#THANK YOU TOAST THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU-

[hammerburn1]

"Hello, welcome to the SuperWich shop. Where any..--" I reach for the Silent alert button. "Stop, I just want to try my sandwich." "Well then. It will just be a moment." I quickly go away from the button to get the sandwich ready. Not like their villain sandwich is that hard. They're the Molten Master. So it's a sweet and spicy sauce with mayo. Then some sliced steak and ham. All inside bread that has been toasted. The corners burned but that's all to the hot lava theme. It also has red food dye to make it Molten. Then I wrap it in the specially designed wrap that has their suit's colors. Placing it on the counter I ask, "Are you going to pay or is this a robbery?" They bring up the correct amount of money. "Thank you for the purchase. Come again out of outfit please in normal clothes." I do the normal cheery smile as I hand it to them and take the money.

You own a sandwich shop in the heart of a superhero city. After gaining customers by making sandwiches based on heroes, you decided to try making some based on villains. Today, a villain stopped to review theirs.

[levans44]

underneath the tree

pairing: steve rogers x agent!reader

summary: Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

warnings: fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, first kiss, light angst

word count: 2.7k

a/n: hey friends, this one’s a holiday special w/ pure fluff (and a pinch of angst b/c who am i without it?) feedback is always welcome! thanks for reading and happy holidays 🎄✨

“Santa’s… Favorite… Ho.” 

The words glitter in bold, obnoxious cursive, smack dab across the chest of your favorite red-haired assassin. 

“Good one, Romanoff.”  You smirk, biting back a laugh as she levels you with a deadpan stare, betrayed by the faint twitch at the corner of her crimson lips.  

Your very first time hosting a Christmas Party. 

Or, as Nat lovingly dubbed it—a ’Derelict’s Christmas.’ 

It’s a tradition you’re determined to start this year, for anyone on the team without family during the holidays—a way to make sure no one spends this time of year alone.

And, naturally, another opportunity to humiliate your coworkers. 

The rules were simple: everyone had to show up in the ugliest, most eye-searing sweater they could find. No exceptions.

And I mean ugly, Nat. A basic red sweater is not ugly. 

Even Bucky’s adhered to your law, donning a laid-back penguin wearing sunglasses, sprawled beneath the words ‘Chill Vibes Only.’ A festive tinsel garland spirals around his left arm, which will undoubtedly be the subject of jokes he won’t live down until well after New Years.

Wait, does this make you the Winter Wonderland Soldier?

As you glance around your living room, soft, warm light dances off the mismatched decorations adorning the walls—the kind you’d spent all week setting up—and you can’t help but feel a distinct melancholic warmth reserved for this time of the year.

Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

Your eyes flick to the door for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.

No luck. 

You try to tell yourself it’s just traffic, that he’ll walk through any second. But the party flows on, cruelly indifferent—drinks flowing, laughter bubbling—Sam’s already made his second sappy toast of the night and is well on his way to a third. With each passing minute, the excitement in your chest grows heavy, twisting into disappointment.

Sure, he’s probably got a million other things to do. Even on Christmas. 

But when you’d brought up your little soiree, he’d agreed with a gentle nod of his head, and smiled in that boyish way that made your heart flutter.

Sounds fun, I’ll be there.  

It’s not like him to just leave you hanging. But when there’s no work emergency and everyone else is here, it’s hard not to take it personally. 

Your mind feels exhausted, steaming like a train running low on fuel, huffing its way to its final station, desperate to come up with more excuses. You’ve run out of them about two drinks ago.

You’re about to prepare your third, slumped against the kitchen island with a cutting board under you, when a quiet voice cuts through your haze.

“Not feelin’ the holiday spirit?”

You start at the interruption, the lime in your hand slipping from your fingers and tumbling away, rolling off the cutting board with a soft thump.

“Jesus, Barnes, give a girl a warning.”

You abandon your knife with a quiet sigh, eyes following the trail of red and green tinsel up Bucky’s arm as he steps in closer.

Lips twitching in something like amusement, he leans casually against the counter, gaze flicking pointedly toward your apartment entrance before drifting back to you.

“Noticed you’ve been staring at that door all night.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. You force a roll of your eyes, dismissing his observation with a shrug. But your fingers hesitate over the cutting board, the lime mocking you from its spot against the cool backsplash. 

“I’m not—” You cut yourself off, the words tasting too defensive.  

A heavier sigh slips from you when you reach for your glass instead.

“It’s just not like him, you know?” You mutter, swirling the last sip in your glass before downing it. Your lips come up sticky-sweet from the rim when you mumble, more to yourself than him.

“I mean, sure, he’s busy, but…” You trail off, meeting Bucky’s gaze to find that the teasing glint was gone, replaced with something softer, unreadable. The shift unsettles you, and your stomach twists.

“What?” The word comes out sharper than you intended.

He tilts his head, as if weighing his words, and the silence grows heavy—a non-answer wrapped in a knowing look. Brows furrowed, you wait, trying to decipher his hesitation. 

It’s another long beat before he sighs, lifting himself off the counter, and taps his fingers absently against the edge. 

His eyes dart to the side, glancing briefly over the room. “He… didn’t want me to tell anyone.” 

Your fingers tighten instinctively around the stem of your glass, teeth scraping over the remnants of sugar sticking to your bottom lip. 

“About what?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Steve’s…” His gaze flicks to yours, softening, “He’s probably over at New York-Presbyterian.”

Your stomach drops, fingers slipping around the glass as you reach for the countertop. The train jolts back to life, racing faster than ever, the wheels screeching as each thought barrels forward, colliding with the next in a blur of frantic speed.

The hospital?Why, was he hurt?What happened?How had you not heard?

“No, no, he’s not—” Bucky cuts in quickly, raising a hand to stave off your growing panic. The wince on his face softens into a small, apologetic laugh,

“He’s fine. Just…volunteering for the kids. Does it every year.”  

You blink, the rush of thoughts screeching to a sudden halt.

“He’s…”

It takes all of two seconds for the realization to register, your body moving before your mind can catch up. The glass is abandoned on the counter as you scramble for the nearest coat, not caring whose it is, and rush for the door.

The pediatric ward offers a welcome reprieve from the usual maze of sterile corridors—paper snowflakes and crayon drawings adorning the walls, giant inflatable snowmen standing guard at the entrances to patient rooms. A small Christmas tree, twinkling with homemade ornaments and tinsel, stands next to the nurse’s station. 

Your desperate steps falter when you spot him in the corner of the ward, sat cross-legged over a rug in a makeshift play area, surrounded by a small circle of children. The Captain America outfit stands out amongst the sterile blues and whites—and it’s not the usual tactical gear he wears on covert missions, muted tones and coarse to the touch. 

No, its the spandex version of his uniform, that ridiculously colorful suit he’d worn to punch Hitler on stage every night. Soft patches of red, white, and blue that fit snugly around his shoulders, but hang a little loose over the rest of his frame.

He’s reading from a tiny children’s book, splayed open in one hand, while the other steadies a little boy in a hospital gown perched on top of his shoulders. The boy’s eyes are wide, glued to the page as Steve gently rocks him side to side.

You hesitate, pulse quickening, letting his soft, steady voice wash over you for a moment—a rhythmic murmur that envelops the quiet corner of the ward. 

It’s not until he finishes the book that he realizes you’re standing there.

Soft blue eyes crinkle at the edges when he frowns, starting to uncross his legs.

"Hey, uh… guys, new mission,” He’s still a little unsure when he sets the book down, gaze still on you. “…whoever can help me clean up the blocks gets to pick the next game, okay?” He clears his throat, smiling back at the eager group as they scramble off to the toy bins in the corner. He gently lowers the boy from his shoulders, letting the little one rush off to join the others. 

You move forward, feet shuffling against the soft foam padding of the floor. As Steve meets you halfway, you clutch the sleeves of your sweater tightly, heart hammering.

“Hi.” He breathes out, surprise still evident in the small dip between his brows, though it gives way to a gentle smile. 

“Hey.” Your words come out choked, something unmistakably tightening in your chest. 

“How did you…” His eyes flit down to the loud pattern on your sweater, then behind you at the clock. His gaze lingers there for a moment, eyes fluttering shut in disbelief. 

“Shoot. I’m sorry, I had no idea it got this late. I was going to—”

“—Steve.” Your voice cracks, thick and watery—frustration, sadness, guilt, longing, all tangled with a deep, aching incredulity. 

And goddamn it, why was the tip of your nose prickling?

You take another step toward him, now close enough to notice the tiny details of his uniform—the delicate lines of stitching, the faded patch of white over his chest. And as your eyes trail over the frayed seams, you can’t help but lift a hand, the tip of your index tracing a gentle line against the end of a loose thread, pressing it down and watching it pop back up. It’s all you can do to keep from collapsing into his arms, or punching him square in the chest. 

“It’s been sitting in my closet too long,” he murmurs, the low timbre vibrating against your palm, “Figured I’d take it out for a spin.”

Your eyes snap up, and the air that escapes your nose is somewhere between a snort and a desperate cry because you know you’re fucked. 

Utterly ruined by this ridiculous, stupid, dumb man standing in front of you. 

And when he tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, trapping the soft pink flesh in quiet hesitation, the spring finally snaps. 

Brows furrowed, he's halfway into offering some kind of reassurance—maybe another damn apology—when you rise on your tiptoes, yanking him down by the loose collar of his uniform.

And then it’s nothing but the heady sensation of his lips flush against yours, a little stiff but warm and alive just the same. His broad hands find their way to the small of your back, the pressure against your lips growing firmer as he bends down, pulling you in closer. You’re gripping his uniform so tight your knuckles have turned white, but you refuse to let go even when he pulls back, his breath warm and steady against your skin. 

His gaze is soft, searching, and you become acutely aware of the hot sting rising behind your eyes, the bruising grip on his collar the only thing holding you together. You wonder if he feels it too, the weight of so much time lost and longing unspoken, rushing to fill the space between you. 

Then he smiles—a quiet, unguarded thing that tugs at the corners of his lips and lights up his eyes.

And just like that, the weight in your chest slips away as if it was never there.

His gaze flits down to your lips, eyelids fluttering tenderly as he starts to lean back in, only to be stopped short by a ripple of delighted gasps from about three feet below.

“Look, look, they’re kissing!”  

“Steve is that your girrrlfriend?"

A gaggle of children ambushes you two—a surprise strike from all sides with no escape route. Squeals of joy pierce the air as tiny hands grasp at Steve’s uniform, tugging at his sleeves, pulling at his boot. It's a full-on siege, and you’re caught squarely in the middle. Steve looks back at you, brows raised in defeat.

“Oh my god, she’s toootally his girlfriend!”

“Cap-tain America sitting on a tree,” A loud chorus of singing erupts. “K-I-S-S-I-N—“

“Okay, okay, guys–“ He’s got the biggest, dumbest grin on his face when he raises a hand to try and quiet the noise, the other still resting on your waist. 

He’s blushing something fierce, redder than a Christmas stocking, and hell, if your cheeks aren’t warming up too. 

The nurse on duty eventually settles down the noise, gently ushering the children out of the play area and leading them to their rooms. You watch warily as the kids shuffle out, stuffed animals raised in the air as they wave goodbye.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“No, we should’ve wrapped up a while ago.” Steve smiles sheepishly, his cheeks flushed as he ruffles the back of his neck. “It’s late.”

“Right.”

Silence stretches between you, deafeningly loud without all the tiny agents crowding your space. 

He steps forward, hand still curled around his nape, and you resist the urge to kiss him again. 

“Do you… wanna grab some hot chocolate?”

You sit idly in the waiting area, observing the ease on Steve’s face as he chats with the nursing staff, thanking them before heading back toward you with two plastic cups in hand.

The seat beside you creaks under his weight, and you go to cradle the warmth in both hands with a quiet smile. Your eyes drift over to the lights wrapped around the Christmas tree near the nurse’s station, shining brightly—and with it, the familiar knot tightening in your chest.

“Every year, huh?”

“Yeah,” He nods in your periphery, “The kids seem to like it.”

Your lips quirk up in a sideways smile, “Yeah, I bet.”

A beat, then: “Did Bucky tell you?”

You nod, and his smile widens, his gaze dropping to the floor as his leg bounces ever so slightly. The shiny red of his boots gleams against the linoleum, as he taps once, twice.

“I’m sorry I missed the party.” 

You track the rhythm of the tree lights as they blink—on, off, alternating between bulbs then flashing all at once—and he’s still apologizing. 

“I was looking forward to going.”

“Steve, it’s…” you sigh, brows furrowing at the absurdity of his apology, only for a new ridiculous thought to take its place. You blink, then, nose crinkling in amusement as you swivel around in your seat. 

“Wait, were you, planning on showing up in that?”

He laughs, the sound breaking out so warm and easy. “That bad, huh?”

You gaze incredulously for a long, deliberate beat.

“You know what? I’m actually glad you didn’t come tonight. I mean, for your sake.”

Quiet laughter bubbles up in your chest, a smile tugging at your lips as you turn your gaze back forward. But in the silence that follows, a thread of bitterness winds its way back through your thoughts.

"You know," you murmur, eyes drifting to the neatly stacked parcels beneath the tree, "you’re always helping out, doing things for everyone else." A warm, fuzzy feeling hums low in your stomach—though you're not entirely sure if it’s from all the cocktails you’ve had tonight.

You sigh, your head lolling onto one shoulder as you turn to meet his gaze. 

“…does Santa ever get anything for Captain America?”

He blinks, a quiet tilt of his head followed by a slow, knowing smile.

“Well,” the chair creaks again when he leans back, stretching out his legs with a satisfied breath. “He did this year.” 

At the puzzled furrow of your brow, he shrugs, eyes dropping down to the narrow strip of linoleum between you two.

Then, a gentle tap of his ridiculous, shiny boot against your foot.

When your gaze snaps back to his, he’s wearing that same boyish grin again, wide and stupid and far too charming for its own good.

You can’t decide if it makes you want to shove him, or punch him, or kiss him—or maybe do all three just to get it out of your system—because yeah, you’re completely done for.

Utterly ruined in ways you never saw coming, and it’s all his fault.

And if he leans in for another kiss, and you let him pull you in with a shaky breath and a smile that feels like surrender—

Well, that’ll have to be between you, him, and the giant inflatable snowman keeping guard just two feet away. 

(It’s not until you’ve both finished your hot chocolate, and shared just as many kisses as laughs, that you glance down at your phone to notice Sam’s text: 

bird boy 1 hour ago

yo di u take my fcking coat??)

[cottonlemonade]

A Shoulder To Lean On

word count: 1438 || avg. reading time: 6 mins.

pairing: university AU!Kita x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warning: mentions of academic pressure

request: Hi hi Sunny hope you're enjoying this last bit of the year! May I have breakfast with Kita sharing a 23 so we can study? Thank youu || fluffy, dealing with exam stress with crush Kita

You felt like you hadn’t slept properly in weeks but there was nothing to be done about it. You sighed when you hit sent on the assignment, well aware that you hadn’t even been close to the page count requirement but it was better to hand in something than nothing at all.

Rubbing your eyes you yawned and looked around at your roommate mumbling in her sleep.

It was almost midnight, way past your preferred bedtime. Your stomach growled, reminding you that the last thing you ate was a quick vending machine sandwich for lunch.

Opening the second drawer of your nightstand you found there wasn’t anything in the snack stash you were particularly tempted by. Usually, whenever you went to the grocery store lately you beelined to the prepared food section because all the exams and papers left you little to no time for such banal things as eating or sleeping.

The heavy snowfall from earlier had calmed significantly and only a few tiny flakes were carefully descending past your window.

After another moment’s thought, you got up and grabbed your jacket on the way out.

The streets surrounding the campus were quiet, with only a few people on their way home. But the closer you got to the main road and thus closer to restaurants and bars, supermarkets and convenience stores the busier the air became.

Laughter and music came from the brightly lit establishments with their Christmas-themed window displays. You could hear people cheering and toasting and singing as you walked past and tried to figure out what you were in the mood for. Not feeling like anything too elaborate or heavy your feet carried you to a convenience store, landing on a simple day-old onigiri and a cup of fruit to eat on your favorite bench by the library, hoping the icy fresh air would soothe the steady pounding in your temple soon.

You walked slowly, too tired and lost in thought to gather any energy.

The onigiri, while a tad dry, was delicious and the hot Christmas tea, purchased on impulse at the register, had you close your eyes in bliss. To no one’s surprise, the bench in question was empty. As you spaced out staring at the ground, you heard steady footsteps approaching from the warm glow of the library entrance.

Kita had recognized your soft shape instantly. Like most of the time you had been fresh on his mind, wondering if you took care of yourself, were skipping any meals, were maybe thinking about him, too, or smiling at someone else. Even though he would love nothing more than to ask you out to dinner, he respected that you didn’t want to date anyone for a while - a wish he had accidentally overheard while you were ahead of him in line at the cafeteria. And so he settled for being your friend; for now.

“Y/n?”

You looked up and watched him brush back the hood of his jacket, smiling gently.

“Oh hi.”

You gave a small bow and scooted a little to the side to make space for him. He sat down, making note of your drooping eyes.

“What are ya up to so late? If ya were in there, I didn’t see ya, I’m sorry.” He nodded towards the big imposing building that you hadn’t set foot in for weeks, too intimidated by all the students writing and reading and researching and having their life together.

Instead of answering you yawned and took a sleepy sip of tea.

“Did you finish all your assignments?”, you asked, your words slightly mumbled.

“Uhm, yeah.”, he said, a bit confused, and frowned even more when he saw you swaying a little forward.

Kita was afraid you would fall off the bench and thought frantically, his hand already raised.

Friends did this. He saw it all the time. It was no big deal.

And he carefully guided your lulling head to his shoulder.

His hand shook slightly, torn between patting your hair or retreating again to rest on his knees.

But that would look even more awkward, right? Friends could pat each other’s heads. He’d seen it in movies and TV shows.

For a moment his fingers hovered over you, then he set them on your hair.

No, this was too intimate.

He quickly moved to your shoulder, hoping you hadn’t noticed anything.

You sat like this for a little while, with him somewhere between tense panic and absolute calm, trying not to breathe too deeply or too much to not disturb you and to not lose track of his thoughts. Your steady breath formed little clouds in front of you.

“Ya should really get to bed.”, he said quietly, hating that he was right. He’d never been this close to you and found himself taking slightly deeper breaths when he got a whiff of your shampoo.

“Hm.”, you hummed, then sat back up, yawning again.

“I’ll walk ya.”

Neither of you was in a hurry as you slowly trudged through the soft layer of snow toward your dorm. After throwing out the wrappers and cup from your late dinner you felt a little better and Kita’s presence put you at ease. On a little wall along the pathway, you spotted a small group of tiny snowmen and jogged the few steps to examine them closer. “One second.”, you said to Kita when you grabbed a handful of snow and began forming your own. But instead of patiently waiting as you had expected him to, he leaned down as well to make a first ball. You smiled at him and for the next two minutes, you silently worked side by side to add to the local snowman population. You stepped back to take a look at your handiwork, Kita even took out his phone to take a picture of the two new members on the wall.

You sighed happily and were glad the cold gave you an excuse to have tears welling in your eyes.

“This is the first time I’ve done something for fun in weeks. I forgot what it was like to do something not for uni.”

Kita didn’t say anything, he just waited for you to continue.

“Academia is cool and all but dang, at what cost, you know? It snowed so much this winter already and I was dying to go outside and play but no, exams and more exams and studying, and oh- would you know it? More exams. And I love Christmas. But because of all this studying, I haven’t even had time to bake the sugar cookies my mom usually makes.” At this point you were just rambling, you couldn’t even see Kita next to you anymore and thought he had probably gone to gather more snow for a second snowman just so he didn’t have to listen to you. You yelped in surprise when something hit you in the back, well cushioned by your puffy jacket. When you turned around, you saw Kita lop another snowball in your direction, a small smile on his lips.

“Ya think, ya can take me?”

His heart leapt when your eyes brightened and you bent down to get your own ammunition. The careful game quickly escalated into an all-out war and you two ran around the white lawn near your dorm, laughing and calling out smack talk - yours quite a lot better than his - until you collapsed out of breath onto a small mountain of snow, moving your arms and legs up and down for a poor excuse of a snow angel on the trampled canvas. Kita appeared in your field of vision, beaming and holding his last snowball aloft.

You gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”, he grinned with a mischievousness you’d rarely seen before.

In one swift motion, you shot up and grabbed the front of his jacket to pull him down with you, now looming over him with a handful of snow.

“Surrender!”

“Ye ye! I give up.” He actually giggled and you laid back again, satisfied with your win.

Even through the lights on campus, you could make out a few stars in the jet-black sky.

“Y/n.”, he said after a moment.

“Hm.”

“I know ya don’t feel like datin’ and I’m sorry to even bring it up but… would ya consider goin’ out with me sometime?”

Your head snapped to the side to look at him, trying to find any indication that he was joking.

“Are you serious?”

“Pretty serious, yea.”

You beamed and, pursing your lips to stop yourself from cheering, you looked back up to the stars, replying quietly, “I’d love to.”

a/n: request for @natdu

Any time I get to write for this man I can’t not make it as soft as possible. He is so fskfjsianahak, ya know? You get it. Thank you so much for this request, I hope you enjoyed it! 🌟

[king-nyx]

Phoebe fell back almost as soon as she was fed.

Apollo smiled at her, rubbing her back lightly. Audrey's father walked into the kicthen, ready for work.

"Good morning," he said as he prepared some toast.

"Good morning," Apollo said. "You want me to make breakfast?"

"No, I don't have time. Thanks though. Audrey upstairs?"

Apollo nodded, patting Phoebe's back, "She's had a rough day, yesterday."

"And, how's the poor thing?"

"She's okay," Apollo said. "She was just hungry."

Do you think covid existed in the Season? Do you think that for 2020-2021 Zeus couldn't host two Seasons. He had to wait until 2022 when restrictions finally lifted?

I'm gonna assume that covid didn't exist for my own sanity

[weltraum-vaquero]

cariño (eres un amor)

Jayce Talis x GN Reader

Synopsis: Jayce wakes up with feverish, and with a sore throat.

Tags: SFW, established relationship, fluff, tenderness, Jayce being a big baby about being sick, comfort, Jayce being a human furnace

Word count: 2.3k

Notes: Just another little something to tide you guys over while I work on my bigger projects. I don’t usually do fluff, but I hope it’s not terribly obvious and that you’ll enjoy this little sickfic!

It’s about three AM when the heaping mountain of warmth beside you clears his throat, and shifts around sluggishly. The mattress creaks uncomfortably under his moving weight as he moves to the opposite side of your shared bed.

You can hear plastic soles sliding against the floor when he slips into his fuzzy pink slippers (an old Christmas gift from you — mainly a joke, but now an indispensable part of his cozy wardrobe), and, with a suppressed little huff, moves to stand.

“Uh oh.”

His voice is raspy when he mutters it, and you hear him stumbling, and vaguely see him bracing himself against the nearest wall when you turn to look.

You rush to flick on the bedside lamp.

“Jayce?”

He’s set a hand over his throat, breathing labored, and his loose T-shirt is soaked through with sweat — between his shoulder blades, under his arms, even at his collarbone.

“I don’t… feel so good.” He croaks.

You’re up on your feet before he can finish saying it, rushing to his side to offer your help. He watches you with dizzy, weary eyes, and by the time you reach his side, you realize he’s trembling a little.

“You don’t look good either,” you mutter, brushing your fingers to his clammy forehead. 

Hot. Too hot.

“Hey.” He fake pouts, cracking a tired smile at his own attempt at a joke a moment later.

“You’re burning up a nasty fever, Jayce,” you conclude. It must be getting to his muscles, too, because his thighs are shaking a little. “What do you need, hm?”

“Was gonna go pee,” he says. You cannot, for the life of you, get used to how worn his voice sounds — like he’s just chewed and swallowed a handful of gravel. “And, uh, probably chug water from the sink. I’m so thirsty.”

“Let’s get you to the bathroom, and I’ll get you a big glass of water and make you tea in the meantime. Chamomile?”

He nods. “And an aspirin?”

“And an aspirin.”

His smile turns sappy.

“I love you so much.”

—

He manages to get himself back to the bedroom without you. By the time you get there with a tray of everything you’ve promised and more, he’s pathetically crawling under the sheets like he’s just lost a physical fight, curling up like a kicked puppy once he reaches the pillow.

“Got you some toast, too.” You tell him, setting the small tray on the night stand and sitting next to his curled up form.

Even his hair’s damp with sweat, you realize when you brush a gentle hand through it.

“Not hungry,” Jayce mutters. 

“I know, but you shouldn’t take the aspirin on an empty stomach. Do you wanna sit up?”

“Uuughhhh… okay.” Jayce groans like he has been cursed with the world’s most terrible predicament. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“Which is often,” you tease, propping up his pillow against the headboard to help him sit up a little better. You give him his water first — he sounds like he needs it.

He grips the glass with two hands, unusual for Jayce, strength personified. Brings the glass to his lips with shaky hands before he exhales with bliss and starts chugging the damn thing.

He’s done with it in record time.

“Mmh. Thank you.” You take it from him, set it on the nightstand, before you take the tray and set it in his lap. Full, steaming teacup, a sad plate with an even sadder toast and an aspirin right next to it. “Breakfast of champions,” Jayce mutters, more to himself than to you, before he takes the toast.

At about three bites in, he looks at you with wide eyes.

“Shit, the gala. It’s—“ he stops to cough into his sleeve, “in two days…” Jayce looks down at himself, drenched in sweat, then at you. “And you have work tomorrow—“

“Viktor will have to take one for the team,” you counter. Another coughing fit takes him, you hold the tray steady for him as he does, and cradle the side of his face when he starts to calm. “And I’d rather have a shitty day at work than not be there when you need it most, Jayce.”

”I’m sorry,” he mutters anyway. 

“You didn’t ask for this,” you assure. Jayce closes his eyes and leans into the cup of your palm like a tired pup. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s just get you taken care of first.”

He nods weakly, before he pulls the blanket up a little higher over himself, settles into the pillows a little deeper and makes quick work of what remains of the toast. He takes his aspirin with the tea, which, judging by his sour expression when he sips some, is way too hot for his liking.

“Do you want me to blow on it for you?” you offer.

“ ‘m not a baby.”

“You are my baby.”

That makes him crack a wide, boyish grin — and it makes your heart soar. 

“Okay,” he mutters, before he lets you have it and sinks further into the sheets, until it reaches well above his lips, and it’s just his droopy, tired eyes peeking at you. 

You hold the cup with one hand, and the other comes to pet his sweat-damp scalp. He’s running hot, terribly so, but after a minute or so, you swear you can feel him starting to tremble under your palm.

It starts at just his neck first, but you can see the way it shakes him even under the thick blanket, can see the way it makes him nuzzle and hide further down. 

“C-can you get… another blanket?” He asks. “‘m starting to get really cold.”

And if there is one thing Jayce cannot stand, it’s being cold and damp. You know, because he’s always rushing to towel himself dry after his warm showers, you know, because he runs from any snowfall like it could make him melt. You know, because Ximena misses two fingers because of frostbite. You know Jayce was there when it happened. You know.

“That and a dry shirt,” you promise with a kiss to his clammy forehead. It leaves your lips a little sticky, but you don’t mind.

You’ve set the tea on the nightstand before he can finish asking, and you make your way to your shared closet fast. In one of the drawers, you find a thick fuzzy blanket, usually only reserved for the occasional power outage during winter. Which, granted, it is winter, Jayce’s least favorite season, but the heat is cranked up comfortably, as it always is. You can see his eyes smiling when he spots it in your arms, and smiling wider when you pick one of his loose, big shirts next. Whatever’s in reach first just so happens to be one with a drawing of his favorite cartoon dog and red hearts — a little V-day gift from last year.  

With both at your side, you sit down next to him and wait for him to finish his tea. Both hands cupped around it to soak up the warmth, Jayce sips on it in silence, as the both of you watch the street light outside your window, and the thick snowflakes visible in the flickering light below.

“At least I won’t have to wade through that to go to work tomorrow,” he muses.

“Well, I will.”

“Ha.” Jayce grins, curling up closer to his near empty mug in anticipated joy. He’s still watching the snow outside when he says it. “Sucker.”

If he weren’t in such a precarious state right now, you’d be blowing a raspberry on whatever’s closest til he begged for mercy. Right now, you settle for a smaller, gentler form of retaliation— peeling his blanket up and off of him when he least expects it.

“Okay. Let’s get your shirt changed.”

He frowns and makes a displeased little sound at that, but dutifully sits up regardless, and tiredly pulls the shirt up and above his head. To little avail, he also tries to dab himself dry using the damp shirt where he’s sweatiest — at the back of his neck and his underarms, before he tosses it near the laundry basket in your bedroom and turns to you.

“Arms up,” you tell him. “I’ve got you.”

It should be illegal to look this good while feverish and dazed. You can’t help the eyeful of him you get, not when his skin’s sweat slick and glistening, fuzz stuck to himself between his pecs and right below, the fuzz on the rolls of his tummy.

The second it’s on, Jayce wastes no time disappearing under the blanket once more, and you take the hint. The second, fluffy one is quickly unfolded and draped over him as well, before you climb atop him and begin to tuck him in nice and tight, the way he likes it when he gets like this.

Except — Jayce won’t stop staring.

He looks at you with pleading, puppy dog eyes and finally a pout when you don’t seem to take the hint.

“What is it?” You ask. You bring up one of your hands to cradle his soft, sleepy face, brushing through the scruff at his jaw. “D’you want a kiss?”

“Not just a kiss…”

He tilts his head and flashes you one of those sickeningly sweet, winning smiles of his. And he’s right to do it, because you know he’s about to ask something very difficult from you.

“Cuddle me?”

If he weren’t a living, breathing pile of hot coal right now, you might have said yes.

“I barely make it out alive and unscorched out of sharing a blanket with you on a normal day,” you remind.

“Please?”

It should be worrying how effective his tone is, worn and sore as it’s gotten. 

“You’re going to boil me alive under there.”

And that all seems pretty insignificant in spite of it all when he smiles drowsily and shrugs with a little hum.

“Mm. With love.” His raspy voice cracks on the second word.

It’s with much annoyance that you realize that if Jayce begged nicely enough, you would gladly do just about most things on this wretched earth. And that unfortunately includes this certain death sentence.

“Alright.”

From under the blankets, Jayce gives a tired, but victorious little yes.

You hardly make it far when you lift the blankets to join him. The heat is below overwhelming, even by his standards, envelops you suffocatingly, before warmth personified practically pounces on you. Jayce crawls to you the moment he can, nestling up against your side like he weighs nothing (except that he very much does, but it’s a familiar, comforting heaviness), before he drapes himself on top of you. Head on your chest, tired arm slung over your middle, the leg that’s closest to the mattress stays stretched out next to yours, and the other one he brings closer to himself, almost in a fetal position, his thigh atop your hips.

It’s already too much, but Jayce cuddles closer, rubs his face against you like an enamored little pet. If he had a tail it’d be wagging, or if he had the means for it, he’d be purring — either way, you can’t help a smile of your own, in spite of how smothered you are. You cradle the back of his head closer, until you can comfortably rest your cheek atop his hair.

Until… he shifts, and you can feel the tip of his nose nudging your jaw.

“And my kiss?” Jayce croaks.

He will be the death of you.

And yet, you’re very content with the notion as you pull back to look at him. You find him lazily lying on your chest, face tipped towards you in expectation, eyes lidded with sleepiness but still trained on you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“Where do you want it, baby?”

“Mmm…” Jayce lets his eyes drift shut and sniffles a little. “Dealer’s choice.”

You go for the space between his brows — messed up from sleep and how he’s been rubbing his face against you, instead of neatly tamed into place with his beloved brow wax.

You can hear his smile widen the second your lips brush his skin. And you don’t get to smooch him properly, before he’s already asking: “Another?”

You indulge. One more at his brow bone. One at his cheekbone. One on his closed eyelids, lashes tickling your lip, one at the strong bridge of his nose, one at the tip of it, a last one—

“Hey, no.” Jayce hides his face before you make it to his lips. “Don’t risk it.”

You can’t help a little laugh. This is where he draws the line?

“If there’s anything to catch, I’ve most likely caught it already,” you assure. “Unless you don’t want a kiss.”

That gets to him.

“Hmmm… I do want one,” he replies before you can hope to taunt him any further. He ponders it for just a moment, before he’s already tilting his face back up towards you in invitation, nose brushing under your cheek. “Okay. Please?”

You give him what he wants. A tender little nudge of your soft lips to his smiling ones, a swipe of your tongue at his bottom lip. Jayce purrs with delight at that, voice coming out in a low, gravelly hum, before he licks back, not ravenously, much more like a kitten. Basking in your comfort, in your presence.

When you pull back, Jayce inhales a fragile little breath before his eyes flutter open just barely. 

“Are you a little warmer now?” You ask. 

He nods. “And you?”

You chuckle. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find my bones in the morning. The rest of me will probably melt off and soak into the mattress.”

“So dramatic.”

“I learned from the best.”

[galaxygermdraws]

So. Remember last time I drew Mr. M. Well he's been like completely redesigned (thank you to my friend Levi who helped me concept him to be like. Unique from most Mr. M's). So some fun facts

Mr. M is violently competitive. Like. Maybe a bit too competitive. I do not think the other henchmen like him very much. Except maybe O' Chunks. I think they'd spar or something. M is a sore loser about it though

He has a giant hammer. Like. Cartoonishly big. He uses this to launch fireballs at Luigi, Peach, and Bowser during his boss fight

Instead of fighting a giant robot in space, Mr. M's second boss phase is Mario Kart but he has the kart, you have a Squirps, and there is a timer. You fail to beat him before he crosses that finish line and you're toast

In this AU, I just assume Luigi attacked Count Bleck instead, so he got knocked out. Mario ends up in Bleck's castle and I mean of course he tries to find Peach (and Bowser) and gets caught

The problem? Mario is insanely stubborn. The solution? Repeatedly expose him to Mind Control until he is so exhausted from it he has to give in (that's the bottom right doodle).

He treats his boss fight like a game, I am playing into the sports games with him. Can ya tell?

In this AU, Dimentio kinda realizes that if he just controls the hero? Then there is no hero of prophecy to stop him. Because while there are 4 heroes, Mario is like the Main One.

Also, timeline wise, I think Mario still ends up being the final survivor during Chapter 8. Dimentio just planted the Floro Sprout after Chapter 6 instead of in Chapter 8.

I will eventually design horrible messed up Super Dimentio but with Mario. It'll have different energy.

(Reblogs with tags/comments are appreciated. Thankyuuuu)

[aurorangen]

My 𝐓𝐨𝐩 24 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 from 2024🎉

Thank you for tagging me @duusheen I loved looking through all your memories ❤️ I hope everyone enjoys looking through my favourites from 2024, it was definitely an emotional year for my legacy.

Before backstory (Jan-Apr)

A wth kind of screenshot! Giant lettuce!?

This legacy has many revelations (with many more to come) but this is my fav so far NO ONE SAW IT COMING!!!!

Isaac my bby (idk when he'll show up...)

Absolutely loved doing this reunion ❤️

Vincent holding his mini me

Tjolc (Apr-Jul)

My obsession with them started 👍

This JUST TURN AROUND moment!!

Their friendship is the best thing of this legacy jkjk literally all my posts that feature them I love 😍

Ahhhhhhhh finally their blind date

I had so much fun coming up with the texts IT'S SO SILLY LMAO

Backstory (Jun-Nov)

This moment made me cry, his whole childhood made me cry

First time building an autopsy room, I'm really proud of it 😊

Emotions were so sad but perfect 😭

Recreating the scenes was the highlight of the backstory for me, improving and going through the emotions again, I loved that. The debate was one of my favourite uni posts and to do it again!

First kiss scene! I love them so much

Back to present (Nov-Dec)

A perfect timing screenshot just before Renee collapsed to the ground (poor Renee) also the dad mug 🥺

You see Rory family gameplay after what feels like years

Robbie hating pda! We love you Robbie

I still feel bad with not seeing them in a year, but I loved creating this post! Everyone looks so happy!!

Let Charlie eat his toast lmao

When sims look at the camera

These moments are always hilarious for me 😂 It's like you are being the director and there are blooper moments!

Special post

I've not included any of my build posts because those are all my tops from the year but this!!! THIS!!! The news article is my proudest creation in 2024. I remember researching and looking into real articles to help me write it. Forming all the words and editing them to look like a real article was so satisfying.

I'll tag @bloomingkyras @mikachusblog @bouncytrait @caramellles and @elderwisp but feel free to ignore ❤️

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Wipper snipper

Oh boy! Thank you so much for the tags, @hikarimeroperiddle and @riverxsong-ao3~ ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Most of the things I've been working on lately aren't shareable yet (holiday giftfics and FTH), so here's a snippet I've been debating including in the ace ABO fic (complete, but not really complete). I'm not sure if this is the direction I want to go, and even more uncertain whether that fic's readership would be comfortable with it, so this may be the only time you see this:

Harry’s asexual, not dead. He can recognise that someone is attractive in the abstract, even if he has no intention or desire to do anything about it. He occasionally masturbates (like, once or twice a month, maybe) and it feels fine. It's just the idea of bringing someone else into the mix makes him lose interest faster than Ron when all the sandwiches are corned beef. But sometimes... Sometimes, he looks at Tom and feels things he never has before. “Do you ever think about it?” he asks, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. “Do I ever think about what?” Tom mumbles in reply. Whoops. He had been closer to sleep than Harry’d thought. “Oh god, sorry, don’t listen to me. I’ll leave you alone to rest.” Tom rolls over so he’s pinning Harry’s left shoulder to the mattress with his warm, boneless weight. “Hmmm, no, you woke me up, now you have to explain,” he says into the crook of Harry’s neck, hot breath on skin making Harry shiver. “What’s on your mind?” He can’t predict how this will land. “Uh. Sex.” He can feel how every single muscle in Tom’s body goes tense from where they’re pressed together, but if he couldn’t he wouldn’t even think Tom had heard him. “What brought this on?” Tom's voice is a little more alert, but still soft and even. “I’m not exactly sure," Harry says, tongue sticking in his suddenly dry mouth. “I just. I think, if it was with you, it’d be okay.” Wryly, Tom says, “Why Harry, you old romantic, you.” Harry huffs. "Shove off." After a few moments of silence, Tom adds, “To clarify: are you asking to have sex with me, or are you offering to have sex if I want to?” “Uh. The latter.” “Hmm.”  Harry can’t help but feel he gave the wrong answer. [...] “You figured out my devious scheme: spend ten years wooing you – while living and sleeping together, and being mated for six of those years, mind you–" "Oh, for Merlin's sake–"  “No, no – the truth finally comes out,” Tom says with sleepy melodrama. “I always knew you were only with me for my body.” Harry grabs a stray pillow and thwaps a chuckling Tom on the head with it, letting loose a relieved laugh of his own.

No-pressure tagging @chaos-bear, @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger, @thefangirlibrarian, @floatingdandelionseeds, @tommarvoloriddlesdiary, @known-concepts, @mosiva, @liquidluckandstuff, @kippipies

( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

[olailamajnoon]

Bruce is staying over at Jason's safehouse after getting injured by plot device.

Jason: here you go. *hands Bruce a platter* Eggs Jason Todd.

Bruce: (sleepy, irritable) what?

Jason: you know, the younger, cooler, hipper version of Eggs Benedict.

It was a chaotic mix of undercooked yolks, suspiciously chunky hollandaise, and toast burnt to an impressive charcoal black.

Bruce: *looking at the clumpy mass* wow-uh...thank you 😐😃

Jason: I mean, I'm totally Benedict Cumberbatch coded, I've got the cheekbones. so why shouldn't an egg be named after me?

Bruce:...

Bruce: I hate to break it to ya buddy, but —*sighs*

Bruce: Eggs Benedict was not named after Benedict Cumberbatch.

Jason: *screwing his eyes up*

Jason: I ReaD iT oN REddIt! Harley showed me the post—oh.

Bruce: yeah.

Jason: oh. *puts head in hands*

Bruce: she probably posted it there in the first place.

Jason: shit

Bruce: it's okay.

Jason: I fell for a Harley.

Bruce: well it doesn't matter. You made the mistake in front of me. I'm...I'm no one.

Jason: *his face ashen white* uh huh.

Bruce: *takes spoon and digs into the eggs with a resigned expression, telling himself he's eaten worse*

Jason: hang on, just —give me a moment.

*Goes into the other room and calls Barbara*

Jason: hey Babula. Can you...just...erase a person from existence?

Barbara:...what?

Jason: I made a big, huge announcement that was a mistake, and I'm relocating to Alaska. Just....erase everything, okay? My entire internet presence.

Barbara: *muffled laughter* wHaT diD yOu Do?

Jason: *looking at the ceiling* I very publicly applied for a...patent. I thought I could name it after me. I now realize...that would be more criminal than most crimes.

Barbara: Well I'm glad you realize it. No offense, but given your culinary skills. I have to say I don’t think they'd approve a dish that could double as a bioweapon, much less name it after you.

Jason: *sighs* just tell the Patent Office to forward the rejection letter to Alaska. I want to leave solid evidence of motive before I blow my brains out.

[unchartedcloud]

New Rules - Chapter 18

Chapter 18 - Nonsense

Sometimes, when a relationship is new, something soft and sweet turns into something...unabashedly smutty.

(Heads up: this one's got sexually explicit material.)

Clarke’s question interrupts Lexa’s thoughts, though not quite fast enough for her to hear its entirety. Not that she could hear much of anything if Clarke weren’t shouting—the woman has been blasting whatever eclectic mix of songs she’s chosen through most of Lexa’s speaker system all morning. “There’s every condiment in existence in this fridge, how can there be no butter?” Lexa’s eyes don’t leave her laptop screen. She rubs her chin; narrows her eyes; tucks the tip of her pen atop her middle finger and clicks through another set of prompts. “Did you want butter for your coffee?” she calls back.  “Very funny,” comes the response. “I know where the coffee is, thank you, but that does little to assist in the creation of toast.” Now why on earth would they put that button there? She starts another line of notes and answers: “It’s on the top shelf, my darling. Behind the creamer.” Silence follows; or rather, not silence, since the music is still blaring through the apartment, but still a conspicuous lack of fridge door-closing sounds or the toaster announcing the aforementioned creation of toast. Feet shuffle down the hall and Lexa doesn’t have to look up to know Clarke has abandoned the search for butter and instead has appeared at the open door to her office. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Lexa glances up only briefly, taking in the bright purple t-shirt emblazoned with Jazz and Heritage Festival, familiar heather gray sweatpants, and half-acetate, half-wire cat-eye frame reading glasses that characterize Clarke’s Sunday morning wardrobe in half a second before returning to her notes. “The butter is behind the creamer.” “Not that.” Lexa sees Clarke cross her arms and lean against the doorframe out of the corner of her eye. “What did you just call me?” She stops writing. Her brows knit together; she’d paid so little attention to what she was saying that she now has to actively try to recall what it was. “Clarke?” she guesses. “Nope.” Now Lexa does, for the first time, turn her attention fully to Clarke—and is met with raised eyebrows and the beginnings of a smirk. “Try again.” Puzzlement sets in. Had she said something strange? It’s on the top shelf…

Read on Ao3.

[cyanide-mustard]

I Don’t Have the Words To Describe (How Much You Mean to Me) ~ Chapter 3

Also on Ao3

Summary:

James, Viktor and Jayce settle into routine and James makes a new friend.

AN: Guys I can’t for the life of me picture their stupid lab setup in my head so if there’s any discrepancies between what I write and what it actually looks like, no there isn’t lol. Also sorry if this chapter sucks, the next couple chapters will be (slightly) better.

A=𝜩, B=𝜣, C=𝝃, D=𝛴, E=𝜓, F=𝝇, G=𝝋, H=𝝺, I=𝛃, J=𝝣, K=𝝥, L=𝟄, M=𝟇, N=𝞖, O=𝝠, P=𝝮, Q=𝞈, R=𝞀, S=𝞏, T=𝞔, U=𝞒, V=𝞃, W=𝝸, X=𝞹, Y=𝞾, Z=𝞙

The next day Viktor and Jayce woke up early, before James did, so the taller man stayed to start on breakfast and clean the apartment, to be more welcoming to their guest, while the other left to buy groceries. When Viktor returned he put all the food away and worked beside Jayce, helping him make breakfast.

James emerged from her room, unaware of the two men in the kitchen who were also unaware of their own heavy staring. She was wearing a pair of light blue shorts and an even lighter blue camisole that sat high on her stomach and rose higher when she stretched her arms above her head. Thankfully the boys averted their eyes right before James jumped in shock at seeing the two of them in the kitchen. She ran back into her room and returned with a navy sweater on.

Jayce cleared his throat before speaking.

“Good morning James”

“G𝝠od 𝟇ornin𝝋 Jayce. Good morni𝝋 Viktor”

“Good morning”

When she saw the food they were making, she grabbed her notebook and wrote down the items in English and then Piltovian.

“E𝝋g, 𝜣ac𝝠n, t𝝠ast” she pointed to each, looking to the boys for confirmation. Jayce nodded and repeated each item.

James tried again “Egg, bacon, toast”

“And Coffee” Viktor

“And C𝝠ffee”

Viktor lifted the the labeled the sugar and milk container

“Sugar?” James lifted two fingers

“Two sugars?”

“Tw𝝠 sugars” she confirmed

“Milk?”

She lifted her fingers in a pinch this time

“A little bit of milk?”

“A little bit 𝝠f milk”

He passed the mug to her

“Thank you” she took her mug and sat down at the table. The boys joined her, bringing the plates with them. When they all sat down, Jayce rested his hand on top of Viktor’s which lay on his lower thigh.

“We are going to go to the lab today”

Jayce drew a picture of the lab after seeing her confused face.

“Ahh lab today” James says in understanding

After eating they made their way to the lab. Once there, James made herself comfortable on top of the large sprawling table, sitting right beside the window to take advantage of the natural light.

They all set out on doing their work. About an hour passed when Viktor felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see James holding her notebook

“What is your name?” She had the same look on her face that Jayce got when he was testing out a hypothesis.

“My name is Viktor?” His reply sent her face into a beaming smile.

“Who is he?”

“That is Jayce”

“What is this?”

“This is a book”

After about a million more questions, Viktor realized she was learning how to ask questions and verifying the subjects of each question word.

She would continue the day like this. Working in her newly claimed space before going up to Jayce or Viktor to test out a language point she learned or try and get clarity on something.

Jayce often asked her to pass him things, partly so he didn’t have to leave where he was sitting but also to help James work on her vocabulary. Although it took a little longer to get the tool, the smile on her face when she found the right one made it worthwhile.

They went on like this for the next four days. They had been making breakfast in the morning and eating more regularly; they felt bad after the first day when they got wrapped up in their work only realizing it was 5 o’clock and they had skipped lunch when they heard James’ stomach grumble from across the lab. Working throughout the day on their own projects at the lab, going home (somewhat) early, before getting a more socially acceptable level of sleep rather than their normal fuck we ball amount. James had learned some basic vocabulary but putting together full sentences was a struggle.

On the fifth day Jayce and Viktor left the lab in the afternoon to grab lunch and bring it back for them all to eat. Leaving James in the lab so as to not draw any unnecessary attention to her. This was unfortunately at the same time Caitlyn had decided to make an unannounced visit. She opened the door and was met with the sight of James looking for a purple-coloured pen in Jayce’s drawers, which to unknowing Caitlyn, the scene looked like a woman had broken into the lab of the top scientists of Piltover and was now stealing Hextech.

“HEY! STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING” Caitlyn yelled before bolting across the room.

James jumped nearly a foot in the air, scrambling back on top of the desk, reaching for the nearest tool, which so happened to be another screwdriver.

“𝝋𝜓𝞔 𝞔𝝺𝜓 𝝇𝞒𝝃𝝥 𝜩𝝸𝜩𝞾 𝝇𝞀𝝠𝟇 𝟇𝜓!!!” The woman barked out.

The teenage girl took big imposing steps forwards, which James responded to by backing away, slowly trapping herself further in the nook. Feeling the wall behind her, she lunged forward with a warning swipe of the screwdriver. The sound of Jayce yelling from the door, stopped both of them from injuring each other.

“CAIT STOP” Jayce yelled from the door.

At the sight of him and Viktor entering the room, James dropped the screwdriver, bypassing Caitlyn and sprinting towards them. She ran into Jayce’s right side, quickly seeking comfort before turning around to face the other woman. James stood behind the two, holding each of their jacket sleeves tightly in each hand, ready to pull them back at the sight of danger. When Jayce first started walking forward, she pulled him back.

“It’s okay, she’s a friend” She let go of his arm as he walked forward again.

Viktor put his arm behind her back, slowly guiding her forwards with him.

“Who is she? What was she doing in your lab?”

“I’m going to tell you only if you promise you will not tell a single soul”

“Alright”

“I’m serious, Cait, absolutely no one. Not even your mom or dad”

“I understand, absolutely no one”

He explained the best he could, given that much of the whole situation was unknown to him or Viktor, possibly known to James but she was currently unable to explain it to them. Once he finished she stood with her mouth hanging open for a couple seconds.

“Cait?”

“And this wasn’t your fault?”

Jayce rolled his eyes. Cait moved her gaze to James and looked at her with guilt. She moved forward taking her hands in hers.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to chase after you or try to attack you, well actually I did mean to but that was only because I thought you were stealing something, so I’m actually sorry for thinking you were a thief and not giving you a chance to expl-”

“Caitlyn slow down. She is not going to understand half of what you have said” At Viktor’s words she looked at the woman’s face again. She understood her sentiment but she was lost at every other word.

“Oh, sorry” Caitlyn looked sheepish. Seeing the girl’s embarrassment James stepped forward.

“Hello, My name is James. What is your name?”

“I’m Caitlyn, it’s nice to meet you”

“It is nice to meet you too. Would you like to be fri𝜓nds?”

“Yes, I’d like that very much”

Cait’s eyes focused “Is that my top?”

“Oh uh yes” Jayce replied

“You gave the poor girl my old clothes” , Cait shook her head in disbelief. “Her and I are going shopping and soon. But that does makes more sense than what you really said the clothes were for”

“What did you tell her you needed them for?” Viktor questioned.

Jayce turned his face back to his work away from the other three, which Viktor recognized as what Jayce did when he was trying to hide his face when it was a deep blush red.

“Jayce?”

“I might have said you wanted to try out a new style”

“You what!”

“I didn’t know what else to say!”

Caitlyn and James looked at each other, both needed to cover the mouths to quiet the giggles they let out because of the boys bickering.

“Literally anything else! Say that we needed them to blow up, I don’t know. Caitlyn thought I was asking my boyfriend for his younger sister’s clothes, that is weird Jayce. I love you but sometimes it is so embarrassing to be dating you”

Notes:

Translations:

𝝋𝜓𝞔 𝞔𝝺𝜓 𝝇𝞒𝝃𝝥 𝜩𝝸𝜩𝞾 𝝇𝞀𝝠𝟇 𝟇𝜓 = Get the fuck away from me

Please let me know what you think! Any love or feedback is always welcomed!

Taglist: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore

[nebbynebbu]

Shout-out to Toast, she named the humans and helped me by revising the writing!

If you like the story you can thank Lucky, Toast, Dio, Mystic and Lizard for hyping me into making it, kdjqwd.

All of the humans are in their mid 20s.

Overcast

CW: Fearplay, fear of being digested, implied digestion by the pred (doesn’t happen), brief description of blood, hard vore, cruel pred, unwilling prey.

A peaceful night fell into the town. Empty streets, the lack of sound…a perfect Saturday for the young Charlie to relax in their home. 

  That is, if their friends allowed it. 

  “Thank God those two were joking, I could not imagine b-” Interrupted by a knock at the door, Charlie left the couch and went to open it, only to be met with the two idiots in question. 

  “CHARLIE!” shouted both Dave and Mikey with genuine excitement, while simultaneously grabbing their friend out of the house and embracing them into a hug. 

  “No, you two are not getting me into any shenanigans tonight because of that rumor.” Charlie stood their ground, as if that would work. 

  Mikey decided to speak. The messy, dark hair and the hanging eyelids hinted that he wasn't fully awake–however, the enthusiasm said otherwise. “Come onnn… it will be fun though! Dave even found the doorknob! We wouldn't come get you if it wasn't real,” he said, doing jazz hands to emphasize the magical feeling of the object with a gleam in his copper eyes. 

  Charlie looked at Dave with a raised eyebrow. The pale man replied with a simple nod. Despite being the smallest, Dave was built and had quite the muscular figure. “I can't go against Mikey, just look at him! How can you say no to his face?” Dave gave them the doorknob and picked up a backpack from the ground that contained some snacks and three flashlights. 

  You know. All they need.

  Charlie rolled their eyes with a sigh, accepting defeat. “Fine, fine, let's get this over with. If I recall correctly, we need to position it in the air and gesture as if we were opening an invisible door...” 

  As Charlie made the motion, a wooden door appeared almost instantly. Opening by itself, it pulled the trio of humans inside, closing once they went through and vanishing without a trace.

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

  There was a small door in the wall, slightly above a cabinet. It gave a faint glow and spat the humans on the ground, but they couldn't identify where they were. 

  Holding a flashlight in his hands, Mikey turned it on and pointed around, but even with the lighting, he couldn’t make anything out in this place. “That’s one weird road. It doesn’t seem to end, and it’s made of... marble?” The last statement made it curiouser and curiouser for them. 

  “A doorknob as a key, a never-ending path, this pitch black darkness! What’s with this pla-” Dave shouted, but stopped himself as he noticed Mikey looking up. Mikey wasn’t moving. “Are we… being watched?”

  Suddenly, a burst of light took over the place. Could it be the sun? No, it was…

  …a lightbulb. 

  The mysterious place was like the kitchen of a regular house. Its size was crushing in comparison to the humans, who were not much taller than a nearby salt shaker. It had a maroon touch to match its wooden floor and table. The black marble cabinet served as the "road" for the humans' arrival. 

  Who lived here? Mikey was confused. Then, the sight of their spectator had his body refusing to make a sound, frozen firmly in place. 

  His spiked fur had earthly tones that faded into grey. Hair covered his eyes, leaving an unnerving grin as their only guide to the creature's emotions. His strong physique was accompanied by scars that covered his entire body. Some resembled shooting stars–how curious. 

  He was a wolf. Something about the scars cutting through the wolf's fur reminded Charlie of a forest in the winter after a massacre–something soft and grey cut through by something harsh and bloody.

  “Um, a trio…?” the wolf spoke, the voice coming out in a low growl. “This night just got interesting.” Their eyes were locked with the humans, but the wolf didn't move an inch. He only stood there, patiently waiting for their reaction.

  “We…we need to go, now.” The trembling voice belonged to Charlie. They grabbed both of their friends' hands, going back and forth and looking in every direction in hopes of seeing the door. All three of them were shaking now.

  Charlie had hoped for a moment to breathe, but the wolf was already in front of them.

  “Going so soon? It isn't polite for visitors to come in without asking. Since I'm in a good mood, I suppose an exception can be made for you little morsels.” 

  The deep, guttural aspect didn't make any of them feel secure. If anything, it was worse. 

  The wolf grasped all three of the humans in one of his hands unceremoniously. He picked up a plate with the other and placed it on the table, dropping the humans on top of it. He sat in the chair and used his arms to rest his chin. “How about a game? No one can refuse a good game.”

  “Charlie… I don't think we should trust our host so blindly. If you didn't notice yet by his size and how he acts, we will get crushed,” Dave whispered, shoving his hands into his jacket in an attempt to stop the shaking. 

  “I-I know, but we don't have a choice here. The door is gone and so is the ‘key’ we had,” Charlie replied. They knew the Wolf wouldn’t make the “game” fair–but what choice did they have?

  “What kind of game…?” Mikey asked innocently, with a certain curiosity in his tone. His eyes refused to look at the wolf.

  “Oh, it's something simple, no need for those ones overflowing with rules. Each of you have five minutes to decide who is the first, second and last one to…” The Wolf gave a chuckle, the grin revealing some of his teeth. “...become my meal, of course. But I'm feeling kind-hearted tonight, so you may choose the order, my little morsels~” He took an hourglass from his pocket and flipped it upside-down, the falling sand announcing the start of the “game.” 

  “We, we, we- we can find a way around this! It's a game, he's just playing with us!” Mikey said. His friends could almost hear a quiet "…right?" coming out at the end of the sentence. His body was shaking. 

  “Mikey, everything is going to be just fine, ok? I’ll think of a plan with Charlie…” Dave knew they didn't have a chance, but he would grasp at the tiniest glimpse of hope he could find. “...I’ll give myself first, indulge him enough for you two to hide, find a solution, anything, okay? I know I can hold him off for a while, but I need you to promise that you’ll take Mikey and think of something.” Dave affirmed.

  The arguing took a while, but due to the little time they had it seemed like hours had passed and so they stopped, except... Mikey was quiet.

  The sight made them freeze in terror. 

  Mikey’s arm was halfway in the wolf’s maw. He was breathing heavily, desperately looking for something to hold onto. He grasped the pearly whites which would soon seal his fate…which was a mistake. 

  “Stop…stop-” The sound came from Charlie. They raised a hand in the wolf’s direction, trying to reach their friend's hand, until…a crimson fluid fell on Dave's shoulder, descending from the wolf’s jaws. Their eyes followed the trail till they met the source–an arm with light brown skin that stopped moving. 

  Charlie briefly saw the hourglass. It was hazy, but they quickly saw the state of the sand–empty. The humans had forgotten about the time.

  Dave fell onto the ground, his face covered in what remained of his friend. Something stirred within him, ancient as time itself, stronger than joy, far deeper than anger…fear. 

  A cacophony swelled in his head. Glk. Dave couldn't focus on anything but the sound as the wolf swallowed. Glrk. 

  Mikey was gone. Only the two humans remained. 

  “However, as much as I adore this taste, it wasn't worth the mess for such a delicacy. Besides, what value does a dull morsel hold? What a shame.” He licked the deep red that stained his fur–after all, he had manners–but soon he turned to the trembling forms on his plate. “The strongest one is the easiest to break, how peculiar~” He was grinning. 

  Dave looked up. His empty eyes gave up as tears rose to the surface". “I-I was going first–you should have taken me, that wasn't the plan, can’t you take me instead?! T-that's, that's–THAT'S NOT HOW IT WAS-” 

  The words barely came out of his lips before he was interrupted by the wolf, who leaned closer to the plate. “Tsk, tsk. Oh, my dear visitors, five minutes each. If I were to make an exception, I would simply take it as an invitation to play with the rules. Perhaps I could eat you sooner?” The wolf flipped the hourglass once again and gave them a grin, the same one they had been met with earlier.

  “NO-N-no…we will play, he only needs time. Dave…” 

  Dave was silent. 

  “…Dave. D-” 

  When he finally spoke, Charlie saw that Dave’s rainy, soulless eyes were still facing the wolf. “W-we are already going to suffocate in your stomach! Mikey got hurt! ...monster...you’re a monster.” As soon as he finished, almost immediately, a hand grabbed him. It was different from when he had Mikey in his grasp–it clenched him, hard. 

  The wolf gave another chuckle, accompanied by a sarcastic tone. “Your little friend got so desperate for things to be over that he got a simple bruise. I didn’t do anything~” His grip got tighter. “My food might not show its fear, but the smell is so intoxicating, the heartbeat gets louder...and since you look so brave now, tell me, little morsel, are monsters born…or made?” 

  He grabbed Charlie and left the table, making his way to the couch. He laid down, putting Charling on top of his stomach and resuming the play with Dave. Charlie was quiet. All they could do was watch–they felt powerless over the wolf, hugging their legs and waiting for all of this to end. 

  The wolf picked Dave up by the collar of his shirt and parted his lips, dangling the frightened human over his longing maw. He dropped him, only to close his teeth with a snap.

  Dave sighed. His body was shaking but he felt...relieved.

Dave didn’t fight or thrash around as one would expect. His eyes were closed, trying to think of it like a bad dream. Soon, he would wake up safe and sound in his home. Just as he grabbed this glimpse of hope, the wolf pinned him on the hard palate with his tongue, slowly drifting his meal to its end. 

  The corridor of the wolf’s throat moved on its own, almost as if it was another being. With a single, deep gulp, Dave was hugged by the pulsing walls, choking on the feeling of serving as food for another being. He passed out. 

  “Not much of a fighter, huh. Not that a broken toy has a purpose, anyway.” 

  One human remained.

  Grrgle. The wolf turned his vision to Charlie, who flinched upon hearing the wolf’s stomach.

  A river flowed from Charlie’s eyes. They tried to wipe it away, but it didn’t stop. It finally hit them. 

  They’re gone. 

  “C-can you... promise it won’t hurt? That they didn’t suffer?” 

  The wolf slowly turned his head to face the human. They could feel him exhaling a heavy, humid air. The feeling of the unknown made Charlie uneasy. They were shaking. 

  Erov gave them a toothy grin. “Boo~” 

  …all of the humans were gone.

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

  A peaceful night fell into the town. Empty streets, the lack of sound…a perfect Saturday, except...that already happened. Charlie woke up in their home–they fell asleep on the couch. It was late. “Just a bad dream...thank-” 

  They couldn’t help but notice their friends sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Mikey had a scar in his arm. “Did he always have that scar...?” Charlie mumbled. Mikey did fall sometimes, but never to the point of getting hurt. 

  Charlie thought about it for a while, but as soon as they looked at the bedside table, they found a doorknob on top of a letter. Charlie’s heart skipped a beat. 

  It wasn’t a dream.

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

A huge wolf rested on his bed, the cold weather of a cloudy day presenting him with a small light indicating the dawn. His chest expanded and contracted as he breathed, a rhythm almost therapeutic with the tranquility of the environment. He was in a protective pose, as if one of his arms served as a shield for the tiny being sleeping in his presence–much smaller than the wolf, but who found comfort in the overwhelming figure.

  He woke up, slightly breaking his position in hopes of not waking the little being as he rose from his bed. He pulled his hair back, holding it in a bun. The wolf opened his eyes–black as the night itself, with a blueish-silver glow to their irises. He was awake.

  Despite his serious expression, his countenance was calm. Erov had lost the playfulness he displayed when messing with his food. He looked at the fragile form sleeping on his bed again–it was shaking.

  He sighed and laid down again, putting his head closer to the form. “Shhh…I’m here…” He was worried, but the form turned in their sleep and hugged the wolf’s snout. “Rrrrrr…” Erov gave a low growl–though it felt almost like a purr. He had things to do this morning, but he could wait. They needed him–they were someone important who cared about him.

  In that moment, just for a second, the world stopped and felt warm.

[gengwasted]

Aventurine just got comfortable and the doctor decides to throw a bomb at him??? This is rude and unacceptable. He loves it he's just... Confused.

Merventurine from @havanillas’ AU I can’t get them out of my head aughxzfdzfxh-

[contact-guy]

Assistance from Toast as I sign copies of Watson’s Sketchbook…look for a shop announcement this Friday!

[dreamlogic]

finished fellowship and have some updated thoughts on Hobbit Relationship Drama...

- merry & pippin are still useless homosexuals. merry accidentally brushed pippin’s hand at dinner one time and thought about it for like 3 weeks. pippin usually ends up marching behind merry when they travel and spends an awful lot of time thinking about how beautiful merry’s curls look backlit in the setting sun. but not in a gay way.

- frodo and sam, on the other hand, wasted no time getting themselves sorted out and confessing their undying love. tom bombadil mistakes them for a couple (past, future, present.. they don’t matter to him so he just got his timelines a lil twisted). later that evening as they’re getting ready for bed they’re both like “haha wow, who could ever mistake us for a couple. that’s so ridiculous.... unless...?”

- they wanna keep things on the down low until they’re Certain that this is a Thing, so they spend most evenings between the old forest and bree volunteering for the late watch so they can stay up all night talking about their feelings. they just. love each other so much. it’s unreal. the only thing they disagree about is PDA: frodo thinks it’s in bad taste, and sam wants to superglue his hand to frodo’s ASAP.

- one of the first conversations frodo has with sam when he wakes up in rivendell after nearly dying is “listen, i need to marry you before anything like that happens again. if either of us dies before we’re wed it would be the most unspeakable cruelty on this earth.” sam, a huge romantic who has cried at every wedding he’s ever been invited to, has to sit down upon hearing this to avoid swooning.

- only problem? they ask elrond, as master of the house, to officiate the wedding, but elrond refuses cause he thinks it’s a horrible idea for the ringbearer to fall in love at a time like this. they ask gandalf, but he’s too involved in White Council Politics and won’t go against elrond in his own house. they’re lamenting this turn of events to bilbo, who’s like “wait, didn’t you know? the king of dale gave me some obscure honorary title that authorizes me to officiate legally binding unions. i’ll marry you right now!” sam runs and grabs pippin & merry and they have a cozy little impromptu ceremony in bilbo’s room.

- they’re still keeping things low-key to avoid drama with elrond, but bilbo is a gossip and word gets around to gloin in no time, who tells gimli, who confronts sam about it before dinner one evening. “listen, your business is your business but you should know, as dwarven nobility, i’ve officiated many a wedding in my time if you wanna make doubly sure your union will be recognized among all the free peoples of middle earth...” so they get married Again. gimli tries to gift them both rings, but frodo has enough of those to worry about, thanks.

- legolas is a voracious eavesdropper and will not be outdone by a dwarf. “say, frodo,” he casually starts one evening. “i’m a prince and guess what princes can do? marry people.” SO sam and frodo get a third marriage certificate, written in elvish this time.

- frodo is hanging out with bilbo and aragorn one morning over brunch, workshopping one of bilbo’s songs, when a thought occurs to him. “strider, as you may have figured out by now, sam and i are married in three different languages. you’re sort of royalty, right? wanna get in on the joke?” “i absolutely want to be in on the joke,” strider says, because he is a very poetic soul and this whole situation is gonna be keeping him awake with a single tear in his eye for months. their love is beautiful, he’d be honored to have any part in it.

- boromir is deeply offended that he hasn’t been invited to marry frodo and sam yet, so the morning before the fellowship sets off, he corners the happy couple at breakfast and rattles off a speech before either can finish their eggs and toast. it’s a little jarring, but he does give them the most sensible wedding gift yet: a stamped leather folio for sam to safely store their five (5) marriage certificates in.

- they think they’re safe from any more weddings when they leave rivendell, but without elrond watching him, gandalf wants to throw his two cents in. he pulls them aside after dinner one evening in hollin and says a few words. “trust me,” he insists when they protest, “you’d do very well to have one of the istari bless your union,” and throws a few protection spells into the mix for them.

- elrond, for his part, has known about these shenanigans since the first marriage, because bilbo wasted no time marching up to him afterwards and demanded to know why he refused to officiate his favorite nephew's wedding. he's been keeping an eye on the situation since and refraining from comment. if all goes well, the ring is destroyed, and sauron thwarted... perhaps then, a proper rivendell wedding would be in order to celebrate.

re-reading the lord of the rings for the first time since i was a teen and i have some Thoughts on the hobbits' relationship statuses at the beginning of fellowship. will update as i finish each book.

- merry and frodo dated all through their tweens and were, like, disgustingly into each other. they were The Couple at brandy hall forever and all their neighbors were impatiently awaiting their wedding invites. then merry met pippin and it was love at first sight, he knew he'd never be able to stop pining.

- not wanting to string frodo along, they broke up. it was relatively amiable, they had a long talk about it over tea and both of them cried into each other's arms a lot, but understood it was probably for the best in the long run. frodo moved in with his uncle at bag end to give them both time/space to recover, and wrote a lot of sad poetry for a while.

- unfortunately for merry, pippin is still deeply closeted and completely oblivious. but merry is patient, and is more than happy to enjoy pippin's platonic friendship even if he doesn't ever end up reciprocating romantic feelings.

- frodo developed an immediate crush on sam, the Gardener's Hot Son, but refused to let himself get carried away cause he's a mature (if melodramatic) hobbit and 1) didn't want to rush into anything after merry, and 2) didn't want sam to feel weird about his boss having feelings for him.

- sam, meanwhile, is desperately in love with frodo and seeks advice about it p much right away from merry. "help, i'm smitten for your ex, but he's so aloof around me i don't know what to do!" sam cries. merry, who kept his distance from frodo for all of, like, two months before striking up their friendship again, finds this hilarious. he advises sam that frodo is just Like That, and if he wants to bring him out of his thick head, sam needs to smother him in Really Blatant Flirting.

- sam, bless him, decides that the best way to flirt with frodo is to be overly formal and deferential around him, which only makes frodo more anxious about abusing the power imbalance in their relationship. "master frodo, sir," sam says, wondering if he's laying it on too thick. "oh, sam..." frodo sighs, hoping his status as hobbit nobility isn't pressuring his crush into being so excessively polite to him.

- pippin is blissfully unaware of all of this, and assumes that it's perfectly heterosexual for all his best friends to hold hands and smooch and talk about wanting to get married to and grow old with each other. i mean, who wouldn't want to marry his friends? they're all so gorgeous and kind and funny and smart. especially merry. if pippin were gay (which he isn't!!!!!) he definitely wouldn't mind settling down with that brandybuck...

[gomzdrawfr]

Fish talk.

Price likes rainbow trout that he cooked himself in garlic and butter in a ration tin over an open fire. Nothin better than trout you caught, gutted and cooked yourself on the river bank. Bonus points for a bottle of something cold and hoppy to go along with it while he eats it on the river bank, still wearing his wellies and waders.

For Nik, it's calamari and grilled sea bass with a glass of white wine, maybe a sauvignon blanc from France, in some swanky hotel on the Adriatic coast. Just sitting there in beige chinos, an open shirt and bare feet, skin still warm from where he was basking in the sun all day, not even checking the bill before he pays for it.

Fish recipes by the one and only, now visualised (somewhat) hehe

bonus of my reaction: