seriously.

Kate: That's...

???: Ah! The mail carrier lady!?

(Huh...?)

I looked towards the street and saw a familiar girl staring at me with a surprised expression.

Alfons: Who is this?

Kate: Th-that's the girl from the love letter story I was just talking about...

As I was surprised by the coincidence, she whispered something to the man next to her and then ran towards me.

Girl with braids: Um, this is the guy I gave the love letter to! We're dating now...!

Kate: Really!? Congratulations!

Her smile was truly happy, and I couldn't help but smile too.

Girl with braids: Thank you... I'm so happy now thanks to you.

Girl with braids: I just wanted to say thank you... Sorry to interrupt your date...!

Kate: D-date!?

Before I could say it wasn't a date, the girl ran back to her lover.

Alfons: Was she really that troubled by a single love letter? She was like a whirlwind, though.

Kate: Haven't you heard? Everyone becomes timid when they fall in love...

Kate: About what you said earlier... about not getting tired of facing each person individually,

Kate: Sometimes, I get to share in this kind of happiness... so it's not bad to get tired.

As I watched the girl disappear into the crowd, I turned around and met Alfons' gaze, mixed with exasperation.

Alfons: ...You really are,

Alfons: Foolishly straightforward, aren't you?

His eyes narrowed with a hint of fondness, and my heart skipped a beat.

(...When he looks at me like that,)

(I feel uneasy...)

I couldn't help but look away.

Alfons didn't seem to mind and started walking again, towards an unknown destination.

Alfons: But doesn't it often go unrewarded?

Kate: ...Yes. It's true, I don't have enough power to grant everyone's wishes.

Kate: Even in the case just now, I could deliver the love letter,

Kate: But I can't do anything about the other person's feelings.

As I walked beside Alfons, I wove my words, scooping up the feelings from when I used to run around with letters in my arms.

Kate: But if I can be of even a little help by delivering those feelings... that makes me happy.

Kate: ...It might be self-satisfaction, but

Kate: Isn't that the same for you, Alfons?

Those words suddenly slipped out of my mouth.

Alfons: ...Me?

Kate: Using your abilities indiscriminately, that... having those kinds of relationships with various people,

Kate: You say it's for your enjoyment, but...

Kate: The smiles I saw in the slums, the smiles I saw at the pub, they didn't look happy at all.

Kate: I thought that maybe the act itself wasn't enjoyable for you.

Alfons: ...

Kate: Even if you don't have the power to change reality,

Kate: Even for a little while, even just a little bit,

Kate: I wondered if giving someone a place to escape to would make you happy, Alfons...

Kate: ...Does it?

(...)

(So, I...)

(That's why I didn't think it was the worst thing, even when you behaved in such an unethical and outrageous way.)

(I was just a little empathetic with Alfons.)

Alfons: ...It's disappointing to hear that I don't seem to be enjoying myself.

Alfons: I live to enjoy myself.

Alfons smiled evasively.

(He still won't tell me his true feelings. But...)

What I said just now felt like a clear truth to me.

Kate: ...If you won't answer, that's fine. I'll just assume that's how you feel.

Alfons: You're a strange person. Why are you so obsessed with my motives?

Kate: That's because...

(...)

(Why is that?)

I cling to this small amount of empathy because I want to understand him.

I want to understand him because I want to know the "truth."

But then why do I cling to his "truth"?

I feel confused, as if I'm being questioned about my own feelings.

(That's because...)

As I search for an answer by looking into his gray eyes, he also looks into mine.

Alfons: -- I'm also curious about something.

Kate: ...? What is it...?

Alfons: I wonder how I look in your eyes when we're indulging in pleasure together.

Kate: ...Huh?

His sudden question took away all my thoughts.

Alfons: Do I look bored? Do I look unhappy? Do I look like I'm not enjoying myself?

Kate: W-well, it's...

Just like in the dining hall, my cheeks heat up when I try to remember.

Kate: When we're doing that, I'm not really... looking at you...

Kate: Well, I still don't understand...

I honestly confess, stammering.

Alfons: ...Ah-ha.

With an oddly cheerful laugh, he raised a crooked smile to his lips as if to say I was foolish.

Alfons: "Still" don't understand...

Alfons: You know that's the same as saying you "want to be sure," right?

Kate: ...?

Alfons: Why don't you try to be sure again today?

Alfons: But... enjoy a more healthy date before that.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 10 Premium Story

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[coffeeghoulie]

Kinktober Day #22: Sexting

The Ghostober prompts were put together by @kroas-adtam, and divider made by @gothdaddyissues, thank you both so much!

Pairing: Swiss/Dew

Summary: Dew and Swiss's teams play on opposite sides of the country, but that won't stop them from getting up to their usual antics.

Takes place in a scene mentioned in chapter four of Five Minutes for Fighting, but if you don't want to read a 15k fic right now, Swiss and Dew are on opposing hockey teams and speedrunning an enemies to lovers arc. They're about 75% of the way there in this fic. I wasn't comfortable enough writing smut to write this scene out when I posted that chapter, but I am now. Tada!

Contains mutual masturbation, phone sex, and two idiots pining for each other.

Tagging @forlorn-crows, @nocturnalghoul, @askingforthesun, and @highdefinitions for hockey ghoul reasons <3 and a special thank you to @highdefinitions for helping me with Swiss's team's name.

Read under the cut or on AO3!

Dew flops down on the hotel mattress, a bit too firm for his taste, and grabs his phone off of the nightstand. In the time it took for him to wash the sweat from his hair and change into comfortable clothing, he's gotten a new message.

S: Saw the highlights from the Ghouls game tonight. A lot of those clips were you.

Dew preens, even though he knows the other man's just trying to butter him up. He did play well. When he really applies himself, when he gets in the zone, when he's not picking fights with Swiss for fun, he's one of the top scorers on the roster.

He runs through the game schedules in his mind, trying to remember the next time the Popestars, Swiss's team, and the Ghouls play. It's not for a couple of weeks, but Dew does remember that the Popestars were scheduled to play the Holy Hitters a few hours prior. Dew opens his phone, starts texting back.

D: Didn't you skate tonight? When the fuck did you have time to watch Ghouls highlights?

S: At the hotel now. You took some big hits tonight, spitfire

Dew groans at the reminder, sore ribs and shoulder lighting up. He had been checked pretty good, slammed into the plexiglass by defensemen almost twice his size trying to steal the puck away from him.

S: Got me all worked up, watching you get tossed around like a ragdoll.

D:Real subtle. You don't want to praise me for my good game, you just want to burn off that adrenaline.

S: So? What's the difference between me texting you and me railing your ass in your locker room shower?

Dew groans, even as his cock twitches in interest at the memories. He palms at himself through his sweatpants.

D: The difference is that you're on the other side of the fucking country and can't actually fuck me.

Dew can almost hear Swiss's chuckle as the text bubble pops up.

S: Oh, so you wouldn't mind if I texted you what I'd want us to be doing if we were in the same timezone?

Dew takes a deep breath through his nose, hair fanned out under his head. He presses the heel of his hand harder into his dick, groaning.

D: Fine. Yes. What would you want?

Dew turns his head to groan into the pillows as he palms himself, reading Swiss's reply.

S: I keep thinking about the night you snuck into my hotel room, the night your captain really fucked me up? The first night I got to have you in an actual bed. I want to do that again. Really take my time with you.

Dew fumbles one handed with the drawstrings on his sweatpants, texting back with his dominant hand. He pushes his hand down his sweats and boxers, palming himself with a groan.

D: You wanna take me apart again? You gonna be real sweet about it, like you were then, or do you want to push me around like in the showers?

S: I was thinking about how easy it would be to manhandle you, take you how I want. I know it's a bit of a sore point, but you're so much smaller than me. My hands nearly wrap all the way around your waist, spitfire. It makes you quick and hard to hit on the ice, but fuck, if it doesn't get me going. Wanna hold you down and make you take it.

Dew groans loudly. wrapping his hand around himself properly, his length beginning to spit precum. He shoves his sweats and underwear down, freeing himself, giving himself more room to work.

D: Yeah? you gonna make me take it rough, split me open on you? You want me to fight back or take it nice?

S: I don't think it was gonna be rough. Sure that's how we started, but I liked being sweet on you, making you feel good.

Even though there's no one there to see him blush, Dew turns his face into the pillows and whines, high and feminine. He steels himself and scowls, typing frantically.

D: Fucking sap.

S: You liked it. You were the one who asked to take our time to begin with.

D: Fine. You caught me.

S: I'm calling you. Pick up.

Dew freezes as his phone rings, blaring the Popestars' goal song. It had been a funny joke, assigning that song to Swiss's contact, but he's pavloved himself on the ice when they play against each other. He wants to hear it more than he wants Mountain to make the save.

He picks up, and the warm sound of Swiss's voice filters through, a little tinny from the speakers. "Hey, spitfire," he groans, and Dew's stomach flips as he hears the wet noise of Swiss touching himself.

"You get started without me?" Dew says, trying and failing to mock him.

Swiss laughs, the sound fading into a low groan. "You can't tell me you haven't started. I know how flustered you get when I talk dirty, spitfire."

Dew rolls his eyes, grateful Swiss can't actually see it. He presses the heel of his hand into his dick, biting back the resulting groan. "Yeah, and what about it?"

"You blush so pretty," Swiss says, and Dew can picture him, sprawled out on his hotel bed over the covers, his dirty clothes strewn in a pile on the bathroom floor, one hand wrapped around his cock, the other pressing his phone to his ear. "You turn cherry red from the tips of your ears all the way down to your nipples, makes your piercings really stand out. You know your dick turns the same color when you start to drip?"

Dew can't bite back his whimper, and he curses himself as he hears Swiss's hand falter on himself. "Shut up," he whines.

Swiss chuckles, and Dew privately, secretly, wishes he could record the sound, replay it whenever he wants. "You don't want me to shut up, spitfire. You want me to keep talking so you can get off to it."

Dew sets the phone down next to him on speaker, biting the heel of his hand hard as he starts jerking himself off again. "What- what about it?" He pants, trying to keep his cool as Swiss's voice makes his dick twitch.

"It's okay, spitfire, I know what gets you off, want to make you feel good even though I can't do it myself," Swiss coos, voice slightly tinny. "Jerk yourself off for me, want to hear how good you feel."

Dew can't help but obey, rubbing his thumb against the tip of his dick, watching fascinated as it drips precum down his shaft, easing the way for his hand. He knows there's a travel size bottle of lube in his go bag, but he can't be damned to get up and get it. He doesn't want to leave his phone behind, even though it's on speaker and he'll still be able to hear.

"Swiss," he whispers, scared one of his teammates will be able to hear on the other side of the wall, even though he's safe behind soundproof hotel walls. "Swiss, fuck, please."

"Yeah, spitfire?" Swiss replies, sounding entirely too collected as he strokes himself vigorously on the other line. "Tell me what you want."

"Wanna be with you, want it to be your hand on me, want to get my hands on you," Dew whispers, face hot and eyes squeezed shut as Swiss makes him describe his desires. He strokes himself faster, reaching down with his free hand to pull at his piercings. He keens, and he can hear Swiss's responding groan, the wet noises from the other end speeding up.

"Want to get my mouth on you again, spitfire," Swiss groans, and Dew speeds his own strokes up to match Swiss's pace. Swiss only lets the pleasure affect him when he's close, and Dew doesn't want to be too far behind when he cums. "You tasted so good, such a sweet mouthful for me."

Dew sobs, cock kicking in his hand as he pinches his nipple hard, pebbling the pink flesh. "Close," he whines, jerking himself off furiously, his cock weeping precum.

"Yeah, spitfire, baby?" Swiss moans. "You gonna cum for me? So far away from you but I'm still gonna make you cum, spitfire."

"Yeah, you are. Fuck," Dew whines, muffling the sound into his hand.

"Hand off of your mouth, baby. Need to hear it, Dew, need it so bad. Need you so bad," Swiss whines, and Dew can hear his breath hitch as his hand speeds up. "Gonna cum for you, princess, gonna make a mess just for you."

"Do it," Dew pants, "I'm gonna cum, Swiss, please cum with me."

Swiss shouts wordlessly, and the slightly-warped noise is all it takes to send Dew flying over the edge himself. He shoots ropes of hot, pearly cum over his knuckles, pooling in his happy trail, wailing the whole time he works himself through it.

"Good boy," Swiss groans, and Dew's seen him in the aftermath enough times to picture his face in perfect clarity, brows furrowed, eyes shut tight, chest heaving as he breathes heavily through his nose. The mental image is enough to make his dick kick valiantly between his legs, but he ignores it, still floating on the high.

"Fuck me, Swiss," Dew laughs, trying to catch his breath. "I just got out of the shower. Wouldn't have washed up if I knew you were just gonna make me make a mess again."

Swiss chuckles on the other end. He hears the rustle of him running a hand over his curls. "You wanna send me a picture, spitfire? I'd like to save that for later."

Dew groans, tilting his head back into the pillows. "Fuck, Swiss, you can't just say that."

"Well, I did," Swiss laughs, but Dew can still hear his heavy breathing. "How about this, you send me a picture of your mess, I'll send you one of mine. Deal?"

Dew moans at the thought, his cum still dripping from his fingers. "Yeah, I'll do it, give me a minute."

"No rush," Swiss says, voice evening out. "Just wanna see what I do to you. Bet you look real pretty, spitfire. It's a shame they're not my bruises on that pretty body."

"Possessive," Dew laughs, chest still heaving. "Give it a couple weeks, you can bruise me up all you want. Make me bleed, even."

There's a long silence, and Dew's suddenly unsure of the words he's just said.

"I don't think I want to make you bleed anymore, Dew," Swiss says, something strange in his tone. "Bruises, marks, sure. I don't think I want you to bleed."

"Huh," Dew says eloquently. "Okay. No bleeding, then. We can work with that."

Swiss sighs, and Dew can imagine him nodding. "Alright. I do mean it, Dew. You played well tonight."

"Thank you," Dew whispers. "I'll look for your highlights after I shower. After the picture, I mean."

Swiss chuckles. "Tonight wasn't my best game," he admits. "I didn't play nearly as well as you did, spitfire."

Dew cackles, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his clean hand. "I'll be the judge of that, Swiss. We play again in what, three weeks?"

"Yeah, think so," Swiss says.

"Think I'm gonna let you go in a bit," Dew says, hesitantly, trying not to show how clingy he wants to be. "I'll get you that picture, and then I'm going to run up this hotel's hot water bill. Got a bus ride in the morning and I hate sleeping on the bus. I'll see you at the next game?"

"Yeah, spitfire," Swiss says fondly, and his voice almost feels almost like a caress against his hot cheek. "I'll see you at the next game."

There will be no next game. Swiss gets traded to the Ghouls a week from this moment, but neither of them know that yet. How could they? For now, they bask in the afterglow, listening to each other breathe thousands of miles apart.

[echotoyou]

pizza and packing

pairing: yoongi x reader (no pronouns/gendered language are used for the reader)

summary: you’re moving to a new city and packing up everything you own. It’s a little overwhelming to do by yourself, so thank goodness yoongi knocks on your door to remind you that you’re not alone (plus he brought a smoothie!).

wordcount: 2.4k

what’s inside: fluff, angsty reader quickly followed by comfort, yoongi’s hugs could solve the climate crisis, crying, some overthinking with a dash of spiraling

posted: august 2023 (also on ao3!)

beta read by @theharrowing!!! thank you for SO much i love you an incredible amount 🪿

note: wow this started off as me needing to process some things and then turned into an entire story lol. enjoy!! ALSO this is my first time writing fanfic so please please let me know what you think!!!!!

Moving sucks.

You knew this, theoretically. People always complain that moving is too expensive, too much work, simply too hard. 

But no one warned you about the loneliness. How your home begins to echo as you pull mugs from cabinets and sweaters from drawers, stuffing it all unceremoniously into boxes. The uncomfortable chill that seeps into the newly empty spaces no longer taken up by your rug or TV. Not to forget the bare spots left by taking down the fairy lights circling the ceiling, your wall of photos and art prints, and the whiteboard calendar that still counts down the days to last month’s big celebration. 

Just this morning you cried over a crumpled note found in the back corner of your desk. Rereading your best friend’s well wishes about your new home!, a new start!, a fun adventure! made you realize you couldn’t remember the last time you had deliberately picked up the phone to dial their number.

The doorbell startles you from your thoughts as a rogue tear slips down your cheek. You swipe at it and a quick glance at your phone tells you your fourth take out order of the week isn’t supposed to be here yet. You relax back onto your couch and settle beneath your multicolored crocheted blanket, willing the cheese on your future pizza to melt just a little faster. 

Your stomach grumbles in protest at the thought and you join it, groaning when the doorbell rings a second time. Today’s packing-up-your-apartment uniform consisted of a set of well-loved pjs, with a few holes you are definitely ignoring, and tossing your unshowered hair into a top knot. In other words, you were not in the mood to chat up a solicitor. 

“I’ve already found God! Thank you!” you yell at the door from your fortress of comfort.

A familiar low chuckle paired with a rhythmic knock greets you this time, and recognition makes you roll your eyes and grin. You untangle yourself from your cozy nest of blankets before sprinting over to the door. Flinging it open, you see a familiar sight: Min Yoongi, phone in one hand, thermos in the other, and gummy smirk plastered across his features.

“I thought you were the delivery guy,” you mumble. “Why didn’t you just knock first?”

Yoongi shrugs and holds out the thermos for you to take, “This one is banana peanut butter with kale and…” he stops for a moment, shakes his head and continues, “something else, too, I don’t know. I promise it tastes good though.”

With suspicion only just hiding the smile in your eyes, you open the thermos and take a long gulp, sighing after you swallow. Oof. Had you actually eaten anything today? Yoongi, still in the doorway, laughs out loud, his expression circling between amusement and chagrin as he catches your eye.

“Cherries. It’s got cherries in it. And now your lips are very red.” He chuckles again with a sparkle in his eye and gaze lingering on your mouth for maybe a moment too long.

“Mhm” you wink at him and take an extra swig from the thermos for good measure, turning around to walk into your apartment. You freeze, suddenly seeing the disembodiment of your living room through his eyes and feel him run into your back with a soft ‘oof.’ 

“Um okay so um this doesn’t normally look like this, I–”

“Y/N, you’re moving”

“Yes, I know, but um there’s nowhere to sit and I can’t make you tea or anything, because the pot is packed, and I don’t have any food or snacks to offer, and–” 

Your word vomit dies down as you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, the slight pressure turning you around to face him. You’re sure he can see the panic in your eyes as he hums a short positive note.

“Do you want me to leave? I wanted to make sure you ate something with greens today and I think I’ve got that checked off the box,” he gestures toward your hands where you’re still clutching his thermos with a death grip. 

With your brain still catapulting headfirst into all of the ways you are currently failing at your people-are-over-must-be-a-perfect-host duties, you purse your lips and sigh, “Yeah, maybe.”

You see something unfamiliar pass across his features, but it morphs so quickly into a sweet smile you can’t decipher it fast enough. 

“Alrighty then.” He nods, “best of luck with the rest of your packing. Let me know if you need anything else, and I’ll see you later.” He turns and walks out the door, down your front steps and disappears around the corner. 

You push the door shut and rest your forehead on the cool wood for a moment, the slight chill relieving you of your hosting concerns when the next set of concerns sidle in. 

Wait, did he want to stay? Better question, did you want company? Being alone for the past three days had been making you feel stir-crazy, but there was still so much to do, and it was exhausting directing other people. But he’s not your normal ‘other people.’ Did he drive away yet? Maybe you can still catch him. Ah shit, did you even thank him for the smoothie? 

Your thoughts tumble and jumble with the force of a second spin cycle – UGH you also still have laundry to do. Pulling yourself from the door, you give up on trying to catch him and head back to the safety of your couch. You sip from his thermos and pull out your phone to text a quick thank you. 

A few minutes later, your phone pings with the notification that your pizza has been delivered. You open the app to double check the photo the driver sent as your doorbell rings. 

You break out into laughter as you pull open the door for a second time and show the grinning man on the other side the photo on your phone: Min fucking Yoongi outside your door holding two pizza boxes with a shit eating grin on his face and giving the camera a thumbs up. 

“Someone order pizza?” 

—

An hour later, you’re not sure who convinced who to stay, but you’ve both been fed and watered with cheesy nonsense and warm conversation. 

Remarkably, he wasn’t bothered by the stacks of boxes and piles of items yet to be packed. The other half of your brain reminds you that he’s seen your apartment – and you – through all levels of disarray, some messes 100% yours, like when laundry day lasts a week and takes over your bedroom, the living room, and somehow the bathroom. Other messes were more of a group effort, when you would join forces to make the biggest mess in your kitchen possible while learning a new cooking technique from your subscription meal kit boxes.

Paper plates thrown into a garbage bag and half a pizza wrapped up for tomorrow’s breakfast later, you plop yourself on your carpet, back leaning against your couch, and sigh. You had been trying your darndest to separate the mountain of boxes in front of you into “give away” and “keep” before Yoongi had knocked on your door the first time, and they had now snuck from the ignorable periphery back into your sight. 

All at once, the previously easy chatter catches in your throat and you feel yourself trail off, whatever you had just been laughing about suddenly dying on your lips. 

“Hey,” a soft voice pierces through the bubble of your thoughts.

“Where did you go, just now?”

You turn to see Yoongi sitting cross legged next to you. He cocks his head at you, his voiced question clear in his soft eyes and slight frown. You avoid his eyes by looking down at your hands in your lap, and realize you are clutching your nearly empty water glass as if it was a life preserver. Raising the cup to your lips, you shrug and gesture loosely at the boxes, the white walls, the furniture marked for people who had messaged you on Facebook Marketplace. 

This room would no longer be yours in less than a week, the items in it in even less time. It was more full than it had ever been and yet you felt the emptiness of each drawer and closet echoing with something akin to grief. 

“Can I touch you?”

You nod, and immediately feel a warm hand touching yours, gently prying the cup from your clutches and setting it aside. He stands and ignores your protests as he tugs you to your feet. He wraps your arms around his waist and encircles your shoulders with his, pulling you into his chest and squeezing gently. You turn your head to the side so your cheek presses against the soft fabric of his shirt. The pressure of his chin sitting on top of your head feels overwhelming and wholly correct at the same time. Tears prick your eyes for the umpteenth time, and the comforting weight of Yoongi’s hug can’t keep them at bay.

“I just…” the words fade as you sniffle. “I just don’t know how to do this and I feel like I’m doing it all kinds of wrong.”

He hums, and his arms squeeze you a little tighter. Melting into the hug, you allow yourself to bury yourself face first in his soft tee and inhale deeply. His gentle scent of freshly laundered clothing with a hint of citrus is all it takes for your breath to turn into shorter, shuddering sobs, wracking your body.

You feel him gently rub the small of your back. Wave after wave of emotion floods your system, ping ponging between frustration and sadness and anger and fear. Each time you let yourself recognize and validate one thought, another sneaks in, bringing a new wave of tears.

One thought in particular stands as a concrete tower above the rest: you had been its architect for the past few months, placing stone after stone higher than the last until it was magnificent in its largess and painful in its stability. Ignoring it had become normal practice until now, when you looked up and realized you had built the tower around yourself.

You were choosing to leave. You chose to move thousands of miles from your family, and now you were choosing again to move hundreds of miles away from the family you had found here. There was no one to blame, no mystical forces of nature to shift the attention to. It was all just you.

A small noise breaks the paralyzing stillness of your thoughts, and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The sound blankets your spiral in a layer of sweet, comforting darkness. You grab at the tuneless melody like a rope and as the rumbling within his chest begins to center you back in your living room, safe in his arms again, you realize he was humming. You squeeze his waist a little tighter and as you release, his humming trickles off.

“If it’s any consolation, no one knows what they’re doing.” He whispers into your hair. “Especially when packing up a home they’ve lived in for a while. This place is stocked with things, yes, but also memories. You’ve grown and changed a whole lot since you moved in.”

“So then why am I leaving?” your voice cracks on the last word as you hiccup it into the void.

He shrugs, “We both know I can’t answer that for you. I do hope that whatever answer you decided on when you started this process is still true, and if it’s not, then this is just one choice. And you can make a new one in the future.”

You ‘hrumph’ back at him and take another deep breath.

Your breathing soon begins to match his small, rhythmic motions, inhaling and exhaling as your brain clears. You pull back from where you had smushed your face on his shirt, grimacing at the snot left on his shirt, and wiggling to escape his embrace in search of a tissue. He seems to have a different idea as his grip strengthens and you look up to see his concerned eyes searching for yours. Suddenly, a cat-like grin breaks out across his features and out of nowhere, the man laughs.

“How could someone look so beautiful after sobbing like the Titanic was sinking?”

You groan, for likely the fiftieth time today, and swat at his chest. With another smirk, he releases you from the hug. You shiver from the immediate loss of body heat and quickly look around the room for something resembling a tissue that had not been packed yet. You hear him clear his throat, and you look back to be met with a tissue dangling right in front of your face. 

“Thank you” your voice sounds small and gravely and you blot your eyes and nose before making eye contact with the spots on his shirt again. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry… your shirt…” your voice fades as you unconsciously reach out toward the stains, your only focus to assess the damage. He gently catches your wrist before your hand hits his chest, and places a butterfly light kiss on your knuckles.

“Don’t worry about it. This is my designated moving t-shirt, eligible for dust, stains, and tears – bonus points if you get all three in one go,” he winks, fluidly moving his hand from your wrist to your fingers, and spins you around in circles until you can’t help but give him a watery grin. Pulling you in for another hug, he gently squeezes you once more before letting go and heading toward the kitchen. You hear the squeak of the faucet before he reappears proudly brandishing your glasses now full of water. 

You accept the glass he holds out and let your eyes scan the pile of things in front of you. The boxes in the corner pull your attention again and you start to feel the overwhelm teeter you back over the edge. Taking a deep breath, you sip at the water and move to sit on the couch, seeking the comfort of your blanket once again.

“Let’s do something easy tonight, okay? No thoughts, just blankets.” 

You nod, and he plugs in the TV that you had moved into a corner for ‘safe keeping’ while you sold the table it stood on. He settles next to you on the couch and you spy a slight knowing smile on his face as he navigates to your favorite show, the one you started over to watch with him, and the one that makes you happy cry every time.

He slides his hand into yours and it doesn’t leave for the entirety of the first, second, or third episode you watch. Neither does he when you fall asleep on his shoulder.

[gennyanydots]

One Year Old Wingman

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x f!reader

Part of the Spitfire Universe

Christmas was your favorite holiday. You loved finding the perfect presents for people. You loved seeing all the lights people put up. You loved all the decorations everywhere. Your whole apartment was decorated. You were so excited once everyone else started to celebrate too. (You started the day after Halloween)

You’re especially excited for the Dagger Christmas party. This was your second year coming to the Dagger Squad Christmas party with Bob. Last year even though you had known everyone for almost a year you still felt a little weird going to the Christmas party. It was a new experience so you were ever so slightly uncomfortable. Bob said it was a white elephant but so many people did them differently.

This year however you were sooooo excited. You knew what you were getting into. You understood how their white elephant exchange worked. Plus you had the best gifts.

The gift exchange rules were that everyone brings three presents. The more random the better. Then everyone picks out one gift from the pile and opens it. You can trade presents but each present can only be traded three times. Once it’s been traded three times whoever ends up with it keeps it. Then it starts again. Sometimes the presents were bought with certain people in mind and sometimes they weren’t. There was a $20 limit on the presents. It was also decided that kids were excluded so they could get all the presents imaginable from their adopted extended family. Which meant Eli was about to be in heaven. Plus you heard that Grandpa Mav got him an entire platter of chicken nuggets just for him.

Last year had been pretty funny. You’re pretty sure you remember Rooster ending up with a lacy nightie and Payback going home with a Christmas cat sweater.

When Bobby picked you up you skipped to his truck with your gifts in a bag and a tray of cookies and homemade chocolates in your hand. You made a ton of fudge, Oreo balls, and so many Buckeyes since everyone had loved them last year. Nobody had heard of them before you brought them and now they were everyone’s favorite because who wouldn’t want a sweet peanut butter ball dipped in chocolate to look like a Buckeye? They’re the best Christmas time treat and a long standing tradition in your family.

On the drive to Maverick’s hanger Bob tried to swipe something off your tray at least five times like he hadn’t had at least one of each of the things last night when you made everything. He was your official taste tester, something he took very seriously. Every time he tried though you smacked his hand and glared at him. The whole tray has to at least make it in the door.

And it did. However the second you walked in Bob took it from you and the whole dagger squad was on it in an instant. You just rolled your eyes. It wasn’t like you didn’t have whole containers at home filled with more treats. Bobby knew about the containers but he didn’t care. It was more fun this way.

The party was fun. Lots of yummy food. Lots of singing along to Christmas songs old and new.

Soon it was time for the present exchange. Jake ended up with one of your gifts, a photo frame with a bunch of scratch lottery tickets. He guarded that with his life. His wife rolled her eyes at him. Fanboy ended up with another one of your presents, a candle you found that came in a tin that says “I love you for your personality but that dick is a huge bonus.” Payback got your third gift, a Snuggie. He immediately got it out and wrapped himself up in it. Someone had put in pregnancy tests, you’re pretty sure it was Jake’s wife, and Mav ended up with them. Poor guy just looked confused. Rooster ended up with a swear word coloring book with crayons. He almost missed the third round because he was coloring. Bob got a yodeling pickle. You ended up with a ugly Christmas sweater skirt. All in all it was a really fun time.

You all watched as Jake and his wife helped little Eli open his presents. He was so excited to get so many new toys. You and Bob got him a piano floor mat which you have a sneaking suspicion that Rooster is going to steal it from Eli one day and see if he can play ‘Great Balls of Fire’ on it. You saw him eyeing it when Eli opened it. Coyote got Eli a pair of aviator sunglasses. Eli hadn’t taken them off yet, clearly wanting to be cool like his dada.

After all the presents were opened everyone was just hanging around and spending time together before everyone parted ways for leave to visit family and friends. You were chatting with Jake’s wife and Phoenix. Eli came toddling over to the three of you. All three of you started to coo over him telling him how cute he is. It didn’t occur to you that he had changed onesies until Jake’s wife picked him up and turned to you.

“I think Eli has a question for you, babe,” She says and hands Eli to you.

You look at her confused and take Eli.

“Read his shirt,” She says winking at you.

You hold Eli out a little bit in front of you to get a better view of it, “‘Will you marry my Uncle Bobby?’ Huh?”

Jake’s wife smirks at you and takes Eli from your hands while Phoenix turns you around to see Bobby down on one knee holding out a velvet box. Both of your hands immediately cover your mouth as you stare at Bob.

“Eli is cuter than I am. He makes a good wingman,” Bob says with a chuckle. “So baby, will you? Please?”

You start nodding your head afraid to say anything because you’re pretty sure you’ll start sobbing.

Everyone cheers as Bob stands up. You practically throw yourself into Bob’s arms who catches you easily.

You kiss all over his face repeating “yes” over and over again while a few tears leak from your eyes.

Bob grins and holds you close before pulling away to grab your left hand to put the ring on your finger.

You knew Christmas was your favorite holiday for a reason.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #215

Today is National Ice Cream Day at a place called Moxie's. Ever since the death of J's brother, Daniel, we've been making it a point to go every year. Why? Because ice cream and National Ice Cream Day were some of Daniel's favorite things. And doing this is a good way to remember him.

But first!!! Before I get into all that stuff!!! I wanted to tell you!!! Your new locket is ready. I finished it today. And I've put so much beautiful stuff in it, just for you. I can't wait for you to see it! I just hope that I'll get an opportunity to give it to someone who can give it to you. Hopefully that opportunity will arrive in a little over a week. We'll see. I'll do my best.

Anyhoot. So, while we were out and about, I took a bunch of pictures for you!

Here were the available flavors at Moxie's today:

...As you can see, it's A LOT of flavors. And usually, they have a very weird flavor at another part of the place, where you're supposed to taste it and guess what it is. This year's flavor felt familiar, but I couldn't place it. It was some kind of herby sort of thing, and it was delightful. Last year's flavor was garlic, and it was also VERY delightful, oh my goodness!

Yes, I imagine you might be thinking that garlic-flavored ice cream shouldn't work. But somehow they managed to find a way to make it work. I don't know how they did it, but it was amazing, and I'm a little sad that I can't get it anymore, ahahaha~!

...It is known that I am the cheese goblin. But I am also the garlic goblin!! Rarghablargablaarg! 🤪🤣

The flavors I got were butter pecan, Irish creme, and white wine sangria. And all of them were absolutely delectable!

Hey, Sephiroth? Which ice cream flavors would you have chosen? I wonder... Will you tell me someday, maybe?

Of course, since it's National Ice Cream Day, Moxie's had all kinds of other activities, too! They were mostly aimed for children, but still, I took some pictures...

...Hey, Sephiroth? Have you ever played with bubbles before? Wanna try it with me sometime? In my Early Childhood Education classes, they taught us how to make a soap and glycerin solution that lends itself well to particularly sturdy bubbles; it's a lot of fun!

There was a bouncy house, too! J and I are a little too big for this one, though. It's angled up because I didn't wanna accidentally get pictures of children; it's important to avoid that because in my world, it's dangerous for pictures of children to be on the internet for a variety of very sad reasons. But here:

There was also the folks with all the reptiles!! I got all kinds of pictures of them for you!!

J took a few pictures, too, ahahaha~!

I also took some more pictures of the sky; it was especially nice today:

Br can't eat ice cream at ice cream places because of cross contamination. So after this, J and I went to the grocery to try to get some ice cream for her! But she already had ice cream. So we got whipped cream instead, because she was running out. We chilled there for a short while:

And then we went home and I cooked some steak and mushrooms:

I wish I could give a bowl of what I made to you. It was really delicious.

Tomorrow, I'm going to try to get the music box notes arranged in Audacity. I want this song to be done before the first of August if at all possible. I don't know how far I'll get, but today I got some good news that I'm not gonna share just yet, and I'm feeling pretty pumped to get it done.

So I'm gonna go to bed. First because it's late, and second, because I wanna get my nightly period of semi-consciousness so that from my perspective, it seems like tomorrow will get here faster.

I love you. Please try hard to see the beauty in all the things I showed you. And please stay safe; you'll wanna hear this song when it's done!

I'll write again tomorrow. Count on it.

Your friend, Lumine

[kritischetheologie]

ignoring ask game instructions to selfishly ask for your top 3 alison roman recipes (or like. top 5. top 10. you get it)

omg stop I love this.... this is absolutely in the spirit of the ask game there is nothing more 30something than getting really into alison roman.

I already mentioned the roast chicken but I need to stress that again. obviously The Stew is an obligatory mention. fun fact about this recipe my former roommate once spent like four hours trying to make this stew because she fucked up and used uncooked chickpeas instead of pre-cooked canned ones... anyway it led me to believe for years that it was a hard recipe that took hours to make when in fact it is one of the easiest, most rewarding vegetarian dishes you can ever make. (less fun fact: the night she was trying to make the stew was the night my now ex husband and I got engaged! we got back to my apartment from getting engaged, she was trying to make the stew, we went out for a long celebratory dinner and when we got back she was still trying to make the stew! there is a moral here which is that lots of things you think / get told will be really hard, like marriage, or stew, are actually very easy unless you've made some terrible error in the planning process). moving on! god this will sound so basic but her vanilla pastry cream (think pudding!) is transcendently good. I literally make it every time I ever have to use an egg white for something, with however many yolks I have (the math scales up and down super easily). I've tried to make it as the filling of a tart but unfortunately no matter how good her tart crust recipe is I am not good at making tart crusts... her shrimp scampi is so good that even though the first time I made it I ended up crying alone eating it (don't be unhappily married, kids) all I could think was holy shit, this is the best shrimp scampi I've ever had. her caramelized shallot pasta made me an anchovy person (it tastes more like anchovies than shallots. fight me.)

ok now we get into the things that aren't on her website but are in the book I have (I need the other books!). the butter-tossed radishes with fresh za'atar made me a radishes person. the brown butter buttermilk cake makes an absolutely fucking glorious pineapple upside-down cake. last divorce story the first time I ever made this cake was when my ex went away on a business trip sometime in the last year or so of our marriage. I had seen the recipe and I decided that the thing I wanted to do with myself with a weekend home alone was just cook everything. I remember eating the pineapple upside-down cake sitting alone watching netflix or something, and then eating more of it for breakfast the next morning (it's not too sweet, the biggest compliment I can pay a recipe), and I remember thinking about how much easier it felt to try new things, even things as simple as a cake recipe, when I didn't have to worry about him being there watching and judging me.

bonus recipe, along the lines of the theme of this whole answer: brandy jensen's how to poach an egg and leave a marriage.

edit: just wanted to add that I have literally never in my life purchased buttermilk, for the brown butter buttermilk cake I just use whatever combination of milk and lemon juice google recommends in that moment and it works great

[practically-an-x-man]

Whatever Keeps You Around (Rick Flag x Eris)

Summary: Based on this prompt, Eris runs into an immortal surprise in a very mundane place. (Title from First Time by Hozier)

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: Mild jealousy, mild possessive themes, some mentions of violence.

____

"Go see if they have any bread you like, hon."

Eris nodded, ducking past him and half-jogging up to the shelf of artisanal bread in the corner of the store. This was why he'd picked this store, even though it was small and pricey and overly-organic: Eris claimed it was the only place in New Orleans that made bread the right way, whatever they in their mind deemed the right way.

All Rick knew was that it cost about eight dollars a pop and was loaded with spices he couldn't identify, and that Eris could go through three loaves a week if he let them. Usually he did. The one perk to working for Amanda Waller was the paycheck, and that allowed him at least enough wiggle room to buy the right kind of bread.

She jogged back up to him, two loaves wrapped in paper in her arms, just as Rick had finished thanking the deli clerk for his cold cuts and cheeses. Eris tucked the bread into the shopping cart almost delicately and promptly plucked the deli bags from his hands to inspect his selections.

"Oven-roasted turkey? Not the herb kind?"

"Outta stock. I've got thyme and stuff back at the house if it really bothers you," Rick replied, "What kind of bread did you pick out?"

"Honey-rosemary and something they call rustic medley," Eris muttered, "I'll be the judge of that."

"Sounds pretty good," he agreed, "Maybe we can make butter to go with it."

Eris tilted his head, something Rick stupidly misinterpreted as a lack of understanding.

"I saw it online, you just put heavy cream and a little salt in a mason jar, shake it u-"

"I'd be willing to bet I'm more familiar with making butter than you are, Flag." Eris cut him off, sharp as always, "But why?"

"I dunno. Seems like fun."

"You have a real strange idea of fun. And this is coming from someone who lived through tapestry being the popular hobby." they jeered, but tossed a carton of heavy cream into the cart as they passed the dairy case. Rick tried to hide his smile. If anyone was the definition of 'actions speak louder than words', it was Eris.

He stayed close to Rick's side as they wandered the store, occasionally tossing things into the cart on what looked like pure whim. Cans of tomato soup, the ones Rick remembered mentioning were his favorite because they reminded him of his childhood, made their way in alongside pretzels and peanut butter and bars of high-cacao baking chocolate. It was far too bitter for his tastes, at least in anything other than baked goods, but Eris could snack on it like a Hershey bar. She liked it for the same reason she liked the artisanal bread, he thought. Nostalgia, or the closest thing to nostalgia they could find.

"Lasagna tonight? Or should we just find something to stick in the oven?" Rick asked, frowning at the prices of the pasta boxes on the shelves. Eris was back at his side in a moment, moving so quickly and silently that he would have jumped if he wasn't used to it.

"Hm. Neither. Make your pot pie." he decided, and Rick felt him lean in against his side, "I have a taste for it."

His mother's recipe, the one he'd tried so hard to get right after her death, now lived on as a favorite in the mind of a centuries-old metahuman.

That one made him feel good.

He knew Eris wasn't one for public affection, but he still couldn't resist wrapping his arm around their shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of their head. He pulled back quickly, before Eris could wriggle away or complain about looking soft, and waved a hand at the produce aisle they'd left in their wake.

"Go grab me a bag of baby carrots and some green beans, then," he said, then paused and corrected, "In a bag. Not just loose green beans."

"I know that, smartass." Eris huffed, rolling her eyes at him as she walked away. Rick suppressed a chuckle.

There was someone else in the produce aisle, apparently trying to decide between a starfruit and a cherimoya. They were half a head taller than Eris, with wavy brown hair halfway down their back and a flowing blue sundress swishing around their knees.

Rick didn't pay them much mind, and was about to turn and grab a can of biscuits when Eris froze in his tracks.

"Julius?"

The taller figure whipped around so fast it must have given them whiplash, and their eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Rick could see, even from afar, that their features had the same strangely archaic look as Eris' own, though perhaps a continent and a few centuries apart.

"Oh my- Eris?" they stammered, then gestured vaguely at themself, "And it's- er, Wisteria now. Wisty."

"Wisty." Eris repeated, as if testing out the name, "You're... very not dead, for someone three hundred years old."

"Made a deal with a witch a while back. And you're... very tame for how I remember you."

That made a grin flash across Eris' face, quick and sharp and promising only dark things.

"Try me."

But Wisty didn't flinch. She just smiled right back, though this one was nostalgic, almost soft.

The thought struck Rick like a bolt of lightning.

Eris had a type.

Underneath the flowing fabric of her dress, Wisty had to be at least as tall as Rick himself was, and just as stacked with muscle. Old scars littered what bare skin was visible around her clothing, like she'd been a fighter in a past life- or perhaps still was. And she knew not to flinch at those shark-smiles Eris threw at her. Just like Rick did.

The thought made something strange bubble up inside him. He wasn't sure he liked it. As strange and twisted as Eris' affections could be, he'd never before had competition for those affections. It was actually one of the best things about being with them, knowing they'd always drift back to him at the end of all the chaos.

It wasn't Wisteria's arrival alone that had him so tense. What really got him was the set of Eris' posture as he spoke to her: leaned back slightly on his heels, shoulders loose, head tilted ever-so-slightly in curiosity. Casual. Relaxed. The only time he'd ever seen Eris truly relaxed was when they were alone with him.

"We should catch back up." Wisty decided, a smile slowly growing on her face, "Go... spar like the old times or something. I'm a lot tougher than I used to be."

"I don't doubt it." Eris said, their spine automatically straightening at the promise of a good challenge.

He deserved this, Rick thought. This was some sort of cosmic payback for those two years he spent pushing her aside in favor of June, for snapping at all the times they suggested making him into a metahuman like them - it was all to keep him safe, to keep him around.

Well, here was someone who'd stuck around. Who'd played the long game, the centuries-long game, the way Rick was always so afraid to commit to. Who could hold their own against Eris, when she still had to pull her punches against him.

"What do you think? My lance and your spear, or hand-to-hand?" Wisty asked, playfully throwing up her fists with a broad grin. Eris returned the gesture, bouncing on his toes a little.

It was like he'd forgotten Rick was there, just ten feet back. And even as much as he wanted to call out, to remind them... he couldn't move. All he could do was watch it all unravel before him, the can of biscuits still held tight in one hand. Suddenly his mom's old recipe didn't seem to matter much.

"It'll be like before. You and me," Wisty said, "The old war god and the king's footsoldier."

Then there was a different kind of tension in Eris' posture. The shift was sudden, her chin lifted and her shoulders drawn back, all joviality transformed into something more guarded.

"I'm with someone." he said, each word crisply spaced, and brushed past Wisty with smooth, disciplined steps. They grabbed a plastic bag and shoved a handful of green beans into it, pausing only to pluck a few wrinkled and undesirable vegetables from the lot and toss them back. Wisteria turned, fixing them with a tilted expression.

"You told me you wouldn't love another. You told me love was too painful. You told me... that I was the last one."

Eris snatched a bag of baby carrots, holding them tight in her hand as she turned.

"I was wrong." they said, chin set and eyes blazing, "And if you do a damn thing to him, if you hurt him thinking that'll bring me back to you, I'll kill you where you stand. And I will feel no remorse."

With that, he stormed his way back to Rick and tossed the vegetables into the shopping cart.

"You were staring." they muttered, taking the can of biscuits from his hand and dropping it into the cart alongside the rest of the groceries. Then, to his surprise, they folded their fingers into his own. For Eris, that was the equivalent of a public strip tease. Rick gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Yeah, I know. Couldn't help it." he admitted, knowing better than to try and duck around it, "First time I've ever seen one of your old friends. Didn't realize there was anyone else... like me."

"She wasn't like you." Eris huffed, ducking around his arm to give the cart a brisk shove, "Nobody's like you."

"It's alright if she was." Rick argued, "I know I'm not the only person you've loved, doll. That's okay."

Eris opened his mouth to respond, then reconsidered and shook his head. It must've been a lot to explain, or something they couldn't bear to speak in such public company. Their posture was still tense, shoulders stony, and they didn't spare so much as a single glance back at the produce aisle.

"Nobody's like you." she just repeated, even more set and sullen. Rick decided there were two ways he could take that: a sign that this love was real, or a sign that the pattern would end up repeating itself in a few years. He decided to take it as the former. The latter, true as it might be, felt far too pessimistic.

"Rome!" a voice called from behind them, and finally Eris turned. Wisteria had caught up, and fire a glance between the two of them. Rick met her eyes calmly, and found something strange swimming there. She returned her gaze to Eris, unflinching. "A hundred years. Rome. Then we'll have our fight."

Rick could hear the other half of her words: because he won't be around by then. Maybe he should have been offended by the implications. He didn't bother. He'd always known there would be someone after him. He didn't expect to meet that someone, but... this was life with Eris. He'd learned to get used to things like this.

"Fine." Eris agreed, though the firm look never left her eyes, "I will meet you on the steps of the Colosseum in one hundred years exactly. We will have our fight."

Their grip tightened on his hand unexpectedly, right on the verge of being painful. Wisteria's eyes fell straight to it, and she frowned a little. Eris must not have been any more affectionate in their prior life.

"But you will get no love from me then." they concluded, "They will bury my heart when they bury him."

Rick saw hurt bloom across Wisty's face, a shocked and helpless sort of pain, but Eris just spun and gave the cart another brutal shove towards the checkout lanes. Rick found himself pausing an extra moment, looking into Wisty's shockingly crestfallen eyes and debating an apology.

In the end, he just shut his mouth and trailed after Eris, leaving Wisty where she stood. He had a sense that speaking to her would only make things worse. It was better just for him to be, in her mind, some speechless nameless thing at Eris' heels. It was probably safer for the both of them.

He caught up to Eris just shy of the checkout lanes, right as they set a rotisserie chicken in the front basket of the cart. She glanced up at him as he approached and offered him something like a smile. It was a little pointed, a little irritated, but he didn't mind that too much.

"You're mine." she muttered, possessive like a wolf to its mate, "Until they put you in the ground, you're mine."

"I love you too, wartime."

[ohtobeleah]

Bob & Chaos are my favourite platonic couple. I wanna see what Bob was like a Rooster and Chaos’s wedding.

Ah, they really are a dynamic duo aren’t they. Two peas in a pod. Bob is the peanut to your butter. The Ying to your yang. I think there’s a lot we could talk about when discussing Bob and Chaos. But I think a good place to start would be the wedding speech. And I personally think Bob would be the life of the reception—key video evidence here. And the Chaos series is here.

Bob doesn’t drink!!! But at yours and Roosters wedding? He gets absolutely hammered. A total disrespect to his perfectly functional liver—the poor Wizzo never knew what actually hit him. Except you know, the consequences of his own actions.

“To most of you here today Y/n Kazansky, or now Bradshaw has been just that, Simply the beautiful Y/n that she is sitting before us. But to some of us lucky enough to be present here on this wholesome day of love and happiness, Y/n has always been known and will always be known as Chaos.” Bob had never had a single drop of alcohol before. He was pretty content on being in control, he didn’t mind being designated driver and he much preferred the refreshing taste of a lemon lime bitters.

“For the past few years, Chaos has been my closest friend—I’m the one who’s initials are branded into the back of her leg.” But as he stood before you and Rooster, hand in hand as your wedding party took turns saying speeches that commemorated you as individuals first and foremost before celebrating you both as a loving couple—Bob had a dark brown bottle in his hand. A beer.

“Uh first of all, Chaos you look absolutely amazing and on behalf of all Roosters friends here today, we appreciate the amount of effort it has taken to keep this well-oiled machine put together.” Rooster chuckled as you squeezed his hand. It was Bob’s turn to make a speech—he’d begged too many times for you to count to say a speech for you. How could you say no?

“A few years ago, There was a very deep conversation that Chaos and I had where she was a few cases of white claws deep on a pontoon boat somewhere on a lake in Scottsdale.” You remembered that moment in time probably a little blurry then Robert Floyd did—having been drunk off your ass. But it was needless to say the memory was still there. “And we were just sharing with each other ups, downs and bottoms we’ve had in life, and we’re crying and hugging and even though our situations weren’t all that relatable to each other’s, there was a mutual respect that we shared.” It had been just after you and Bob had been transferred to Lemoore. You had both decided to go away for the long weekend. Get to know who exactly it was he was entrusting with his life and who you were flying with.

“A respect people recognise from other people that have really been through some shit.” The room got a little heavier as memories from the uranium mission hit every single person who was there like a truck going one hundred miles down the freeway. It was still a haunting memory—always would be.

“And I knew that feeling from only a couple of other people in my life, one being my brother, and the other being my late childhood best friend.” Looking over to your left you saw Jake Seresin with tears in his eyes. He hadn’t been to a wedding since his own years and years ago. His on again off again wide by his side. Looking like she was just about ready to burst into tears. The entire room was full of love for you and Rooster.

“The amount of times that this woman right here has single-handedly pulled me out of life’s quick stand is embarrassing to count.” Bob had been in a pretty bad place after the mission. He’d come out of his physical unscathed but his mind was scrabbled. He’d never been more thankful to have a friend like you, like Rooster—when he felt like he couldn’t even trust himself. Clearing his throat, Bob continued his speech. There wasn’t a dry eye in sight. “I take a lot of pride in being able to stand with her today and share every minute with these two, because without Chaos—I don’t know if I’d even be here to take part in this.” Wiping away your own tears as Rooster remembered the moment Bob had turned up on your doorstep a complete mess before falling into your arms. He’d crashed his car up the road after hearing a loud bang that sounded like a Surface to Air Missile. Already on his way to see you both.

“Chaos is the most thoughtful and dedicated person I’ve ever had the pleasure of calling my friend and I couldn’t be more glad that she’s found someone that mirrors her perfectly.” That meant a lot to Rooster. He knew he had to work hard to win you over, the love of his life. But Bob? The new best friend, the brother? That was even harder.

“Rooster, my man—I wanna say how lucky you are, you’ll leave here today with a wife who is beyond that of beauty, loving and caring.” Raising what was quite literally the first beer Bob had ever had up in the air. Raising a toast with a grin ear to ear. His best friend was married. “And Chaos, you’re just as lucky, you’ll leave here today with a lovely new dress and a wonderful bouquet of flowers.”

Shit got weird not long after Bob's speech, you’d run over and taken him into a warm tight embrace. Crying, laughing. Before excusing yourself to change out of your wedding dress to something a little more dance floor appropriate. Matching white and black Mr Bradshaw and Mrs Bradshaw tracksuit.

Fanboy had ended up with the aux somehow. The DJ who had promised you earlier in the night he wouldn’t let anyone take over was in the bathroom. And Robert Floyd was absolutely throwing fucking shapes on the dance floor. Fetty Wap and Remy Boyz 679 absolutely blasting through the speakers as Bob let loose. Causing a scene.

I'm like, yeah, she's fine

Wonder when she'll be mine

She walk past, I press rewind

Bob was beaming, enjoying his life with the friends he had and the family he’d made. Screaming the lyrics at the top of his lungs with Fanboy who was just as plastered.

“I thought he was just drinking beer? Payback—who gave him a Long Island Iced Tea!?” Smelling the cocktail you’d snatched from your best friend's hand as he shuffled past. Completely out of his mind. “God—he’s going to die of alcohol poisoning if we don’t cut him off Roos.” Turning to your newlywed husband as his hand snuck around your waist from behind.

“I say let him learn his lesson.” Roosters chuckling as Bob takes Phoenix by the hands, twirling her around before continuing on his way. Pushing his hair back out of his face. It had grown out quite a bit. “I’ll keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” Taking the cocktail from your hand. “I’ll start by finishing this for him.”

“Oh yeah, my hero!” You teased over the music as Bob made his way over to you and Rooster. Bopping along. “God he’s tanked—“

“You two, are the best!” Bob’s speech has begun to slur as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. Standing between you and Rooster. The photographer candidly snappier a picture that would hang in the hallway of your home for years to come. “You should just get married alright—“

“Huh? Yeah that’s never crossed my mind.” Rooster teased as he slipped from Bob's grasp. “He’s all your wifey!”

“Hey Y/n?” Bob's voice is suddenly a little less boisterous. “You know you really are the best person I know right?”

“I think you went too hard too fast for your first lap—“ stumbling your way over to the nearest empty table and chairs. Pouring Bob a glass of water before handing it to him. “You should definitely drink this.”

“You should definitely introduce me to your bridesmaids Hannah—“ It was the smirk he tried to give you as he crashed forward into your shoulder that had you laughing at the top of your lungs. Water now spilt in your lap from the glass Bob had left tumble out of his grasp.

“I need to get Hawk and Hangman to take you home—“

“No! No god please no they scare me with their relentless sexual tension.” For a second or two, you actually agreed. Maybe it wasn’t the alcohol talking but in fact just Bob. “Don’t make me go home with them.”

“Okay, well you’re fucked Bob, you gotta go home with someone man—“

“I’ll take him.” Coyote is coming over with a quick stride in his step. “Fanboy’s going too, They can both crash at the hotel with me. At least that way they’ll be able to stop each other from choking on their own spew.”

“What about Hannah?” Bob’s sitting up right as he flung his head back a little too fair. “Is she coming?”

“Oh absolutely not—“ Helping Coyote stand Bob to his feet before tipping him over his shoulders. “You are never drinking again my friend.”

“Watch me!” Bobs screaming back at you as he’s carried away against his own will. “I’ll be back!”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Tags: @lyannaredbird​ @luckyladycreator2 ​ @skagelynn​ @teacupdreams @the-winter-marvel33reblogs @mrsjaderogers @katieshook02​​ @thescarletknight2014 @justanothermagicalsara​​ @4ngelicb4byy @percysaidnever​​ @puriini @luckylexie​​ @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @shrimping-for-all @fayethefairy @lonelywitchv2 @mizzzpink @unforgettwble @callmemana​​ @lemoonandlestars​​ @mulletmcghee​​ @redqueeen99​​ @bucky-barmes @mak-32​​ @fivsecondsflat​​ @loveless-simp​ @bradleysgirl @mintellaine ​ @hannabritta​ @nemtodd-barnes1923​ @bradleysgirl @xoxabs88xox @baju69 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @shanimallina87 @abaker74 @je-suis-prest-rachel

[braveclementine]

Chapter 29

Warnings: Angst, potentially controversial/sensitive topics

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OC: Elizabeth Y/L/N (created so you don't get Y/N and Y/S/N consistently mixed up. I do not condone any copying of this.

IT WAS THE DELICIOUS SMELL OF BACON wafting through the house that woke you up. You blinked your eyes open and found that you were comfortably trapped underneath Thor's hulking body. His warmth radiated through you as the rest of the farmhouse was a bit cold. Frost licked at the windows and you wondered if it had snowed last night.

You poked Thor until he woke up and rolled off of you, then slipped out of bed to get dressed in something warm and comfortable. You stuck to a sweatshirt and some sweatpants, stuffing your feet in furry Uggs and headed down the stairs.

The table had been set with platters of eggs, bacon, sausage links, fresh fruits, pancakes, and hash browns, but the cook was no where in sight. Several of the Avengers had settled down around the table, helping themselves.

"Morning." You said as cheerfully as you could manage for eight forty-five in the morning.

"Morning." The others replied with various degrees of wakefulness.

As you passed Clint, you paused to pull hay out of his hair and toss it in the trash. He must've gone up to the hayloft at some point. You wondered when that had been.

"Who made breakfast?" You asked curiously as you helped yourself to the pancakes and bacon.

Steve shrugged, "It was ready when I got down here and I was the first down here."

"Must've been Elizabeth, if I had to guess." Rhodey replied. "It tastes the same way she makes it. I can taste the butter in the eggs."

You nodded. Elizabeth had come up with this trick where if you got the butter to boil in the pan when you scrambled the eggs, then the eggs would cook through so fast that they didn't have time to stick to the pans and the pans would be easier to clean. The result ended in the eggs being extremely fluffy, but also with a heavy taste of butter. It was a surprisingly good combination.

"Did she eat?" You asked and then realized none of them would probably know.

"No idea." Rhodey replied.

You nodded, looking out the window but you couldn't see anyone out on the farm. It still looked cold out, the sun behind the gray clouds and the windows were still foggy. This October weather was going to be a cold one.

You sat down next to Steve who was being somewhat quiet this morning.

As you neared finishing breakfast, Elizabeth finally stepped into the house. She was wearing her winter boots instead of cowboy boots, and had put on a thick hoodie and fingerless gloves. A gray hat with a pink pom pom on the end had been pulled down over her ears.

"Morning." She said easily as she headed past everyone to the kitchen.

"Aren't you freezing?" You asked after her in worry. "You'll catch frostbite."

Elizabeth grinned at you. "I don't feel cold anymore, remember?"

Damn, well that had to be nice.

"I should check that out later though." Tony added, a frown on his face and he reached out to take her hand. "Your hands are freezing. Maybe you can't feel the cold, but I'm worried your body still does."

Elizabeth smiled at him. "You can run your tests later. I've still got lots of morning chores to do and I've left Hogun to fend for himself with the chickens."

And then she was gone once more, slipping out the backdoor so that you could barely feel the cold wind come in for a split second.

"I wonder if the lake froze over." Natasha commented, looking at you. "Do you ever ice skate on it?"

"Every winter." You said, a smile coming on your face as you thought about all the past winters. "But it usually doesn't freeze over till mid- November."

"Ah, talking about the lake?" Your father limped into the breakfast room. His cheeks were tinged red and pink, so was his nose, a sure sign that he'd been outside as well. Not to mention the hardware boots on his feet and the red and black flannel jacket he was wearing. "I drove the truck across early this morning. You're good to skate on it."

"You drove. . . the truck across?" Wanda asked curiously.

"That's how we do it here." You grinned. "There's a larger lake in the middle of town. The firefighters drive their truck across to see if it'll hold the weight. If it can cross, then you're good to go."

"I believe that is highly dangerous." Vision replied.

"That's how we do it." Your father shrugged, sinking into his chair with a wince. You were very good at ignoring his injury, because that was how he wanted it. He didn't want attention on it.

"They used to do something similar in our town." Sam said. "In the winter, the lake would freeze over and they'd send the firetrucks out. Course, they got rid of that eventually, but I know they did it till I was at least ten."

"So, Y/N, I don't suppose you have any superpowers that you want to tell me about?" Your father asked you bluntly.

You nearly choked on your bacon. "W-What?"

"Elizabeth and I talked. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Your father replied, staring at you.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine." You replied, blushing. Your dad was a great man, but something he didn't always realize that not every conversation had to be shared in public. There were some things that needed to be kept private. But with him growing up in a small gossip town, that probably didn't seem important anymore. "What'd she tell you?"

Your father suddenly straightened up in his chair. "Well, nothing much really. Just that she was at fault for underestimating the city. Said she had gone for a walk and turned her back for to long and got nabbed. Said that there was this crazy organization that just wanted to test superpowers on her and then sent her back."

You blinked. Either he was editing, or Elizabeth really hadn't told him the full story. But why? Why had she left out the club, the fact that she'd run out because she was having a panic attack from the claustrophobia, that it wasn't her fault at all, that they'd taken her because of Steve?

Your father sighed, "But I'm guessing she didn't tell me the full story judging by your faces."

You looked around and saw that the others looked just as shocked or confused as you. "Well, she might've left a couple of details out. It wasn't her fault though."

"It wasn't her fault at all." Tony replied sternly. "If anything it was ours. We dropped our guard in public after dark and that was something we should never have done. And I admit I didn't keep a good eye on her."

Your father nodded, "Well, I can respect a man that owns up to his actions. I believe that you are no longer negligent towards her?"

"No, I am not." Tony replied firmly. "She gave me a second chance and I love her as much as I love Y/N."

You blushed and your father nodded. "Good. Now then, let's eat."

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

ELIZABETH HAD TAKEN MOST OF THE others on a tour of the farm. Steve and Bucky had gone into town with your mother to help her with some shopping stuff. You and Loki were the only ones not with anyone else.

You weren't entirely sure how it had ended up being you and Loki. The two of you were curled up together in the house, in the basement. It was colder down there, but private and he'd grabbed a thick quilt to wrap around you.

You were falling asleep in his lap when he brought up the conversation, "Did you know about Elizabeth. . . when she was in your mothers womb?"

"What do you mean?" You asked sleepily. You'd almost fallen asleep in his lap when he'd spoke. "Like did I know I was getting a sister?"

"No." Loki said and paused. You blinked your eyes open to see that he looked troubled.

"Oh, is this another conversation like Thor's where I'm supposed to try and convince my mom not to get an abortion?" You grumbled.

Loki hesitated and said, "No, not really. Thor did talk to me, but I wonder sometimes. . . No, I was wondering if you knew that your mother almost aborted Elizabeth."

You sat up straight, looking at him. "What?! How do you know that?"

"Elizabeth told me last night when I went to comfort her." Loki admitted, playing with the edge of the quilt. "And from the sounds of it, she told Clint last night as well."

Clint?

"And Steve overheard." Loki sighed.

You wondered if Thor had known. If that was why he'd brought up the idea of Elizabeth killing herself and how you'd feel. You shoved those thoughts away.

"But she decided not to kil- to get rid of Elizabeth." You replied.

"Because your father finally won the argument." Loki sighed. "I wonder. . . what do you think you're life would've been like without her?"

You thought about it. Or at least, you tried. You couldn't really remember a time when Elizabeth wasn't there. But there were faint memories of when she wasn't there. Where your parents actually looked like they loved each other, where all three of you were content and happy. You could remember events when Elizabeth had stayed home from stuff, from sickness usually or homework or a chore on the farm when she got old enough to do them. The three of you were always so. . . happy.

You felt tears brim your eyes at the horrible confession inside your heart and you looked up through your lashes at Loki, "We would've been happier."

"Would you?" Loki mused, hugging you closer to wipe your tears away. "I don't think you would have. Maybe as a family Y/N. I can't deny that, I've seen the proof and both you and Elizabeth have admitted it. Your family would've been happier. But what about you? If there was no Elizabeth to fill in for all of the chores, to take care of the farm. Don't you see?"

Loki's voice was soft and persuasive, occasionally kissing your tears away. "Don't you see Y/N? Elizabeth's birth freed you. You have the life that you wanted because Elizabeth was born to take your place on the farm."

You knew it was true. You hated the farm, you hated chores, you hated the work and effort that had to go into it. And Elizabeth truly had been born to fill in that spot.

"Now what if," Loki whispered softly in your ear as he pulled you into a hug. "what if your brother freed her?"

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

DINNER WAS SO TENSE THAT NIGHT IT could've been cut with a butter knife. The conversation was attempted to be kept up in an easy flow and for the most part, it seemed normal. Your father was extremely relaxed, though Elizabeth seemed a little out of it. Your mother had arranged the table and she'd found herself between Steve and Sam. You could tell she was trying to make an effort with Steve, but finally gave up and gave all her attention to Sam.

You had really never gotten an answer from the Captain about why exactly he was avoiding her. But you had long given up in trying to get an answer out of him and Bucky.

"I have something to tell everyone here." Your father said.

You tensed immediately, shooting your dad an exasperated look and he smiled. "You can all relax, it's good."

You didn't relax.

"I understand the customs that are normally supposed to take place, however, I feel my second daughter has gone long enough in waiting. Hogun came to me today and I've granted them the permission to marry here on Earth. Along with Masters Loki, Sam, and Tony. Those with full colour tattoos."

Elizabeth's face was one of shock, along with Steve and Sam. Tony just looked superior.

Your mother opened her mouth and you quickly said. "Congratulations, I'm really happy for you Elizabeth. You're going to have a beautiful wedding."

Your mother spun in surprise to look at you and Elizabeth stared at you with wide eyes like she didn't even know you. You were just slightly hurt, but also knew the last time she'd suggested getting married before you, you'd freaked and she'd frozen a coffee table.

"Thanks." Elizabeth said, blushing, staring down at the table. Your mother pursed her lips together.

"When will the wedding be?" Natasha asked.

"December 15th." Hogun said with a smile.

"Ah a winter wedding." You teased, wondering why the idea of your little sister getting married before you had ever been such a big deal. "Good luck with that little sis."

Your mother politely excused herself from the table and left the room. Your father was quick to follow and the rest of you stayed in conversation, mostly talking about wedding ideas.

Elizabeth excused herself after a moment and out of curiosity, you followed after a minute or two.

You wandered out of the kitchen and found her sitting at the bottom of the steps. The chatter in the kitchen had covered up your parents yelling at each other upstairs, the door closed. Your mother was shouting at your father for not waiting until you got married like you were supposed to.

"-WILL SOCIETY THINK OF US? OF OUR DAUGHTERS! THEY'RE SOULMATED TO TONY STARK FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY THINK OUR SECOND DAUGHTER CAN GET MARRIED FIRST! SHE'S SECOND FOR A REASON!"

"THE POLITE SOCIETY HAS NEVER DONE A DAMN THING FOR US! WHY SHOULD I DEPRIVE ELIZABETH OF WHAT SHE NEEDS. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? SHE NEEDS THIS Y/M/N! SHE'S ALREADY BEEN REJECTED BY TWO OF HER SOULMATES. SHE NEEDS THE OTHERS RALLYING AROUND HER, SHE NEEDS TO FEEL THEIR LOVE."

Elizabeth looked up at you from the stairs. "Come to join the party?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" You asked.

"I didn't know Hogun had gone to dad." Elizabeth shrugged, "I had no idea he'd asked for me to marry him on Earth again."

"No. Not that. Why did you never tell me mom wanted. . . you know."

"Loki told you?" She guessed.

You stayed silent.

Elizabeth looked away. "Because I never wanted you to realize how much better you would've been off without me. I never wanted you to resent me like mom did. Because I loved you to much to let you realize you would've been happier without me."

You pulled her into a hug. A real one, one the two of you hadn't done for a long, long time. "My life would never have been better without you Elizabeth. And no," you gave a shaky laugh, "Not just because you do all the chores for me."

Elizabeth let out a shaky laugh too, a sob in her throat. She held onto you tightly and you let your own tears fall. "I love you Elizabeth. You're my little sister. And I'm sorry for all of your pain."

"Be my maid of honor?"

"Of course."

⬅️➡️

[acemothafck3r]

Memories: Shigaraki Tomura

Authors Note: Not the best but I tried!^^;

Pronouns: Gender Neutral

Word Count: 1392

Warning(s): Executions, implied d3ãth, implied human experimentation, kind of a mix of fluff and angst

You don’t remember how you got into this situation. You and your boyfriend, Tomura, or who you once used to call Tenko, sat in separate electric chairs. You two were both now twenty-four waiting to be executed in front of a bunch of pro heroes.

Tomura had complained when you were both given your death sentences. But now here you guys are, sleep deprived lovers staring at one another as you wait for the execution to be done and over with.

Electricity traveled from your head down the rest of your body. The taste of freezing peanut butter on your tongue as your vision blurs. The last thing you see is Tomura- no- Tenko smiling back at you as the world fades to black.

~M e m o r y O n e~

Your face flushes pink as tears flood your vision. You didn’t know where Tenko had gone. He just disappeared. He no longer visited you at your guy’s spot in the park. He hadn’t for months. No one answered when you knocked on his door. But now here he was, standing in front of you, a hand-like mask on his face, his hair blue instead of black. But you knew it was him. Your one and only friend stood on your doorstep, a strange man in a suit lurked behind him.

“T-Tenko…” you whimpered. You launched yourself to hug your best friend and cried into his shoulder, babbling out questions of where he’s been and why he left you.

Tenko didn’t reciprocate the hug nor did he answer your questions. The man in a suit however chuckled at the situation. “Y/n, yes?”

You nodded, face still hiding in your best friend’s now tear stained shirt. You don’t remember much after that except for the man asking if you’d like to stay with Tenko. Forever.

You remember being escorted with Tomura outside your house's gate as screams of your mother came from your house. You didn’t so much as flinch, you just continued to hug and cry into your best friend's shoulder until the man came back out.

You remember trying to hold Tenko’s hand but pulled his hand back, staring at you behind his hand mask. He grabbed your sleeve with two fingers and made you grab onto his sleeve before he let go. Both of you continued to walk and walk, following the man until you came into someplace you’ve never seen before.

The man introduced himself as All For One. He had told you that you were now going to live here, your room right next to Tenko. He had explained what happened to Tenko. You had gotten very upset. You don’t remember much after that.

~M e m o r y T w o~

You watched as Tenko- sorry- Tomura as he was now called, scratched at his neck and frowned. He had always scratched his neck when he was frustrated, stressed, or just experiencing any kind of overwhelming feeling. You understood it quite well, you scratched at your arms and hands when dealing with your anxiety. Tomura however did it a lot more than you, which made you worry.

You reach out and swat his elbow down. “Hey… stop that, you’ll start bleeding.” Tomura whipped his head to face you with a slight scowl before turning back.

“You’ll just bandage me up anyways, so why’s it matter?” You frowned at his reply.

Placing a hand on his shoulder he turned to meet you eye to eye. Red met [e/c] and you stared at each other. You couldn’t believe he really said that, you never do, even though he always says something similar.

“Because I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself. So stop it.” Tomura bit his cheek, his face flushing in embarrassment.

“Whatever. Shut up.”

“Yes sir.”

~M e m o r y T h r e e~

You shook as you stayed doubled over on the ground, small puddles of blood underneath you. Tomura kneeled down a hand hovering around not knowing what to do to help you.

You had been put under some sort of ‘test’ if you could call it that. You had been injected with some serum that was supposed to make you stronger. It burned. It burned and you could feel the serum flowing through your body. Your body had at first rejected it, and when it did more was put into you. It hurt like a bitch. It really did. Skin broke and you bled. Your body had kept trying to reject the burning liquid that infested your system.

Tomura watched as you spat out blood and choked. He looked so lost, even through your tearfilled eyes. It made you sad. You didn’t like seeing him so lost and confused.

You sat up onto your knees shakily. You willingly took that serum. It was supposed to make you stronger. Stronger so you could protect Tomura. However you were failing your one objective. You were worrying Tomura.

You smiled at him wholeheartedly, ignoring the pain in your muscles as you did so. His face turned into a soft frown.

“I’m alright. See?” You gestured to yourself, still shaking. Tomura watched as you did so, he didn’t seem to believe you, which he shouldn’t. He smiled back at you anyway.

You’d get stronger for Tomura. Physically and mentally. You weren’t going to ever let him see you like this again. You would guarantee it.

~M e m o r y F o u r~

You glared from Tomura’s left at the misty figure. All For One said he was here to protect Tomura. But that was your job! You’re supposed to protect Tomura! Not some misty freak!

That’s how you felt at first anyways. You had went on a rant about it to Tomura. About how this “Kuroguri” guy was trying to take your place. Tomura listened intently. After you had finished he called you stupid, telling you that you will always be his protector, not that he needed one. It didn’t come out as comforting, he stated it as if it were just plain facts.

~M e m o r y F i v e~

You brushed your hand through Tomura’s hair. Some stupid hero bastard shot Tomura around five times. He could barely do much now except for lay in bed underneath the covers until he is all healed up and recovered.

You watch as Tomura smiles in his sleep. He always seemed to like it when you ran your hands through his hair, though when he was awake he was a lot less expressive about it.

You smiled, wishing you had more moments like this.

~M e m o r y S i x~

‘This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.’ You thought to yourself.

You watch from the ground as Tomura slowly loses the fight. You had been rendered immobile and were bleeding out onto the ground.

You couldn’t move, you had been smashed into a wall, probably breaking a fuck ton of everything. You pulled yourself from the crater and tried to join back into the fight but you fell pathetically into the ground face first. You tried to pull yourself up but you couldn’t. Your body wouldn’t let you.

‘Must protect Tomura.’ You thought as you forcefully pushed your body off the ground.

As you looked up you witnessed as some brat had flung Tomura across the battlefield.

Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura. Must protect Tomura.

All you saw was red.

•••

You opened your eyes and looked at your surroundings.

Were you alive?

You couldn’t be.

You died.

“Y/n.” A familiar voice called.

You whipped your body in the direction of the voice. There in all his glory stood the man you loved. Shimura Tenko.

Not Shigaraki Tomura.

“Come on loser, how long are you gonna keep me waiting?” He challenged with a smirk as he turned around and walked deeper into the void.

You followed shortly after him with a smile.

You and him were officially together forever, and you could never be happier.

[chibinightowl]

Happy birthday @txbookeater!!! I know how much you love Tuesday Nights, so I tried whipping up something just for you.

~~

Jason's messing with the menu again. Tim can smell it. Roy can smell it. Colin can smell it. The whole bar can smell it and everyone is drooling in anticipation of what's about to come out of that little kitchen where magic is made.

When Jason emerges, hands and arms full of paper-lined red baskets the fries and fried pickles are typically served in, there's a collective breath as everyone tries not to pounce.

Behind the bar, Roy eagerly rocks on his feet. "Whatever that is, it smells divine and I want three," he announces.

Tim concurs. There's a hamburger patty involved, that much he can tell, though he swears what he's smelling is Jason's famous sourdough grilled cheese. During the winter months, he'll whip those up along with tomato soup and it's like a little piece of heaven right there in his mouth.

"You'll have a heart attack if you eat three of these," Jason says as he sets the baskets on the counter.

Colin is closest and peers in. "Is that your grilled cheese?" He's heard about them, but has never tried one. It's only October, which means Jason is experimenting with butternut squash.

"Yep." Jason gives him a basket. "With a twist."

Tim makes grabby hands for his and nearly burns a finger when it comes in contact with the freshly melted cheese. "That's not bacon," he says after a moment of inspecting his sandwich of grilled golden goodness.

"Nope." Jason hands a basket off to Roy and gestures to a few of the bar regulars to come over. "I had those hamburger patties that needed to get used up. And for some reason, I got a shit ton of sourdough bread in the last delivery, so I just kinda put two and two together."

"A hamburger grilled cheese?" Colin asks around a mouthful. His eyes are bugging out, from the heat or the taste, Tim can't tell.

"A hamburger grilled cheese," Jason concurs. "Didn't put anything extra on it--though I did use that whipped butter/mayo spread on the outside for the grill."

Tim takes a bite and tries not to groan at the burst of flavor hitting his tongue. That's the good cheese, right there. The perfectly seasoned hamburger that only Jason seems capable of getting right. And the tang from the sourdough... "I'll take three more of these too," he pronounces before diving in for a second bite.

Roy is doing a happy dance as he eats his. "Fuck, Jaybird. This is fantastic."

The little flush to Jason's ears is the only indication he's pleased by the reception of his little creation. "Thanks, guys. Any suggestions on how to make it better?"

"Maybe a slice of tomato?" Colin offers, then takes another bite with a thoughtful look on his face.

Tim does the same, this time with his analytical hat on. He rolls the gooey deliciousness around his mouth, thinking it over. "Or maybe some grilled onions," he says after a moment.

Jason nods, clearly making a mental note. "Got it. Okay, round two will be up in a bit." He spins on his heel and heads back to the kitchen. "Bring the baskets back when you're done!" he calls over his shoulder.

"Does he do this very often?" Colin asks when the door swings shut behind his boss. "Just come up with random things out of the blue?"

"Yeah," Roy replies and Tim nods his agreement. "Not as often as he used to, but when he does, it's like everything he touches is just gold."

Tim has an idea and opens a new program on his tablet while the two redheads chat. A few taps, a couple of adjustments, and he holds up the results. Graphic design isn't his strong suit, but he knows his way around. "What do you think?"

Mad Genius At Work. Enter At Your Own Risk.

Colin laughs and Roy outright cackles. "Oh, that's perfect."

"Cool, I'll print it off. Is there tape in the office?"

"Probably."

Tim sends the file to the printer, then remembers he probably needs to go and turn it on first. His boyfriend rarely prints anything unless he has to.

A few minutes later, after he finishes taping the sign to the kitchen door, he pokes his head in. Jason is at the grill and tossing around some sliced red onions.

He looks up and smiles. "Hey."

Tim swears his knees wobble every time that smile is turned on him. What on earth did he do to deserve this man? "Hey," he returns.

"Did you think of somethin' else I should add?"

"Nah." Tim shakes his head. "Just wanted to say me and my stomach love you. My waistline, not so much."

Jason throws his head back and laughs. "Yeah, these are not waistline friendly. Still, one or two every now and again won't hurt."

"Definitely."