#did i make him allergic to strawberries

[familyvideostevie]

Alas my mediocre life is too boring for gossip BUT I feel the need to mention that the other day, I was at a local farm chaperoning a strawberry-picking field trip and I couldn’t help but think “farmer’s market AU Steve would be living his best life here!”

FUCK YEAH NO GOOD AT WAITING STEVE LIVES ON!!!!!

it's farmers market season again and i want all of you to be thinking of him every time you go and i want to hear all about it bc it makes me so fucking happy

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: Tangerine falls in love with his pretty neighbor.

Genre: Fluff 🍰

Warnings: swearing, blood, def a cliché mess but in a good way (hopefully)

~ breaking my T.S title streak for this one! inspired by the song Too Sweet by Hozier ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

It truly was some cruel sick joke that the sweetest looking girl he had ever seen had moved into the house across from his.

Tangerine honestly couldn't remember the last time he let himself have anything truly good in his life, since he knows everything he touches burns right in front of him. Which meant he made the decision that he can't afford that with you—so he's stayed as far away from you as possible.

You, on the other hand, have never wanted to become friends with anyone so much as you did with your two, mostly quiet, neighbors in the house in front of yours.

You'd overheard some neighborly gossip that they weren't to be messed with—gangsters or something like that. You didn't really believe those rumors considering you'd seen one of them, the one with dark skin and platinum hair, feeding the birds that rest on their porch. 

What kind of dangerous gangster would care about birds?

So, that's why, one month into having moved in, you stand in front of their door with a plate of miniature strawberry shortcakes displayed neatly in a pink tray. It feels corny and stupid when no one answers the door for a moment. You raise your hand to knock again when eventually the door opens and you look up, making eye contact with eyes that are the prettiest shade of blue you've ever seen.       

The man is dressed in a white button-up, half of it unbuttoned in his trousers and his brown hair is curled naturally, the ends sticking up messily as he looks you over. He tucks something behind him, clearing his throat awkwardly as his gaze falls to the tray in your hands. "Pastries," he says, his voice velvety and his British accent thick. 

You hold the tray out closer to him. "Shortcakes. I made them myself," you say with a smile and the man just looks annoyed—his lips twitching as he looks you over again, taking in your apron and the cream that's smeared on your cheeks. 

"It's late," he points out calmly, "much too late for afternoon tea."

He's right. It is. It's almost seven—you'd just taken more time with the cakes than you'd wanted. You feel embarrassed now and lower the tray.

"Oh," you bite the inside of your cheek. You'd had a whole introduction plan and now you're flustered. "You could use them as a late-night snack—" you pause, trying to explain, "Most nights, I see that your lights are on when I wake up at around three or four am for water and–well if you already can't sleep, a sweet treat wouldn't do you any harm?"

You feel like the creepiest stalker as the man's eyes widen. 

"Sorry, this was a stupid," you say and turn around, preparing to walk away when the man's voice interrupts your thoughts. 

"I'm allergic to strawberries," he says, "but my brother isn't. He'd love them. Here, I'll take 'em." He takes the tray from you as you turn back around and he looks down at the cakes he's now holding. Tangerine can tell you clearly spent time on them and he has to fight himself not to smile. 

"Thank you—"

"Y/n," you say your name much too quickly, itching for connection to this mystery man. 

"Thank you, Y/n."

You don't even hesitate when you ask, "And you are?"

Tangerine hesitates. He can't tell you his real name. Speaking to you like this, out in the open, is already risky. He sniffs nonchalantly and uses an excuse, one he hopes you won't question too much. "My friends call me Tangerine."

You laugh and the sound is so beautiful it's unfair. "Tangerine? What? Is that some shitty drunken inside joke with your mates at Uni?" you guess, pushing down the curiosity to jokingly ask if you using his nickname makes you his friend. It's too soon for questions like that.

He shrugs. "Mm, something like that," he says and he doesn't elaborate further. You wonder if you'll be worthy of his real name one of these days, but for now, this feels like some progress. You smile at him, rocking on your heels for a moment and then you look back across the street at your house. 

"Well, Tangerine, it was lovely meeting you but I should—" you point behind you with a smile. "I'll see you around and hopefully I can meet your brother! Enjoy the shortcakes!" you wave and skip down the steps as Tangerine watches you, his stomach filled with unfamiliar, normally dormant, butterflies.  

He chuckles, biting his cheek, and then walks back inside. He untucks his gun from his trousers and slides it into the designated drawer of the entrance table, shaking his head with a small smile as he remembers your wide grin. He returns to the living room and puts the tray next to Lemon's puzzle. 

"Someone important?" Lemon asks and then he looks up and sees the cakes. His smile widens and he doesn't hesitate to take one. "Ooo, pastries," he exclaims and practically stuffs one in his mouth, humming with joy. 

"Nah, just our neighbor," Tangerine says and runs a hand in his hair, leaning against the table and mindlessly playing with one of the puzzle pieces as he remembers how pretty you looked. 

Lemon cocks an eyebrow and speaks with his mouth full. "Which one?"

Tangerine shrugs. "Does it matter?" 

Lemon rolls his eyes. "Yer bein' weird as fuck. It was that cute bird from across the street, wasn't it? The one ya keep starin' at when you can see 'er from 'er window—like some creep—"

"Oh, piss off," Tangerine grunts, lowering his head to hide how pink his cheeks have turned.

Lemon hums, continuing to eat the pastries you'd made them, and grins. He knows how his brother is; always too damn proud to admit he has any feelings other than nonchalance and disdain. But he's seen how Tangerine is smitten with you without even an interaction and he can't wait to see where this goes. 

"Want one?" Lemon asks as he motions toward the tray.

"No. I'm allergic to strawberries."

Lemon laughs. "Ya aren't allergic to strawberries, you numpty."

Tangerine stands straighter, eyeing the tray of what looks like really delicious shortcakes for a moment until his jaw clenches and he turns around, his thumbs hooking in his pockets. "I am now," he says bluntly.

* * *

Lemon has gone inside first as Tangerine hangs behind, making sure the garage is fully secured. He's exhausted and there are dark bags under his eyes. Usually, he'll take the inside entrance into the house, but this morning he needs some fresh air after that mission. He walks outside and looks up at the dusty pink sky. It's 4:30 am in the morning—no sane person would be up. 

"Mr. Tangerine!" 

He startles at his name, holding his hands behind him—knowing they're still covered in blood. He looks up and his eyes widen when he sees you.

You're walking across the street to meet him, tightening your ponytail as your grin widens. You don't look sleepy at all. "Good morning," you say and look him over, "Weird running attire," you joke, mentioning the navy blue suit he's wearing.

"Running?" he echoes. 

You drop your arms to your sides, looking him over with a small, amused, frown. "Oh– I just assumed—most people, including myself, are only up at this hour for a morning run. What are you doing?" 

You ask the question so innocently that Tangerine doesn't know how to answer. 

He can't exactly tell you what he's been doing. How the truth is he's been out all night killing for money. He pushes the image of your disappointed and scared look from his mind and lies. "Oh, I like seeing the sunrise," he says, sounding nonchalant, pushing his hands in his pockets quickly so you don't see the dried, crimson, mess. 

Hopefully, you'll leave him alone soon. 

Unluckily for him, you don't leave him alone. "Oh! I love watching the sunrise!" you say, smiling as you point behind you, adjusting your sneakers. "We should go see it someday," you offer kindly, your tone a more sincere nonchalance than he was, "no pressure or anything." 

Tangerine is speechless. He blinks at you, his sharp blue eyes scanning you up and down. You must be kidding. No sensible soul would invite a stranger to do something seemingly so intimate. You shouldn't be inviting him like this, you don't know him. He's dangerous. 

"You don't know me, why would you want to do that?" he asks bluntly. 

You shrug, still looking as nonchalant as ever. "Can't know you if you shut me out," you say, smiling, as you return his bluntness. When he doesn't answer, you just send him a small wave, saying your goodbyes as you begin your run. 

Tangerine is tempted to run with you now. To protect you. He shakes that thought. 

Lemon interrogates him the moment he comes back inside. "Flirtin' with her now, Tan?"

"You're gettin' on my fuckin' tits," Tangerine grunts, your offer still swarming his mind. Lemon laughs. 

Tangerine doesn't have much peace until he eventually, after you deliver more and more pastries as an excuse to talk to him, accepts.

He doesn't sleep a wink that night. He's a nervous wreck as he plays every scenario in his mind and spends hours in the kitchen just to see your smile when he walks out of his house with a covered basket as the morning sun prepares to peak from the clouds.

Your eyes widen and you rush over, your pretty sundress hugging you in ways that make him lose his mind even more. 

"You made something?" you ask, grasping at his arm. Tangerine hums, guiding you to his car. 

"I know a spot," he whispers, hiding his smile. The drive is silent but comfortable and when he drives you to a park, he walks with you up the hill. You watch with amusement as he fusses over the picnic cloth and then opens his basket and pulls out a bowl of strawberries drizzled with frozen chocolate and a small bowl of whipped cream. You both sit down and you look at him, slightly confused. 

"As a thank you for the shortcakes."

"I thought you were allergic to strawberries."

You both say in unison and you laugh. Tangerine's cheeks turn pink and he runs a hand in his hair, answering you, "I- I lied. I just, I was nervous," he says as he picks up a strawberry and outstretches his hand. You smile and look at the cream.

"You whipped this yourself?"

He nods. "The store-bought cream is always disgustingly sweet," he shakes his head and dips the strawberry in the cream before he turns to you again, your knees almost touching as you lean in. You refuse to take the fruit and instead, you part your lips and stare at him, your heart hammering. 

You wonder if this is too forward, but Tangerine brings the strawberry to your lips. It takes bittersweet, like how you assume he would taste, the dark chocolate mixes with the whipped cream, and some falls from your lips. He doesn't say anything as he catches the drip with his thumb, looking at you intensely as his heart beats loudly in his ears. 

"Were my shortcakes too sweet for you?" you ask in a murmur, his hand not leaving your face. 

Tangerine knows he shouldn't. He knows he'll hate himself after but nothing sounds more appealing than kissing you now—so he does.

He can taste the chocolate on your lips as his hands cup lightly around your throat, his touch light. Just enough of a warning as to who he truly is. You gasp, not minding at all, as you kiss him back.

As complicated as you know it will be, this feels so right. 

Tangerine's hand finds your waist and, bunching up your dress a little in the process, he pulls you in closer. He takes a breath, looking down at you as he ignores the screaming in his head. "No," he whispers, knowing damn well he'd held himself back from tasting them, "No, they weren't too sweet for me."

It doesn't matter because, in the end, he isn't talking about the shortcakes.

tags: @kravensgirl, @brokeaesthetic, @earth-elemental18, @lqrlei, @princesssunderworld, @longlivedelusion, @thewinterv

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

invisible string

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: this is about to be super self indulgent but could you by any chance do a spencer reid x barista!reader maybe he keeps going back to the same cafe or something and memorizes like little facts about coffee or something lol i love your writing so much!!

Summary: Spencer keeps going back to the same coffee shop not because of the coffee but because of a certain someone that never fails to make him smile.

Square Filled: invisible string by taylor swift for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

“I need a double shot espresso and a strawberry refresher,” you call to your coworkers. You’re working the register when a tall man walks up to the counter. Man, he is super cute. “Hi, what can I get for you?”

“I don’t come here often but I hear you don’t take large cups? What are they called?”

“Venti?”

“Yeah, that,” he chuckles. “What do you recommend?”

“I personally love anything caramel. It gives me enough sugar to counteract the bitterness of the coffee.”

“I’ll do that, then.”

Man, he is clueless but he’s so cute. You’re not sure if this is a bit or if this is who he actually is but you like it.

“What kind of coffee do you want?”

“Hazelnut Americano with caramel drizzle.”

“You got it. Anything else?”

“No.”

“Name?”

“Spencer Reid.”

He pays for his coffee and you start making his order since there is no one else in line. You write his name on the cup and walk to the pickup section and call his name. The way he bounces over to the counter is kind of cute.

“Have a nice day, Spencer,” you grin and hand it to him.

“Thank you. You, too!”

The next day when Spencer comes in, he is more confident. He’s still nervous since he finds you attractive but he’s not going to let that stop him.

“Hey, I remember you. You ordered the hazelnut Americano yesterday,” you smile and greet him. You yawn and cover your mouth. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter how much coffee I drink, I am still tired.”

“Did you know that coffee was discovered by an Ethiopian goat herder?”

“I did not but it makes sense. He needed all that energy to round up all the goats. What’s your name again?”

“Spencer.”

“Yes, that was it. Sorry, I have a terrible memory.”

“I have an eidetic one.”

“What is that?”

“An eidetic memory is the ability to recall an image from memory with high precision—at least for a brief period—after seeing it only once and without using a mnemonic device. I have an IQ of 187 and can read twenty-thousand words a minute.”

“So, you’re really smart?”

“Yes,” he chuckles.

“Okay, come back tomorrow and I’ll have a fact for you.”

“Deal.”

There is a line forming behind him so Spencer quickly orders and leaves just as fast as he came. You have to wait an entire day to see him again and this time, you have a fact lined up for him.

“Hi, Spencer,” you smile. “I think I got a good fact for you today.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Did you know that ketchup was once sold as a medicine?”

“In the 1830s, it was believed that the condiment could cure almost anything, including indigestion, diarrhea, and even jaundice,” he nods.

“Alright, smarty-pants, I’ll have to try harder tomorrow.”

“I have one for you about coffee. Did you know that bees love the taste of coffee?”

“Is that why they always fly near me when I’m having my morning coffee in my sunroom?”

“It might be.”

Another line is forming so you grab his coffee order and move on with your life. The only thing you’re looking forward to now is Spencer when he comes in. He shows up the next morning at the same time he’s been showing up, and you find yourself smiling because of him.

“Spencer! The usual?”

“Actually, get me your favorite drink.”

“Are you sure? You’re not allergic to anything?”

“Nope.”

“Coming right up.” You ring him up and accept his cash. “I have another fact, and I think it’s a good one. Did you know the Vikings discovered America and not Christopher Columbus?”

“Yes, approximately five hundred years before Christopher Columbus, the Scandinavian explorer Thorvald, brother of Leif Erikson and son of Erik the Red, died in battle in modern-day Newfoundland.”

“Okay, you’re good.”

Spencer blushes at your small compliment. “My head is filled with facts that I can’t seem to forget like coffee beans are actually the seeds from the coffee plant’s berry-like fruits. The coffee plant is a shrub that grows in tropical climates in parts of Africa, Asia, South America and North America. It produces an edible berry-like fruit known as a coffee cherry, which typically contains two coffee beans. These beans are then processed and roasted to create the coffee we know and love.”

“I did not know that.” You really like talking to him but every time he comes in, there is a line forming behind him. You have to move on so you put in his order. You turn to your coworker who barely begins to make his order. “Can you take this? I want to make his cup.”

“Sure, smitten kitten,” she grins.

You grab the empty cup and make your favorite drink for Spencer. When you’re done, you write your number on the side of it in hopes he will use it.

“Spencer?” He walks up to the counter and you smile. “Here you go.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here.”

Spencer doesn’t notice your number until he gets to his car. He smiles which makes you smile because that is a good sign that he likes what you did. The next day, he comes in with someone. He hasn’t used your number yet but maybe he’s nervous. The man with the dark skin encourages Spencer to make a move on you, and he pushes him toward you.

“Hi, Spencer,” you smile.

“Hi. This is my friend and coworker, Derek Morgan.”

“Hi, Derek.” You turn to Spencer. “I got one for you. I really think I’ll get you this time. Did you know that in Ancient Egypt, the New Year celebration was called Wepet Renpet?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Wait, really?” you gasp.

“Are you serious?” Derek asks Spencer at the same time as you.

“I’m sorry, yeah, I did.” You tip your head back and laugh. “While we celebrate New Year’s Day on January 1, the Ancient Egyptian tradition was different every year. Meaning ‘the opener of the year’, Wepet Renpet was a way to mark the annual flooding of the Nile River, which usually happened sometime in July. The Egyptians tracked Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, to time their festivities.”

“You know, one day, I’m gonna get you. I’m gonna know something you don’t.”

“I’ve been barking up that tree for years now,” Derek chuckles. You and Spencer look at him and he nods in understanding. “I’ll go wait over there.”

“What can I get you two?”

“Caramel Macchiato and a Hazelnut Americano.”

“Is that all?”

Spencer looks at Derek who nods in encouragement.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” he stutters.

He blushes as he talks which is super cute.

“I’d love to.”

“Great. I still have your number. I was nervous about using it but I will now.”

“Don’t wait too long,” you grin.

There is something pulling you and Spencer together, something of an invisible string.

x

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[artdcnaldson]

and when we move on (we dont) and get a new boyfriend and get engaged all within the span of six months and suddenly art finds himself at your engagement party and you look happy and he thinks maybe he imagined his importance to you - maybe he had it wrong and he was the fleeting obsession. how else are you able to move on so quickly? he's miserable but he still plucks up the courage to come congratulate you even if he doesn't mean a word of it. says, "you look beautiful - honestly." just because, well you do.

and its then that your mask slips - you look like art punched you - not those slaps you'd both traded in the past - but like he'd genuinely punched you in the gut. wounded ane pained like he'd just said the most awful thing in the world to you. and your hands tremble when you hand him your champagne glass and mumble "im sorry - excuse me -"

you have to be somewhere alone. suddenly constricted and panting and you find and alcove to lean against and you feel tears burn your eyes and even worse still, a presence at your back - "hey, what -" because of course its him, of course it is. "what's wrong - what did i say -"

you could laugh. you could laugh if a sob wasn't cut off in your throat. you hate him. on your engagement day. the nerve to say you were beautiful. with those genuine eyes and soft expression - like he meant it. like he always thought you were.

he breaks your heart and and you try to move on - you let yourself drown in the next man that shows you attention because arts words follow you everywhere - how you're not the marriage type - well, your fiance wanted you. he wanted you and that had to be enough because if you remained alone and unwanted you think you'd die from the pain of it -

so for him to say something like that now - all of the sudden -

"why do you hate me? i left you alone, didn't i? patricks still your friend. you have everything you wanted - I just want to move on, art. I just want to be wanted - why are you here?"

GODDDDD your mind <3

You know it’s sudden— everyone knows it’s sudden. But you’re the only one who knows why you rushed into it so intensely. Why, after six months with someone, you agreed to marry someone who you hardly even knew.

You knew the basics— Charlie wanted to be a college professor. His mother was filthy fucking rich, old money, and she liked that you came from an affluent background. He enjoyed skiing, and watching tennis, and he did rowing in high school. He was allergic to cats. He liked ordering raw oysters and slurping them down embarrassingly loud at restaurants. He never ordered for you, always paid the bill, never pushed you past a heavy makeout session on the couch.

Because you couldn’t go past that anymore. You couldn’t be easy, couldn’t give it up. You had to be the type of girl someone would marry, you had to be girlfriend material, and wife material, and mother material.

Charlie wanted to get married, wanted a big family, and you checked those boxes for him. You’d never have to want for anything, he’d pamper you and keep you spoiled like you were used to. He was strawberry blonde like Art, but his smile was more refined and practiced, and you wish it wasn’t. When he proposed you said yes, and cried tears that were supposed to be happy, but how could you know for sure?

Art shows up to the engagement party as Patrick’s plus one, and you feel dizzy. But you have to be normal— you can’t give anything away. You just… try to avoid him. When he starts gravitating your way, you find an excuse to talk to someone else, or make your way into the kitchen for a fresh drink. Anything to stay away, because you can’t fucking see him. You can’t do that right now, or ever.

But of course he finds a way— he’s too polite or maybe he’s just too cruel to leave the party without offering a congratulations. You’re cornered like prey, grip so tight on the stem of your champagne flute that you’re worried it’ll snap.

And he doesn’t say congratulations. He just looks at you with a genuine, completely earnest smile and says, “You look really beautiful. He’s really lucky.”

You feel your heart seize in your chest, like someone’s grabbed it and squeezed viciously. The corners of your mouth twitch downwards, but you fight it and bring a polite, practiced smile to your lips. “Could you excuse me for a second?”

He looks confused as you put your glass in his hand, as you close his fingers around it so he doesn’t drop the expensive crystalware. As soon as you’re sure he has it, you’re weaving through the many guests to find solitude. Most of them are Charlie’s friends, few are your acquaintances— people that would just as soon pray on your downfall as they would offer a sweet congratulations.

You slip into the hallway feeling suffocated, drawing quick breaths through your nose until you tuck yourself away in a nicely tucked away alcove and take a slow, steadying breath.

But Art lingers at the edge of your vision, and you want to just cry and cry as he gets closer, as he puts a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, what…” his brow furrows, he searches your face for some sort of clue, something to help him understand. “What’s wrong? What did I say?”

The noise you let out is strangled, almost animal. You look at him and see that he means it, he doesn’t fucking know, he doesn’t understand. Maybe he just can’t.

“I can’t believe you’re—“ your voice cracks and you look away from him. You can’t stand to see that kicked puppy expression, the earnest concern. You can’t fucking look at it. “And after everything?”

Charlie is a good man. Charlie makes you happy, or he can one day, with time and distance. And he sees you as someone he wants to spend his life with. Isn’t that enough? Why is Art trying to spoil it for you when the alternative is proving him right? That would kill you. You’d rather just die.

“I was just…” he trails off, turns your face toward him with two fingers against your chin. The softest he’s ever touched you, and it feels so foreign and wrong that it shatters something inside that you thought you’d fully repaired. “I thought you’d want to know. That I still think about you, that I want you to be happy.”

Tears spill down your cheek, inky and black from your mascara. “You’re so fucking mean, Art.” Your voice is weak as you look at him. He drops his hand back to your side, but stays close, so close you’re reminded of how intoxicating his presence can be. “Why are you doing this to me? Huh? I did what you asked and I left you alone. And I didn’t tell Patrick, because I didn’t want to hurt you. Why isn’t that enough? Why are you trying to spoil this for me?”

Confusion and hurt flashes across his features. Is that what you thought he wanted? For you to really leave him alone? He didn’t want that, it nearly fucking killed him. He spent the end of senior year tanking in tournaments, he hardly slept.

Patrick had told you about Art floundering, and it made you sick. You’d actually laid in bed crying about it, wracked with guilt. You thought it was all because of you, because you’d distracted him and ruined him.

It felt like he was there only to remind you that you were poison. That you would do the same to the sweet boy just through a set of double doors as you had done to him. But you wouldn’t. You’d never do that again.

“Charlie wants me. I’ve been his girlfriend for only a few months and he already wants to marry me,” your wavers pathetically as you think back to what Art had said back home. The prospect that he could be right was fucking terrifying, but you’d left that girl behind. “He could be the only one who wants me like this. So why are you trying to show up to my engagement party and look at me like you— like—“

You can’t say it, but he knows. He looks at you and he knows. You wince as he sinks to his knees in front of you, tears filling your eyes. Because his hands slide up your calves, settle on the back of your thighs.

He kisses your knee, softly, reverently, looks up at you with soft, desperate eyes. You sigh softly as his lips trail up, skimming along your soft thighs. You lean back, pressing against the wall, feeling yourself melt for him.

“Art,” you gasp weakly. “You can’t. We— we can’t.” You know you’re speaking the truth, but your words and your actions aren’t aligned. Your fingers card into his hair, and your entire body lights up when you finally touch him again.

It aches in your chest— longing and hurt and love and hatred. You never felt as much as you do with him. Charlie doesn’t light up that part of you the way Art does. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it needs to be hidden away, cut off like a rotting limb.

His lips press to the spot just beneath your hem, and he peers up at you. “Let me.”

Not a question. A plea. Let him.

Let him what? Love you? Touch you? Let him eat you out in the shadows of a hotel hallway? Let him back in? Let him have you? Let him be yours to worship again?

“Okay,” your voice is barely above a whisper. “Okay.” You repeat, just to make sure you’re certain. Of what, you don’t know.

His head slips beneath the skirt of your dress, and you moan softly at the press of his lips over your panties. Soft, sweet kisses over the fabric that make you open up for him. You feel need dripping from your center, longing.

You haven’t been touched since him— not that he’d ever actually tried. But having him touch you, kiss you… it feels like ice melting.

He tugs your panties to the side, mouths at your cunt like he’s kissing it. Like he’s kissing you. You moan softly, let your head knock against the wall.

“Art—“ you practically sob. His tongue parts you, laps at you from your dripping entrance to your clit. He moans and nuzzles closer, lets his nose rub against your clit as he presses his tongue inside of you. He squeezes at your thighs, dimples the plush flesh there.

You’re so sensitive— it’s a combination of months of barely even touching yourself, of missing him, of craving him. You’re dripping onto his tongue, moaning softly. You can’t manage more than soft gasps of his name, pleas for more— Art Art Art Art Art.

He draws your orgasm out easily, like it belongs to him. Laps at your release, works you through it until your knees are shaking. He pulls back, mouth glistening with your release.

He stays on his knees, presses another soft kiss to your thighs, and another, over and over again. Soft, reverent, tender. He looks up at you so earnestly, so desperately, that you feel a sob stick in your throat.

“I need to get back,” you say suddenly, when the ache in your chest is too much to bear. “Charlie’s probably wondering… you know— I’ve been gone too long.”

“Charlie?” Art asks, his voice weak, pathetic. He’s still looking up at you from his knees, and he has to scramble up when you start walking towards the women’s bathroom to tidy your makeup. “Why are you doing this?“

He could be asking anything. You answer what you think he needs to hear, what h ended a to know. “He’s going to be a good husband, Art. He’s always sweet, and he’s never… he doesn’t just see me like— like what you see.” You take a steadying breath. “What you said to me back home was true, I know that now. But I can’t just be alone. It’ll kill me.”

You pause, let your lip twitch into a sad smile. “Just please leave me alone, Art.”

You slip into the bathroom, he hears you click the door locked so you can’t follow. Not like last time. When he returns to the party, he drinks three more glasses of champagne. He leaves before Charlie gives a toast to you, to your impending marriage. He can’t fucking stomach it.

[animeaandp]

[Emptying drafts-87 left]

(Lost the direction I wanted to go in with this)

MHA Prompt

Warning: smut, swearing, violence, angst

Dabi x pregnant civilian reader

You're Dabi’s neighbor in the crap-box apartments he lived in before joining the league. You were homeless for a while before landing a job selling your quirk's essence. It's hard to produce and sell on your own at first, but big surprise that the criminal world was happy to help. So you became a milking cow metaphorically and sort of literally; you created a product for others to sell and in return you get some of the profit. It’s just enough to get by but without any other prospects or desires that’s fine with you. Nothing wrong with a simple life.

Whenever you’d cook too much food you offered it to Dabi, or on occasion asked if he wanted to join for a movie night; just trying to make friends with your neighbor. He usually brushed you off and if he wasn’t interested then that’s okay. You stopped knocking on his door so much.

The walls are paper thin though so he knew plenty about you without having a single proper conversation. He knows you grew up in an orphanage before aging out with no one and nowhere to go. Dabi learned your favorite movies and shows, that you were actually a really good cook who learned most of it from the cooking channel, your favorite color was green and apparently everything in your apartment was some shade of the color. You loved snakes and were allergic to strawberries. Your best friend was someone named Maddie and you always spoke too damn loud on the phone with her. Telling you to shut the hell up was one of the only reasons Dabi ever spoke to you.

One day you’re confused to see him standing at your door bc you weren’t on the phone or being loud in any way. He wasn’t here for that; it was his first time realizing what you did for work and wanted what you sold. Zero intention of paying for it of course, but before he can threaten you you’re shoving a bottle into his chest and telling him it’s on the house.! It just made you so happy he finally talked to you. Dabi manages a “thanks” then goes back to his apartment.

The stuff worked like a charm and became the source of your interactions with Dabi from then on. Usually you just gave him a new bottle but on occasion he’d throw some money at you before leaving. It was his way of ‘treating you well’ and making sure to never owe you shit.

One day there’s no answer, even though he knows you’re inside; he heard the door slam shut earlier. He pounds on the door shouting at you to open up but no response. The only reasonable option is to kick down your door and interrogate you as to why you’d ever ignore him. But he walks into a mess and blood. Dabi listens but can’t hear anything, and again there’s no response when he calls your name. Flames tickle his fingers just in case as he continues further into the space. The door ahead has a huge blood splatter on it and already cracked open. Dabi pushes through, it’s a bedroom, but still doesn’t see anything, “y/n…i know you’re in here….come on don’t make me start a fire to sniff you out.” The trail continued to the bathroom, and it had to be where you were. Closed but not locked, Dabi opens it and doesn’t understand what he’s looking at. ‘Is she dead.? Was she murdered??’ You’re slumped against the side of the tub, stripped naked, covered in blood and bruises. You’re not moving. Dabi’s not sure if he can see you breathing either, what’s in front of him is such a mess.

Should…

...should he leave you?

Or hide your body? If the police found out everyone would think he did it. There were enough bottles in the corner of your bedroom to last him forever as well. He could just close the door, loot your stuff, and get back to his own life.

He could leave

He could walk away right now

Close the door and never look back

‘Just leave’

“…This bitch is gonna owe me big time.”

.

.

You wake up the next morning tucked into bed with your injuries tended to and bandaged. The television is on and an overwhelming scent of bleach makes you want to hurl. You sit up coughing and cry in pain immediately. “Lay down idiot before your stitches-WHOA! TF!? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!!”

“!?!?….D-Dabi-??”

“Drop the fucking knife-you’re enough of a pain in the ass as is.!”

“Wha-AH!!?” You collapse to the floor gripping your stomach now that the adrenaline of the moment has subsided. Davi kicks the knife across the room and stands over you, “Looks like you’re back to being a helpless damsel in distress. Good. You’re a real bitch when you’re injured.” He tried to pick you up but you slap his hands away with whatever strength you have left. He snarls at you, "now what.?? What are you crying about?”

“Don’t touch me again…please.”

"??"

"..."

"…Ah, I get it…a boyfriend? Or some stray who couldn’t keep it in his pants.?” You clawed your way back towards your bed, trying not to cry anymore, “Please don’t make fun of me. Not right now.” He rolls his eyes walking towards you “You sure you don’t want help.? You look pathetic.” You ignore Dabi’s jabs while trying to pull yourself back into bed. Laying there you didn’t look much better; like a dying fish gasping for water on the sidewalk. Dabi crouches down beside you. “Feeling better puppy??” Usually you found his snarky comments funny enough to at least smile, but your eyes look right through him. “What happened; when did you find me? How? What did you do-?” “My my y/n, you’re awfully chatty when you're about to die. Maybe I shouldn’t have helped you.”

“Why then.?”

“…..I need your shit.”

“……ha, haha…”

“whatever. Don’t get up again, my sutures aren’t very professional but you should live. You might look like me, but…..that’s the part where you flatter me.”

“I’d rather bleed out.”

“Yeah, keep it up with that smart mouth then.”

Dabi opens a window to air out the bleach he used to clean up most of the blood. He’d found your medicine cabinet and gives you a handful of pills before going to lounge on your couch and watch tv.

A few hours later and Dabi’s freely going through all of your things again, taking advantage of your lack of mobility. “Remind me; why’d you try and slit my throat earlier.?.” You laid in bed staring up at the ceiling as Dabi ransacked your place there was nothing interesting to find anyways. “I thought you were him.” “The guy who did this?” “Mhm. It was just a reflex; sorry.” Dabi gives up his explorations to lay beside you You were right there wasn’t any good shit in your apartment. “Save it. I doubt it’ll be the last time. I’m still waiting for your answer; who was it?….no, no no puppy don’t start that sniveling crap again. Forget about it then. Just stop crying.” "O-Okay…"

.

.

Over the next couple of weeks, at least once a day, Dabi invited himself into your apartment to check on you. He always helped himself to whatever suited as ‘payment’ for his aid and you never bat an eye. But it’s been a month now and you weren’t feeling any better. Your body had healed well but you still felt like you’ve been hit by a truck every day. Dabi didn’t remember you being so crabby before your incident or remotely so emotional.

You were becoming a real pain in the ass but it's hard to take his insults to heart when his cheeks are stuffed with a third serving of the dinner you made him. You reassure him though, “I'll find a doctor to go see soon. Promise."

"Good."

Bad. Veryyy bad. The worst bad-nothing could be worse-the very worst very bad thing was happening and it was bad bad bad.

"You need to move. Now."

"Wha-No fucking way, I was here first; you move jackass!?"

"First you inconvenience me by getting knocked up and now you want to make me move??"

"No but just get over it!"

"I'm not listening to you and your bastard baby cry every day y/n!! MOVE.NOW.!"

"...."

"....I.."

.

.

You don't move but you don't see or speak to Dabi after that day. You barely let him hear you make a sound to prove that you were even alive. Dabi had the peace and quiet he demanded but it' too boring now. And he's hungry.

Eventually he bangs on your door and shoves a raggedy teddy bear into your chest, swearing that he wasn’t changing a damn diaper. You fiddle with the toy, still finding it perfect as is despite the damage. “I’ll call you Dabi.” Dabi growls at your little jest and pushes his way into your apartment, “just make us some dinner already I’m fucking starved.” “Of course” you steal a quick hug from him as he passed “I’ve missed you too” and he’s disgusted that he allowed such things from you.

His disgust grows as he finds himself walking with you to run errands, building furniture, and even reading a damn book on how to parent for dummies. “This is such bullshit, why do I have to read this crap to you” he tosses the book and rolls over to hug your pillow, too tired to keep looking at that boring book. You find it so cute how grumpy he gets when he’s tired. “Go home then. Get some sleep, you’ve been up with me all day.” He grumbles his usual swears at you while digging himself further into your bed, “I’m sleeping here. Deal with it.” “…happy to.”

A couple months pass by and Dabi is so full of it. You listen to him gripe on and on about how much pregnancy is ruining your body and what an ugly whale you were now, yet he can never keep his hands off your belly for more than a moment. He’s entirely fascinated by it all but every time you tease him he says something rude and snarky about what an eye sore you were. “These aren’t so bad though” “!?DABI..!!?” You flick his forehead but can’t stop giggling as he rubs his face in your cleavage. You didn’t mind it or anything about your life right now. Taking care of this freeloader made you the happiest you’d ever been.

.

.

People like you didn’t get to stay happy though. What a fool you were to forget that. You and Dabi.

.

.

Dabi woke up one morning to find a note saying you ran to the store and would be back soon. He looks out the window to see it’s raining before crumbling the note and setting it on fire with a sigh. He really hated how much of a not-completely-horrible-person you were turning him into. Sick. He snatches your umbrella and heads out to find you. “I swear if that whale catches a cold…”

His footsteps come to an abrupt stop. That last splash under his shoes wasn’t water. It was something thicker and red flowing out of the alleyway. Dabi follows the trail “son of a-“ and rushes to check for a pulse. It’s faint but just enough that you might live if he hurries.

Dabi wouldn’t be there when you woke up in the hospital but he was waiting once you got back home. He already knew what the doctors were going to tell you, that you’d be going home alone. A week later you trudge through the door but Dabi thinks he might be seeing things. Like a ghost you don’t make a sound, or blink. You don’t react to Dabi’s presence at all until he knocks your purse out of your hand and yanks you in by your neck. “Answer me when I’m talking to you brat. Tell me what you need already.” But your eyes don’t sparkle or look mischievous looking back at Dabi. You’d gone numb. So Dabi silently took care of you (to the best of his abilities) until you go from numb to grief stricken.

It was such a headache. The tears, crying and wailing over a half folded pile of baby clothes, or into Dabi’s shoulder once your crying woke him up and he needed you to settle down. He’d drag you into his arms, ignoring your shouting to piss off, and force you back into bed. Then keep you trapped in his full embrace until you exhausted yourself and passed out. Dabi complained constantly but regardless he was there with you.

Finally, Dabi walks in one day to see you packing up the last of the baby junk. He squats down beside you to start throwing in the last of it into the box. You no longer got sad or angry at him for doing such things, you knew it was his way of trying to help you move on. “It’s just…I found something that made me look forward to living…” Dabi rolls his eyes, “pleaseeee no more waterworks I JUST got here.” You chuckle and punch him in the shoulder, “You’re such a heartless asshole.” “and the only reason you’re alive.” He pushes you back and goes to place the box in storage as you plopped down on the couch. You recline comfortable and welcome Dabi slithering over on top of you. “Besides, at least now you’re not a whale anymore and, thanks to whatever fucked up god is out there, these two are still here.” You laugh tugging on his hair trying to pull his face out of your chest. “You’re too old to be acting like this!!” “Shut up and respect your elders you little rat.” He slaps your hand away but eases up; resting his head on your cleavage as his arms coiled around you. “You’re young. You have plenty of time to crap out another baby, assuming you can stay out of trouble long enough to.” You tickle his back with a fond smile, “If only I could.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…???….what are you doing??” “Smelling you.” “Uh huh, yeah I got that. Wanna tell me why though??” Dabi drags his face over your chest and up your neck, taking deep breathes all the way to your ear and into your hair. “I’m committing you to memory.” You grip onto his shoulders when he suddenly pushes up and his knees force yours to spread under him. “W-Why???” He scoffs in your ear and whispers “you don’t really expect me to stick around to help raise my own child do you?” “What are…nghh…Dabi wait…” He continues nibbling your ear though as his hands roam to places they haven’t been before. “Wait for what. You want a baby so I’m gonna give you one” “Wh-“ “Maybe two.” ‘Two’?!!” “Mhm. Depending on how good this is.” You feel a growing heat that you weren’t afraid of being consumed by. “This is a horrible idea” you whisper lifting your hips for him “what if I do expect you to stick around?” “Why would you expect that?” “I don’t expect anything from a person like you” you hike your leg up and shiver feeling his lips drag down it “but I’d want you to.” He furrows his brows trying to control himself but this is already more patience than he’d typically exercise. “I don’t want that.” “Do it anyways.” “I don’t wanna.” “Fine. Good luck finding someone else to put up with you, or feed you.” “Hmmm, good point” Dabi’s mouth moved hungrily down your thighs, digging his fingers into both as he went, “a few more and maybe I’ll stick around til their first birthday.” “T-There’s a Christmas turkey in it for you if you stick around for their second.!” “Where’s a rat like you finding something like that” he mumbles between licks before you tense up “From wherever a villainous lowlife like you can steal one from!.Fuck…” “ha ha that’s my girl.”

All your free time is spent rolling around with Dabi, listening to him growling and grunting in your ear, reminding you how he swears to never change a single diaper or be forced to do anything. You try asking him why he’s doing this then and finally he says “You wouldn’t stop crying about wanting a damn baby so I’m giving your needy little cunt one. That’s it.! Just feeding your greedy greedy body what it wants..” and he fucked you with that need. His hands and mouth are never not on you and it’s unsurprising how his lack of shame extended into the bedroom. You think once the pregnancy test says positive it’d all stop but “no way I’m passing this up.” You’re confused and trying to slow him down as he throws you on your bed. “Pass what up? I thought you’d never touch me again now that I got what I wanted?” “No. Because now it’s my turn to get what I want.” He pushes your body into the position he likes and wastes no time. “Nine months without having to waste my time and money on condoms? Absofuckinglutely.” “Wait that’s not entirely true and you never paid for-!?“ “oh shut up, I’m breaking in my new toy.”

True to his word you’re run ragged by his infinite libido. Even after he joins some villain group he comes running to get between your thighs every chance he gets, including when he shouldn’t. One day there’s some loud banging on his door and he slaps his hand over your mouth, refusing to pause his ascent. Then the banging is on your door and you panic hearing shouting for Dabi to open up. “Not a fucking sound” he barks down at you before picking up his pace, ignoring the person’s demands that he not be late to another meeting. You do as you’re told and bare his forceful climax by biting your pillow. Your voice shakes as you try to find it “I…I’m in no condition to be handled like that..” “You’ll take whatever the fuck I give you.” He pulls the sheets over you and dips his head to kiss your cheek goodbye before getting up. You’re too exhausted to care about the arguing and shouting when he finally opens the door to let in whoever it was. You close your tired eyes and just hope Dabi finds all his clothes quickly so they all leave. Then you get a well deserved break while Dabi ran off with his buddies to go do bad guy shit. “*sigh* not a bad life for us at all..”

[abiatackerman]

Morning kisses and pancakes

The sun's gentle rays filter through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You're cocooned in blankets, still lost in dreams, while Levi lies beside you, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath as he sleeps peacefully, hugging you tightly.

As the soft light of the sun falls on both of your faces, Levi's eyes flutter open, adjusting to the soft light. His gaze lands on you, and for a moment, he forgets the world outside these four walls. Your hair spills across the pillow, and your lips are slightly parted. Vulnerable. His heart clenches.

After a long tiring week in the survey corps, you and Levi have returned to your "HOME" for the weekend.

The "HOME" which is a little bit away from the town and people. The "HOME" which both of you made together with love....

He carefully untangles himself from you, trying not to disturb your sleep. Quietly, he slips out of bed and heads to the kitchen to make breakfast, a simple yet meaningful way he expresses his love. About an hour later, Levi returns with a tray filled with pancakes and a few pieces of fruit. He learned to cook after you started dating, knowing how much you dislike it, especially since you’re not very good at it.

He smiles slightly when he sees you're still asleep. He sets the tray down on the nightstand, then gently bends down and kisses your neck as he mumbles against your skin.

"Doll, wake up."

You just shake your head and hug his arm in return. Levi gently ruffles your hair as he kisses your cheek.

"Wake up, baby. I have made breakfast for you."

Levi has just called you baby, making you slowly open your eyes. He is extremely affectionate in private.

"I'm a horrible wife."

Levi gently kisses your forehead as you say that.

"No, you're not. You worked hard and you're exhausted. You don't have to cook or prepare breakfast."

He gently pulls you into a sitting position. Then, he picks up a strawberry from the bowl to feed you. You smile widely and eagerly take the strawberry in your mouth.

"What did I do to get a wonderful husband like you?"

"You married me, even though I'm a grumpy old bastard."

Levi mumbles as he gently brushes his fingers over your cheek in a soft, loving way.

"I love grumpy men... You know that."

You chuckle as you reply and take a pancake he made and moan.

"You're such a... Damn good chef."

"Yes, I know."

Levi says as your moans fill the air. Your moans are driving him mad. He can't help it. Every time you make a tiny noise of pleasure he can't help but get hard immediately.

"Doll, don't make those kind of sounds while I'm feeding you."

He speaks in a raspy voice making you laugh.

"Why not? Are you getting turned on?"

"I'm always-"

Levi quickly catches himself and bites the inside of his cheek, preventing himself from just blurting out the truth.

"I'm not getting turned on, Doll. That's gross."

Levi lies though you know he's rock hard by now already.

"You know um, though you were rough last night and that you're hard now....."

You speak as you gulp the last piece of pancake of your hand.

"We can have another love making session after breakfast... What do you say?"

"Yes, Doll. We can have another one."

Levi says in a teasing tone as he eats a pancake, he made himself.

"But only after we finish the weekly cleaning...."

You groan immediately.

"Oh Levi... Come on! Can't we just skip the cleaning for this week?"

"Doll, you know I have OCD. I can't just skip the cleaning."

Levi says in a slightly stern tone, though his eyes are soft . He eats the last pancake as he speaks again.

"It's only for a few hours and I promise, we can have another session today once we're done."

"Nope, we'll clean... But no sex. I'll be tired."

You say in a pissed tone. Because you know Levi's allergic to dust and that he will never skip cleaning.

Levi smirks slightly as he knows he has won the argument.

"Yes, Doll. No sex after the cleaning ."

He says though he knows you aren't being serious about no sex.

Because you both know, you can't keep your hands off him and he can't keep his hands off you......

[darsynia]

Banana (Steve/f!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: Steve unexpectedly stayed over, and you want to make him the best breakfast ever.

Length/Warnings: 1,700 words | sexual contact

It's your ACTUAL BIRTHDAY @ronearoundblindly!! For banaNA, the delicious centerpiece of my 7 Ro Roll stories, we've got an established relationship morning interlude of teeth-rotting fluff. Enjoy!!

Excerpt:

Steve sets his fork carefully onto his plate, lifting up his napkin to wipe his mouth. The look in his eyes is warm. “You’re hoping I stay over more often?”

Two months ago you’d have worried that was some kind of relationship test.

One month ago you would have been scared to admit how much you think about sex with him.

Today you say, “Yes, I am.”

Loving Steve Rogers has made you more confident, and someday you’ll tell him that.

Banana

You really hadn’t expected your boyfriend to sleep over. It wasn’t the traditional date where you dress up in something beautiful and eat out at a ritzy restaurant, then come home and undress to experience something beautiful. It was the kind where he comes by with takeout and the two of you watch movies until you both fall asleep on the couch.

Still, you’d like to make the morning intentionally special for Steve.

You can’t ask him what he likes for breakfast while he's in the shower, but you're sure he has a metabolism-stimulating plate of protein every morning, looking like that. After assessing what's in the fridge, you make the decision to go all-out. He’d been used to mess hall communal meals back in the army, right? Plus, there's a kitchen in the Compound, so he probably makes his own breakfast. You lose a few minutes just picturing that.

Ten minutes later you’ve made him a plate with two kinds of eggs, sausage patties, buttered toast, and a little cup of sliced strawberries. The glass of orange juice ended up using the rest of the carton, but you can always buy more.

You wait with bated breath with your own breakfast, a generous bowl of oatmeal with your favorite fruits garnished with brown sugar. Steve doesn’t need to know those were the only eggs, nor that you made him the last of your sausage.

“Wow that smells great, are you setting up your crock pot or something?” he calls out from the hallway. You grin, excited for the surprise. Soon he’s coming into the kitchen, still drying his hair off with one of your towels. He smells amazing, and everything about the moment is exactly what you’ve always wanted.

Except… he looks uncomfortable.

“Please tell me you’re not allergic to eggs,” you fret.

“Oh, those are for me?”

“Well, yeah, look at the size of the plate! I guess if you want the oatmeal…”

He’s walking into the wide kitchen doorway, disappearing behind the wall for a moment (during which your mind races, thinking of all the things you could have done wrong. Does he dislike pepper? Allergic to citrus? What if he hates sausage? Why did you think this is a good idea!?).

“Are you okay?”

Steve’s got a banana in his hand, along with a fork, knife, and spoon. “Together, we’re a table setting,” he jokes, holding them up.

You almost facepalm-- you’d completely forgotten silverware. “Thanks.”

After the eggs and fruit are gone (accompanied by many enjoyment noises that punctuate your discussion of baseball), he points at the empty bowl of strawberries with a neatly-sliced piece of sausage on the end of his fork.

“You should know, I usually only eat a banana or some sliced fruit like this for breakfast, but this is delicious. Thank you.”

You conjure up the least embarrassed smile you can manage, but inside you wonder whether his honesty is warring with his sense of politeness.

“You’re asking yourself if I’d lie to make you happy, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Guilty,” you sigh. “I’m glad you said something before I made this mistake multiple times in the future.”

Steve sets his fork carefully onto his plate, lifting up his napkin to wipe his mouth. The look in his eyes is warm. “You’re hoping I stay over more often?”

Two months ago you’d have worried that was some kind of relationship test.

One month ago you would have been scared to admit how much you think about sex with him.

Today you say, “Yes, I am.”

Loving Steve Rogers has made you more confident, and someday you’ll tell him that.

He stands, coming over to take your hand and draw you solicitously up to your feet for a sweet, brief kiss. Steve's expression turns more serious, and he looks you right in your eyes.

“I’m hungry.”

You cannot be reading him right. It’s wishful thinking.

“There’s still that bana--”

Steve interrupts you with another kiss. It’s full of passion--a rough hand at your hip, thumb caressing your cheek, teeth scraping out of desperate sloppiness. The man is wrecking your mental health, but you’re right there with him, slowly filling up with heated liquor at every swipe of his tongue. He lifts his head and smiles gently, his lips twitching for a few seconds before he leans his head back and laughs.

Two months ago you would have thought he was laughing at you.

One month ago you’d have nervously played along in confusion.

Now you shove at his shoulder in mock frustration. “Out with it!”

“I can’t pull off that line, I’m sorry! I did my best,” he confesses sheepishly. “I woke up in the middle of the night on the couch with you asleep on my chest and texted Clint about what to do.”

“Oh, God,” you say, trying valiantly to hold back a giggle. “Why Clint?”

He backs up into the kitchen with his hands held up defensively. “I thought I could trust him! I figured Natasha would give me… questionable advice,” Steve says, “--and neither of us wanted me to ask Tony.”

“Oh, God,” you say again, this time in actual dismay.

“Exactly.” He pulls out one of your leftover containers and its matching lid, and holds them up.

He looks so good in his tight pants and form-fitting t-shirt that you gather up all of your Steve-loves-me courage.

“I thought you were hungry?” you say impudently, walking over and taking them out of his hands to set on the counter. Sliding your arms up around his neck, you kiss him with as much fervor as the kiss just minutes ago, letting your hands roam into his hair, down over his arm muscles, and finally to your goal, his waistband. Because you want his full permission before you do anything further, you mouth your way from his lips to his jaw, so he can say something if he needs to. If his enthusiastic participation in the kiss so far is any indication, though, there’s hope he’s up for it.

You circle the button of his pants with your thumb, slipping your fingers past his waistband. He hasn’t put on a belt yet, and there’s something intimate about it that’s beyond anything sexual, like he trusts himself to be not fully put-together around you. Falling asleep on the couch with you is one of those kind of things, too.

Steve whispers your name in a hoarse voice that’s rich with desire.

“Yes?” you question, hoping you’re not pushing too much.

“Yes.” 

Arching up to give him a kiss, you release the button and push the zipper down slowly, as much a caress against his groin as anything else. Steve throws a hand out to the side, and you feel a surge of excitement to think he’s so enthusiastic already.

“Here,” he says, throwing the towel that usually hangs from the oven on the floor at his feet, eyes full of amused apology. “Believe me, I’ll want to hold on.”

It’s so Steve Rogers to worry about your knees.

There’s nothing you can say that won’t sound terribly gauche or overeager, so you kiss his chest and pull his pants down to his feet, kneeling as you go. You look up at him, holding eye contact as you tug down his boxer briefs--but you don’t have the bravery to keep his gaze for your first taste.

Steve’s holding himself rigidly still, but you can feel his leg muscles tighten up even more when you take him into your mouth. It’s validating as hell. You pull back, sucking, loving the feel of him, warm and vibrant and wanting you. 

At that point you let yourself bliss out, eyes closed and fully attuned to him. When he makes a guttural little sound of need after you do something, you add it to the rotation, and when he starts to rock his hips forward, you quicken your pace. Everything is perfect; the crease of the towel digging into your knees, the taste of precum in your mouth, the searing ache between your legs, and most of all, how alive Steve is under your tongue, against your hands, in your throat.

“Ahhhhh,” he groans, and slams a hand onto the counter. You realize you’d hummed in happiness, and god, he’d loved that. You let out a little moan of pleasure of your own at the thought of just how wet you’ve got to be by now.

As a reward for you both, you hum again.

That sends him, starting a glorious chaos of holding on and taking it all in. When Steve reaches down and flails at your hair and shoulder, you let him pull you up and into his arms. Steve holds you tight to his chest, right each there against the counter with his pants around his ankles, each of you pulling as much oxygen and approval into your bodies as you can.

He pets your head and leans down. “Want to know what Clint said to tell you if the first line worked?”

Two months ago you were sure you weren't good enough for him and it could never last.

One month ago you’d have worried this levity was a sign you'd done a bad job.

Now, you glare up at him in utter adoration.

“If it’s something about being barefoot in the kitchen, Rogers, I’m going to go to the bedroom and finish by myself.”

“Never mind,” he says, moving sideways just long enough to get a hand on his pants to tug them up. He does the button but not the zipper, then picks you up, heading into the hallway. At the doorway to your bedroom, Steve fucking Rogers looks down at you with a loving expression and says, “Don’t worry. I’d never leave you behind.”

[dearestro]

Icecream Sundaes

Disclaimer: I couldn't think of a title ok? But I had to name it something.

Warnings: Innuendos, crudish language, allergic reaction.

Summary: Who knew icecream could be dangerous? Part of the Chase Miniseries.

"Daddy!" You heard your four year old yell as she rushed to the front door.

"Princess!" You looked to see Robert come in with a few bags of groceries as he picked up your daughter and spun her around as she giggled. You smiled at the sight.

"Don't be too flattered. She knows you're the one with the icecream!" You laughed as he looked up at you while still holding Layla. 

"Well, that's not true, is it Layla?" He turned to your daughter.

"Icecream!" You smirked as the smile fell from his face, and he playfully rolled his eyes before setting the child down and following you into the kitchen.

"Told you." You smiled as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist after setting down the bags.

"Yeah well...you're excited to see me. Right?" He started to kiss your neck as you laughed.

"I suppose." You feigned disinterest as he just scoffed, causing you to giggle before turning to capture his lips with yours. He only pulled you closer to deepen the kiss in response.

"Icecream!" Layla shouted, effectively interrupting the moment. Robert groaned before letting you go to look through the grocery bags. Inside the first two bags, you found chocolate chips, chocolate syrup, bananas, maraschino cherries, waffle cones, chocolate, and vanilla icecream. You finally reached the smaller third bag and opened it to find strawberry icecream, sauce, and strawberries. You frowned before turning your husband.

"Why did you get these?" You asked, holding up the forbidden foods.

"You two like them, who am I to stop you from enjoying icecream sundae night?" He shrugged as if it was no big deal. You rolled your eyes at him.

"Alright, but do you think you can survive a few days without kisses?" You teased.

"I'm sure I'll be fine without mouth kisses." He deadpanned as you snorted at his word choice.

"Mouth kisses?" You quirked a brow.

"Well, yeah, what else am I supposed to call them? After all, every other body part is still kissable, right?" You rolled your eyes before starting to unpack the supplies.

The three of you had begun to create your own sundaes. Robert on one end of the island and you on the other so that you could both help Layla when needed. You made sure to keep the strawberry stuff separate and wait until everything else was finished with to cut them so as to not get your husband sick.

Layla insisted on putting anything and everything on hers while you and Robert stuck to the basics. You all were about finished when you decided to start washing the strawberries.

"I'll be right back. I have to use the restroom." Murmured your husband as he pressed a kiss to your temple. You continued to wash and cut the strawberries as Layla looked over the sundaes.

By the time your husband had gotten back, you had added the strawberry stuff to your and your daughter's icecream bowls, and all sat down to eat. Layla eagerly dug in as you and Robert shared one last allergen free kiss before going to your own.

"Why does this taste like strawberries?" Your eyes widened at Robert's question.

"I don't know...I waited until you were done making yours to even use anything you were allergic to." You stared at his face intently, making sure nothing changed as he shrugged it off and continued to eat. 

Unfortunately, it didn't take long for his face to turn red, and he started wheezing. At seeing and hearing his distress, you jumped up and ran for the epi pen you had kept for situations like this just in case as he started to panic at the lack of oxygen. You tried to gently but quickly move your daughter out of the way so you could reach his thigh. You hesitated for a second, quickly thinking to turn your daughter away from the sight so she wouldn’t see you stab her father before you jammed it into his muscle. He took a quick breath in as you rushed to dial 911 and ushered your daughter away from the scene.

The paramedics got to the house in time and rushed your husband off in an ambulance while you were left with Layla to follow. You, along with your little girl, had tears streaming down your face at the horrific situation. You because you had almost lost your husband and her because even though she didn't quite understand the situation, she knew it was bad. 

As you arrived at the hospital, you rushed to the ER where you were told to wait while they stabilized him. 

"Where's Daddy?" Your little girl sobbed as you shushed her and caressed her blonde hair.

"He's just a little sick." You lied. "We'll see him soon." She nodded as you rubbed your hand up and down her back. "Do you have any idea why Daddy's icecream tasted like strawberries?" You asked her gently, not wanting to further upset the toddler. She sniffled before looking down at her lap. "Layla?"

"I just wanted to help...I thought Daddy might like the red sauce..." You sighed at her admission. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt him!" She cried as she burried her face in the crook of your neck.

"I know, babygirl. Shh. I know." You continued to comfort her. "But next time you have to ask before adding anything to our food. Especially Daddy's...ok?" She only nodded against your neck as a doctor came out to meet you.

"Mrs. Chase?" You nodded. "He's ok, we'll keep him here a while, and we've put him on fluids, but otherwise, he should be fine." You sighed in relief before turning to your distraught daughter.

"You hear that, baby? He's ok, you're ok. We're all ok." You tried to soothe her fears but to no avail, so you turned back to the doctor. "Can you bring us to him?" He nodded as you got up to follow him, Layla, on your hip, still burying her face in shame.

Once you got to the room, you knocked on the door lightly before hearing a gentle 'Come in'.

"Hi. Someone wanted to see you." You whispered as you closed the door behind you and walked over to the bed. 

"Hey babygirl." He said as he reached for Layla, but the little girl flinched away. "What's wrong?" His eyebrows furrowed at the toddler's odd behavior. 

"She’s still a little upset..." He gave you a look. "I'll tell you later." He nodded, understanding that now wasn't the time, so you sat down at his bedside. "How's your thigh?" You asked as you lightly touched where the epi pen had been administered.

"Sore." He pouted as you shook your head and chuckled.

"Poor baby." You said as you rubbed small circles around the area. "Speaking of which, we're gonna be here a while." You said as you looked at the time it was around 8:30.

"Here, come here, Princess. I'll turn on the tv." Robert said as he reached for your daughter. He frowned as she shook her head and refused to look at him. "You don't want to cuddle?" He asked, the sadness clear in his voice. 

"Why don't you cuddle with Daddy? It might make him feel better." You whispered to your daughter in hopes she might perk up. She hesitated before nodding and climbing onto the bed and snuggling into Robert's side. He smiled as she finally acknowledged him and reached to turn the tv on and flip through the channels before finding a child friendly channel. The two of them just sat in silence as everyone turned their attention to the small tv.

After about an hour, you turned to see your daughter sleeping and your husband nodding off. It was a sweet sight, and surely both of them needed the rest. Unfortunately, you still had to talk to Robert and now was as good a time as ever.

"Honey?" You prodded his shoulder before going to move the wisps of hair out of his face. He started to stir and murmured something before opening his eyes.

"Hmm?" He squinted his eyes at the light. 

"I found out how you got sick." You whispered. He raised a tired brow. "When you were in the bathroom and I had my back turned while cutting the strawberries...Layla added strawberry sauce to your bowl. Apparently, we're both blind since we didn’t see the color." You shook your head. "That's why she's been avoiding you...she feels bad." He frowned before looking at the sleeping toddler. 

"Poor girl. Probably scared her half to death." He murmured as he pet down her stray hairs and put his lips to her hairline.

"She just wanted to help...she thought you might like it. I told her she has to ask next time before adding anything to our food." Tears started to pool in your eyes unbeknownst to you. "She thinks it's her fault." A tear dripped down your cheek. "It isn’t really. I should've been watching her better." You stifled a sob as Robert reached for you.

"Hey, hey. It's not her fault, and it's not yours either. It was a mistake. I'm ok! We're all ok..." He said as he pulled you close and kissed your temple. 

"But I could've lost you! And she thinks it's her fault, but it's not she's just a baby! I'm the adult! I should've known better!" You cried. You didn't want to break down like this, but you couldn't help it. Robert was the love of your life and because you were careless...you could've lost him. It was just too much.

"Shh. Hey. Don't cry." He grabbed your chin and made you look at him. "Everything’s all right. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine...I bought the damned stuff, and then when I thought I tasted it, I continued to eat it!" He laughed as you chuckled sadly.

"To be fair, you aren't the brightest." You smirked as he feigned offense.

"I'll have you know I'm a doctor. Thank you very much." 

"And yet you don't carry your epi pen. I had to sneak it into your briefcase and give Foreman one in case of emergencies." You rolled your eyes.

"I don't need one!" 

"And what do you call this?" 

"A fluke!" You scoffed at his excuse.

You were about to protest, but a nurse came in.

"Looks like you're good to go!" She said as she went over the chart before going to remove the iv. 

Eventually, the three of you made it home, and after quickly cleaning up and putting Layla to bed, you collapsed onto your own. You snuggled up into the covers exhausted after the emotional day you had. Soon enough, the space next to you sunk down and two arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a firm chest. He started to kiss the back of your hair and rub circles on your hips as you giggled softly.

"Not tonight, sweetheart. You already had an exhausting day. I don't want to over exert you." You said as you hid your tired smirk in the pillow.

"Please...if anyone gets exhausted, it's you. Then again, screaming and moaning my name all night must be tiring." You could hear the smirk through his voice as you rolled your eyes.

"I'm not the one that fell asleep as soon as he-" 

"That was one time! I had a tiring day at work..." You twisted in his arms to look at the pouting man.

"I know, love." You smirked. He started to lean in to kiss you, but you quickly put your fingers to his lips. "Nuh-uh. No mouth kisses, remember, mister?" He groaned.

"I'm never buying strawberries again."

Author's Note: @mother-marilynn

[huckleberrykai]

txt ~ why's it spicy?

pairing: txt x fem!reader scenario: txt vs plumping lip gloss warnings: just kisses !! silly lil hcs, reader wears makeup (lipgloss) obvs, maybe suggestive if u squint notes: IDEA FROM MY LOVELY 🐙 ANON! sorry this took so so long i've been so busy and distracted 😭 i think the ask was from like july but this idea was so cute and funny i love it ! i hope you like it <3 click here for my masterlist!

soobin:

baby is shook oh my god

soobin is such a kissy boyfriend, whenever you're alone together his lips are always on you somewhere ~ usually your own lips

and you love it, happily letting him kiss you all the time... completely forgetting the plumping lipgloss you tried out today.

he kisses you for a little bit - then pulls away f a s t

"baby.. did you eat something spicy? i- ouch"

rubbing his lips like a maniac

very obviously trying not to offend you but that lip gloss is ZESTY

"oh it's probably my lip gloss... it's supposed to tingle. it makes your lips plumper."

ensue confused soob

*scrunchy disgusted confused face activated*

"your lips are perfect already...? and that stuff burns. please throw it out... you don't need it."

pouty soob when you tell him you like the colour and don't wanna wipe it off heheh

basically BEGS bcs he wants to kiss u so bad

u have him the the palm of ur hand bro pls wipe it off for his sake 😮‍💨

yeonjun:

yeonjun LOVESSS messy makeouts

especially when you wear gloss bcs the smudges get him all riled up

bonus points for bright colours so when you kiss his neck or cheeks he can see the sticky marks - sure they're a bitch to clean off but man he loves it

so when he gets home to see the thick shiny red lip gloss on your lips he's a goner. he is ON you in seconds

"welcome home jun-mhph!"

very lost in you... it takes him a second to feel it but he ignores it

until it stops tingling just a little starts to STING

"y/n i think something's wrong."

and ur just like ??? until you realise

u start giggling at the fact his already plump lips are even bigger

"why do my lips hurt? it's like .. burning? am i allergic to your lip gloss? that sucks, you look so kissable :("

gets less sad when you explain it to him

"ohhh well it looks pretty. but please wipe it off, it hurts to kiss you."

and if you refuse.. man does nawttt give a fuck

will absolutely kiss you anyway even if it hurts LOL

beomgyu:

oh my god he's so dramatic

your lips look so shiny and pretty like his favourite jelly candies

and he lovesss kissing you when you have lipgloss on. especially when its the strawberry one you wear a lot

but this time the pink colour on your candy lips was nottt strawberry

when he lunged into kiss you you tried to warn him! but he was not taking any notice! whatsoever!

"gyu wait i'm- mfph"

"YAAH WHAT POISON IS THAT! IT BURNS OH MY GOD"

rubbing fistfuls of tissues on his mouth

you absolutely burst out laughing

"it's just plumping lipgloss gyu... it's not poison"

"it tastes like you rubbed tabasco on there, how are you not crying?"

you just put more on to prove a point~ and since he messed it up with his kiss

"it's pretty. makes my lips look bigger too"

"what, so you can look like a fish? i miss the strawberry one :("

whines and whines like a child til you wipe it off

straddles you lap and applies the other one for you before slapping his lips against your own.

"better?" "much better."

taehyun:

taehyun usually doesn't kiss you when you're wearing lipstick or lipgloss

he doesn't like the sticky feeling and he also respects how long it takes you to do your makeup~ he appreciates the artistry and he's not gonna ruin that

usually resorts to cheek kisses or just hugs/handholding in public since he's not much of a pda guy. he knows you know he loves you and thats enough for him <3

but when he gets back from a trip and you meet him in a quiet corner of the airport before he gets swarmed by paparazzi, he just has to kiss you :(

you figured he'd wait until you were home for anything more than a hug, but when he smacks his lips on yours the second you're in his arms you squeal against his lips.

"what's wrong?" he pulls back at your squealing.

"i'm wearing plumping lipgloss. it might tingle a bit if you kiss me."

"i missed you too much to care. plus i could use a little plumping."

you laugh at him and he gives you one of his big happy grins, bearing his sharp teeth before diving right back in.

"damn that's spicy. i mean if you like it.. whatever. but ouch."

definitely laughed with you when people on twitter were commenting on his sparkly plump lips in the paparazzi photos on the way out of the airport >.<

hueningkai:

kai coming over for a very unplanned cuddle sesh was very exciting!!

but the unplanned-ness of it also meant he showed up before you had time to take off your makeup and get comfy

and without thinking you puckered your lips for a kiss before he even got through the front door

and being the obsessed lovely boyfie he is.. he isn't gonna turn down your delectable looking lips

so sweet boy is hit with the tingle of your gloss before you can remember to warn him

"... why are you spicy?"

????

"hm? oh sorry i forgot to take my lipgloss off."

"oh. why on earth did you buy spicy lipgloss?"

absolutely starts laughing his ass off thinking you bought it for the flavour

"its supposed to be plumping!! it tingles so they plump up!"

the defence does not help. laughs even harder.

"so you're trying to make them swell up? they look cute as they are! you should stick to the grape one, then you taste like grape juice and not spicy ramen."

half assed wipes it off with his thumbs and cups your cheeks gently and gives you more kisses

"mmm never wear that one again please."

"hm.. only if you let me cuddle molang."

"deal."

fluff taglist: @beoms-sugar @mazeinthemoon @n0-thisispatrick @strawberry-kirby @majestyjun @bibibinnie @beom-pyu @minholing @ohmahgods @txtistheloml

[willowser]

bakugou + strawberries ; 2.7k ੈ‧₊˚ for our meet fruit collab ! ‧₊˚✧ ₊˚

mina suggests speed-dating.

first as a joke — you think — after the two of you spend too many weekends in a row watching sappy rom-coms on her couch while crying into a bowl of trail mix, and then a second time, and then a third time, after you refuse.

in her last attempt, she pulls out the big ones: her upcoming birthday. it will be so fun!! she tells you, with her big eyes and bigger pout, looking at you as if you'd hung the stars by saying yes. it's a cheap shot, really, because she knows you or anyone would do pretty much anything when it comes to mina the birthday girl.

— and that's how you find yourself here, sitting in too nice of an outfit to be spending your allotted time listening to a man bash his ex-girlfriend.

you might have found him a bit cuter if he wasn't doing that, or if he showed even an ounce of interest in you whatsoever. instead, he's treating this like a therapy session, and you're not getting paid for it.

when the timer rings, you're more than thankful. irritated enough, even, to spin around the room in search of mina — who is happily watching on as two men grapple with each other for who gets to sit across from her next. you suppose being a top hero is good for that, finding someone who is willing to give you their all.

to yourself, you sigh quietly and turn back to the little bowl of strawberries in the center of the small table, the flutes of champagne on either side of it. mina's bottle, you noticed, is almost totally empty; your last date hadn't even looked at yours, nor did he seem to think to offer you a drink.

it's not that you're jealous. really. you wouldn't even say that you're interested in dating right now, finding your job at the agency to be too much of a whirlwind to balance, anyway. you love mina: she's your closest friend, your home away from home, your cheerleader and personal hero — but working for her is nothing short of a full-time job.

sometimes your bed is a little lonely, when she's not staying the night in it after another rom-com evening, but you really can't think that you'd like someone in it, anyway, much less a stranger. it's hard to explain where your time goes, who it goes with; having to share that with someone, you think, would take more emotional energy than you have right now.

and maybe it also sorta, kinda has to do with the fact that the one and only man you're thinking of outside of work — is the same man you see inside of it every single day.

the very thought of bakugou has your stomach turning, painfully. the image of him in the late afternoons with the sun glowing in his hair, the gentle look he spares you as you wait for the elevator, how he'd looked at you today, when you told him where you and mina were going; you don't know how anyone could make you feel the way he does, at least right now.

the seat across from you is taken up suddenly, then, and you look up into the eyes of someone that looks — nice. a little shy, a little nervous, as they introduce themselves. they decide to pour you a glass of champagne, and they even tell you, openly, voice shaking, how nice you look tonight.

you smile so hard that your cheeks hurt, much to your own surprise.

"i'm actually allergic to strawberries," they tell you with a laugh, gently pushing the bowl closer to you. "that would be a hell of a first date, wouldn't it?"

you agree. "definitely one to remember!"

"well, in that case—" they joke, suddenly leaning forward as if they're going to pull it back towards them, and it's so earnest and sweet that you feel your heartbeat in your throat a bit. "i sound like i'm kissing up to you, but—you have a really nice smile, also."

you have to sit back in your seat, fanning your face dramatically as you both laugh. "wow, i'm not used to someone—"

"time's up, extra."

you blink so hard that your eyes are crossed when you open them, and you look up at the man standing there, waiting for his turn, just as the timer dings and the room comes to life with a bustle. the person across from you only frowns, too timid to say anything in response before they're getting up and casting you a regretful glance. they're barely a foot away before the chair is taken, so aggressively that it scrapes against the floor and shakes the table.

you can't believe what you're seeing. you can't believe bakugou is sitting across from you, right now, ruining everything.

"what—are you doing?" you hiss, though your feelings — with a mind of their own — flutter like butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him.

the scowl he gives you is ugly, as always, but his face is smoother than you remember it being today; freshly shaven, maybe. the cologne he's wearing is strong, woodsy, potent enough that it dizzies you from across the table, that you can only imagine how sweet it smells soaking into the soft skin of his neck. even the shirt he's wearing, you notice, is a button down that you've never seen him in.

"the hell do you mean?" he growls, face pinched as he leans closer, so that his voice doesn't carry as it usually does. "'s'it look like i'm doin'? saving you from some sorry dumbass."

"bakugou," you grit, though the room quiets as everyone takes their seats again, and you have to swallow back your annoyance so you don't draw anymore attention to yourself.

you're not dumb enough to think he'd get away without some people fighting for his attention, too, the same way they did to mina, and — as irritated as you are, suddenly, at his appearance — you're not exactly keen on sharing him, either.

"they were very nice, thank you very much,"

"psh," he rolls his eyes, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "couldn't even look me in the eyes to tell me to fuck off—"

"maybe because they were worried you would blast them through the window—"

"and i would have—"

"oh!" you clench your hands into fists and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will your anger back down. losing your cool isn't a good look, especially in a room of people that are trying to get to know you. "are you serious right now? why are you here?"

"you really wanna spend our five minutes doin' this?"

and there's something about the way he says it — our five minutes — that has your stomach turning in that horrible way it always does, whenever you bite into the softer parts of him. the look on his face is pensive, nervous if you thought that he was capable of being nervous. his shirt, his shaven cheeks, his alluring cologne; he's here, right now, on a date with you. pushed his way into it, even.

you straighten in your seat and sit back, dropping your eyes to the table, ashamed at the fire you've just thrown at him. "can you at least tell me why you're here in the first place?"

bakugou is silent for long enough that you can't stand not to take him in, how appealing he is to look at, how your heart sings when he looks back. one shake of his head has him sighing and then he's leaning back, too, staring only at the strawberries.

"this is her birthday thing, ain't it?"

"yeah," you murmur in agreement quietly, fiddling with your own fingers in your lap as your nerves harden into bitter disappointment. he's here for the same reasons you are, you tell yourself: for your friend, only.

distantly, you try to remind yourself that this nothing out of the ordinary. that you shouldn't be thinking of him this way, getting so hung-up on someone that's never expressed an interest in you to begin with. there have been a few late night conversations in the stairwell, that ran longer than they should have, that revealed more than they should have — but it doesn't make him yours. not in the way you want it to.

in an attempt to swallow down your own sourness, you reach for a strawberry, picking through them until you find the fattest one, and then bite it to the stem. a little stream of juice sprays out, dripping down over your bottom lip as you scramble for your napkin. you lick after it before patting at your face, spreading the sugar, the sweetness.

bakugou leans across the table so suddenly that you startle, mouth twisted like he's struggling to say what he's about to say. "alright, look—"

the timer rings, horribly, but his ruby stare never dims, never leaves yours and yours never leaves his, either, as if you're both suddenly trapped in a weird limbo of in-between; in-between the quiet moments, in-between the loudest ones, in-between everyone else, together.

and then mina notices.

"oh my god, blasty, you came!" she shouts, springing up from her seat to wave at you both from across the room. her earrings jingle loudly, bracelet beads knocking together as she leans too far to the left, champagne-drunk already. it snaps the moment between you and him, worry filling the gaps as you think about how you're going to get her out of here, once the night is over.

bakugou sinks a little further into his chair, as if it will hide him, before grumbling to himself. cheeks reddening, you realize; strawberry-kissed. he heaves a heavy sigh before digging his fingers into his eyes, deep enough that an ache develops in your own, and he opens his mouth to speak again when someone else approaches the table.

"okay, time to switcheroo!" he sings, grinning too cheerily at you, enough to make you laugh at his enthusiasm.

it darkens bakugou, considerably; "piss off," is all he says, scooting his chair further into the table as if to claim it. he barely gets another word out before the man is starting to protest, and the look he gives him then is awfully viscious: nostrils flared, looking up from beneath his long lashes and furrowed brow, as if this stranger had pissed in your champagne. "i said, fuck off, before i howitzer you through the—"

"okay!" you interrupt, reaching across the table with both hands to close one of bakugou's. his fingers are curled dangerously, and you swear you can see little sizzles of steam slipping between your linked fingers. "let's just—do an extra skip this time, okay? how about you just gives us this one, and you go to the next table?"

the man frowns — which is a bit flattering — but ultimately takes the lifeline you offer, trailing away without another word down to the next table. you can feel the couple on the other side watching you and bakugou now, a little open-mouthed, and your heart quickens at the worry that they're noticing him, that your new five minutes are going to be wasted, too.

—but his hand hasn't moved from yours and his eyes have returned, full to the brim with some emotion you can't read. if you had to guess, you'd say regret, maybe, but you aren't sure how to take that, and so you don't.

you should let him go, literally and figuratively, but the solidity of your logic is no match for the soft beat of butterfly wings in your gut.

"what are you doing?" you ask him again, softly, surely, because you want to hear the answer whatever it is. he either needs to deny you, here and now so you can move on — or he needs to acknowledge the confliction on his face, the soft intertwine of his fingers into yours.

bakugou looks at you now the way he does in the stairwell, the way he does when the sun is painting you warm, too. "i told you," he murmurs, "savin' you from some dumbass."

"but why do you even care?"

another heavy sigh falls from him and you can feel your glass-fragile heart breaking when his hand slips from yours, a little roughly. it surprises you when he grabs the champagne bottle from the center of the table and pours himself a small glass, downing it in one, bitter go before filling up your flute, too.

liquid confidence, maybe; his cheeks darken, noticeably, before he's running a rough hand over his face, still struggling to wash out the words.

"why the hell do you think?" he finally says, though his harsh question lacks the abrasive tone his voice usually has; instead it's gentler, more sincere, bakugou — katsuki — in his rawest form. "why d'you think i do—any of this shit?" one hand waves around to gesture to the span of the dining room, but you know he means more than that, much more. "you think i spend that much time after work just 'cause i have time to waste? jesus."

"i don't know," you say, earning a flat look. "why do you?"

"why do you?"

you take the glass from the center of the table and peer down into it, how it bubbles. maybe you're playing dumb and maybe that's what's really bothering him, but — someone like bakugou deals in absolutes, and you need him to do it now.

the struggle is clear, though, across his face, thickening how he swallows and turning down his lips that much more. you feel a bit bad in the silence, when the timer rings and the muscle in his cheek jumps again.

before anyone can even approach the table, he simply sticks his hand out, and the man beside you was definitely watching on, because he doesn't spare you a glance before going around.

and maybe, you think, decidedly, that's enough.

"because i don't want to go home yet," you tell him honestly, trying to ignore the blood rushing in your ears with his mouth twists and he starts to squirm at your truth. "because i'd rather spend the night with you in a stairwell, than anywhere else."

there's a ludicrous amount of tension that leaves his shoulders then, so much that you didn't notice it until it was gone, and he slumps back into his chair with pink ears, now. the sight makes you smile, widely, as if the sight is a confirmation.

maybe for him, it is.

"yeah, well," he grumbles, eyes dropping to the strawberries before darting away, as if he'd thought of something he shouldn't have. "that's what 'm sayin', too."

"no, you're not!" you laugh, nose crinkling when he side-eyes you with a frown. "you're not hardly saying anything!"

"i'm here, ain't i?" he argues, huffing like a bull. "makin' a damn idiot of myself just to stop you from—"

"—going home with some dumbass?"

"well, yeah!"

"so you want me to be going home with you, then?"

"yeah! no! i mean—" he scowls when you laugh again, lip pulling up over his teeth as if he means to bite into your softest parts, too. the thought is more thrilling that you're willing to admit — at least for now. "quit laughin'!"

but it's not just you; across the dining room, you realize mina's giggling, too, turned around in her seat, ignoring the chatty man that wouldn't shut up about his ex. when bakugou turns around to glare at her, she nearly tips out of her chair by throwing her head too far back, and when he moves to stand up like he needs to help her, all she does is wave at him to turn back around.

and he does, to you, cheeks flaring as he grabs the bottle of champagne again, pouring himself his own glass to glare into. he mutters out another quiet, "jesus" before slamming both his elbows on the table, rudely, and holding his glass up for — what you belatedly realize is — a cheers.

behind him, the afternoon sun has long since set, replaced now by nightfall and stars that shine through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows — but he glows regardless, and the look he gives you is just as warm.

[moonlightazriel]

Secret /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Azriel it’s secretly dating someone, not even his family is aware, until they meet her on unfortunate circumstances.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and torture

Word Count: 1,5K

Notes: This have been on my drafts for a while, for so long that it’s probably covered in dust, allergic people, be aware ahahahahahahah

Main Masterlist

His calloused hands rubbed her back, squeezing the skin and trying to undo the knots in the muscles, she snored, her eyes closed as Azriel worked his magic. The soft sounds of rain and the faint smell of mint from the oil he was using for the massage relaxing her brain.

He looked down, seeing her deep asleep, he removed his hands and covered her naked back with the blankets, kissing her forehead and leaving to go wash his hands. As he laid down with her, she snuggled closer to him, he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent, it smelled like fresh strawberries and he loved that.

He was dating Y/N for over a year, and with all the problems with Koschei, he was afraid to make the relationship public, afraid she would get harmed, even though she could perfectly protect herself, he wouldn’t risk it, it would wreck him if she was suddenly put in danger because of him. So the relationship was a secret, even for his family.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The sunlight peeked from behind the thin curtains, he whispered a good morning, tapping her side of the bed just to find it empty, he immediately got up, exiting the bedroom just to find her standing in the doorway, a tray in her hands, filled with pastries and coffee, for him.

“I wanted to return the favor, my back feels amazing. So I made you breakfast.” She smiled at him, the smile that could light up the whole world and his heart melted in his chest, she signed for him to move back to bed and he did, she placed the tray on his lap and sat by his side so they could eat.

“No one ever served me breakfast in bed before.” She looked even more happy. “Thank you baby.”

“Glad to be the first then. I wanted to do it before but it’s rare when I have the time to actually enjoy mornings.” She sighed, sipping on her coffee.

“Yeah, must be tough, being the best healer in Prythian.” She smiled once more. “But please, don’t tell Madja that.”

“It’s not like I have the time to brag, we’ve been working a lot lately, with all that is happening, we barely have time to talk.”

“I promise to you that once we deal with Koschei, we’ll go to the summer court and have a two week vacation.” She giggled.

“Deal! I always wanted to see Adriata anyways.” They finished breakfast and she got herself ready for work, while Rhysand called him, demanding to see him straight away.

“I have to go. Have a good day honey, I love you.” He said, his lips wrapped up hers, his hands squeezed her waist and he kissed her deeply. She looked a little dizzy when they parted ways.

“I love you too, Az.” And with that, he was gone.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Four days, usually when Azriel disappeared like this, it meant he was out on a mission, but this time something felt off, she tapped her feet on the ground, unable to focus on the list in front of her. The house was silent, and she frustratedly tossed the receipts back on the table, she hated doing the administrative part, her thing was to heal people, to get into action, that was what she was made for, what her magic was made for.

She decided to take a hot shower and try to sleep, her chest feeling heavy, making it a little hard to breathe. He would always leave a note when he went on longer missions, but this time, there was nothing for her. She closed her eyes, noticing how her body slightly shivered in fear.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

A loud banging on the door woke her up, she rushed to attend, it was the middle of the night and one of Madja’s apprentice was on the other side, by the looks on his face he was also yanked out of the bed out of nowhere.

“Madja needs you, it’s the shadowsinger.” The male’s voice became a distant noise as the last word left his lips. She ran to the bedroom again, putting on her pants and her boots, barely locking the door as she winnowed to the Healers Hall.

She followed the apprentice, getting to a private room, Madja was working on the barely recognizable Azriel, he was covered in blood and his face was swollen, he had a huge slit in his chest, and by the smell of poison, she understood why he wasn’t healing. She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to contain her shaking hands as she approached the table.

“What happened?” Madja looked up, one of the healers was cleaning him and Madja was cutting his clothes with a scissor.

“I sent him on a mission, he was captured by Koschei, I guess he wanted to send us a message.” Rhysand, the High Lord, sounded desperate from the corner of the room, Y/N quickly looked at him, with the General by his side, they looked back at her and Cassian raised an eyebrow, sharing a look with Rhysand. She didn’t have time for that.

Assessing the damages, she almost sobbed, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she looked at the infected skin around the open wound.

“We have to keep him stable until the poison comes out of his system.” One healer said, and Y/N nodded, cleaning and closing the slit was the first thing to do. She ordered around for water and a cloth, she rubbed the spot multiple times, until the skin was pink and perfectly clean.

Madja gave him another liquid, forcing it down his throat, Y/N new it was to relief the pain and help with the swelling on his face. Azriel was in a deep slumber, his breath was really weak. Y/N managed to prepare the needle for the stitches, her hands covered in his blood also, she started to patch him up, gently, trying her best to control her hands and the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

“His heart rate is dropping quickly.” The healer that stood by his side monitoring him alerted, and Y/N’s head snapped up as she finished the last stitch. The High Lord stepped forward ready to use his magic as he could to prevent his brother from dying.

“Bring me the adrenaline, NOW.” Madja demanded and someone ran outside to go get it, while Y/N used her powers to try and keep him steady, but as the seconds went by, his heart kept beating less and less until she could feel nothing.

“No. No, Azriel don’t.” She sobbed, her eyes wide as she looked at his pale face and unmoving chest. She felt it, the spark in the tips of her fingers, the electricity that slept within herself suddenly awake.

“Everyone step away.” Madja warned as Y/N focused that energy on her palms.

“You can’t DIE.” She screamed, planting her hands with her palms flat on his chest, the electricity rushed from her body in a spark of blue and jolted his body up. “C’mon Az, you have to take me to Adriata, remember?” She spoke, pulling her hands up and smashing his chest again, his body jolted but his heart still didn’t react. “You have to take me to have dinner with your family dammit.” She concentrated all that energy on her palms, the buzzing sound of electricity was the only thing in the room as everyone held their breaths while they watched. “You have to go back cuz I love you more than anything.” She pressed her palms on his chest, sending the energy until she heard his heart beating and Azriel jolted awake.

He peaked at her from a barely open eye, while she fell to his chest sobbing, his hand weakly moved through her hair.

“My body feels tingly.” He managed to say and she lifted her head, the tears hadn’t stopped but she was smiling, giggling as she crashed her lips against his, he kissed her back, and she felt the relief wash over her and relieve the weight on her chest.

“I told you this was Azriel’s favorite shirt.” The general spoke as him and Rhysand approached them, they had tears in their eyes as they watched Azriel.

“How are you feeling Az?” Rhys asked.

“Like shit, but at least I’m alive.” He tried to joke but no one laughed, the idea of him gone wasn’t something to joke around.

“I can’t even start to thank you.” Rhys looked at her. “All of you.” He turned to the rest of the healers. “Thank you so much for keeping my brother alive.”

“I did this based totally on selfish reasons but you’re welcome.” Rhysand and Cassian laughed.

“What can I do for you?” Rhys asked.

“You can invite me over for dinner. It’s been a year and Azriel hasn't taken me to a single one.” The shadowsinger lazily smiled, his face already looked better, meaning the effects of the poison were already vanishing.

“A year?” Cassian asked in disbelief.

“I just had to be sure she was the love of my life before I introduced her to that bunch of crazy people.” Azriel spoke, his voice cracking a little.

“Are you sure now?” Y/N shyly asked.

“More than ever.” He replied.

[boundlessentity]

AITA for stealing food that was meant for a party?

I (16M) go to a pretty prestigious boarding school. I won’t say which one though, I’m using a throwaway account for a reason lol.

Anyways, I get back to my dorm after a long day of running around and almost getting expelled because other people are incompetent. Not a great start to the school year. I missed dinner because of all of that, so on my way to my room I stop by the dorm kitchen. In the fridge I find these huge, amazing looking strawberry tarts, super professional looking ones too. There’s no note claiming them and they’re way too big for one person to eat, so I figured there’s no harm in having a little slice.

I get one bite in when my housewarden (17M), let’s call him R, sneaks up on me from behind. What you need to know about this guy is that everybody hates him. He’s obsessed with rules, has the world’s biggest stick up his ass, is constantly flying off the handle, and is basically allergic to fun. Anyways, R comes up to me and claims that all three of the tarts were his. He then proceeds to seal away my magic and kick me out of the dorm. He cited some weird rule I’d never heard before while he did it. I ended up having to crash on a musty old couch with one of the losers who made my first day such a mess. He didn’t even let me go back to my dorm to grab pajamas!

The next day, I find out that the tarts weren’t actually R’s, they were for a dorm party. If they were for a dorm party then don’t the tarts actually belong to all of the dorm members? Not only that, but I’m also unwelcome in my dorm until I apologize to him and bring an entire replacement tart in exchange for the tiny slice I ate.

This seems like it got blown way out of proportion. Banning a guy from his own residence and restricting his magic at an arcane academy is insane! I think I’m being unfairly punished here but my dorm mates want me to roll over and play along with R’s demands. I don’t think I should have to submit to R’s temper tantrum.

So, am I the asshole?

Tl:dr I missed dinner for reasons beyond my control, ate a slice of an unlabeled tart from the dorm’s kitchen, got punished by my housewarden who claims it belonged to him even though it was for a party (which I didn’t know when I ate it), now everyone wants me to make it up to him.

[bbearthyy]

headcannons of TWD characters

these are just some headcannons i have for characters from the walking dead. are these extremely unlike the characters? well, yes! do i give a fuck? no, not one!

tw: none lol there’s angst but just typical TWD stuff, these are mostly during the prison era

- carl and beth stole daryl’s cigarettes one of the first nights at the prison. they snuck up on the roof and huddled close to fight the cold. worried daryl would notice if too many disappeared, they chose to share one. (carl blushed over the fact that they basically kissed, beth only noticed how cold the cigarette was after his puffs.) they both decided they hated the taste, and swore they wouldn’t do it again, but every year on the anniversary of beth’s death carl finds a pack of cigarettes and smokes a few, letting some burn a little longer so she can smoke with him.

- rick tried teaching judith to say carl (or bubba), beth, and daryl, before he ever tried to teach her ‘dada.’ he felt guilty for the fact that in her first few days of her life he neglected her, and wanted her to acknowledge those who took such good care of her when he couldn’t.

- judith’s first word was actually ’mama,’ due to how often everyone told her stories of her mother. when she said it rick had to hand her to beth, and walked away. him and carl disappeared for a while after that. rick came back after a couple hours, but carl didn’t show till the next day. they both had bloodshot eyes and puffy cheeks, but nobody commented on it.

- (1) after lori’s death carl had awful nightmares almost every night. they were usually of his mom as a walker, blaming him for her death. when he had these nightmares he’d leave the cell block, sneaking out onto the roof. he’d wrap his arms around his torso like a tight hug and rock himself back and forth, before listing all the constellations he could see; just like his mom did for him when he was little.

- (2) daryl started noticing carl sneaking out, and followed him out once. they talked about it, and carl cried… a lot. daryl didn’t mind, he just pulled the boy onto his lap and rocked him while he cried. it became almost routine after that: carl would wake up in tears, daryl would walk with him onto the roof, he’d hold the child in his arms and rock him, and when carl fell back asleep daryl would carry him to bed. they never talked about this routine, and when the prison fell it never happened again. but sometimes, in alexandria, when carl wakes up with tears pouring from his eye, his instinct is to find daryl, and he has to rock himself back to sleep. (*whispers aggressively* daryl misses the rocking too. and sometimes he’ll sit on the porch counting the stars and wait for his nephew to come find him. he never does)

- rick absolutely adores hugs, and carol meets his enthusiasm towards the embrace every time. the man is such a hugger and if he ever gets a “dry hug” from someone, where they merely patted him on the back and walked off, he’d immediately search for carol to make up for the loss. this never changed, even during his relationship with michonne

- when the children of woodbury first joined the prison, rick appointed carl with the job of telling them about all the adults of the original group. most of the younger kids didn’t understand that they weren’t all carls family, so he just told it like they were. there was not a dry eye amongst the group when they found out carl had introduced them as his grandpa hershel, aunt maggie & uncle glenn, uncle daryl, aunt carol, and so on.

- hershel panics a little more every time a patient comes into his cell. he begins a prayer when they come in, and doesn’t end the prayer until they leave. he gets angry when they leave in a body bag, and sometimes curses God. he apologizes profusely less than a minute after, and finds relief in the fact that every other patient he has/had that day survives.

- maggie is allergic to strawberries. no i will not elaborate. glenn was not aware of this fact and nearly had a panic attack one day when he tried to kiss his wife after eating one of the strawberries from the garden. maggie had seen glenn eat the berry and pushed him away quickly when he leaned in for a kiss. the Korean man looked like a kicked puppy when she did so, and maggie was quick to explain, giggling as she did. glenn never ate another strawberry after that, but they used to be his favorite.

- beth was actually carls first kiss. after the kids from woodbury came, carl and beth would often find themselves tucked away in a forgotten spot of the prison, backs pressed to each other as they read silently or went about their own hobbies. one day, carl was reading a spiderman comic, and must’ve made a strange sound, because beth turned around to look at him with a curious hum. “this makes it seem like kissing is this crazy world shattering thing. it’s just lips pushing against each other. what’s so great about it?” beth offered to show him what was so great about it. carl blushed profusely but obviously agreed. the kiss was sloppy at first due to carls inexperience, but they got used to each other real quick. carl found that he really liked kissing. they kissed quite a few more times after that. carl was very disappointed when beth got a boyfriend and they couldn’t kiss anymore, but beth snuck him a goodnight kiss every once in a while when she knew he had a bad day.

- daryl got sick one time at the prison, just a little head cold. he refused to acknowledge the fact that he felt sick until he nearly collapsed on top of rick while they were tending to the pigs. when he awoke the whole group was piled into his cell, some teary eyed, others just trembling in fear. daryl felt extremely guilty afterwards, and to this day he makes sure to let someone know if he so much as gets the sniffles.

- carol used to have a pug. his name was diesel and he was her baby. when she started dating ed, he told her he hated dogs. carol didn’t care, and refused to get rid of diesel. one day when carol came home from work, ed was asleep on the couch and her pug was no where to be found. when questioned about it, ed claimed he had no idea where the dog was. but carol saw blood on the front tires of his worn down pick up truck. it’s why she slashed said tires, and claimed she had no idea who could’ve done it.

- carl let someone trim his hair ONCE. and of course it had to be maggie. it was when they first got to alexandria. the ends of it had curled up and matted in some places and he knew it wouldn’t be worth the hassle of trying to pull the knots out. he sat in front of the couch and maggie reassured him multiple times that she was only trimming the ends, and that he didn’t have to let her do it. he held judith while maggie cut his hair. and if he cried a little bit and maggie had to pull judith away from him and hold him till he could breathe again? that’s nobody’s business but theirs.

- carl hates the smell of gardenia flowers, but they were beth’s favorite. they grew like crazy at the back of the prison, where most chose to avoid. every morning beth woke up to three fresh gardenias in the mason jar on her bedside table, and every morning carl washed his hands vigorously as he gagged at the smell. beth never found out who brought her the flowers, and carl stomps on every gardenia he sees after she dies.

- rick actually hated being sheriff, and was going to quit his job a month after he began. but one day when he was picking carl up from school, rick saw his son gushing to some of his friends about how his dad was a “totally awesome super hero cop.” rick decided he loved being sheriff not long after.

that’s all for right now but i have SO many more. let me know if you liked this and i’ll make a part 2🫶🏻

[xylomilo]

“Stop projecting on characters when u get a new brainrot” IDGAF 😭😭😭😭 anyways here’s some Company headcanons that I (mostly) projected

Dwalin

- Allergic to beef.

- Ate dirt as a kid.

- Loves mint ice cream but hates chocolate. Constantly wants to die because he can’t find JUST mint ice cream, it always has choco chips in it.

Balin

- Buys books just to not read them, says he’ll read them soon but he’s been saying that for five years now.

- Designated driver.

- Has the craziest alcohol tolerance, like he can go toe-to-toe with Thranduil’s tolerance.

Bifur

- Picks at his skin and cuticles, gets upset when he starts bleeding and goes “who did this.”

- Has minor memory issues.

- Forgets that she’s trans and then goes “what the fuck, I’m a woman, why do I have a dick.” Also buys pads but then remembers she’s trans so he gives the pads to Thorin. Thorin had a hysterectomy years ago (thanks Óin!).

Bofur

- Used to chew on his hair when he was younger.

- Bites people to show affection.

- Found out that the others were queer before some even realized. (Proof: Dinner scene in Rivendell in the extended version)

Bombur

- Unmedicated ADHD, part of the reason why he’s fat.

- Lowkey makes a mean lasagna.

- Allergic to dust but he swears he isn’t. Can literally be laying in bed with snot dripping down his nose going “ahaha no im not allergic to dust it’s just the pollen, ignore how its winter !!”

Fíli

- His main vocal tic is saying “Kíli” in a really high pitched voice.

- Autism in autism vs adhd.

- Jumped out of a two story window when he was 4 because Kíli brought over a friend that he didn’t like.

Kíli

- His main vocal tic is saying “Fíli” in a really high pitched voice.

- ADHD in autism vs adhd.

- Can’t taste flavors, will eat warheads for fun.

Glóin

- BPD.

- Has dyscalculia but would rather die than admit it 😭😭

- Road rage.

Óin

- Struggles with falling asleep and struggles with waking up (double whammy)

- If the opportunity arises, he would in fact eat someone purely out of curiosity (ex: someone dies and says that ppl can do whatever they want to their body, so why not cook a piece?)

Dori

- OCD.

- Massive germaphobe. Constantly has the urge to wash/sanitize his hands after doing something “gross” (running his fingers through his hair, scratching his arm, touching his face, etc) and gets anxious if he doesn’t.

- Can’t fall asleep unless he has Nori and Ori beside him/laying on him. Great for winter since Dori’s muscles are hidden under thick fat, horrible during summer because Dori is a furnace.

Nori

- OCD.

- Hoarder. Swears that he’ll need them later, usually won’t. If he loses something from his collection, he’ll be sad for like five minutes, unless it’s something he fought tooth and nail for.

- High weed tolerance. Out smokes Gandalf ngl.

Ori

- OCD.

- Arranges things in a specific way but it looks like a mess to others so he gets really upset if someone “cleans” it for him, forgets to drink and eat when he’s hyper-focused on something.

- Def of “i love it when ppl pick up my speaking styles!… nvm my grandpa just said skill issue.” That’s him and Dori.

Thorin

- Lactose intolerant lmao.

- Also lowkey has DpDr but denies it (Óin literally diagnosed him).

- Sleep talks. It’s how Bilbo knew what kind of ring Thorin wanted.

Bilbo

- Allergic to strawberries, apples, and bananas. Like a loser.

- Also has OCD.

- Has a personal vendetta against ants.

[vampires-and-dhampirs]

May I request some fluffy marital headcanons for Meier Link and Charlotte? They are my faves but there is so little content about them 😭

this was requested years ago then I disappeared. I'm sorry fam!

Fluffy Material

They literally sleep in the same coffin together. That's actual canon so we already know they are so damn cute together. They cuddling fiends I say. CUDDLING FIENDS!!!

In a perfect world we could have had a cute couple that was insanely wholesome and loving. Meier gets Charlotte fresh flowers regularly. Not just roses, anything beautiful for her. It gets to the point where he has gotten good at making bouquets. When he's feeling daring, he'll decorate their home for the summer with so many flowers to keep it lively for his love.

Meier also became her new hairstylist. He loved seeing her hair done up nicely so he took it upon himself to do it. She loved seeing his creativity but enjoyed the pampering more.

Charlotte being human still has to cook for herself. Meier learns how to catch and skin animals for her so all she needs to do is cook. Somehow this woman has learned to make a mean pot roast. Meier can't taste a thing she makes but he loves the smell of cooked food. Sometimes he's even tempted to try what she makes because everything smells amazing.

Charlotte loves to fly with Meier on occasion. He doesn't go super high or fast, more like a waltz in the air so she can enjoy not touching the ground. They get so lost in their dance that the weightlessness is like how their love for each other feels.

They both are very domestic, Meier has resources enough for them both to live life comfortably together. If they want to travel together they can. If they just want to make more room for their family they can.

He learns a lot more from her now that they live together. Sickness is obviously something that doesn't happens among vampire. Even though he doesn't want to see her sick, he enjoys learning how to take care of her body. What makes her fever drop, what helps her not feel nauseous, what helps her stomach calm down and more. As a vampire he still capable of learning new things, he just kind of sucks at cooking. So at most he can do for her is make tea and soup which is enough for a sick human.

Speaking of human sickness, what the fuck are allergies? You allergic to food? Animals?! That was a new learning experience for Meier. Charlotte was allergic to cats and couldn't eat strawberries. It wasn't hard to not grow strawberries but cats seemed to roam their property every now and then. He had never seen her reactions but she told him what to look out for if she ever had a reaction. Fortunately it was just rashes, itchy eyes, and congestion.

They most certainly made 3 kids and all of them take after Charlotte with each of them having partially white hair. Their parents smother them with affection and appreciation because they love them so much.

Charlotte became the type of mother to not restrict her children too much because her family did that to her and she didn't want them to feel as if they couldn't learn about the world or love who wanted without fear. Meier is the type of father that was always encouraging of his children's passions.

Charlotte and Meier lived a very wholesome loving life with absolutely no issues and Charlotte died of old age since she was not turned into a vampire.

The End