#cardboard cupcakes

[sunnylighter]

Well spindle lost his cupcake toy so little boy gets a surprise today (ignore the mess he got into the hay and scattered it)

Now I'll get several hours of cardboard crunching ASMR from a very delighted boy

[picnicbask3t]

*offers Mr Rosenau some cupcakes*

“ … thank you, random stranger. ”

he’s slightly confused, but hey he accepts 👍

[teamatsumu]

it was you all along. (bokuto koutaro x reader)

summary: you confess to him, and he’s confused because he thinks you’re already dating. for my valentine’s day event - theme: confessions.

word count: 1285

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi @sleepyxxhead @priv-rose @nishayuro @kitas-tapioca @kakashineedstotouchgrass s @amisuh @avis-writeshq @samanthaa-leanne @akaashi-todorki @sp1ng @kur0obaby @bleach-your-panties @pinkiipeachiikeen @whippedbel

event masterlist

Careful hands tried to handle the cupcake as delicately as possible. You held your breath, lowering it into the box. When its base hit the cardboard, you finally sighed out in relief. You pulled back to admire your creation, feeling a smile creep up on your face at the sight of the four cupcakes, all decorated to the nines.

No doubt in your head that Bokuto would love this. After all, you knew his every like and dislike very well. You had known him forever.

Bokuto Kotarou had taken you under his ‘wing’ when you were in elementary school. Tiny-you had no confidence and zero capability to make friends, while Bokuto was your exact opposite. He had taken a liking to you and had bravely proclaimed that he would ‘protect’ you, puffing out his tiny chest and grinning wide. Over the years, Bokuto had not let you down even once.

It was no wonder that you slowly fell in love with him. How could you not? You spent every day joined at the hip. The only time you were apart was when he was on the court, and even then you were on the sidelines, clipboard in hand, managing the team while admiring how talented your friend was. So really, how could you not fall in love?

In your defense, Bokuto doted on you like crazy. He knew very little physical boundaries when it came to you, hugging and squeezing the life out of you, laying sloppy kisses on your cheeks, sharing food and stories and…. basically each other’s entire lives.

But today. Today was the day. Today you would tell him that you no longer wanted to be friends. That you wanted more. Your heartbeat sped up at the thought of how he might react. You weren’t an arrogant person by any means but you couldn’t imagine him reacting negatively. There’s no way Bokuto could be as affectionate as he was if he didn’t feel something for you. Hell, how many times had he told you he loved you? Every day. You had lost count.

You were careful with the box as you walked to school. Your very limbs were vibrating, and you were breathing deeply in and out to make sure you remained calm. You were optimistic in taking this step. In fact, all your mutual friends, including the team, had only encouraged you. They were all dead sure he would accept your confession and return your feelings just as enthusiastically. You were more excited than you were nervous. You couldn’t wait to see him.

You found Bokuto with his head buried in his locker, and you had to hold back a snort. He was muttering something under his breath, and you were sure he had lost something else now. His locker was a mess, and you had repeatedly scolded him to clean it up or else he would lose things. Once again, you were right.

You tapped his shoulder, biting back a laugh when he jolted and banged his head against the roof. Curses flew from his mouth before he ducked and pulled his head out, turning to look at you with a glare. You watched fondly when his scowl was replaced by the widest, brightest smile you had ever seen. Bokuto’s smile could give the Sun a run for its money.

He exclaimed your name loudly, opening his arms wide to pull you into a bear hug. You immediately held a hand out to push his chest back.

“Hold it!” You lifted up the box. “I’m holding something delicate.”

Bokuto’s interest was immediately piqued, and you giggled at his childish curiosity, grabbing his wrist and tugging him with you. He hastily slammed his locker shut and let you drag him down the crowded halls and outside, finding an empty bench overlooking the school track.

“What’s going on?” He finally asked, wide golden eyes peering into your own. You sat down and patted the seat beside you for Bokuto to do the same. He obliged, waiting for you to speak. Instead, you handed him the box.

Bokuto opened it up and gasped at the selection of four intricately decorated cupcakes, admiring each one separately. You felt your heart swell at his reactions.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “This one looks like a volleyball. And this one has my jersey number!”

Bokuto looked back up at you with stars in his eyes. “I can’t believe it. This is so awesome!”

You grinned wide, fiddling with your hands a bit. “I made them for a special occasion.”

Bokuto perked up again. “What special occasion?”

You took a deep breath. Finally, the time was here. “I love you, Kou.”

Bokuto blinked before a wide smile overtook his face. “I love ya too, babe.”

You stared at him for a bit. “No. I mean, I love you. I’m in love with you.”

Now, a small, confused frown formed between the boy’s eyebrows. “I heard you. I love you, too. What’s going on? You’re bein’ weird.”

You gaped at Bokuto, unable to even fathom what he was getting from this. Were you not being clear enough? Was he not understanding what you meant?

“Kotarou, I don’t want to be just friends. This isn’t a ‘friends’ kind of love. I wanna date you. I wanna be your girlfriend.”

Now Bokuto looked flabbergasted, slowly closing the box and placing it to the side. “What are you talking about? You are my girlfriend!”

Silence. “What?”

Bokuto nodded, though he still looked at you like you had grown two heads. “Y-yeah?”

“Kou-” You held up a hand as if calling a timeout, trying, but failing, to understand what he meant. You had anticipated requited feelings. Some part of you had even considered the possibility of rejection. But this? How was this even possible?

Bokuto looked like he was processing things too. He quirked his head to the side, staring quizzically at you. One of his hands ran through his hair, almost in thought. You felt a horrific laugh bubble up inside you at how ridiculous the situation was. This…. this was so on brand for Bokuto. Your confession going awry because this idiot thought you were already dating.

“But what about all the time we’re together? I always hug you and kiss you. We have sleepovers all the time. I sleep in your damn bed!”

“Well yes, but-” You shifted. “We did that as friends!”

Bokuto gave you a look. “You think I act that way with my other friends?”

“I thought I was special.” You mumbled, suddenly rethinking almost every interaction you had with Bokuto.

“You are.” His voice softened. “Because you’re my girlfriend.”

You felt your face burn hot. “But you never-”

He waited for you to continue. You fidgeted.

“We never kissed.”

Now, a shiteating grin was slowly spreading across Bokuto’s face. He wiggled his crazy eyebrows at you. “You wanna?”

You smacked his bicep hard, making him yelp and rub the sore spot with a little pout. Inside your chest, your heart was doing endless flip flops. You still couldn’t believe that all this time, Bokuto had assumed you were dating and not just friends. The very thought of it was both completely expected and also insanely shocking at the same time.

Bokuto was watching you closely, having calmed down a bit. He gave you a little smile.

“Since ya didn’t consider any of our dates as…. dates, can I take you out on a proper one now?”

A smile spread across your face at his words. You nodded jerkily, staring down at your hands. Bokuto clapped his hands in finality.

“Great! Now, I need to eat these cupcakes and talk about how great they are.”

You laughed.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the croissants

buttercup, chapter one

a/n: i was actually working on something else, but then one night i got the desperate need to rewatch daredevil yet again and then this just kinda accidentally tumbled out. oopsi i guess.

summary: he offered you a polite smile that sent a swarm of butterflies soaring within your belly, a sensation that you hadn’t felt in ages, “welcome to the building,” he added as he tugged his door open.

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, moving, lowkey love at first sight (for reader)

word count: 2415

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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“Do you wanna make the call or would you like me to do it?” 

Turning to look at the robust and inked visage of your uncle, your face crinkled up slightly as you asked in a hesitant tone, “…would you mind doing it? Please?”

“Sure, hon,” Howard nodded before blinking down at his phone and dialling the number, “what kind? Margherita?”

“Yeah, and with some arugula on top, please,” you spoke as you squeezed by a tower of messy moving boxes to enter the open kitchen of your new apartment, “thank you!”

Hearing his footsteps carry him deeper into the new home, his voice soon rumbled, muffled behind your bedroom door. Opening up the cardboard box that half blocked off your empty fridge, you dug through it till you found a glass, swiftly straightening back up and filling it up with water.

“How are you doing, cupcake?” you heard the soft voice of Walter, your uncle’s husband, as you turned off the tab, “you gonna be okay tonight? Because if you don’t want to be alone, we can stay.”

“No, it’s alright, I think I’m okay,” you took a tiny sip before placing the tall glass down on the counter, “you both gotta get up early tomorrow to open the bakery anyways.” 

“It’s never stopped us before. Do you remember when you were 11 and you watched that terrifying movie at some slumber party?” a smile twitched at the bald man’s lip from the memory, “I don’t think any of us slept for a whole week straight and the bakery still kept on running. If we could get through those sleepless nights of trying to convince you that our apartment wasn’t haunted, then we can get through this.” 

Stepping up closer to him, you caught his hand in yours and said, “I think I’m gonna be okay, but thank you, Walter, really, for everything, for this, for letting me move back home and letting me stay there for over a year.”

“Hey,” he squeezed your palm and ushered you to meet his gaze, “you do not need to thank us for that. It’s–…” he dropped the heavy comment he nearly uttered and instead let out a low sigh, “we love you. It was the very least we could do.”

“I love you too,” you heard your voice threaten a tremble of vulnerability, “so much.”

As the bedroom door then swung back open, out stepped Howard with an exhale, “alright, the pizza is on its way. You gonna be okay here?”

“Yeah,” you offered him a nod before walking them out. 

Peeking back at you over his shoulder as he swung his bright red scarf back on, Walter raised his brows tenderly, “promise that you’ll call us if anything happens, yeah?”

“Promise,” you breathed as you watched them creak open the front door and step out into the cold hallway, “love you, goodnight!”

“Goodnight, hon!” Howard waved over his shoulder at your visage in the doorway as the couple reached the stairs, “see you tomorrow! Try and get some rest, just head in whenever you get up.” 

“Okay,” a soft smile warmed your features. Lately, or the past year actually, they’d let you cut down on your work quite a bit so that your hours at the bakery were significantly less and the only days you were to get up before the sun did was on weekends.

“Bye!” they both called out loudly as they disappeared from your view before your own echo rang throughout the hallway.

“Bye!”

You didn’t manage to unpack much, only half of your books, before the buzzer rang obnoxiously, causing your feet to scramble to let the delivery guy up. 

Swiftly locating your backpack, you fished out your wallet just before a knock boomed at your door. 

“That’ll be twenty bucks,” the pimply-faced pizza guy spoke in a monotone voice as soon as you opened up. 

Catching the shadow of another figure ascend the staircase just before you began to dig through your wallet, his handsome and scruffy features were adorned with a pair of glasses that had a darkly crimson tint to them.

“Yep… uh… do you have change for a fifty?” 

“Nope,” he impatiently blinked before loudly popping his bright blue bubblegum.

“Oh, alright…” you felt your palms begin to sweat, “do you mind just waiting here for a second? I might have some more cash in a jacket… somewhere…”

But just before you could duck back inside, the suit-clad man who had stopped to unlock the door directly opposite yours, whipped his own wallet out and handed off the needed bucks, “here.”

Satisfied, the pizza guy accepted the change and shoved the wide box into your arms before dashing off. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” you blinked over at your generous, new neighbour, “I can pay you back–”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he offered you a polite smile that sent a swarm of butterflies soaring within your belly, a sensation that you hadn’t felt in ages, “welcome to the building,” he added as he tugged his door open. 

“Thanks,” you uttered, slightly windblown in your threshold as he disappeared into his apartment. 

Slipping into your sneakers and hastily fastening them with sloppy bows, you slugged your jacket on and grabbed your bag. As you exited your apartment, the neighbouring door opened just as you locked up your own. 

“Oh, hi!” you squeaked over your shoulder as you turned the key, “good morning!” 

Your breath got caught in your throat as you turned to face him fully, shoving your bundle of keys into your pocket. Did he look even better than you remembered? Now no longer obscured by the terrible excuses this hallway had for lighting, the frosted window to your right illuminated every detail of him that you’d missed the first time around. 

“Morning,” he replied as he too locked his door behind him. 

Waiting a moment before you began to move your feet, you eyed his polished attire, “are you off to work?”

“Yep,” he nodded and fished out a folded-up cane from the inner pocket of his jacket, “you?”

“Yeah,” you sucked in a breath, “I’m Y/n, by the way, forgot to introduce myself the other night.”

“Matthew,” the bespectacled man extended his hand out for you to shake, “nice to meet you.” 

After ignoring the tingle his touch sent down your spine, the two of you began to descend the stairs.

“Thanks again for what you did with the–, oh! I should pay you back!” you reached into your deep coat pocket to locate your wallet, “I’m pretty sure I have–, how much was it?”

“You don’t have to, it’s fine, really,” he politely declined. 

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, your brows flew up, “seriously?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged as he then held the front door open for you to get out onto the street first. 

“Thank you, Matthew,” you slipped out, waiting a moment before you began to head off, “have a good day!”

“Yeah, you too,” he said, flicking out his cane to its full length, just before you both began to walk in the exact same direction. 

“Oh, wait,” you slowed as a giggle bubbled out of your lungs, “you’re also heading this way?”

“Oh, uhm, yeah.”

“Do you–, uh… I can wait for a little bit and let you get a head start if you–”

“Or you can just walk with me, if you’d like,” he suggested with a gentle smile that made your brain forget for just a split second where your destination was in the first place, “it’s fine with me, I don’t mind the company.”

“Okay,” you agreed in a quiet voice, returning to a brisk pace beside him. You didn’t take too many strides before a casual question nervously fell from your lips, “so, have you lived here long?” 

“In the apartment or Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Oh,” your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, “both, I guess.”

“I’ve been in the apartment for a while,” he told you, “but lived here in the neighbourhood pretty much all my life.”

“Yeah?” you smiled, maybe glancing over at him a bit too much for it to be safe as you walked, “that’s nice.”

“You?”

“Uhm, grew up in Brooklyn, moved here to live with my uncles when I was nine, after my parents passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” his low tone emanated an air of kinship. 

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago, I was just a kid... anyways! Enough about me before I spill all of my childhood trauma to you,” you gracelessly changed the subject, “you are in a suit.”

“I–,” a faint laugh tumbled out past his lips before he joked, “I’d sure hope I am and didn’t accidentally change into something else.”

“No–, I mean, yes, obviously,” you felt heat begin to rise in your cheeks, “that was just a very weird and backwards way of asking what you do for a living.”

“Ah,” his dark brows lifted in comprehension.

“Let me guess…” you fiddled with your fingers as you thought, “accountant? No… politician? No… funeral director?”

“Funeral di–,” Matthew chuckled, “no.”

“Do you work on Wall Street? Oh, please tell me you don’t because here I was just starting to think you were super cool.”

“No, I don’t work on Wall Street, but good to know that you think I’m cool,” he smirked, making you regret letting that information slip, “I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” your eyes grew, “seriously?”

“Yep.”

“That’s–... that’s–… waow…” you uttered, completely dumbfounded by the imposing nature of his profession, “well, now I don’t wanna tell you what I do, because it’s so not as impressive.”

“Oh, come on,” he tilted his head, “now you have to tell me.”

“…I’m a baker,” you finally said, “actually,” stopping your stride, you briefly brushed his arm for him to do the same, “this is where I work, right here.” 

“Really?” 

“It’s called Buttercup Bakery,” you glanced up at the familiar storefront, “have you ever been in there?”

“No, never,” his head shook lightly as a small smile warmed up his features, “funny, my office is just a few minutes further down the street, I must have walked passed this place a thousand times but I never noticed it before.”

“Well, you know of its existence now…” you turned your head to gaze at his striking visage once more as he raised a hand to adjust his glasses, “do you wanna get a coffee or something? My treat, as thanks for the pizza.”

“I’d love to,” he sucked in a breath, “but I really have to get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you nodded lightly, “well, thanks for the walk, have a great day. Hope you win a bunch of cases and–, uh… I don’t know, help make the judicial system better,” you couldn’t help but physically cringed at your clumsy words. 

But your new neighbour didn’t seem to mind as he just chuckled before wandering off, “bye, Y/n.”

The small bell above the glass door to the bakery chimed softly as you pushed it open. The interior was simple, both in colour and design, but had a rustic charm to it that gave it a sense of home. Behind the counter, and the mouth-watering baked goods lined up and displayed behind the clear glass, stood Walter. Facing the long shelves adorned with various loaves, he grabbed a crusty baguette and slid it into an appropriately long brown paper bag.

Handing it off to the little old lady on the other side, he said, “here you are. That’ll be four dollars,” before she placed the money on the counter beside his half-read newspaper and strolled passed you, out of the bakery, “have a good day!”

Leaning back down to return to his paper, Walter didn’t glance up at you as he greeted, “hi, honey! You wanna hear your horoscope for today?”

Tugging down the zipper of your jacket, you joked self-reflectively as you began to shed your layers, “does it say that I’ll miraculously turn into a charming and charismatic adult instead of whatever this is?”

“…uh… no,” he furrowed his brow and finally shot you a brief glance, “it says that you're energized and creative. This new moon initiates two weeks of growing work, health and strength. Put your heart into your actions. Practice makes perfect. Oh, and it also says right here that the spelt flour bin needs refilling and that there are about a billion cardamom buns that need to be shaped.”

“Oh, it says all of that, does it now?”

Letting a tense breath go, you apprehensively let your fist meet the dark door in three shy knocks. 

As soon as it swung open, the sentence, “do you like croissants?” sputtered out passed your lips. 

Head reeling back slightly at the unforeseen and sudden question, Matt blinked, “what?” 

“Do you like croissants?” you repeated as if it wasn’t strange to just blurt out something like that out of the blue. 

“Uh,” a smile then crept up on his lips, “hello to you too, Y/n.”

“I mean, I’ve personally never met anyone who doesn’t care for them, but I’m sure they exist.”

“Sure, I like croissants.”

“Oh, great, wonderful!”

Leaning against his door, his head tilted as you failed to continue, “…did you just have a burning desire to know that fact about me?”

“Right, no, I–, uhm, there were a bunch leftover today that we didn’t sell, so purely just to not let any go to waste, I thought you’d like some,” you held up the crinkly paper bag for him to hear. 

It had been a lie, but he didn’t have to know that you’d set some aside for him before they all sold out, just to have an excuse to talk to him again. 

“Oh, thank you,” he held out his open palms, “that’s so nice of you.” 

As you handed the bag off into his grasp, you felt as if your heart might beat straight out of your chest.  

“…alright, well…” you stumbled slightly, “I should probably head off to bed. Weekends are always the busiest, so my shifts are usually really long and I have to get up like super early, so... goodnight then!” 

And with that you awkwardly whirled around and scurried the short distance into your own apartment, only faintly catching his warm chuckle as you disappeared. 

“Night.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[ellieslittleslutt]

Late Nights

cw: fluff?? vi calls reader cupcake and princess once but that expected. some vague mentions of insomnia i guess.

a/n: uhm so first vi fic that’s wild, defo going to write more roommate vi bc im yearning and i need her so bad it’s not even funny.

wc- 0.5k

🐛°‧🍂⋆.ೃ࿔*:･───────────────

you had problems with sleeping sometimes. wether it was going to bed at a reasonable time or even just getting a deep sleep it was always a problem with you.

tonight was no exception. you were lounging on the couch of your guys’ apartment, doom scrolling on tiktok mindlessly liking whatever you found the slightest bit relatable. it’s was around 1 am which wasn’t too bad but still not ideal. on the coffee table sat a your favorite mug full of sleepytime tea in hopes that it would coax you back to sleep, but like every other time it never worked and didn’t even taste that good.

you were huddled up in the blankets when you saw your pink haired roommate coming out of her room, hair messed up wearing sleep shorts and a sports bra. she didn’t notice you at first in the dark, but then she accidentally sat down on you causing you to yelp smacking her arm “vi get off of me” you groaned.

“shit sorry princess” she mumbled half asleep scooting over. that god damn nickname always got you. you huffed going back to your phone “why’re you up?” you mumbled glancing at her. “i could ask you the same thing hm?” she hums sipping your tea “eugh fuck, this taste like dirty cardboard water” her face in a tight frown putting the mug down. “why do you think it’s half full idiot”

she leaned back against the couch sighing “so wait why’re you up?” she asked glancing over at you. “couldn’t sleep” you hummed resting your head against your elbow looking at her “and you?”“fucking jayce kept calling me” she mumbled with a yawn “asking about how to get bitches.” you chuckled softly shaking your head “viktor?” you asked “you know it.”

you hummed looking over at her kind of star struck by how she looked. you swear you had cartoon heart eyes beating out of your eye sockets. she looked at you with a soft smile patting your shin “wanna watch a movie?” she asks snapping you out of your trance and you just nodded clearing your throat “oh yeah” you said awkwardly pushing yourself up reaching for the remote.

you two both agreed on mean girls because why the fuck not. you sat closer to her your head slowly lolling itself onto her shoulder, vi looked down at you wrapping an arm around you so that you don’t slump down “you’re gonna hurt your neck if you fall asleep like that” she whispered rubbing your arm.

you hummed sleepily in response your lashes resting against your cheeks. vi made the connection that you weren’t going to get back to bed on your own so she paused the movie, and got up slowly lifting you into her arms to carry you back to your room lying you back down onto your blankets tucking you into how you liked.

you don’t know why but just for some reason you felt comfortable around vi, more relaxed and like your self. this is one of the few nights you fell asleep before 3 am and without a melatonin.

vi walked to the door turning off the lamp “night cupcake” she said softly before shutting the door walking off to her room.

from that night on vi would meet you in the couch just so you could yes fall asleep in her arms, totally platonic though… right?

🐛°‧🍂⋆.ೃ࿔*:･───────────────

@autisticintr0vert wifey: @bugbit3ss

[archangeldyke-all]

I’m BEGGING for angst to fluff to casual by Chappell with Sevika

I’m PLEADING for “working opening shifts/weekday shifts when Sevika doesn’t come in at the last drop” to Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers and reader falls in love with Sevika once they finally meet. (I will physically pay you for this one xx)

ohhhh my gosh the phoebe one..... holy shit...

listen to punisher here

men and minors dni

i love a good place to hide in plain sight...

you're one of the most popular nameless faces in zaun.

you know the name of every of the last drop's regular customers. you overhear gossip and plans and drama about some of the biggest people in the city. the liquor you slide across the bar for a living makes everybody's lips loose, and you know more secrets than any one person should know.

but nobody knows your name.

customers call theiram 'chuck.'

they call you 'doll.'

you don't mind it. knowing how to go unnoticed, how to keep your head down-- that's what's kept you alive this long in zaun.

but it gets lonely.

when there's a birthday at the bar, you're the one to pass out party hats and pull out the sparklers. last year, you ate a cupcake alone on your front porch to celebrate your own.

when you bump into strangers on the street on your walks home, you apologize with a duck of your head. it's either your familiar face and the fact that you pour their drinks; or the meek way you shrink in on yourself-- but they let you go each time.

when you clock out, if you're lucky, you'll time your leaving to overlap with sevika's arrival. and, for just a moment, you can pretend that she knows you as well as you know her.

what if i told you i feel like i know you?

you've known sevika your whole life.

you're certain she doesn't recall, but when you were children, sevika caught you shivering and cold-- the cardboard box you were living in soaked through with rain. she lent you a jacket and all the pocket change she had. she even smiled at you.

you were a barback when she was running with vander. you were there when she turned her back on the man-- when she chose her city over her friend.

you were there to watch her deteriorate under silco's employ. first her arm, then the various beatings she'd be doled each month, then the arrival of the dark bags under her eyes.

on occasion, she'll get belligerently drunk, loitering at the bar far after close, there to greet you when you open again the next day. on these days, you're the one to give her a glass of water and walk her home safely. her home is always a mess. the star patterned blanket you pull over her shoulders is so old it must be from her childhood.

but we never met...

silco dies, and everything goes to shit.

there's a week there where you're too busy avoiding the grey to worry about work.

and then there's the war.

and then...

the last drop is just a pile of rubble. jinx and isha are just as dead as the bar. and sevika is named ambassador.

here everyone knows you're the way to my heart. hear so many stories of you at the bar. most times alone, and some looking your worst. but never not sweet to the trust funds and punishers...

ran and thieram rebuild the bar. they offer you a job. you're right back where you've always been-- standing behind a bar and eavesdropping on people with real lives.

from time to time, you'll hear about sevika.

sevika, who's lost everything. sevika, who lives in piltover now. the thought makes you snort-- you can only imagine the glare permanently imprinted on her face now.

sevika starts welfare programs for zaun, slowly but surely. schools open, widows and orphans are paid, and more bridges start being built across the river.

sevika doesn't smoke. sevika doesn't drink. she quit for a girl who's dead now. but occasionally you'll hear that she's been sulking around piltoverian bars, nursing a fizzy juice and looking haunted.

you'll hear that she doesn't scowl at people who approach her anymore, instead, she signs pictures of herself with a resigned smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

you'll hear rumors that ambassador sevika can sometimes be heard quietly crying from her office.

sometimes, you'll walk by her old apartment. you wonder who lives there now. you wonder if she remembers those walks, if she remembers you.

you know she doesn't.

still, it doesn't stop you from crying for her.

i can't open my mouth and forget how to talk, 'cause even if i could i wouldn't know where to start, wouldn't know when to stop.

sevika's all alone in piltover and you're all alone in zaun. you wish you'd said something to her but you don't know when you could've.

maybe when you were kids, though you didn't know you were in love with her then.

maybe when you were strangers, though she would've simply laughed at your words.

maybe before she left zaun, though it happened so fucking fast.

you trail down the winding streets of the city she built, sipping on a bottle of her favorite whiskey, crying for her. for how lonely she must be. for how much she lost. you find yourself in front of her old home, like your feet have a mind of their own.

for a moment, you let yourself close your eyes and pretend that you're walking her home again. the woman you've loved your whole life-- the woman who doesn't know your name. you imagine the drunken slur of her voice, the stumble of her mis-matched boots, the warmth of her arm around your shoulders.

"dollface?" someone asks. your eyes fly open, and you blink at the woman in front of you. "what're you doin' here?"

sevika's wearing pajamas, her hair's a mess. she's got sand in her eyes that she's rubbing gently as she examines you from her front stoop.

you blink then stumble forward, reaching a shaky hand out to grab sevika's shoulder. she's real, solid and warm under your grasp. you gasp.

"have you been crying?" sevika whispers, her voice soft, her touch even softer as she reaches up to cup your cheeks.

there are a million things you want to say. i love you. i miss you. i am so sorry for you. for what happened to you. what are you doing here, don't you live in piltover? you look so tired. let me hold you, just for a day? let me tell you every single thing i love about you, i've got a list that's thirty years in the making. do you know who i am? do you know my real name? do you remember the nights you'd walk home with me under your arm? do you know those were the best nights of my life? do you remember when we were kids and you lent me your jacket? do you know i still sleep with it under my pillow?

but sevika's time with the pilties must've really softened her up, because instead of telling you to scram or spit it out, sevika reaches forward and pulls you in for a hug. "it's good to see you." she whispers against your shoulder.

you sob as you cling to her.

you don't think you'll ever stop crying.

you don't think you'll ever let go.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

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@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb

[strang3lov3]

My Treat

Roman has a very special present to give you on your birthday, whether you want it or not.

Tags - dddne, noncon, face fucking, fingering, unprotected piv, rough sex, creampie, overstim, forced orgasms, degradation, mocking, intox kink (drunk reader/sober Roman), dacryphilia, manipulation, coercion, victim blaming, whooo boy. Roman’s gonna have some tender moments, but don’t be fooled. He’s a fuck and a half. Maybe even dark!roman? Excessive use of the nickname ‘birthday girl’ and too many dick in a box references. 4.4k words A/N - HAPPY BIRTHDAY @cum-a-calla !!!! You know much I love you and your work. Meeting you has been a highlight of my 2024!! I love you and I hope this nasty Roman scratches alllllll the itches. It had a tentative start but I’m really pleased with how this turned out 🩷 i tagged my usual roman readers but no pressure to read if noncon is not your thing, i will see you next time! @endlessthxxghts, you know what you did. thank you for your eyeballs and for holding my hand through it♡

9:27 and Roman’s still not yet graced his office with his less than illustrious presence. Not that you really mind, as his lateness gives you time to get work done without his hovering, his mocking comments and juvenile jokes at your expense, his nitpicking. With your morning work completed, you rest on his uninviting, scratchy office couch and inspect your manicure, freshly done for the occasion. 

Then, the doorknob rattles, jerking you from your peace and in comes Roman all self-assured and weirdly confident, his pelvis leading his awkwardly long strides. He spots you immediately, smiles with crinkling eyes and those little dimples appearing on his cheeks. He’s got a bubblegum pink pastry box in one hand and a cardboard drink carrier with coffee cups balanced neatly on top of it.“Hey, hey, birthday girl!”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “I didn’t tell you it was my birthday.”

Roman smirks mischievously, that infuriatingly smug tilt to his lips. “I have my sources,” he replies cooly, setting down the items on his desk. With flourish, Roman opens the pastry box and pulls one of the drinks out of the carrier, the one drowning in chocolate swirls and topped with more whipped cream than there is coffee in the beverage. “For you.” He holds the drink out for you to take. “I believe this is your Frankenstein coffee-shake-thing.” 

“You know my order?”

Roman scoffs and rolls his eyes for maximum effect. “Yeah, I know your order. Cookies and cake and ice cream all blended up with just enough coffee to pretend you’re a big girl. It’s just fuckin’ liquefied dessert, am I right?”

You take the drink from him and take a sip, humming at the sweetness as it hits your tongue. “Close enough,” you joke, and Roman pumps his arm in excitement, the satisfaction in his eyes. Digging through the trash days ago to copy the scribbled order on your old, empty cup was disgusting, sure. But worth it to see that pretty smile of yours. 

Roman beckons you to his desk with a curl of his finger. Excitedly, you make your way over and inspect the box of pastries he’s brought. Four oversized cupcakes, absolutely dripping in frosting. They’re from that bakery you’re obsessed with—the one you’ve maybe mentioned in passing once, because Roman really doesn’t do thoughtful. Or so you thought. It was obnoxiously out of his way, of course, but you deserve it. 

“Uhhh…” Roman points to the cupcakes, “That’s carrot cake, and then chocolate, obviously. Strawberry shortcake and birthday cake. But I call dibs on the birthday cake.”

“But it’s my birthday.” 

“Do you think I give a shit? I mean, I do. A little. Got you a present and everything.”

You perk up at that, eyes widening as you reach for the chocolate cupcake. “Yeah?” you ask, “What is it?”

“My dick in a box. What else would I get you?” he grins shamelessly. 

Roman watches you laugh as you suck a bit of frosting off of your fingertip. His cock twitches in his pants and he bites down on his lip, eyeing you up and down. He reaches into the pink box for his birthday cake cupcake and takes a bite. “Mm. Fucking delicious,” he mumbles, mouth full. “So what’s the plan, huh? How’s the birthday girl living it up tonight?”

“Uhm,” you hum, pulling back a little bit of the cupcake’s wrapper to take another bite. “The usual. Working for you, then going home.”

“Seriously?”

You nod, “Yeah.”

“That’s your plan,” he deadpans.

“Yeah,” you say again, shrugging.

Roman shakes his head, disbelief painted all over his face. “No. You’re celebrating. Properly,” he adds with a pointed look, as if daring you to argue with him. Which, of course, you do. 

“Oh, I don’t think so, Roman. What’s there to even celebrate? Do birthdays even matter past turning 21?”

“Yeah, of course they do. And what’s there to celebrate?” Roman parrots your question, pausing to eat another bite of his cupcake. “Oh, I don’t know. The fact that you’re alive,” he answers, smirking as you roll your eyes. “And hot,” he adds. 

You press your lips to hide your smile. “Yeah, see? You know I’m right. So here’s the deal: you, my dear, are going out tonight and you’re getting shitfaced.” 

“Rome-”

“Non-negotiable,” he winks, and it sends a flutter through your stomach. His charm convinces you, almost. Almost. 

“Mmmmaybe,” you hum, tilting your head. “With who, though?”

“With this handsome devil, obviously,” Roman says, pointing to his face and swirling his finger around in a circle. “What other sucker likes you enough to take you out on a pity-date for your birthday?”

“Wow. Gee, thanks, Roman. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Well, you know. It’s my specialty,” Roman says, reaching for your face. 

Your eyes widen as his hand makes contact, thumb swiping across the corner of your lips to collect a bit of chocolate frosting. “What–”

Roman smiles at you and sucks his finger, “It’s my treat,” he tells you, voice dropping a notch, mischief written all over his stupid grin. How flustered and bashful you are. Too fucking easy. 

The sun dips below the horizon, painting Roman’s office in warm shades of pink and orange as he closes down the tabs on his computer. Not that he was really doing anything, anyway. Just Connections and Wordle, and he sucks at both, but still plays them religiously. He’s gotta learn to beat you somehow and unfortunately, he can’t cheat very well at those games. Roman sighs loudly and dramatically, running his fingers through his hair before he stands up and stretches like he’s done real work. “C’mon, birthday girl. Off we go.” 

You glance up from your phone, startled. “Wait, now? I need to go home and change. I’m not wearing, like, going-out clothes.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Roman groans, throwing his head back. “You’re hot. You’re always hot,” he says, slipping into his jacket. He grabs yours off the coat hanger and holds it open, motioning for you to come over and slide your arms into the sleeves. Roman takes your purse and continues, “So hot, in fact, that I’m gonna give you my dick in a box for your birthday.” 

“Creep.” You zip up your jacket and turn around, snatching your bag back from Roman. “Stop making that joke. You’re a walking lawsuit.” 

“Mm, thanks, but it’s not a joke,” he mutters, straightening out the front of your jacket. “I’m as serious as a heart attack. I put a bow on it and everything.”

“Sure, Roman.” 

Roman holds the door open for you, mumbles “Ladies first,” and hits the lights on his way out. He follows you to the elevator and takes it to the garage level where a black car waits for you, vapor spilling from its exhaust. Roman plays the gentleman act well, swinging the car’s back door open for you, too. He gives his driver the name of some bar he thinks you’d like, and you’re on your way. It’s not a long drive, but he pours you a glass of champagne anyway. 

“Roman-”

“You gotta get wasted. Don’t fight the birthday rules. And,” he adds, pouring himself a glass, “This is the good shit, too.” 

Cautiously, you take a sip of your champagne. Before you can even put your glass down, Roman’s topping it off.

“See? Fancy bubbles.”

“Mhm.” 

By the time you reach the bar, you’re already buzzed. Warm, giggly. Just how Roman wants you, and he’s eating it up. He ushers you inside and straight to a private corner booth, then orders you appetizers of all varieties. The food keeps coming, and so do the drinks - Roman never lets you have an empty glass and keeps your attention entirely on him.

And then, it happens - the moment he’s been working towards all night. His hand lands on your thigh under the table, and it rests there with a casual confidence. And you don’t move it, either. Your inhibitions are lowered enough to the point that there’s no polite brush off, no shy smile as you timidly wrap your fingers around his wrist to kindly shove him away. You don’t even flinch. Fuck, do you even notice?

He lets you talk his ear off. Whether he knows what you’re talking about or not, he’s nodding along, pretending to listen intently to you. Throwing in the occasional hum of interest to really sell it. And you’re smiling, cheeks are warm as you slur your words, telling him all about this and that and the other as you launch into another tangent. Something about your neighbor or your fucking cat or whatever. Roman doesn’t give a shit. He snaps his fingers at the server and points to your drink.

You take a sip from your glass, then lazily toy with the melting ice in your glass with your stirrer. “Well,” you announce, a little hiccup breaking your sentence, “I think I’m wasted.” 

“Are you, now?” Roman’s grin stretches wide. 

“Pretty sure.” 

Roman smiles and claps his hands together once. “Well, there we go. My work here is done, birthday girl. Thanks for humoring the boss. You’re a real, you know - team player, or whatever the fuck HR would call it. A good sport.”

You laugh at him, and Roman’s already sliding out of the booth and waving down the check. “Shall I take you home?” 

“I haven’t-” you hiccup again, “Haven’t finished my drink.” 

Roman waves dismissively. “Meh. Take it with, who gives a shit. Call it your fuckin’ party favor.” 

Giggling excitedly, you slide out of the booth and Roman wraps your jacket around your shoulders, his hands warm against your flesh. You stumble a bit when you begin walking, like the floor is crooked or something, sloshing your drink onto him. “Shit, m’sorry, Rome.” Those first drunk steps always hit you hard.  

“You’re fine. I got you.” Roman wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes you tight, tapping his fingers against your back in a way that’s equal parts soothing and impatient. Just like before, he helps you into the car, hands steadying your wobbling frame. 

The ride is a blur. As the vehicle moves, the motion relaxes you, lulls you into a haze. You’re resting against his shoulder, which is your own doing. He didn’t have to wrap an arm around you and tuck you into his side or anything. 

Your breathing slows, and your eyes are fluttering shut. Roman notices immediately. Awake. Roman needs you awake. “Hey,” he mutters, patting your cheek lightly to jolt you into semi-alertness. “Eyes open. You’re not clocking out on me yet, need to finish that drink, yeah?”

“M’dunno,” you mumble. “Kinda-”

Roman takes the drink out of your hand and brings it to your lips, encouraging you to drink the rest. “Yeah, no. You do know. Drink up,” he tells you, tone flat. “Waste not, want not.” 

You take a few more sips, not counting them, though Roman sure as hell is. He makes sure you drink it all, every last drop. He needs you completely intoxicated. Absolutely fucked. 

The car pulls up to the building, and Roman’s out before the driver can even shift into park. He’s got a hand on your arm, moving you forward. The world tilts again, but he’s there, patiently guiding you to the elevator. Your eyelids are fighting a losing battle by the time you’ve reached the top floor, and Roman guides you inside and turns on the light. 

“Wait- wait a second,” you mumble, eyes adjusting to the light as you take in your surroundings.

Roman gives you a look and raises an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“This isn’t my home.” 

“Yeah, no shit. You’re in my home,” he replies. Roman watches the gears turn, your brows are knit together and you wear a pout as that first little bit of uneasiness sets in. “Doesn’t really matter though, does it? You’re at a home, y’know. Still a roof over your head. I can’t just leave your drunk ass alone somewhere.”

“I guess,” you mumble, blinking slowly. “Can I uh, can I have some water?”

“You’re not thirsty,” Roman cuts in, voice clipped. “You’re just tired. C’mon, let’s get you into bed, yeah? Bedtime for the birthday girl. She partied too hard.”

Roman takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom, his grip more steering than guiding. Everything’s still spinning in dizzying circles, but there’s an added layer of…of something. You can’t name it yet, but it’s there. That strange feeling in your gut, the itch in your chest. You’re nervous. Why do you feel nervous? 

Roman locks the door behind himself and sits you down on the edge of his neatly made king-sized bed that smells like laundry detergent and himself, then kneels in front of you to pull off your shoes one at a time. The casualness of it all, the intimacy of his fingers brushing against your skin. It makes your skin prickle. Roman stands up again to undress you, unbuttoning your blouse and tugging on the zipper at the side of your pencil skirt. “Get this off next,” he mumbles, pulling it down.

“Roman…”

He cuts you off with a dismissive shh as the fingers of one hand work the buttons undone on his shirt, then shrugs it off his shoulders and leaves it crumpled on the ground.

“Rome, stop- what is this? What are you doing?” The quiver in your voice and the slur to your words betrays you. You tried to sound firm.

“Giving you your last gift,” he says casually, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Duh. It’s my dick in a box, remember? I man-scaped for you and everything.”

He’s not being serious, right? There’s no way. “Pretty small package,” you joke, trying to ease some of the tension you feel. It doesn’t do much.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, and his eyes are dark. “Good things come in small packages, so fuck you.” 

You’re not sure how to respond. “Right,” is all you murmur. You manage to crack half a smile, laughing without much humor. “I guess I just - fuck, I really want that water, Roman,” you complain, pressing your hand against your forehead. You feel lightheaded, fuck. 

Roman doesn’t flinch or show any of that manufactured tenderness from earlier. “Yeah, I know. Everything, everything, everything. You’ll get it when you get it, okay? Relax.”

You groan quietly, rocking on the bed. “I guess I just don’t get the joke,” you say, changing the subject. “Like, how is your dick supposed to be a present for me?”

Roman scoffs. “How isn’t it?” he says. “It’s thoughtful. Wrapped nicely and everything. It’s all about the presentation, you know?”

“Umm…sure.”

As a silence hangs, you gather your strength and concentration to get up - you need water. Advil. Coffee. You’re ready to be done being drunk, ready to feel in control of yourself again. Roman’s drunk, too - has to be, even if he doesn’t totally seem it. He’s not slurring his words, his eyes aren’t droopy or red, he’s…unnervingly him. You hope to god he won’t remember this. You hope you won’t, either. You try to stand up, but Roman sits you back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“W-”

“Water, I know,” he snaps.  He tilts his head back and groans as he rubs his bulge, cock hardening beneath his touch. Your mouth drops open as he sucks in his belly and reaches for the button of his slacks, then unzips them. “So I lied, birthday girl. It’s not in a box, but-”

“Stop. This isn’t a funny joke. I don’t want this, Roman.”

“It’s a gift.”  

“But I don’t want-” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t - don’t fuckin’ be like that,” he snaps, sliding his pants down his legs until he’s clad in only his navy boxer briefs. “What do you say when I do something nice for you, huh? What do you say?”

“St-”

“Wrong. You say thank you. Say ‘thank you, Roman’.” 

Roman waits with both of his brows raised, but you never thank him. And something changes then. He’s always had an ugly streak, but this is different. There’s something sinister, almost, like a mask has slipped, exposing something awful that’s been festering beneath the surface. The crumbled facade. Your heart pounds so hard in your chest that you feel it in your throat. 

“You’re being kinda rude,” Roman says with a wave of his hands. “Like, really rude, actually. This whole night, I did it all for you.”

“And I can appreciate that, Roman, I do appreciate that. But I said-”

Roman crushes his palm against your lips, not allowing you to complete that sentence. “I have ears,” he bites, reaching under his briefs to pull out his cock, now at full mast. He moves the hand that’s on your lips to your shoulder and forces you down so that you’re kneeling on the floor, pinned between his body and his bed. Nowhere to run. 

He’s quick in how he does it, or maybe it’s the alcohol that’s fucked up how you process reality. Roman shoves his cock past your lips, harshly hitting the back of your throat so that you gag and choke. Tears blur your vision, though you can’t distinguish whether it’s from the pain or the rising fear. You reach for Roman’s torso and hit him as hard as you can, but he doesn’t stumble. Instead, he simply pouts at you. He takes both of your wrists in his hand and begins rocking his hips. 

“Oh, perfect - the fucking waterworks,” Roman mutters, his voice dripping with mock sympathy as his thumb brushes away the tears streaking down your face. He tilts his head, studying you with that sharp, calculating gaze, like he’s cataloging every tremble and shudder, filing it away for later. “Always so dramatic, aren’t you, sweetheart? I have to give credit where credit’s due, though. Oscar-worthy performance. Truly.”

Roman pauses, his smirk tightening, the false gentleness in his touch a sharp contrast to his words. “You know,” he adds, voice low and biting, “maybe if you’d been a little less… I don’t know, yourself - kinder, sweeter, less of a goddamn buzzkill - I wouldn’t make you choke on it. Just a thought.”

Roman’s cock tastes salty, slightly sweaty, and you’re disgusted that you kind of like it. The smell of him, too, that musky and heady sort of scent. Still holding your hands above your head, Roman squeezes your wrists hard enough so that your bones grind against each other. There’s a pinching, aching pain between your shoulders as Roman fucks into your mouth, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat with each thrust.

You’re growing aroused despite yourself. You can feel yourself dripping into your panties, the dampness making you feel sick. Roman slides in and out of your mouth with abandon, zero regard for your comfort.   

He draws out of your mouth entirely, biting his lip as he admires the sticky, shiny mess of your saliva and tears on his cock. You attempt to pull away, but with a tug of his hand, Roman holds you exactly where he wants you. “I don’t think so, birthday girl. Where the fuck do you think you’re off to?”

Roman thrusts into your mouth harshly once more. There’s no gentleness to it at all, just raw fucking ferocity. He ruts into your mouth so fiercely, turning you into a drooling, crying, choking mess. The tears rolling down your cheeks - god, he loves them. It fills him with a unique sort of confidence. Power. 

“Cry all you want,” he taunts. Your lips are sore with the repeated motion of his cock drawing back and forth between your lips, jaw throbbing, nose rubbed raw from the coarse thatch of his trimmed pubic hair. Roman continues to roll his hips, relishing in your warm, wet mouth and the way your sobbing makes your throat tighten around him. With your forehead bouncing against his stomach, you squirm and whine in discomfort as he uses you. The brutality. You’re at your breaking point when finally, finally you feel Roman begin to twitch and pulse in your mouth, and you brace yourself for his release.  

Instead, he pulls out. 

That’s it? Is that it? Is it over? You think it’s over. Maybe - god willing - he had a change of heart. 

“Th-thank you, Roman,” you whisper, voice wobbling. That’s what he wanted, right? A thank you?

“Oh, now you remember your manners,” Roman mocks. “How convenient. Too fucking late, birthday girl, ‘cause now this is really my treat.”

Roman forces you to your feet and pushes you onto your back, then climbs over you. He pins your arms above your head in one hand and with the other, reaches between your thighs and pulls your panties to the side. His fingers glide through the pool of arousal at your core, effortlessly slipping through your folds. 

“Please get off of me,” you whimper. “Stop.” 

“Why would I stop? You’re fucking soaked,” he says. “And I bet when I do this-” Roman purrs, pushing his ring and middle fingers into your slick cunt, “-you’ll get wetter. Won’t you?” 

He curls his fingers repeatedly, expertly stroking that sensitive spot inside you. The pleasure makes you cry harder. God, you just want it to be over. If you weren’t so drunk you could probably get out from under him. But your limbs are heavy and uncoordinated, your head is spinning. If you managed to leave, he’d drag you right back to his bed. 

“Shh, do you fucking hear that? Listen to yourself.” Roman covers your mouth to quiet your cries, and you hiccup beneath his palm. He goes quiet too, the only sounds in the room being his heavy breathing and the wet, sticky noises your pussy makes as he fucks you with his fingers. “Sounds to me like you fucking want this.” 

With his hand still on your mouth, Roman uses the other to stroke his cock. Your panties are still tugged to the side when he enters you, one brutal, violent thrust that has him groaning and you wincing in pain. 

Roman lowers his head and bites into your shoulder as he fucks you, rolling his hips over and over into you. You wish it didn’t feel as good as it does. You wish you weren’t so wet, so complicit. That’s what you are, aren’t you? Complicit in this?

“Give me your fucking hand,” Roman pants, taking one of your hands and wedging it between your two bodies. “Goes right here,” he mumbles, pressing your fingertips against your clit. “The quicker you come, the quicker it’s over,” he whispers. 

You nod under his hand, closing your eyes as your fingers circle your clit. If you pretend that Roman’s not here - or, even if he is - that it’s not happening like this, you can do it. As you rub yourself, you do your best to detach from everything going on. It’s just Roman on top of you, Roman inside of you. A body on a body, a body part in a body part. Nothing else. That pleasure deep in your gut is just pleasure, a sensation and nothing more. Dreading your release, you moan under Roman’s palm to coax release along and there it is - your orgasm. 

How deliciously you pulse around Roman’s cock. How needy your moans are, and what’s that you’re doing with your legs, wrapping them tightly around his waist? Roman grins and licks your neck. “Yeah, that’s on you, isn’t it?” he taunts. “Whose fault is that?”

“M-mine,” you cry. 

“That’s right,” he says, kissing your neck. “Now do it again. C’mon, birthday girl, give me another.” You cry harder, shaking your head no. “Come on! It’s your special day. Treat yourself and come for me one more time.” 

“I can’t,” you sob, voice muffled by Roman’s hand over your mouth. He gives you a look. If you do as he asks, it’ll all work out better for you. He knows it and you know it. 

“God, you’re a mess. Your fuckin’ snot’s all over my hand,” he spits, wiping his hand on your torso, then builds the pace again. “One more,” he reminds you, kissing your tear-soaked cheek. “Fuck, you take it so well, honey. Like you’re made for this.” 

Roman repeats his words and a variety of other praises, insults, and swears as he fucks you deeply. He’s got you pressed in half, your knees on either side of your chest as your hips ache in the position. The angle intensifies everything and he knows, oh how he knows what it does to you. Poor fucking thing. Tired, sore, drunk, overstimulated. Partied too hard. 

You don’t even have to rub your clit - the way Roman’s got himself angled has his body doing all the work, pubic bone adding the necessary pressure against your clit to make you come. You can’t quite identify your orgasm as it begins to build; no definitive start, but when it’s there, it ruins you. Washes over your body in waves, devastating you. Your climax coaxes Roman’s own, though you hardly register his pulsing cock as he spurts thick ropes of his spend inside you. 

Roman pulls out of you then, leaving you with an empty feeling as his come seeps from your cunt. He leaves the room and the tears have stopped, but an occasional sob wracks your body every few seconds. He returns to you with a big glass of water, ice and straw and everything. Your trembling hands can’t hold it so Roman does instead, guiding the straw to your lips. 

If you enjoyed, please lmk! Hop in my inbox or reblog with some kind thoughts 🩷 it means the world to me.

roman tags <3

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

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@baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @/ziggymars

[irisintheafterglow]

welcome back to coparenting megumi with satoru (megs' birthday edition! because it's basically winter and i wanna write more found family fluff)

you're well aware that megumi is not a normal child.

you're reminded of it on a daily basis when he tells you about the low-level curses he spotted around the corner while he and tsumiki walked home from school. you're reminded when either you or satoru immediately go to the corner where he saw the curse and exorcising every curse within a four mile radius. you're reminded when he sees a dog and immediately wants to summon his divine dogs, even though his cursed energy isn't at a level where he can activate it without being wiped out for the rest of the day. but mostly, you're reminded on his birthdays that he was not born and will never be normal. still, satoru makes it his mission to give the boy what he calls a "bangin' birthday."

the other kids in his class would have their parents bring in cupcakes or goodies on their special day; megs, however, would probably argue that the other kids aren't deserving of the sweets you brought. so, on his 7th birthday, he's in class for barely an hour before you sign him out at the front desk. his eyes stare out the back window at the passing cityscape and he sips on a smoothie you had waiting for him when he met you at the front office.

"i thought you had a mission?"

"i called in a few favors and got today off," you reply happily, smiling wider when his fingers automatically grab your pinky. as you pull into the driveway of his first surprise, the tiniest gasp of realization leaves him and you wink at him through the rearview mirror. "recognize that sound, megs?" he nods furiously, throwing off his seatbelt as soon as the car is parked with excitement you'd never seen from him before. the barking coming from the house you've pulled up to only increases in volume while he practically runs up the front path and, with no warning, two gigantic dogs burst into the front yard and into the arms of the birthday boy.

"they still know me!" he beams as the two dogs nudge his face with their foreheads, sticking their nose against his clothes and licking stray drops of smoothie. "look, they still like me!"

"i see, megs," you say with a melancholy twist in your chest. even though he was becoming better at summoning his own divine dogs, you knew he missed the ones that helped him break his mental block in the first place. like no time had passed, megumi herds the dogs back into the house and they dutifully follow. you shoot your friend a text, thanking her for letting you use her house and letting him see the dogs she adopted all those years ago. while she worked in her office upstairs, she very generously gave you the rest of the first floor to use for birthday festivities. festivities, you noticed, were much more decorated than you previously planned it to be.

while megumi slips his shoes off at the door, the dogs race over to a gigantic box in the center of the dining room, barking furiously at it like it was an intruder. it's wrapped in shimmering, bright blue paper that gives you a headache the longer you look at it and looks suspiciously large enough to hide a 6-foot-something idiot. you knew you raised megs right when he's also immediately suspicious of the package, eyeing it with distaste as if he already knew what (or who) was inside.

"i'm guessing from your face that you didn't put that there," he remarks and you shake your head in acknowledgment. "any idea what's in it?" you swear you can hear a stupid giggle from inside the cardboard and you stifle a laugh.

"don't know," you say with fake indifference. "maybe it's a present from the dogs."

"it'd probably be hard for them to wrap seeing as they don't have thumbs," he states blankly, still frowning at the obnoxious wrapping paper. "wanna just put it somewhere to get it out of the way?"

"sure," you start, an idea popping into your head and a sly grin working its way onto your face. "i guess...i'll just throw it in my domain for now-"

"surprise!" as if on cue, the top of the box breaks open to reveal your very panicked boyfriend who despised portaling into your domain. he's wearing ridiculously oversized party glasses with frames shaped like balloons and his clothes are covered in metallic confetti that sprinkles onto your friend's floors. the dogs break into another bark-fest and satoru shushes them urgently; you break into giggles and help him step out of the box. "where's my favorite birthday boy?"

"why were you in there?"

"it's called a surprise, megumi. people have them when they want to have fun," he quips and you click your tongue, picking a stray piece of confetti from his hair. he murmurs an apology under his breath, kissing your forehead like he wasn't in bed with you a few hours earlier. "hi, gorgeous."

"hey, handsome. your limbs alright after being stuck in there?"

"a little creaky, but i'll survive," he reassures you, stretching out his ridiculously lanky arms as an example. his hand gestures to the ungodly amount of streamers and balloons that were much more than you'd bought last week. "i did a little redecorating."

"i see that," you chuckle. "alright, megs. you ready for your next birthday activity?" he looks up from his spot on the floor, where he'd somehow convinced the dogs to lay on either side of him.

"there's more?"

"mhmm, and it involves some strawberries from the fridge. you wanna help me wash them?" he nods and walks over to the fridge with the dogs trailing behind him. "there should be a strainer already in the sink."

"you still think we'll be able to make it to the park?" satoru asks quietly, pulling you into his arms and watching the winter sky become more unfriendly. "i can protect us from the rain, but a storm would probably ruin the atmosphere we've got goin' here."

"i agree," you murmur. a glance at the mirror shows megumi standing on a stool in front of the sink, sneaking washed berries to the dogs. "though, i don't think he'd mind just staying here."

"i also agree. i can order some lunch and go pick it up while dessert bakes. i need to go grab tsumiki, anyway," he suggests. "she can help me pick out matching cozy sweaters for when we watch a movie."

"i think megs would rather die than wear a matching sweater with you, sweetheart."

"true," he concedes. "but i'll do that, then. need anything else while i'm out?"

"no, just for you to get back faster."

"i'll be here before you can even blink, beautiful."

"are we making me a birthday cake?" megumi calls from the kitchen, finally noticing the ingredients stacked neatly on the island counter. "and does that mean i can throw food at satoru?"

"if you can get him to turn off infinity, then sure," you reply. your boyfriend makes a face of betrayal and you stick your tongue out at him. "tell him it's for your birthday present."

"gojo, i know what i want for my birthday!"

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[spicerackofblorbos]

Wishes | Leon S. Kennedy x gn!Reader

☾ summary ➼ Leon comes home just in time for the clock to turn midnight on your birthday.

☾ content/warnings ➼ fluff, any version of leon, suggestive themes, food (cupcakes)

☾ a/n ➼ hi it's my birthday and I love this man. I was talking to my friend about Leon surprising me with a cupcake at midnight and I made a joke about frosting being everywhere, if you know what i mean. and, well. here we are. NOT PROOFREAD SORRY it's 2am at the time of writing this.

☾ wc ➼ ~600

Leon comes home one night, earlier than planned, but still late for most. He sets his keys into the bowl next to the front door and makes sure to lock everything up before making his way to your shared bedroom.

He finds you humming to yourself, flipping through a book, and propped up against the headboard. You’re dressed in comfortable pajamas and half covered by the plush blankets that decorate the bed.

The moment Leon steps into the doorway, your head flicks up at the movement. A Cheshire grin pulls at your lips at the welcome sight of him, then grows even wider when you see the little box in his hands.

“Hello, birthday girl.” Leon says with a smirk, stepping his way into the bedroom.

As he does, he takes a moment to pull off his shoes and socks, throwing them into the corner to be taken care of in the morning. With two fingers, he tugs at his tie to loosen it around his collar, just as he sits on your side of the bed.

“Hello, working man. Is that for me?” You say as you shut your book and slide it on the nightstand next to you. Leon reaches over to you with the box and pulls it open so you can look inside.

Sitting snug between cardboard is a cupcake with light pink frosting piped high. You start to reach over but are interrupted by Leon tutting at you.

“Hold on, you’re forgetting the most important part.” He says with a chuckle. He reaches a hand into his slacks and pulls out a single white candle and a lighter. It doesn’t take long for him to push the candle gently into the soft treat and lighting it with a single flick.

“There. Make a wish.” Leon says softly.

“Hmmm. I don’t know, I think I have everything I need.” You say as you sit up now, the headboard creaking from the sudden loss of weight against it.

“Really? There’s not a single thing?”

“Well…” You pretend to think for a second, then lean forward, letting loose a single puff of air. The warm fire dies into a stream of smoke just as quickly as it was lit.

Taking the candle out, you pop the end that was in the sticky treat into your mouth, savoring the sweet frosting on your tongue. Leon’s blue eyes never leave yours, though there’s a lift in one of his dark brows.

“Well, what did you wish for?”

“Leon, if I told you then it won’t come true.”

“Oh c’mon, it’s just me.”

You poke a finger into the frosting and pick some up, eyeballing it carefully. Before Leon could react, you reach over and smear it on his stubbled cheek. His eyes go wide.

“What was that for?” Leon goes to wipe it with the back of his hand, but you grab his wrist lightly and stop him.

“I’m just showing you what I wished for, darling.” A coy smile lights up your face. With his wrist in your grip, you tug him into you, and you don’t hesitate to lick up his cheek. Now, the saltiness of Leon’s skin mixes with the sugary sweetness, and you can’t get enough.

“You better be careful what you wish for, baby.” Leon  warns, sliding the cupcake box by the book on your dresser. You didn’t notice that he had done the same thing you did until you felt something cool across your exposed collarbones.

It was only fifteen minutes into midnight, and Leon made sure your second gift would be given soon after.

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter three: the truce

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!SHIElD!reader

masterlist

summary: being a SHIELD agent, you have a knack for analysing people, particularly when it comes to attraction. you have everyone figured out, sorted away into the boxes you've created. But there's one man you can never seem to figure out, the very bane of your existence -- Bucky Barnes. On the field, he is a saint, helping you dodge bullets and taking knife wounds in your name. Around the building? Public menace number one, always poised to insult or to spar with you.

After being sent on a 6-month-long torture-cum-vacation with the very man, could all this change? Could you finally figure out what has been bubbling beneath the surface for years between the two of you, the juggernaut that you know you cannot stop?

warnings:  language, mention of being fostered and it being terrible, more hints to reader’s past, dead mother, mentions of sex and reader being dom

word count: 2.7k

taglist: @cjand10 @mcira @calwitch

PREVIOUS PART

A/N: I enjoyed writing this sm! as always, please let me know what you think, all comments and reblogs and likes are heavily appreciated!! love u all <3

You didn’t expect moving to be so much work, and…so much fucking tape. Ever since you escaped the hellhole of your foster house, you’ve been living in the Tower, only ever having to unpack a duffel and a suitcase full of clothes and shoes and makeup. 

The good news that comes from being so tired is that you barely have the energy to argue with Bucky, often falling asleep on the couch halfway through dinner. The TV will continue to blare in the background, and Bucky will continue to chew silently. He lets you take the naps, gently waking you up once he’s done, and handing back your freshly heated dinner plate right back at you, just so you never eat a cold meal. In all honesty, it’s been wonderful.

Somehow, he’s nice to you, now. The two of you haven’t officially called a truce, but it goes unspoken, you suppose. You find yourself helping him more than usual, and certainly have stopped insulting him. You don’t know why. Why he’s being kind, and smiling, even in the privacy of your own home, where nobody else but the two of you have been, so you know for sure that there are no bugs or secret cameras.

The neighbourhood has been pretty quiet, and it seems the Senator is currently on a vacation of some sort, so you haven’t had the chance to profile him in person, or his house. Your own is quite nice, large with a swimming pool in the back garden. It’s modern, and neat, and oozes luxury. 

If you weren’t so fucked up, if you still wanted the ring and kids and picket fence, you would’ve loved it here. You can almost see it — a partner grilling an assortment of meats and vegetables that have been marinating in a secret spice mix for hours, kids splashing and playing about in the shallow end of the pool, you and other guests lounging on the chairs as the sun sets, washing everything in sight in hues of golden orange. Or if it’s just your family, maybe sneak some affection from your partner with a hand around their waist and a kiss pressed to the back of their neck. It’s perfect. Given that Bucky’s from the 40s, he must be losing his mind. He’s pretending, albeit, but he’s gotten the simple life he must’ve dreamed of and clung to. It’s a shame he’s with you.

Which brings you to right now, standing in front of the oven with your arms crossed, waiting for an old-fashioned timer to go off. You stare at it, at the minutes ticking by. There’s nothing much left to do. You’ve already unpacked all the kitchen crockery, throwing away the last of the cardboard. The blue frosting and white icing is mixed and ready on the counter, and you hate yourself. It’s March 10th, today. Bucky’s birthday. 

His kindness in these past two weeks has completely swayed you, so here you stand, baking him a fresh batch of cupcakes you’re going to be decorating, just for him. You don’t know why, it feels like you glanced at your new phone, registered the date, and all you did was blink and now here you stand. Bucky’s still fast asleep in his bedroom.

That was another relief of the house — there were two bedrooms. Thank God, the two of you sleep separately. You’ve shared a bed before, on several missions and attempts to get the two of you to enter a state of permanent civility, and oddly enough you missed those nights sometimes.

When you weren’t tired enough, so the nightmares ran rampant in the small area of your brain and the large expanse of your imagination. Sometimes you’d wake up pressed tightly against him, and you knew he must have held you to ground you. Other times, he’d still be fast asleep, and you would often trace all the intricate ridges and details of his vibranium arm. You’ve gotten adjusted to the sight of his brand new, human arm, but you miss the black and gold. You’d rather die than verbally express so, but you miss it. You miss the way it soothed you, distracted you. The way it created space in your mind for something that wasn’t torturous memories lashing out at you. 

If he knows about it, he’s never said anything. About the nightmares. Not even two nights ago when you had woken up screaming and trying to escape out the window, desperate to escape a phantom wielding a bloodied knife. He’d just calmed you down, talked you back to the centre of the room and held you.

He likes doing that a lot now, finding excuses to touch you. It’s comforting, like you’ve been on edge your entire life and are just now finding peace. You hate it. You hate everything about your current situation, but it’s simultaneously a humongous relief. To not have to constantly have your guard up and be ready to fire insults like they’re bullets. You can just be, and revel in the way he’s not treating you like he’d rather be anywhere else.

The timer goes off. The cupcakes cool. The recipe is something your mother taught you — your only remaining inheritance you carried with you. You smother them in frosting, writing HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUCKY with one letter on each cupcake, leaving two for free reign. You chose to simply put the number 107 on each of them, and arrange them on a wonderful, dark blue tray.

You let yourself smile, proud of the work you’ve accomplished so far, at only 9AM in the morning. And then, a voice grubbed over with sleep, yet not as annoying as you remember calls out.

“Whatcha bakin’ there, doll?” You turn to him, rubbing his eyes and yet thankfully wearing a shirt. His hair is still messy, and you move forward to fix it for him as he shoots you another lazy grin. This has become somewhat of another step of routine between the two of you. He always wakes up with messy hair he cannot be asked to comb, and you got tired of berating him for it. He’d complain theres no mirror around and being to pout until you huffed and fixed it for him.

You try and pretend like you don’t notice his conspicuous eyes fixed on your face like he’s desperate to memorise it. 

“Happy birthday.” You decide to keep your words simple, staring directly into his eyes, so blue that they make some long-forgotten muscle in your chest restart.

You turn around to ignore that feeling, heading back to the counter where your frosted treats await. You miss the desperate, aching look of longing on his face. It brings back memories of him, of how he acted the last time you bothered to remember one of the most basic facts about him — how he’d pretty much thrown your gifts across the room and stormed out of his own birthday party without so much as another word.

He swears to be different now. To be different to you. In all honesty, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why you dislike him so, but on the journey here, he was finally able to read between the lines. It’s pathetically embarrassing to admit why he acted that way towards you, especially now. He wonders if you’d laugh at him, shape it into another painful weapon to aim for his diaphragm.

“Happy Birthday, Bucky. I know being stuck with me isn’t ideal, well, let’s be honest, you’d probably rather be back in cryo—.”

“No I wouldn’t,” he replies all too fast, staring down at the tray in your hands. He tries to ignore the rampant beat of his heart as he registers that you finally called him Bucky, instead of literally anything else. He knows you do it to spite him, and admires that you’d still never call him the Winter Soldier, despite how deep the faux hatred between the two of you ran. Well, faux hatred on his part.

He’s been in love with you for years. And when he finally realised it, you’d already moved past trying to be nice to him. He’s missed his chance with you, he knows this. But he finds himself growing more and more desperate with every passing year to manufacture that chance. But every time he builds up the courage, it seems you’re too busy flirting or eye-fucking literally anyone who isn’t him. And it crushes him beyond belief, every single time.

Without fail.

“Oh, okay. Didn’t mean to bring that up. Erm, I made you these cakes. They’re my mum’s recipe, and as far as I know you’re not allergic to anything in here.” He plasters a grin right back on his face.

“Aren’t you gonna sing for me, doll?” God, you wish you could hate that nickname. But it’s a step above Butterface, that’s for sure. And as much as you hate him, it is his birthday. You don’t know how much you can bring yourself to deny him, especially what with all the kindness he’s been showing you recently.

“Do you want me to?” God, Bucky wishes you could love him back. That those beautiful eyes he dreams about so often, just stare at him with some warmth, some fondness. Like you did when he first got here, when he didn’t deserve your affection. But those versions of the both of you are long gone. 

“‘Course I do. It’s my birthday after all.” You roll those pretty eyes and huff, pretending to be annoyed. 

You grab the candles from the cutlery drawer you bought in a last minute impulse on your grocery shopping run, and stick them in two of the cupcakes, lighting them with your lighter — the only physical inheritance from your mother. You still remember that night, when she pressed it into your small hands and begged you to hide underneath the bed, before all hell broke loose. She always had a lit cigarette in her hand, and the smell of ashes always brings memories of her floating back to you. It’s a simple golden one, engraved with a venomous snake on the front and her name embossed — her name before she got married. It’s your most prized possession. Bucky watches as you run a thumb over it with that fond look in your eyes, and his heart catches in his throat. You’ve never been more vulnerable than you are in this moment, not even when you were on the floor crying over the thought of pretending to be married. All of your guards are temporarily lowered, and he sees how your hard exterior gives way to something softer and warmer, a version of you long buried under the stresses of your job and the malice you exude in his presence.

And he’s obsessed with the ring on your finger, the way you play with it when bored or pensive. Actually, he’s just obsessed with you. You begin singing with a small, yet seemingly genuine, smile on your face. He thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

You have a lovely voice, even if it’s reserved for showers and to be lost in impromptu choirs. But his heightened senses mean he can still pick your voice out of the crowd, can still feel the weight of it wash over him like a perfect blanket. He wishes you’d cling to him like that, like the songs you sing when you think nobody’s listening or paying attention.

And then you call him Bucky again, and his heart goes out the window. He’s practically vibrating where he stands and clutching his fists to his sides in trying not to kiss you. You wouldn’t like that. When you finish, he closes his eyes and wishes for you like he does every year. 

He guesses a lesser man would’ve lost hope, after seven birthday wishes asking for one person, and yet still having them so close yet so out of reach. But he’ll beg, every year, until someone out there decides he shall have no more. He’d beg for you any time, in any way you like. His heightened sense of hearing, and the two of you living on the same floor, means he already knows how much you enjoy being begged for pleasure. How much you enjoy being in charge.

When he first got to New York after Wakanda, the only room that was available was across the hall from yours. He didn’t mind. Even though he’d completely forgotten how to talk to people he finds insanely attractive, so insanely enigmatic that all he can do is try his best to not let drool drip out of his mouth when he watches you do even the most mundane things like eat cereal with your hair still messy from a long night, in a sports bra and joggers. Showing off every inch of that perfect body he’s worshipped so many times in his dreams. It’s why he hasn’t moved out of there, because of the perverted side of him. Something he’d rather die than admit.

And of course everyone in the damn building knows, how could they not? When they see the way he looks at you when you storm out of a room, how he almost misses the punching bag when he sees you training weights across the room with sweat slicking your hair to your forehead. He thinks you’ve never looked more irresistible, and he’d do anything to get his hands on you, in any way you allow. Why do you think he asks you to spar so often? 

You grin at him. “Bucky privileges are only for these 24 hours, then I go right back to James. And I got you something.” You hand him the tiny box, gift wrapped in blue as he looks at you with an adorable blush on his face.

“You really didn’t have to do all of this, doll.”

“I wanted to make you feel more at home. And I needed to talk to you about something.” You’re wearing one of his old flannel shirts, folding your arms across your chest. You’d requested some of his bigger, older shirts to wear, and had told him it’s considered a form of deep intimacy in the 21st century. And those six shirts are all you’ve worn around the house, often with biker shorts on underneath. You know, just to drive him to ridiculous heights of insanity, of course. 

“We should call a truce. Officially. I mean, we’re being civil, and it goes unspoken. But officially, for the record, we should call a truce. At least, not be mean to each other. I wanted today to be the beginning of it, end date TBD.”

“Yeah, that’s fine with me. Now, can I open it?” You nod, gesturing at the box. You watch his face as he delicately unwraps your birthday gift, for any signs of discomfort on his face. If he’s truly okay with the peace you’ve proposed between the two of you. 

“Come here.” He commands. You’re surprised how quickly you comply, walking across the counter to stand mere inches from him. You wonder if he’s going to treat this gift like he did the last, and make sure you end up crying this time. 

“This is a wonderful gift, doll. I really, really love it. Thank you.” Before you can protest, he pulls you in for a quick side hug. You don’t miss how his blue eyes glow as he takes the New York keyring out of it’s container, running his thumb over the Statue of Liberty. 

He feels…so warm. And so cosy, all perfect for snuggling up. You find yourself wishing he hadn’t pulled away from the hug, desperate to feel more of his warmth against you than ever before. You suppress the need as it emerges, but you’re not strong enough.

“Yeah yeah. Whatever. What do you wanna do today? We could go out.” You try to remain impartial, but it’s proving difficult.

Keeping up all of your guards and walls is becoming more and more difficult with each passing day, and you find yourself becoming soft. The one thing you despise, but you also crave. 

You have no idea what’s happening to you.

And it’s terrifying.

NEXT PART

[aroeddiediaz]

8x01 coda- depression cupcakes

(Sorry this is super depressing but Eddie needs a nice long sulk after that devastation of a birthday party. Also maybe mild tw for some kind of disordered eating.)

The cupcakes should taste like ash, Eddie imagines. Cardboard, maybe wet sand. Something bland and sour, to match the blankness Eddie has been feeling as he watches Christopher get sung Happy Birthday without him, cut into a cake without him, play with his dozens of new friends in his grandparents’ backyard without him. It went on for over an hour before the laptop sitting abandoned on the picnic table in an El Paso backyard lost battery and winked out.

Instead, the cupcakes are sweet. Cloying, sticky sweet. The frosting sticks to the roof of his mouth and bits of crumbs get stuck behind his teeth. The kind of sugary confection that would have given Eddie a sugar rush back when he was Christopher’s age.

Eddie chews his way through his first cupcake mechanically, then reaches for a second one. Behind him, Buck and Tommy make quiet rustling noises as they take down the decorations and balloons they had helped him set up earlier. None of them have spoken a word since the interactive part of the video call ended.

The second cupcake wrapper falls in a limp heap on the coffee table on top of the first one. Eddie grabs a third cupcake. His teeth ache and his lips tingle as he takes another bite.

What if Chris never wants to come back? What if this is all their relationship will ever be, and Eddie fucked it all up for the last time? What if Chris is so happy with his goddamn pool club and his new neighborhood kid friends and Eddie’s parents build him a pool so he never comes home?

It takes increasing amounts of effort, it feels, to wallow each thick wad of chewed up cupcake matter. It clumps up, sticks to his throat. He can taste sugar now, even when his mouth is empty.

He takes another bite, only to taste dry crumbs on paper. He already finished the third cupcake.

He drops the third wrapper on top of the other two. Somehow Eddie doesn’t feel full, he doesn’t think. At least, no fuller than he had been before he started on the cupcakes. There’s a creeping sour taste in his mouth, and some sensitivity in his molars when he runs his tongue along the gums.

He reaches for a fourth cupcake.

Buck’s hand lashes out and grabs him by the wrist before he reaches the tray of cupcakes.

“Uh, whoa there, buddy,” Buck says with a hesitant chuckle. “Maybe save some for the rest of us, huh?”

Eddie blinks. Suddenly, like his senses had been turned down and just now returned to full volume, he feels aware of sensations all over himself, none of them particularly pleasant. Sticky, greasy fingers. An unpleasant rumble somewhere in his intestines. More dry stickiness across his mouth, chin, and for some reason, a single fingerprint on his cheekbone. And his mouth tastes like a sewer rat had crawled in to die.

Eddie gags a little, trying to summon enough saliva to wash out the sourness in his mouth. He struggles to his feet, ready to duck into the kitchen to grab a cup of water, and maybe gargle in the sink a few times.

Before he can make it anywhere, Tommy’s there, holding a bottle out to him. Eddie takes it gratefully, not quite able to look him in the eyes. “Thanks,” he mumbles as he cracks open the cap and takes a long swig.

Eddie takes a look around. The decorations are all gone now, all the streamers and party hats and balloons. Everything except the half-eaten tray of cupcakes in front of him. Looking at it turns his stomach a little now.

“You guys take the rest of the cupcakes home with you, ok?” Eddie says. “I think i just ate more sugar in one sitting than I did all month long.”

Buck and Tommy exchange a wordless glance over Eddie’s head. Silently, Tommy reaches for the tray of cupcakes.

Buck nudges Eddie’s shoulder. It’s probably the one part of him that isn’t covered in sugar residue. “Hey,” he says softly. “I know that was rough. But I promise things won’t be like this forever. He’ll come around, you’ll see.”

“When, Buck?” Eddie says, clutching the bottle tightly enough that the plastic bends and creaks. “It’s been months already, and he’s barely said a word to me.”

Buck tries for a smile, but his eyes are tight and his voice trembles a little. “You just gotta show him. Show that you’re not going anywhere.”

Eddie nods helplessly. Nothing to do but sit and wait. Sit and pray.

Eddie missed three birthdays when Chris was a baby, out on deployments or in a hospital waiting for his bullet holes to heal up. All he can do is hope that by Chris’s next birthday, things will be different.

tagging: @cal-daisies-and-briars @aspecbuddie @pirrusstuff @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @lemonzestywrites @your-catfish-friend @inkmortal-trash389 @evanbegins @wildlife4life @eddiebabygirldiaz @diazsdimples @epicbuddieficrecs @kitteneddiediaz @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @coatedpanda16 @nicotinewrites @estheticpotaeto @babytrapperdiaz @snowviolettwhite @wikiangela @jesuiscenseedormir @made-ofmemories @asexual-fandom-queen

[spindle-and-nima]

Nature is beautiful

[fantasyandshit]

You drive me crazy

Type:Oneshot

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: Yn decides to wear pheromone perfume to work to see how her boy genius boyfriend will react.

(A/n, I've never worn pheromone perfume, I'm just going off my imagination and those ads that are most likely exaggerated beyond belief.)

"Finally." I pull the small cardboard box into my arms and scurry to my counter after closing and locking my apartment door, quickly slicing through the tape with a pair of scissors. I had ordered a pheromone perfume from an ad the other day, I knew it probably wouldn't do anything more than smell good but I decided there was no harm in seeing what it could do to my boyfriend, Spencer Reid.

I pull the small vial from its case and inspect the clear liquid, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to my nose. “Hm, smells good.” I shrug as I put the cap back on and put the vial in the case, excited to try it out tomorrow.

—Time skip—

As I walk through the glass doors of my work, heading to the elevator with a cardboard tray of coffee in each hand, male secretary’s and security guards that I’ve never spoken to before greet me with warm smiles and friendly waves. ‘Hm, maybe it does work?’ I think to myself as I step out of the elevator and to the room of desks on the seventh floor.

“Hey mama.” I look over at the voice, Derek Morgan making his way towards me, eyes set on the coffee in my hand. As he nears he seems to pause for a moment, “man you smell good today. New perfume?”

“Uh yeah.” I laugh as I pass him his coffee, “black with three sugars and a splash of cream. Just how you like it.”

“You are the best, thank you so much.” He leaves with a kiss in my cheek, something he knows I hate, and I know he knows because he dashes off like there’s a suspect we’re chasing.

“Hey cupcake!” A very cheery Penelope greets me next as I set my bag at my desk.

“Hey Pen. Here is your coffee.” I grab the cup closest to me, and pass it to her, “light brew with sweet cream, two pumps of vanilla, with whipped cream, and sprinkles on top.”

“Thank you sunshine, you always know what I like! Also did you get a new perfume? You smell great today!”

“Thank you.” She nods and practically skips off, talking to Derek halfway to her cave, whatever the conversation is ends with a playful slap to the man’s cheek.

After everyone but Spencer has been given their coffee, and I’ve been complimented more than I care to count, I make my way to my desk, looking to my phone to see a text from my boy genius.

❤️ Boy genius ❤️

Hey love, I’m on my way. Can’t wait to see you today. ❤️

Yn

Hey baby, I’ll see you soon. Love you. 🥰

I smile at my phone before putting it away, excitement burning in my veins as I practically bounce in anticipation to see how Spencer will react to my new perfume.

—

The elevator dings as Spencer steps out, clad in his usual sweater vest, kaki pants, converse and mid-matched socks, messenger back hanging off his left shoulder. I of course don’t notice as my back is turned, waiting for some papers of mine to print. I startle as I feel hands wrap around my waist, a chest pressed to my back and a face buried in my neck. “Hello love.”

“Hi baby.” I smile as Spencer’s voice fills my ears and his breath hands my neck as he sniffs right at my pulse point.

“You smell good today.”

I giggle as he nips at my ear, swatting his shoulder, “thanks, I got a new perfume.” I think that’s the end of it however I realize I’m wrong when Spencer’s face doesn’t move from my neck and I feel him kissing all along the side of it. After a particularly hard suck to my sweet spot, I bite my lip to stop my moan and swat at him again, “Spence, stop. We’re at work, there are people around.”

The man in question grumbles but ultimately moves, and I turn around to face him, “What did you change? It feels like more than your perfume?”

“Oh nothing. Really, I just used a special perfume today.”

His hands snake around my waist again, this time coming to rest on my thighs, our chests touching as I look up at him through my lashes. “What kind of special perfume?”

“Oh you know,” I pause, eyes following my fingers as I walk them up his chest, booping his nose before falling down to wrap around his forearms, “just the pheromone kind.”

His eyebrows raise, “Oh? So you’re teasing me at work?” He brings his mouth to my ear, “I think that calls for punishment, don’t you brat?”

I let out yet another small yelp as his hand lands a small smack in my ass. “No sir.” He raises his eyebrow, “I mean, I just wanted to smell good.”

“I don’t think so baby,” his hand slides to my face, rubbing my cheek bone softly, “I think you wanted to be a tease, and you will be punished when we get home tonight. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl.” he leaves one last kiss on my lips before walking to his desk to begin working. After a few more seconds of standing stunned I turn to the printer, grab my papers and do the same.

I already know I’m in for it when we go home tonight, the thought making me gulp.

[sunflowhamato]

ROTTMNT Curiosities Part.5

The ideas of making and ending the series through IDW comic would be easy to do

If the series is picked up, the tone of Rise would remain the same

Some chapters discarded were the following, (I took the information from

where it will be more complete, in case you want to read it)

Wedding Smashers: Ghostbear marries his fiancé Ghostpepper, a Chupacabra yokai. Raph and Mikey crash their wedding dressed as their aliases Shadybug and Dr. Rude.

Dog Dale Afternoon: April finds out that Baba Yaga cursed Dale to be a werewolf, but he doesn't know what's happening to him, Donnie shows up to “help him,” and be his doctor.

Shred Dead Redemption: Screenwriter Sheldon Vella shared the first board of his showing the brothers chasing the cupcake van called Fire and Icing in Turtle Tank. Unfortunately, a piece of cardboard (Donnie's cloaking device) blocking the front windshield causes the Tank to crash gracelessly into a Lou Jitsu poster.

Warren Stone 2: Warren Stone is cut in half again, but this time the lower half of him becomes a different Warren sporting a beard and shaved head. Warren Stone II ends up becoming a competent and dangerous enemy for the turtles. Realizing that Warren is upset, Warren II has taken his title of "The Turtles' Greatest Enemy", April helps Warren regain his charm.

Gourd Almighty: A comedic episode about Donnie trying to grow the world's largest pumpkin for a contest.

T-Hex: It was going to be about Mikey wanting a robotic toy with a "boopable snoot." After getting the toy he turns out to be not as innocent as he seems.

Lost Goat: Draxum leaves after having a fight with the family (Turtles and Splinter). As he does so, he is abducted by the foot. While trying to rescue Draxum, the family has no choice but to resolve their issues regarding him.

Goyles just wants to have fun: Huggin and Muggin are confused when they find Draxum working in a school cafeteria. Draxum asks Leo and Donnie to help improve his image so as not to lose the respect he once had for the Goyles.

Rampaging Raph: Raph comes to Draxum for help after getting trapped in his enormous mystical form. He is ashamed of not having mastered his mystical powers like his brothers. Draxum ends up splitting Raph and his mystical power, which then becomes a problem when the Red Hulk turns red and begins crushing the city, getting stronger with each hit. To save the city, Raph has to confess and ask his brothers for help.

The Island of Dr. Noe: Hunter/dentist Dr. Noe kidnaps Raph and Leo and takes them to his home island. The doctor wants Raph's tooth in his tooth collection.

Toddler Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mikey becomes the oldest when his siblings turn into little turtles after being attacked by an immortal mutant jellyfish bank robber. 163.There is a small chance that Such TMNT and Rise exist at the same time. 164.Production ties were a little over a year from premise. About 8 weeks from premise to draft record, about 12 for a storyboard, 8 for final animation, with design happening all the time. 6 months for full animation, music, etc. 165. You always interacted a lot with the design team when writing 166.Here is the board with the episodes of the series (in season 2), although some are jokes 167.Although Netflix supported Rise for the movie, it is not Ron or Russ's decision whether the series will continue or not, but they want it to continue supporting 168. The best way to support Rise is to keep watching, posting and spreading the word for the show

[codedcore]

I'm just gonna post some unfinished art here, I was gonna do some Halloween art but it's kind of late, so here was some costume ideas I was doing!

Some more drawings under the cut

I was editing the cardboard cutout first to brainstorm, and I didn't finish Freddy's but! I always imagined the Fazbear company would go with simple designs since they're safe.

So Freddy is of course a vampire, its one of the most iconic Halloween costumes for their main mascot. Then Roxy I made a werewolf, she's got the jean shorts and the flannel crop, and is just more fluffier. Monty is a zombie because the company is lazy and he's already green! Just slap some cartoony brain stickers on him and change a few article of clothing. Then Chica is a candy witch, still pink and cute but she's got the Cupcake with her costume now. Plus the candy corn earrings are cute to me.

Another thing I wanted to do, that I still want to do is a Halloween countdown that I'll probably save for next year! Here's two of them, while the others were Monty and the kids watching a horror movie in the Daycare theater, then Chica handing out candy.

Then these were gonna be for Halloween day, but UH it's too late now. Still like the idea though, so another year!

[starrclown]

EclispeDuo headcannons I have but I can't explain most of them but they just feel right★★

Triggerwarning for talks of death, alcohol, blood, past bad experiences, and other triggering topics

Sillies <3

Chang'e has been trying for YEARS to get Wukong on her show. Wukong wants to be on it but he's really camera shy so they can never release the episode cause he gets to nervous.

Wukong let's Chang'e in on ALL the tea going on earth.

Chang'e really does not like Macaque because of his history with Wukong. Wukong doesn't suger coat their past, he goes into enough detail to keep somewhat privacy but he'spretty open and honest. He also told her about Macaque's recent atrocities committed on him and Mk. This causes Chang'e to have a really negative opinion on Macaque because she doesn't understand why Macaque would be so mean to Mk just cause he doesn't like Wukong. (She also doesn't like Macaque because how dare he hurt Wukong's feelings.)

Wukong babysits some of Chang'e bunnies sometimes when she's broadcasting her cooking show.

Wukong fills Chang'e in ALL the gossip on earth.

Chan1g'e helped Wukong through alot of his trauma. She helped him when Macaque died, when Ao Lie died, when the rest of the pilgrims past, when he had to put DBK under the mountain, when his mountain burned, and other events. Chang'e knows how grief fills so she jus let's him cry. It's comforting.

Wukong and Chang'e have gotten ABSOLUTELY SMASHED on the moon. Their hangover was BAD after that.

Wukong knows how to sew so he makes him and Chang'e matching clothing.

Chang'e likes to make little cupcakes that look like animals for the monkie gang on earth. She makes pig ones for Pigsy, monkies for Mk and Wukong, and miscellaneous ones for the others. (Cause she never met them, she has just heard Wukong talking about them .)

Chang'e and Wukong are each others biggest hype men.

Chang'e has seen almost every baby picture of Redson, she's basically seen that kid grow up more than his dad did.

Wukong once cut his finger cutting vegetables and Chang'e FREAKED out.

When Wukongs hair gets to long, he'll just cut it so he doesn't have to deal with it. Chang'e likes seeing his hair long though so she'll tie it up for him so it's out of his way.

Wukong really likes to groom Chang'e. It gives him a excuse to just yap and show affection in a monkey way.

Chang'e likes to do Wukong's makeup.

Wukong gifts Chang'e the extra golden jewelry he has because they both like shiny gold things.

They both have merch of each other. Wukong has a Chang'e baking set and Chang'e has that talking cardboard cut out from that cooking show episode.

Chang'e is VERY judgy of Wukong's romantic taste. If she doesn't like who Wukong is talking about she looks at him like 🤨

They have week long sleepovers. They'd probably be longer if Wukong didn't have to train Mk.

They paint each other's nails their favorite colors. Chang'e gets gold nails and Wukong gets blue nails.

Guys I NEED more content of these two together in my life. If yall know any fics with these two let me know cause I love them.

(Drop your own headcannons in the comments, I wanna see how people interpret these two.)

🫶🏻🩷‼️

- ⭐️StarClown⭐️