#in his pyjamas getting through the next batch

[hotluncheddie]

So very much on the same page, and I can’t stop thinking about it either. So, uh, here’s this? I guess?

- - - - -

Usually, Eddie sticks to ice cream. He can squirrel plenty away from his job at Scoops—it can’t be called stealing if they’re just going to throw it away. 

But the store has recently expanded into decadent brownie sundaes, and there are whole trays going to waste, and Eddie can’t stand it. 

So more often than not lately, at home, after dinner and after Wayne has gone to bed, he smokes up and brings out the latest shift’s stash of liberated baked goods along with the last scrapes from a handful of different ice cream tubs. A plate for the former, a bowl for the latter, and one big spoon. He indulges in his high and his sweet tooth at the same time, slipping into the pleasant, hazy space of bite after bite after bite. The way his teeth sink into fudge brownie, just this side of stale but he’s found he can’t taste that difference much if he just nukes them in the microwave real quick. The way they’re *warm* after the microwave, heating up his mouth after the ice cream, making the next spoonful melt across his tongue, the mix of dripping cream and firm chocolatey goodness filling his mouth, filling him up. The way, after a few minutes, he can unbutton his jeans and the zipper takes care of itself, easing down with the swell of his belly like a sigh of relief. Of letting go. 

In those moments, he lets himself think of Steve. The one kiss they’d shared before the government had hustled Eddie and Wayne away in the night, no warning to them or anyone else before it happened. He lets himself imagine that it’s Steve pulling the zipper down, letting him breathe, letting Eddie shape his own image now that he’s not allowed to grow his hair out anymore. 

He traces the stretch marks that accompany his scars—marks that he chose for himself, not that anyone ever sees. There’s really only one guy for him, and, well… Eddie’s never found out what the government goons told his old friends, the monster hunters *or* the Corroded Coffin guys, but he figures the only two possible options are “dead” or “ditched you.” No way to come back from that, either way. So he contents himself with the Steve in his imagination because the real one will never see him again, will never have an opinion on his new curves or the red lines decorating his belly and thighs, good or bad. He never has to worry about that. 

Eddie eats another brownie, followed quickly by another spoonful ice cream, lets it melt and mix in as he chews. He swallows, letting his still crumb-dusted hand trace lightly over the sliver of belly that peeks out beneath a t-shirt that used to hang off him. Shivers, because the skin there is getting so deliciously sensitive. 

There are a few more brownies to go, and more than enough ice cream to accompany them. He picks up another, still warm. (The nice thing about the weed is that it usually lets him power through without needing to get up for a second round in the microwave.) In his imagination, Steve reminds him that he’s earned this after all the shit he’s endured and helps him shift so his jeans zipper won’t pinch as he continues to relax. 

And Eddie takes another bite. 

anon... i think im in love with u... this is too much... i don't know what to say

i think i need to run around naked in the moonlight to deal with my feelings about this.

i love how u write

the brownie sundays were the higher ups idea to boost business during the holidays. remind people that ice-cream wasn't just a summer thing.

eddie wasn't complaining, until he had to make the thing and it took ages. oh well, works work, and while its decently popular there's always leftovers. leftovers with the shortest shelf life in the store.

the tail end of winter and soon to be end of the brownie special is what made eddie really check in with where his body was sitting, without the bliss filled haze of his evening routine. his nights spent indulging in his sweet tooth, in his fantasies of steve, in the feelings the two mixed together stirred in his gut. it's heady and addictive, eddie doesn't want to stop. but the waistband of his shorts was quickly loosing its battle agains the sensitive skin of his pink streaked and scarred, stomach and hips.

eddie huffed, just managing to make the flaps meet. he strokes his fingers lightly over the skin of his underbelly. shivers, at how much he's changed.

eddie seems to take more notice his body that shift. he feels the bite of the seatbelt once he gets into his van, different than before. there’s a cool gust of air on the underside of his stomach when he reaches up to grab something from the top shelf of the supply cupboard. while he’s on his break he feels, for the first time, how his belly has just started to sit in his lap, how his thighs spread and fill up the chair.

he planned, like he does some days, to not take back whatever leftover there are. resist and start fresh, turn over a new leaf. fit back into his shorts.

but there are two full trays of brownie about to go to waste. and a selection of tub dregs that almost fill up half way when piled together.

he stows it all safely in the passenger seat.

wayne’s out till late with some work buddies and eddie has tomorrow off. the place to himself. he sits at the little kitchen table still in his work clothes, makes himself dinner like normal. then sets the first heated up try of brownie in front of himself. he imagines steve on the other side of the table. how he might be asking about his day, eddie would like to know about his. would he hold eddies hand across the tabletop? probably, if he asked.

he digs in, alternating between gooey chocolate and cool ice cream. without the haze of weed he feel the full force of its sweetness. halfway through he shifts, feels how the desert sits in his stomach. feels, more intensely than this morning, the pinch of his shorts. he attempts getting a finger between the waistband and the underside of his hip, but there no hope of getting it in. he takes another few bites of brownie, then ice cream, then brownie and walks his fingers lightly down the swell of his gut. he shivers, wonders what steve would say looking at him now, whether his eyes would darken, whether he would walk his own fingers across eddies stomach.

he signs again, brownie finished.

getting up, eddie loads up the microwave with the next batch and heads to his room to make this evening feel a bit more normal again.

spliff dangling from his lips he looks at himself in the mirror, undoing the button on his uniform and watching the zipper pull apart on its own. he lights up and pulls at his shorts, fascinated by the red lines left by his waistband. he traces them idly and inhales deep. his eyes roaming his now full stomach, pushing out agains the fabric, how the indent of his belly button is just visible. he traces that too, skims his fingers upward, over his nipple and bigger pec, up to take the splif from him mouth and exhale.

would anyone from hawkins still recognise him like this? he likes to think they would. his hairs shorter but he didn't have to dye it. same eyes, same mouth, his cheeks look a little rounder but, same face. same face that steve kissed, once, might kiss again, given the chance.

eddie would, given the chance.

he's starting to feels the blunt, hears the microwave beep. good, he's craving ice cream.

[kitkatscabinet]

Don't feed him he'll come back

simon riley x neighbour! reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 1.6k

part 2 here

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment block. Though it feels more accurate to say he’s an occasional visitor. He comes and goes, like a lost spirit, unsure and aimlessly wandering. He slinks silently through the hallways like a wraith in the few instances when he is there. 

The first time you see him is just a glimpse from the corner of your eye, a large hulking shadow standing at the door next to your apartment as you step out from yours. 

Your feet stutter to a stop, the landlord had mentioned a neighbour but in the 3 months you’d lived there you’d never seen him. As if sensing your eyes lingering curiously on his form, deep brown eyes turn to meet yours. You can make out no other details of his face, the black material of his balaclava obscuring most of his features. 

A century could have passed in those few seconds and you doubt you’d have noticed. Despite the weariness in his gaze, you found yourself pulled into the deep pools of those stunning eyes. Like a predator, his gaze never moves from your body, even as you offer him a friendly smile and wave before walking down the hall to continue your day. 

You’d heard the uneasily whispered tales of the Ghost that haunted the apartment next to yours from some of the older tenants, though you’d never put much stock into the idle gossip. His burning gaze bores into your back and follows until the doors of the elevator close and you suppose you should feel intimidated. 

It’s hard to conjure up any such feelings, even with the knowledge of the wariness he elicits in others. It’s hard to fear the hulking figure of the Ghost when he had such sad eyes. 

He hid it well but you recognised the loneliness that lined his shoulders, the bone-deep exhaustion for life that managed to slip through tiny cracks in his self-imposed shield. 

You suppose at that moment that even Ghosts can be haunted. 

Maybe that’s why you found yourself knocking on his door later that evening with the tray of pasta bake. Initially, you’d made a large batch to have a few days left over for yourself. Yet just as you opened your fridge you’d hesitated, mind flashing to the man next door. Did he have any food for himself? There was likely nothing fresh, and he’d seemed too exhausted to pull himself to the grocery store during the brief encounter earlier. 

Donning your Crocs, you’d marched over and knocked on his door before it properly registered that you were in pyjamas. The door swings open and your eyes trail up, the balaclava is gone, replaced with a simple black face mask letting you glimpse blond hair. 

“Sorry if this is a bit intrusive, but I figured you probably didn’t have any food so…” you trailed off, pushing the tray towards him, expectantly waiting for him to grab it. It took a few seconds before he robotically took the tray, probably out of sheer confusion more than anything else. Stepping back before he could return the food you offered one last smile before fleeing to the sanctuary of your apartment. 

Two days later you exit your apartment to an empty and cleaned tray, a small note with a simple ‘thank you’ placed within. 

His name’s Simon, and apart from an introduction and the occasional dish left at his door, you don’t actually interact with him again until nearly a month later. And that had simply been a case of forced proximity a la broken elevator style. 

Simon remained unflappable as ever, and it’s at that moment you decide to try and get a reaction that isn’t stoic silence. 

“A bear walks into a bar and says give me a whiskey and …cola” Brown eyes turned to look at you curiously, brow raised to let you know he was listening. “Why the big pause? Asks the bartender. The bear shrugged. I’m not sure, I was born with them.” 

The joke doesn’t land, silence is the only reward for your comedy genius. “Ok, playing hardball. Alright then… Why did Susan fall off the swings?” Again, there is no answer, but a glance at his relaxed posture indicates he’s listening. “Because she had no arms.” 

No laugh but you blaze ahead. 

“Knock knock.” It takes a few seconds but with a playful glare, he responds quietly and with a tinge of amusement. 

“Who’s there?” It’s not the first time you’ve heard his voice, but it still births a serious case of butterflies in your gut that takes more than a few seconds to fight down and regain your composure. 

“Not Susan.” You can’t stop the peal of your giggles at that one, and while you swear you see the corner of his cheek curve upwards a little it’s not enough for you to be satisfied. 

“I can’t believe it’s come to this, but I guess it’s time for the big guns. You better prepare yourself Riley 'cause I’m done holding back.” You pause for a few seconds to let the anticipation settle. 

“What is… Whitney Houston’s favourite type of coordination?” You take a deep breath before positively belting out, “HAAAAAAAND-EEEEEYE.” Whether it’s the shock from the sudden musical number or the joke itself you’re finally rewarded with a faint chuckle. 

“Aha!” you shout in triumph, a smug grin splitting your face, “I heard that laugh, you can do more scowl!”

The doors suddenly open with a ding and Simon pushes off the wall, but not before rolling his eyes playfully your way. Silence once again descends during the walk to your respective apartments, yet it’s not uncomfortable. Swiping your key card it’s just as you step through the threshold that you hear it, 

“Why did the chicken go the seance? To get to the other side.” Whipping your head around, you are met with the sight of his door closing behind his large frame, but a win is a win and you celebrate mentally over the exchange. 

The next time you leave a dish at his door it comes with a written joke. Sure enough, a few days later you received one back. The months start to blur, and your Ghost comes and goes, but the jokes remain. 

Month three sees you snagging his number, a daily joke sent his way even when he can’t respond. Because as much as Simon Riley tried to hide his hurts from the world, he couldn’t hide them from you. 

You’ve loved a soldier before in your brother, can see the signs and smell the gunsmoke and blood from miles away. Apart from his team, it becomes obvious the man has nobody left, and believes he doesn’t deserve to be cared for.

You’re not foolish enough to think you can be that for him, but you are understanding enough to give him the choice. So you continue to send him jokes, puns, pictures of your cat Bingbong and anything that you think will get him to at least smile.  

Three months turns to six turns to eight. He’s not physically there most of the time but you take every opportunity he is to coax him from the loneliness of his apartment like a stray kitten.

Once-a-week dinners at least. Freely sharing your life’s story without expecting anything in return. One evening you’d plopped your chunky tuxedo cat down on his lap and watched him freeze, hands hovering with wide eyes as he considered the ball of fur making biscuits on his thigh. 

It was cute. He was cute. Even when he whipped around to glare when you took a photo, the corners of his lips downturned and tugged at the scars on his face. His bare face wasn’t necessarily a new sight but it causes your breath to hitch nonetheless. 

Something you think he notices given the way his lips quirked up suddenly in a smirk. Rolling your eyes you huffed before plonking yourself down next to him on the couch. Bingbong doesn’t scramble onto your lap like you expect, instead deciding to remain on his new favourite human, traitor. 

You pay very little attention to the movie even though you’d chosen it, too acutely focused on the large bulk of Simon next to you. Your shoulder rests against his arm, his body heat emanating from beneath his hoodie and absorbing into your skin. 

You’ve never been one to fall asleep during movies, but there’s something about Simon’s presence that soothes you, lulling you into a restful slumber as you slump against his chest. Bingbong meows his discontent as you accidentally squish him, jumping away with a huff, none of which you notice. 

It’s the sun shining straight onto your face through the open blinds that wakes you the next morning, a groan of confusion leaving your lips as you stretch and look around to orient yourself. 

Sitting up, the blanket that you just now realised covered your form fell down to your waist. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes your phone falls to the floor when you stand, the screen flicking on to display the time. 

It’s not until you sleepily stumble into your bedroom, plugging your nearly dead phone in and face-planting onto your pillow that you realise Simon must have tucked you in. The smile that covers your face is so wide it is painful and you fall asleep once more, dreaming of the phantom sensation of his arms wrapped around you.

[spacedikut]

exam help ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: a self-indulgent blurb about spencer helping with exams :) 1.7k

a/n: first fic of the year :D happy 2021!

masterlist

Another anguish-filled screech reverberates from your and Spencer’s shared office, bringing even your pet fish in the tank to attention.

It’s the third one this hour. Spencer tries to ignore it, just like you told him to, but God you sound like you’re in pain and Spencer can’t exactly ignore that, can he? He loves you and cares for you and- oh. A thump reaches his ears. A textbook, maybe? Did you punch your textbook?

He considers for a moment that the neighbours will be alarmed, perhaps call the police or tentatively knock with a, “Is everything okay in there?”

It wouldn’t be the first time.

What would he tell them? Oh, my apologies, my partner has exams coming up and just told me they get why unsubs do that now. I am also terrified.

There are many instances where Spencer feels useless. During his job, when his mother would have an episode, when his friends have problems he just wouldn’t understand. But, somehow, and maybe controversially, this is the worst type of uselessness. The type that leaves him staring at the wall, questioning everything, the type that makes his stomach drop because all he can do is watch.

He’s been watching you for the last two weeks. He’s sick of watching, of being no help, and he needs to do something before he breaks and does something illegal.

(The illegal thing is doing your exams for you - not illegal as in, perhaps, murder)

Your frazzled head pops out from the office, one hand rubbing your eyes and a permanent frown etched on your face, and with a fragile voice you ask, “Can you make me a coffee, please?”

Now, Spencer feels hypocritical, but he has to say it. “Another? Are you sure?”

He sees the internal battle within you, how you try your hardest not to snap. It’s not his fault you’re stressed. He’s just trying to help. “Yes, I’m sure. Please, Spence,”

“Of course. I’ll bring it in.”

“Thank you.” With a pained smile, you’re gone again into the dark abyss of where you’re studying.

With quick, ingrained movements, Spencer makes your coffee with too much creamer and marshmallows. Unusual, yes, but your current diet consists of coffee and whatever he can force you to consume – like marshmallows.

But then, hello, he spots a chocolate bar haphazardly close to the bin, grabs it, and hopes you let him watch you eat it.

Stepping into the room as quietly as possible, he’s smacked in the face by the smell of lavender. It makes him nauseous, the intensity of it, quickly followed by a lurch of his heart because you poor thing, you’re being crushed by the weight of your degree – literally. The other day you purchased an insanely heavy weighted blanket and you’re drowning in it.

Now, if you were to ask Spencer who the most beautiful person on the planet is, he’d say you in a heartbeat. He’s thought that since you first met and, years later, still stands by that. But now, right now, glowering at him in the dimly lit, lavender drenched study that you used to love oh-so-much? You have the face of a French bulldog, all grumpy and furrowed and too many creases on your face to make Spencer feel like he’s actually helping when he places the coffee and snack on your desk.

Despite the crabby expression, your words are filled with love and appreciation – which happens to be Spencer’s favourite mix. “Thank you, my love.” You take a sip of the coffee, hum in delight, and for the first time in days there’s a spark of something other than torment. “You’re the best.”

Spencer’s hand holds the back of your neck and he places a series of soft kisses to your temple, mumbling, “I love you. Very much. Is there anything else you need?”

“Death.”

“Okay. I’ll work on it.”

At that, you grace Spencer with a weak half-smile. It’s enough to overwhelm Spencer, overflowing and only able to be shown through a chaste, encouraging peck on your lips and a half-hug, Spencer bent at the waist to hold you in your desk chair. He noses your hair, hoping his closeness will alleviate some stress, before stepping back and praying his eyes tell you everything he wants to say but know will elicit annoyance from you.

I love you. Take care of yourself. Rest, please. You can do this, but not if you over exert yourself. I love you.

Your eyes tell him, I’ll try. I love you. And that’s all he can ask for.

But when he leaves, shuffles past his bookshelf, his eyes catch sight of an old file that reminds him of when he was preparing for his own exams.

He gets an idea.

+++

It takes another two days, full of late nights involving work that isn’t staying up and distracting himself with books to avoid worrying over you and how late you go to sleep, and reading that leaves Spencer in awe of you and everyone in your field.

A part of him is amazed by how he wheelbarrowed the resources behind you without you noticing, another is worried about that fact, and the rest of him is excited that he can finally do something that will actually help. At least, he hopes.

(When everything is said and done, despite being endlessly grateful, you also inform Spencer that simply being there and being him and getting you coffee every time you ask is more than enough, really)

With pride, he leans back on the couch, observing his creations on the coffee table. There’s plenty of different colours, all representing a different topic, and he presses the thumbs up to like the Youtube video he was using to ensure his handwriting is easy to read.

Flashcards. Hundreds, if Spencer counted correctly. The textbooks he stole – borrowed – from under your nose lie next to his feet, the weight of them combined more of a workout than he’s (voluntarily) done in eons.

He only hopes you don’t think it’s too late, think he’s overstepping or-or that he’s doing those things that he’s been accused of before – thinking he knows best (he does, but whatever), overbearing arrogance, an unwillingness to hear and accept other people’s way of doing things.

He just wants to help. He wants you to know he’s here for you, no matter what you need. This is the thing that lets him believe he’s doing something, something good and useful. Spencer just wants to be useful.

He’s convinced you to eat a proper breakfast – fruit, oats, bread, meat, a whole buffet – and you sense something is amiss when you hear slow, tentative footsteps creeping from your bedroom.

Spencer, still in his pyjamas, glasses perched on his nose, approaches with a shallow box in his grasp. You swallow your bite, turn to face him. “What’ve you got there?”

The box is slid onto the counter next to your plate hesitantly, as if he regrets his actions as he’s doing them. Peering in, you see a blur of colour, stacks on stacks of rectangular paper filled with writing and questions and even a tips! section.

You pick up the first batch, all light blue, and flick through them, heart getting bigger and bigger with every word you read. And when you realise what they are, what Spencer’s done ­– for you – your heartrate has skyrocketed and the watch on your wrist is asking you if you’re okay.

“You made me flashcards?” You ask, in awe, again looking at the love of your life to find he’s already staring at you.

“I did,” He tells you, apprehensive and scared, already backtracking, “But, if you don’t think they’re useful, or-or you think I’m overstepping – I’m not trying to, I promise, I just thought…” He starts nervously shuffling and reshuffling some of his creation. “Flashcards are known to engage active recall and metacognition. Research consistently finds that applying metacognitive strategies tends to ingrain memories deeper into your knowledge, and that this kind of active recall retrieval practice leads to one-hundred and fifty percent better retention than passive studying, so…”

Your hands have a mind of their own, pulling what feels like an endless amount of cards out and turning them in your hands, from the questions on the front to the answers on the back, the ones with hints and advice and there’s several with doodles that are so Spencer you hold them to your chest. You’re so enamoured by this man that is still rambling and bumbling because he takes your silence as distaste.

“I just- I hate seeing you so stressed, so I made these. You don’t have to use them, of course. They’re not even that great. It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable, you’re beyond capable, or that your methods don’t work- Just, personally, I love flashcards. I used them all the time when studying, even though I didn’t really need them, so perhaps a change of medium would do you good-“

A warm hand on his own that keep fidgeting stops him mid-stream of consciousness.

“Thank you,” You say, earnestly, “Really. These are lovely.” You leap from your seat, wrapping Spencer in warmth and love and care, and he shivers when he feels your hot breath on his ear when you repeat your thanks again and again.

When he pulls you even closer, so your torso curves into his own, you feel the lightest you have in weeks. You’re in the arms of the man you love, who knows you love him too and you know loves you so much – enough to spend several nights reading your cursed textbooks so he could create something that might help – and now you’re confident that you can do it. With the help of Spencer and his lovingly hand-made flashcards, you can do it.

And if, somehow, it goes awry, that’s okay too. Because you’ll still have Spencer, your number one fan, who will be there to comfort you and advise you in any way he can. He’ll never let you doubt yourself, never allow a self-deprecating joke if he can help it, because if he has to, he’ll love and support you enough for the both of you until you can do it yourself.

The world feels a little brighter, your breaths feel a little lighter, all because of Spencer. So you kiss him, murmur love against his lips, and get ready to take on whatever dares to come your way.

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @ogmilkis @chiffonchronicles @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @gublertoon @averyhotchner @wheeledup @shadyladyperfection @joodeduarte @calm-and-doctor @

[batfamily--headcanons]

Things the Batfam has absolutely done in quarantine

Dick has made them all do a full on High School Musical marathon. Tim helped him decorate the screening room with Wildcat colours and posters of Zac Efron everywhere (a la A Very Potter Musical).

Jason and Damian have created their own strange version of a book club. They sit in the library and read the same books at the same time, but they don't speak to each other while reading or about the books after the fact.

Tim has actually been able to sleep for more than four hours in a row since patrol is only limited to extreme emergencies (Arkham or Blackgate breakouts). He now goes to bed at midnight and sleeps until noon. He hasn't gotten out of his pyjamas since March.

Cass is spending her days bingeing Netflix with all of Damian's pets who have grown attached to her since she's always home with them now. Damian always ends up joining them since he wants to spend time with his pets (and his sister even if he won't admit it).

Alfred has become the king of all stress bakers. He's made everything he's always wanted to try but never got around to. Every week he makes a batch of chocolate chip cookies on top of all his other baking. Jason helps him out with this most of the time and the two of them are often found in the kitchen with Jason's Spotify playlist cranked up.

Dick has taken to doing gymnastics everywhere in the house to get out his energy. He's sliding down the bannister, doing back handsprings to go the bathroom when he gets off the couch, using the chandeliers to propel himself through the air, cartwheeling up and down the hallways of the manor. Basically, now that he's home full time, he's turned back into his sixteen year old self and he hates it.

Bruce is going insane. He's getting more and more gray hair and the salons are closed so he can't get it dyed. Being home with all of his children at once was something he had always wished for and now that it's his reality, he realises to be careful what he wishes for. The boys are fighting one minute and getting along the next, Dick is breaking the furniture everywhere he turns, he's actually sick of baked goods, and he's trying to help Damian with his homework and yelling "how can they change math?! It's math!"

Every day Tim thinks that he's finally going to be productive and get everything done that he didn't have time for. Every day Tim is proven wrong and the next thing he knows it's already midnight and too late to do anything anyway. Instead he finds himself rewatching his old favourite shows on Netflix from the very beginning.

[chubbybuckydumpling]

Christmas Biscuits

words: 2287

warnings: swear words, a tiny bit of angst, mentions of death (this sounds kinda bad, but it’s actually really fluffy)

A/n: this is my first ever fic and I’m really insecure about my writing. Please be kind 🥺��� (gif is not mine)

Writing challenge by @mypoisonedvine

“This one, daddy, this one!” Bucky chuckles as he looks towards his toddler, who sits on the kitchen isle in front of a box full of  biscuit cutters. The three year old holds up a huge reindeer cutter and smiles toothily at her father.

“Dude, it's way too big. We won't even be able to fit four of those on one baking tray. Why do we even have one this large?” The teenager stands to the left of her sister and looks at Bucky with a questioning gaze. Her hair is lazily put into a low bun and an ugly Christmas jumper adorns her body.

“Eileen, don't call your sister 'dude'”, the teen rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh, “Whatever” He makes his way towards the toddler and gently takes the reindeer out of her hands, while sending his oldest a warning look. “You heard your sister, baby. Let's choose some smaller ones” he explains and pulls the box towards himself.

His eyes fall on a Mickey Mouse biscuit cutter and a smile takes over his face. He grabs the desired object and places it on the isle, “When your sister was in kindergarten she made this all by herself. We use these every year. They are very special to me”. The little girl holds up the cutter to inspect it and then looks to Bucky. “Special?”, she asks.

He nods and watches as his youngest daughter holds the cutter towards her big sister. “We use this one, yes Isla?” Eileen smiles, accepts the object and places it on the counter next to the dough. She shakes her head lightly and grins at her father, “I can't believe you've kept this all these years”

Bucky shrugs and continues searching the box for appropriate biscuit cutters. “You gifted this to me, of course I kept it. You looked so proud when you brought this home, I'll never forget. Also, I'm pretty sure your father would have beheaded me if I even thought about throwing this away”, he pauses, just for some seconds, “We were probably as proud as you, if not more”. Bucky fetches a star and a smaller reindeer biscuit cutter out of the box and hands them to the toddler.

Eileen hums before turning towards her little sister, “Do you like ones dad chose, Sarah?”. She nods and holds her arms up, silently demanding to be carried. The older girl obliges and puts the toddler on her hip, so that they can add the new cutters to the counter.

Bucky joins his children with another biscuit cutter and the dough in his hands. He places both items down and grabs the rolling pin to flatten out the dough. “I remember how much papa loved baking biscuits. He'd always let me decorate them, even though he was so much better at it”, Eileen says while putting Sarah on the counter and holding her waist, in case she'll fall down. She eyes Bucky hesitantly.

He stops for a moment to collect himself and then forces a smile on his face, “He always loved everything you did. You were his little superstar. There wasn't a thing you could have done wrong. You've always been his pride and joy”. Bucky continues rolling the dough, “He always felt bad about actually eating them. He couldn't bear to destroy your art”

“That's what I've got you for though!”, his oldest giggles and gently pinches Bucky's tummy, which makes him release a high pitched shriek. Sarah begins to laugh loudly at her father's silliness and tries to tickle him as well. The man however grabs her hand and pulls her little body towards his chest. He quickly presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Alright, I think we can start cutting. Sarah, baby, do you want daddy to help you?” The young girl nods and claps her hands in an excited manner, “Please, daddy!” Bucky grins and encourages his youngest daughter to choose a cutter. Eileen quickly fishes for her Mickey Mouse one, a smile upon her lips. Sarah takes her time to think, before she carefully picks out the star shape. “Good choice, bug!”

The family spends some time on cutting and baking multiple batches of biscuits, laughing and smiling. After a couple minutes, Eileen starts to play a Christmas playlist to which they sing to. Time was flying and soon they found themselves ready to decorate their goodies.

Bucky forces Sarah to put on an apron and ties her dirty blond hair back into a ponytail. Eileen mixes different coloured icings and opens some sprinkles and edible glitter. Her father eyes the glitter and sighs, “This is going to end in a mess, right?” The older girl smiles sheepishly and her father accepts his defeat.

“Alright then girls, let's get going”. Eileen takes on the job of delicately dipping the biscuits into the icing while Bucky desperately tries to stop his toddler from pouring a whole bag of sprinkles over one single biscuit. And like anticipated, once Sarah finds the glitter, it's over. There's glitter everywhere. In his hair, in his children's hair, on the counter, the floor and of course, on the baked goods.

Once they finished all the biscuits and stored them, Bucky leans against the counter, utterly exhausted. His eyes drift to the clock. It's already 6 pm and he still needs to cook dinner. Upon seeing his father so tired, Eileen slides next to him and places a hand on his, “How about we order some food? We can even choose something healthy, if you want to” He raises his eyebrows, “Healthy you say?”. She nods and Bucky narrows his eyes, “Who are you and what have you done to my teen?”

His dramatic reaction causes her to snort and shake her head. “Well, do you want me to order something or not?”

———

After devouring some nice Italian cuisine and doing a whole lot of dishes, everyone is laying on the couch, tired, yet satisfied. “I'm glad baking biscuits is an annual occurrence. This shit is way to exhausting”, Eileen yawns out and cuddles up to her father, who lifts up an arm to pull her towards him. Sarah is already fast asleep on his belly.  Bucky gives his oldest a warning nudge for using a swear word, but quickly presses a kiss to her temple afterwards.

“Papa hated when I swore. And he always heard it too! I could have been on the moon for all I care and he would have still known”, she complains with a light smile on her face. Bucky chuckles and begins to play with her hair, “You could always hear him yell 'Language!' whenever someone used a bad word”. He sighs, “Your father was a good man. He only wished for the best for you and your sister”. Eileen remains silent.

“Are we going to visit papa tomorrow?”, she asks after a while. Bucky nods, “I was planning on doing so. Is that okay with you?”. The teenager mumbles a quiet 'yes' and yawns again. “Alright, my love. I think it's time for bed” She grumbles, but uses one of her hands to stroke some hair from her eyes. Sitting up, she yawns again and presses a kiss to her father's cheek, “Good night, dad. I love you”

“I love you too, dear. Sweet dreams”, he calls out to her retreating figure. The shine of the vanilla candles illuminates her form and Bucky can't help the warm feeling in his chest. Eileen grew up to be such a beautiful young woman and he realises again just how proud he is. Proud of her responsibility, her independence and her love for herself. It hasn't always been easy for her and she still pulled through to be her best self, which he can't help but admire.

Before he can get too emotional, Bucky gets up as well, careful to not disrupt his daughter's sleep. He blows out the candles, the smoke filling his nostrils with an overwhelming smell of vanilla. Steve always insisted on buying exactly these candles, for they calmed his mind enough to sketch a little, and really, how could Bucky ever deny his love? Now they are a reminder of him. His scent and laugh, the sound of his pencils scratching his paper, the feel of his lips on Bucky's own.

He shakes his head to rid himself of these thoughts and makes his way up the stairs into Sarah's room. He tucks her into the tiny bed and kisses her forehead, “Good night, baby. Sweet dreams. Daddy loves you”, he whispers.

On the wall across the door is the wall painting Steve made before their youngest daughter was born. He was so excited to meet her and made it his goal to create the most beautiful nursery for her. The underwater scene displays so much of Steve's character, from the way he carefully handled the brush to his determined, strong strokes. Bucky is happy that Sarah has this reminder of her papa, especially because she never had the chance to meet him.

He sneaks out of her room, switching on her night light on his way out. One of his hands rests on his soft belly and squeezes the fat that has collected there. A yawn ripples through him which makes him move to his own bedroom. There, the walls are shining in a light orange which creates an illusion of a  bigger room, or so Steve used to say.

Bucky unzips his jeans and throws them on the growing pile of dirty clothes on the floor. He'll have to do laundry soon. His soft jumper joins his trousers, leaving Bucky in some grey boxer briefs. Too tired to bother putting on pyjamas, Bucky lets himself fall into the king sized bed, which stretches under his weight. He turns to his night stand and reaches for the framed picture that rests upon it. His fingers run over the soft wood of the frame, a small smile on his lips.

“Oh, Steve”, he sighs. Suddenly, his strong exterior is quickly crumbling and Bucky's lips begin to tremble. He takes a deep breath. “I miss you so much”, his voice is shaky from his efforts to hold back the tears. “I wish you were still here: Oh god, Steve”. He begins to cry, sobs echoing off of the walls, tears rolling down his puffy cheeks. The picture slides out of his hands and falls onto the bed. Bucky covers his face and tries to muffle the sounds escaping.

It's been over three years since, but he can''t move on. He can't and he won't, wouldn't dare to. Bucky is exhausted, mentally and physically. He's trying to be strong, for Eileen, for Sarah, for Steve. These children are Steve's biggest treasure and Bucky is going to make sure they are happy and safe. It's what Steve would have wanted and he can't fail him.

He tries to wipe the tears away, but new ones follow immediately. “Fuck Steve, I'm so sorry. I wish I could have done more”, Bucky cries and pulls the framed photo to his chest, curling around it as if he were to protect it, “I wish it would have been me!”. Sobs continue to roll through his body. He tries to breathe through his nose, to be calm and controlled, but the piercing ache in his heart continues to make him cry out. His soft belly shakes with each agonized shudder and every heartbreaking sob.

Once he's finally calmed down, he dries his cheeks and presses his lips to Steve's picture. The cold glass a stark contrast to Bucky's warm lips. Immediately, it begins to fog up under the man's hot breath. His fingers find their wedding rings, which he is wearing on a chain around his neck, and play with them. The metallic sounds when they bump into each other fills the void room and aid Bucky into finally resting. Just before he falls asleep, the words “with you 'till the end of the line” fall from his lips.

———

The next day, the Rogers-Barnes family is bundled up in thick, fluffy coats, scarves and hats to fight against the biting cold. They are cuddled up on a picnic blanket and warm their hands with cups of hot chocolate. Their breath fogs up the icy air and the smell of biscuits is prominent. Bucky looks down to Eileen who is feeding Sarah a reindeer treat. He smiles.

“Do you like your biscuits, baby?”. The toddler nods enthusiastically and offers the rest of her half eaten goodie to her father, a big, toothy grin on her face. He grins mischievously  and eats the whole biscuit in one bite, which makes the younger girl gasps dramatically before bursting out in giggles, “Silly daddy!”

Eileen smirks and joins in, “Yes, silly daddy. He will never lose some pounds this way” Her hand pats his belly after she squeezes his admittedly pudgy cheeks, “but that's what we love you for, right Sarah?” The addressed girl nods, already on her next biscuit. Bucky smiles widely and throws an arm over his oldest and pulls her to his chest, “I know you're just jealous of my dad bod”, his hands stroke over his tummy in an appreciative manner. The teen hums an agreement and cuddles herself closer to her father.

“I guess your hugs have increased in efficiency”. The chubby man grins and kisses both of his daughters' heads. “Your papa loved it too. He'd always give me some nice belly rubs”, he tells her before looking over to the grave they are sitting next to,”isn't that right, Stevie?”

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[sideways-writes]

5 times the sides were waring someone else’s cloths and one time they all were

Title: 5 times the sides were waring someone else’s cloths and one time they all were

Fandom(s): Sanders sides

Description: There were very few things all the sides could agree on. One of those things was that Thomas was terrible at giving them warning before summoning them, which resulted in some rather interesting and somewhat embarrassing moments. Be that missing items of clothing or wearing pyjamas.

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Patton. Janus, Remus, Logan, C!Thomas

Parings: intrulogical, Analoroceit, moceit. 

Individual bits as induvisual ships: anxeit, parental moxiety, roceit, intrulogical, logicality, analogics & prinxiety & moceit & demus [this was confusing]

Tags/warnings: can’t think of any warnings, implied making out at the end, kinda fluffy, 5+1 things, sharing cloths

~•~•~•~

~~1~~ Things had been pretty hectic over the past week, and everyone needed a break. Which, of course, meant no one was, and Thomas was making a video. Logan, Patton and Roman were all arguing over what they should be spending time on. Patton was pushing him to help his friends, Roman telling him to go dream chasing and Logan failing to find a balance between them. Thomas was expecting Virgil to rise up any second as he had done many a time before, but it wasn't the anxious side that appeared. "Well, isn't this lovely. Totally productive and very useful bickering." It may not have been who he expected, but Janus had the desired effect, and the sides were able to begin to work towards a solution. Looking over, Janus realised Thomas wasn't paying much attention. Snapping his fingers, he got said man's attention. "Sorry, just. What are you wearing?" Logan cut in before the yellow side could answer "He is waring Virgil's hoodie, surely you can see that?" "No, no, I see that but... why? Never-mind, what were you saying Janus?" Janus restarted his point, and things continued as usual. ~~2~~

The sides had materialised to watch another movie. Thomas had found a behind the scenes Disney documentary which had done the near-impossible task of appeasing both Roman and Logan while still engaging all the other sides. Logan and Remus were off in the latter's room presumably working on their recreation of Frankenstein's monster; assuming Remus hadn't distracted the logical side. Patton and Janus were making another batch of cookies in Thomas' kitchen; Thomas himself was chatting with them and making a note to buy more flour, sugar and eggs. Again. Roman was adventuring in the imagination, and Virgil was presumably on Tumblr in his room. An hour later, the sides to congregate in Thomas' living room scattering all about the place. Janus was lazing on the sofa, next to Patton in his cat onesie, looking surprisingly comfortable given he was still waring slacks and a buttoned-up shirt. Roman leaned against the yellow side's legs and practically vibrating with excitement. Logan was sitting in his usual spot having lost his tie at some-point but still looking very put together. Remus was lurking behind the sofa in his birthday suit. Virgil appeared on the arm of the couch in Patton's cat hoodie. The sides all greeted him, and the Moral side could not stop cooing at how adorable he looked in his hoodie. Janus looked at their human with a raised eyebrow as he walked and received an eye-role in return. "You do look adorable Virge." ~~3~~ Finding the sides in the kitchen at random hours wasn't particularly surprising anymore. Between Patton's baking, Janus' cooking, Logan's love of crofters and Virgil's random snacking there was usually someone there and if there wasn't you didn't have to wait long. However, what was unusual was the two most dramatic sides appearing singing some kind of competitive duet. Once Roman and Janus had reconciled, they took bickering to the next level. If the others thought he was bad with Virgil, Roman took it to new heights with the deceitful side. Competitive Disney mealies was a new one though. Somehow Janus had lost his cape, and Roman's sash was nowhere to be seen. What was most surprising, however, was that Janus' hat had found itself onto the prince's head. Given how protective, said side was of his hat it was unexpected but the two sank out before anything could be said. ~~4~~ [Remus' sash is absolutely massive when unfolded and I WILL die on this hill] For once, Janus had managed to get everyone to listen and actually take a break. Said side was cuddling with Roman and Virgil back in the mind-palace commons and Patton was knitting in a chair next to them. The last anyone had seen of Logan and Remus was them talking excitedly heading off to the latter's room. A few hours later Patton had finished up the beanie he had been knitting and had moved I join the others' cuddle pile. At some point, Virgil had fallen asleep with his head on Romans shoulder to the creative side running his fingers through his hair. Janus was starting to doze off curled around Patton. He raised his head sleepily when Logan shuffled into the room and flopped onto the couch with a book in hand. He pulled the Duke's sash tighter around his shoulders and cracked open the hefty tome as the Moral side ruffled his hair. The owner of the sash around Logan's shoulders slunk into the room to steal Janus' hat and lie across the back of the couch. ~~5~~ The sides were sitting around having a far more relaxed debate than usual. There was no one specific topic, the conversation drifted from the mundane to the ridiculous. Other than a brotherly spat that had left Roman sulking for a short while things were thankfully drama free. Or, well, they had been before Logan had accused Patton of not taking things seriously. There was a tense moment before the latter snapped his fingers. "Pat, what?" Then Virgil started snickering and pointed to Patton's neck. "Well, Lo, I'd say I'm being plenty serious. See, necktie!" Sure enough one of Logan's old ties had materialised around his neck. Even the logical side couldn't keep a straight face and they all burst out laughing. ~~+1~~ Thomas was getting used to seeing his sides in clothing other than their usual attire but he was still rather surprised when he summoned them to start recording and they were all each-others clothes. Patton and Janus appeared together, the yellow side in the others hoodie with his arm over his shoulders. Remus had popped up with Janus' hat next to his brother who had Virgils hoodie on and was looking a little awkward. Virgil had Logan's tie draped around his neck and blush on his cheeks as he glared at the human who had summoned him while the Logical side just smirked.

[btsmosphere]

Sweet Surprises | KTH

~summary: The story of how Taehyung’s fridge filled up with fruitcake. Taehyung x reader ~word count: 2.8k ~neighbour au, strangers to lovers, fluff Rating: pg ~warnings: I don’t think there are any :) ~a/n: Happy birthday Taehyung!! Here is my offering for the bingo square ‘fruitcake’! Wasn’t sure I was even going to write for this square since I don’t personally like fruitcake, but that itself inspired this one hehe.. I have so enjoyed all my xmas projects (and I managed to do 8 bingo squares!) but I am also excited to start posting different things in the new year! I have some new series in the making so stay tuned...

In the quiet corridor, your tentative knock rang out clearly.

Shifting between your feet, you stared at the unbudging door, on the verge of dashing straight back home.

But before you could give the idea any more thought, the click of the handle turning from the other side made you freeze. Glancing down, you reassured yourself with the sight of the plate in your hands.

And then you were face to face with your most gorgeous neighbour, a fruitcake the only barrier between you two.

“Hello!” the guy greeted, surprising you with a smile. You would have expected him to be at least a little annoyed at being interrupted by a neighbour at the door. Relaxing a little, you offered a smile too.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. I, er, made some fruitcake, but I have way too much so I, er, thought you might like some?”

The man’s eyes dropped to the plate you extended to him after getting through your little speech. Meeting your eyes again, his smile returned.

“Wow, thanks!”

He plucked it from your hands, leaving them with nothing to do.

Awkwardly fiddling with the hem of your shirt, you nodded.

“Okay, well, er, I hope you enjoy, and I should probably-“

“Wait, Y/N!”

As bidden, you stopped, waiting for his next words.

“Tell me,” he grinned, taking a step out of his apartment, “how come you have too much fruitcake? Of all things?”

“Oh,” you chuckled lightly, “well, every year my mum picks a load of fruit from a local farm, and she makes fruitcake for all the family at Christmas, and she sent me some of the fruit this year now I’m living alone, but she hasn’t really got the memo that I don’t have a family to feed, so now I have all this fruit and- sorry, I’m rambling,” you cut yourself off, one hand tangling in your hair.

Nonetheless, your neighbour’s smile had stayed in place.

“No, no,” he assured you, “don’t worry. You should come by again if you have more to get rid of!”

“Oh,” you said, taken by surprise, “okay, great!”

“Thanks,” he smiled, “oh, and I’m Taehyung, by the way.”

“Good to meet you, Taehyung.”

When you closed the door behind you, safely back home, you let out a heavy breath, smile taking its place on your face.

You definitely had more to get rid of. After your brief interaction with Taehyung, you had to restrain yourself from making another batch of cake right away. The man needed some time to eat it!

About a week later, you had deemed it time.

So here you stood, two cooked and two uncooked fruitcakes spread in front of you, one more in the oven, all before noon had even come. Unfortunately, you knew you would have to give some to your other neighbours too: Taehyung couldn’t possibly eat five fruitcakes even if they were his favourite food on earth. Well, perhaps he could, but it would take him a while, and you would like to have the excuse to go back and deliver another in another week’s time.

Undoubtedly, it was silly, but you couldn’t help but be drawn to your handsome neighbour. Prior to last week, you had only ever seen him in passing on the staircase, but now you were dying to talk to him again, if only for a minute.

This time around, your rap at the door was a little more confident.

“Hi again!” you smiled when his head poked around the door.

“Y/N! Hi,” he beamed, letting his door fall open and leaning against the door frame, revealing he was still dressed in his pyjamas, though he still seemed perfectly at ease, “you brought more!”

“Presuming you’re still hungry,” you chuckled.

“Ah, always,” he affirmed, leaning forward to take your latest offering, “the last one… it was really great. Can’t wait for this one!”

“I’m glad,” you said, “you’ll have to let me know when you get sick of them.”

“If,” he corrected, laughing, “and why’s that? Still got your fruit problem?”

Grimacing, you nodded.

“There is just so. much!” you let out an exasperated laugh, “I’m not even sure if I can use it up by Christmas.”

“Well, I’m always here for that,” Taehyung sent you a winning grin. “So, this is a Christmas tradition for your family?”

Nodding, you explained, “definitely, and the recipe I use has been passed down from my great grandmother. And there’s always one on the table on Christmas day. My mum taught me to bake it ever since I was four.”

“Wow,” Taehyung raised his eyebrows, “that’s impressive. No wonder they taste so good!”

“Thank you,” you smiled, looking down at your feet.

“Listen, I should go and get ready, but I’ll pop round and bring back your plates at some point, yeah?”

“Sounds great, thanks,” you smiled before bidding him farewell and returning to your other fruitcakes.

Another week, another fruitcake plated up and waiting on your counter as you dashed around the apartment like a mad woman. You had completely forgotten your promise to meet with some old friends in town, having remembered mid-shower, and now you were doing your hair, brushing your teeth and picking an outfit that might make you look like a functioning person, all at once.

So a knock on the door was not what you needed.

With every intention of not answering, you poked your head around the curtain just to see who it was.

And just like that, you were dashing down the stairs to let in Kim Taehyung.

“Hi!” you greeted breathlessly.

“Oh, hi,” he smiled, “am I… interrupting?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine!” you stepped back, one hand holding onto the hair you were plaiting, “I was going to come round later anyway.”

“Nice,” he held up the two plates you had given him, now spotlessly clean, “I was just bringing these back.”

Though you made to take them from him, you soon thought better of it.

“Sorry, if you could just-“

“Through there-?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks,” you laughed nervously, following him through to your kitchen. Of course, it wasn’t as clean as you would have liked him to see, but he didn’t take any notice.

“Since you’re here, you could just take it now,” you nodded towards the latest fruitcake as he set down the plates.

“Ah, yes, great, thank you,” he shot you a smile, “I look forward to it.”

“No problem!” you grinned, finally finishing up your plait and freed your hand.

“I should probably get going,” he said, then grimaced. “Christmas shopping awaits.”

“Good luck to you then,” you laughed, “I’m just about to head into town too.”

“Oh! Walk with me?” he asked, “I’ll just go and put this inside…”

“See you in a moment!” you called as he headed back out the door with your cake.

Walking into town was a lot nicer with Taehyung at your side, you noticed. You two chatted more about your Christmas traditions and families, and how much of a nightmare they were to buy presents for. It seemed your mothers were very similar, always asking for things only to never use them, or worse, send them back.

“Why ask for it then?” you threw your hands out in exasperation, both of you laughing little clouds into the air.

Not long later, Taehyung pointed out that you had reached the café you were heading to. You were definitely late for your friends, but that didn’t matter at all when he gave you a quick parting hug.

Waving at him, you wished him luck with the shopping, ignoring the way your heart fluttered more after that one hug than it had during the entire walk here.

Inside, you were pleasantly surprised as your friends didn’t care at all about you being late, instead inundating you with questions about who you were with. You did your best to wave them off with just a friend, just my neighbour, but you couldn’t help the pang in your heart.

If only you could call him more than that…

Fortunately, he really seemed to like your baking.

“I’ve never known anyone who eats so much fruitcake,” you laughed one day, the second time he had turned up that week.

“Oh, you know me,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “can’t have too much fruitcake…”

“Coffee?” you asked.

“Go on then,” he smiled, following you inside, “but it’s definitely my turn next time.”

Rolling your eyes, you placed his fruitcake on the table and started on the coffee. It had been a week after your walk into town that you had turned up with the next cake and he had invited you in for tea. Incredibly excited about this development, you returned the favour the next time he came around.

Now it was approaching Christmas and he was eating your cakes quicker than ever.

Just two days before the big day, or Christmas eve eve as you liked to call it, a knock at the door.

Smiling to yourself, you abandoned the suitcase you were packing and rushed to open it.

“Happy Christmas eve eve!” you greeted Taehyung.

Instead of returning the enthusiastic greeting, he looked stumped.

“Happy what?”

“Christmas eve eve,” you repeated.

He burst out laughing.

“Um, sure, I guess.”

“I promise it’s a thing!” you insisted, “well, with me anyway… sorry, would you like a drink?”

“Actually, I was coming to invite you for a drink at mine,” he said, “I told you it was my turn next, right?”

Considering you could use a break (and not at all because you would never turn down an offer to spend time with Tae), you hurriedly agreed. Slipping on your shoes only to take them back off a few seconds later across the threshold of Tae’s house, you followed him through.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it!” he smiled brightly, “you can wait in here.”

As he disappeared into the kitchen, you made yourself at home in his sitting room, noting, as you did every time you had been here, his immaculate taste in decor. Soft sounds of mugs and teaspoons clinking came from the kitchen, and soon you found yourself with a hot drink between your hands.

“Oh no!” you exclaimed as he set down a slice of cake too, “can we share it? You didn’t bring one for yourself.”

“Uh, sure,” he sat heavily, “thanks.”

Taking your first forkful, you sat back.

“I never said it before, but your house is really nice.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you think so,” he blushed, hiding his face with a sip of his drink.

“Especially the artwork… will you tell me about that one?”

“Oh, that’s actually one of mine.”

“What?” you gaped, “No way! That’s incredible!”

To your dismay, a phone call soon interrupted your… thing. Whatever it was you were having. Tea, you supposed. Certainly not a date.

Quickly apologising, Tae peeked at the screen before excusing himself.

“My mother,” he said, “probably panicking about Christmas plans. I’ll be right back.”

With a laugh, you nodded to show you understood. The moment he left, you let out a sigh. Your mothers should meet each other, it sounded like they would really get along. But perhaps meeting family was going a bit far.

You had to control yourself. Nothing had ever happened, nor would ever happen with Tae. This whole perfect boy-next-door thing was reserved for movies. Not for someone like you.

A few minutes of you twirling your fork around a now empty plate, and Tae was still talking in the hallway. Deciding to make yourself useful, you heaved yourself up from his sofa with your empty dishes in hand.

Leaving what must be the softest, squishiest sofa in the land was a tragedy you didn’t enjoy, but you were only going to pop into the kitchen and ditch the plate.

Right?

But when you did step into the kitchen, you stopped in the doorway.

“What the…” you breathed, venturing one more step in.

Spread across half the counter were your fruitcakes. All of them were still wrapped up, except one that you presumed he had just served to you. Still staring at the stack, you set your things down as softly as possible.

Spinning, slowly, silently, on your heels, you cast your eyes over the rest of the kitchen. Though the counter had a tower of cake on it, you were sure it wasn’t every one you had given to Tae. Then a crack of light caught your attention.

The fridge was open, just a crack, but you walked towards it, eyebrows creasing together. Reaching your hand forwards, you pulled.

A loud thud sounded as a fruitcake launched from the fridge, landing with a slight splat at your feet. And what’s more, the fridge itself was equally stuffed with your fruitcakes.

An instant hush fell outside. Tae had heard.

Spinning around, eyes wide like a child caught breaking into the cookie jar, you were just in time to see Taehyung come to the doorway. When his eyes met yours, you found much the same expression there as you wore yourself.

“I’ll call you back,” he mumbled into the phone, lowering it slowly without taking his eyes off you.

“…sorry,” was the first word to fall from your mouth, “I was just putting back the mug and-“

“Let me explain?” he cut in, “I- I do want them, I swear, and thank you- “

“You clearly don’t want them,” you spoke, confusion lacing your voice, “What are you going to do with all these?”

Following your gesture, he cringed as he took in all the fruitcakes he had amassed.

“I was hoping my friends might like some,” he muttered sheepishly, now looking resolutely at his shoes, “and- and my mum really wants to try some…”

“You don’t like fruitcake?” you whispered.

Finally, Tae looked up.

“No…”

“But- why did you keep asking for more?”

“I… I…”

Watching him closely, you waited. He was so endearing, all flustered like this, but you were honestly perplexed.

“How else was I meant to keep seeing you without seeming weird?”

Your eyebrows raised.

“No offense… but this also seems pretty weird.”

“Yeah, point taken,” he sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck, “but it was a good excuse. And look how much fruit you used up!”

In the face of his hopeful grin, you could only laugh.

“You… you wanted to see me?”

“Yes! I did try the first cake, I promise, I tried so hard to like it, but I just-“

“Taehyung!”

Snapping his mouth shut, he looked up at you with big eyes.

“You could have just said so! Do you not know why I kept coming here with those cakes?”

The expression that met you was blank, only a blink coming in answer.

“Taehyung, I wanted to see you too. I like you.”

For a moment, you were afraid he wouldn’t respond. That perhaps you had got the wrong idea, that this silence was his way of rejection. But then he sighed, a laugh hidden within it, and finally spoke.

“Well that makes things simple,” a small smile spread onto his face, “because I like you too. And I would eat every fruitcake in this room if you let me take you out on a date.”

“That won’t be necessary,” you returned the smile, “I would love to go out with you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The boxy smile that lit up his face found its way quickly to your own as well when he stepped towards you. Reaching out his hand, he gently took your own and tugged you closer. Before you knew it, his lips were on yours, his other hand at your jaw, barely grazing the skin as if he would wake up and find it all to be a dream if he held you too tightly.

Eyes closed in bliss, you covered the hand with your own, assuring you both. Yes, this was real.

Pulling back, all either of you could do was stare into each other’s eyes as they creased with the smiles you wore.

“I guess all those fruitcakes were a good thing after all?” Taehyung whispered.

Looking over your shoulder at your baking, piled up around his kitchen, a laugh bubbled slowly from your throat. Head falling onto his shoulder, you closed your eyes as his own laughter rumbled through you.

“What are we going to do with them?”

There was more than one fruitcake on your Christmas table that year. But an extra seat at the table was definitely worth it.

Thank you for reading and reblogging!!

Taglist: @aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​ 

Main masterlist here

[abraxos-is-toothless]

Home for Christmas

This is my fic for the @aftgexchange winter round for @andreil-minyasten

I had so much fun writing this and I really hope this lives up to what you wanted! I actually had an idea for a part 2 to this from another bit of your prompts. If you want me to write that for you, feel free to message and ask, I’ll be quite happy to do so:)

Enjoy!!<3

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December 22nd

“What the hell do you mean that you aren’t going to be here for christmas, Andrew?”

Neil was beyond, angry. He was pissed. Their holiday plans had been decided back in November. Andrew would come to Neil in Boston from New York and they’d host Aaron, Katelyn from the twenty fourth before they’d meet Nicky, Erik- who were spending Christmas with Eric’s family in Germany -and the rest of the foxes down in South Carolina to spend New Years with Wymack and Abby.

But apparently, that was all going to shit, now.

“I’ve tried Neil, but flights are delayed and there’s a storm coming in. I don’t know if I’ll make it, the Mas definitely won’t.” Now he was beyond consoling.

“If you had come two days ago like you said you would, this wouldn’t be a problem. We haven’t seen each other since September.” He missed his partner, missed soft touches when they’d reach for one another in the night, he missed laying his head in Andrew’s lap while the other man read one of his newest books. Overall, he just missed Andrew.

“How many times do I have to tell you that it was Kevin’s fault I couldn’t come out when I had planned?” Neil scoffed.

“What Kevin wants has never stopped you before. Whatever, Andrew, I’m going to bed.” He ignored Andrew’s reply, hanging up and flinging his phone onto his bedside table. He was so tired of everything. Neil carried out his nighttime routine quite aggressively, flinging back the duvet with force, ignoring the constant buzzing of his phone. Tonight, the bed felt uncomfortable, lumpy and cold, so awfully cold. It had been three years of this, of the long distance, scheduling time to see each other, of having to be without one another for the majority of the year after spending four years attached at the hip while they were at PSU. The two of them, being how stubborn they both were, had sworn that the distance wouldn’t be an issue. Neil had to play with the Bobcats for two years minimum, considering it was the best contract he could get straight out of college and the closest to Andrew’s team.

Everything was great at first, wonderful even, they saw each other on as many weekends as they could, called and texted every day, and Skyped at least twice a week. But then shit went down hill. Practice built up and up if the team’s performance declined, promotions and photo shoots and team signings started taking up their free time. It was shit, they knew it was shit but, what could they do? He hated this, he hated everything about it.

His sleep that night was fitful and restless, and he was wide awake when the sun rose the next morning, yellow and orange rays of light hitting the empty spot beside him.

December 24th

Neil hadn’t spoken to Andrew since he abruptly ended their phone call two nights ago. There were several missed calls from the blonde on his phone, and many unread texts. He saw them as they came through, sometimes just his name, sometimes they asked if he was alright and ‘why won’t you pick up the fucking phone, Abram?’

Every part of him wanted to, fucking god, did he want to, but he had no idea what his brain would spout from his lips. He was terrified that the anger, the hurt of the separation, would come back full force and he’d say something awful that he’d most likely regret. That was his personal default when he was mad, finding exactly what to say that would hurt and hurt hard. So, no, he didn’t pick up the phone, he just left it alone and listened to the odd buzz as it vibrated against the kitchen counter. It was almost 8:30pm and Neil was making, or hoped to be making, cinnamon sugar cookies that would with any luck, still be warm and not burnt by the time Aaron and Katelyn arrived. They were apparently Kate’s latest pregnancy craving and he wanted for her to have them on hand so Aaron wouldn’t have to leave at some ungodly hour to get store bought ones.

There was flour everywhere and he was pretty sure there was some cinnamon on his forehead somehow, on top of that, he’d used more bowls than were actually needed for the ingredients the recipe called for but he wasn’t exactly surprised. Anything to do with cooking or baking was Andrew’s area of expertise: Neil just liked to watch, a giddy smile on his face whenever his partner whispered ‘staring’ without even looking at him. Shaking his head before he started to wallow in his own self pity, the timer to the first batch went off just as the buzzer to the apartment did. Quickly pulling out the baking tray, he placed it on the side, barely taking note of how the shapes he cut out now resembled blobs as he rushed to the door and pressed the button for the speaker. “Hello?”

“Neil! It’s Kate, Aaron is just sorting the bags and told me to come up first.” He smiled despite his somber mood for the past week.

“Come on up, I’ll buzz you in. Do you want me to wait outside the elevator for you?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine!” He agreed and let her in, wiping his hands before propping his front door open and waiting for her anyway. Before long, he was greeted with an eye rolling Katelyn, but there was a grin on her lips nonetheless. “You’re nearly as bad as my husband, I’m surprised he even let me come up on my own, but thank you.” She said, as he held out his elbow for her to take. She had begun to waddle a little now with how big she had gotten. Neil supposed that having twins made the whole process a little different.

He helped her settle into the armchair in the living room and asked, “can I get you a drink?”

“Water would be great, thanks. Also, is that cinnamon I smell?” He felt his cheeks go hot and knew he was blushing.

“You mentioned at one point on the phone that cinnamon cookies are your newest craving and so I made some for you. They’re still warm if you’d like a few?” Katelyn nodded excitedly, murmuring how grateful she was at the thoughtful gesture and he hurried off, placing a few questionable looking snowmen and coming back into the other room just as the buzzer went off again. He left the pregnant woman to devour her food and admire his sparkly Christmas tree and went to let Aaron in. When the elevator opened up on his floor once again, he was met with a ruffled Minyard twin who was surrounded by bags.

“What the hell do you bring with you?”

“Shut your mouth and help me carry this shit, would you?” Neil kept his mouth shut and hefted a couple of bags into his arms. Most went into the spare room where the couple would be sleeping and then Aaron unloaded a big bag of presents to sit underneath the tree while he went back to put more cookies in the oven, and to load a few more onto Katelyn’s now empty plate. When he came back and sat himself on the couch, Aaron seemed out of breath, hugging as he lay on the wood floor.

“I’ll ask again, how much did you bring?” The woman stuffing her face giggled as her husband giggled and replied;

“We have your presents and Andrew’s presents from us, mine and Aaron’s that we’ve gotten each other, and we brought all the gifts for when we see the others next week. Also our clothes and my hospital bag even though I have about two and a half months left.” He nodded, though he was confused on the amount of clothes. They only lived an hour away from him and could go back for more clothes before they headed to South Carolina. Neil was about to mention just that when Aaron interrupted.

“Where is my brother anyway?” Ah yes, he’d forgotten to mention that. He let his face go blank as he told them what had happened. That Andrew kept pushing it back until he couldn’t come, that they’d argued and that they weren’t currently speaking. Katelyn had something akin to pity on her face and Aaron looked as though he was angry on behalf of Neil. “What the fuck? He’s seriously going to miss Christmas with his family, with you?”

“Looks like it.”

“But since when has what Kevin wanted ever mattered to him? Unless it benefitted his own needs of course.” It was weird slowly becoming friends with Aaron and seeing that occasionally, they could be on the same wavelength and agree with each other. It was a little bit dangerous, in his opinion.

“That’s what I said.”

“Is he still going to come to Palmetto next week.” He didn’t know what to say, because Andrew could still turn up at Abby’s despite not being here now. He also hadn’t spoken to him, so he hadn’t got the chance to ask. Neil stayed quiet. Aaron looked like he was about to press for more when Kate suggested that they watch a movie together and started setting up the tv without waiting for either of them to reply. Twenty minutes into the movie, Katelyn had picked A Christmas Carol because it was a classic, Neil got the final batch of cookies from the oven and cleared down the kitchen for tomorrow. Another ten minutes after that, Katelyn disappeared to put on pyjamas and Aaron grabbed him and Neil a beer from the fridge. By ten o’clock they were debating on watching one more film or going to bed when the apartment door opened and closed loudly.

The three of them half jumped out of their seats, turning violently to see Andrew Minyard standing in the doorway, and Neil’s breath caught in his throat. He was bundled up in a thick black coat, the collar pulled up around his neck, and his black knitted bobble hat Neil had brought him last year was pulled down over his ears that he just knew would still be adorably pink at the tips. One of his hands was tucked into his pocket and the other held a large duffel bag.

“Well well, look at what the cat finally dragged in.” Both Neil and Andrew glared at Aaron, who only rolled his eyes in response to their annoyance. Turning back to Andrew he gave him one last once over before standing slowly.

“Why don’t you go and sort yourself out,” he pointed to the bedroom where their en-suite was, “I’ll be in there in a minute.” Andrew gave a curt nod in confirmation and disappeared down the hall, bedroom door shutting softly. Katelyn was speaking to him, saying that she and Aaron were going to head to bed, kissing him on the cheek and pulling her husband along. Neil’s first instinct was to run to the bedroom, wrap his partner up in his arms, kiss him until they were breathless and then never let him go again but he was still mad at him. So, he cleared the few empty cans from the coffee table, and took Kate’s dirty glass and plate to the kitchen and dumped them in the sink. He locked the door and the windows out of habit and switched off all of the lights and slowly walked to his bedroom where he knew Andrew was waiting.

When he reached the door, he froze with his hand on the handle, closing his eyes and breathing deeply several times before he forced himself to step inside. As he suspected. Andrew was now in a pair of grey sweats and, he noticed with some satisfaction, one of Neil’s long sleeve cotton shirts. This one was a navy blue and Andrew had never looked more beautiful than he didn’t now, in soft clothes, hair ruffled and his nose and cheeks still a little pink from the cold air outside. He tugged on his withering self control and stopped himself from climbing over the other man and just holding him. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Taking that as a cue to start first, Andrew spoke, though Neil never expected for those words to ever come out of his partner’s mouth. “I lied to you.”

“What?” The blonde looked down at his hands, sighed, and then stood, walking and walking until he was a mere few steps away from Neil. Before, before there would be no need for that distance, because they’d healed and grown together and barely used ’yes or no’ unless it was a bad day or they were trying new things. Fuck long distance relationships.

“I lied. Kevin was never the one to keep me back in New York the first time, and there was no storm coming in to stop me from coming this time.” He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t fucking breathe.

“What the fuck? How could you lie, you swore you’d never lie to me. Why didn't you want to come, and why turn up at the last minute?” Andrew did step into his space then, on hand gripping his hip and the other linking their pinkie fingers together.

“Because there was something I was trying to sort out but those god damn stickball coaches are a pain in my ass.” Neil blinked, and then blinked a couple more times, before he was led to the bed where Andrew let go of him to dig out a stack of papers from his duffel bag and handed them into his scarred hands. “Merry Christmas, Junkie.” Okay, now he really was confused as he stared at the item in his hands with a furrowed brow. His anger was still there, but dying out slowly. He flicked through page after page eyes widening and mouth dropping open before he looked back at Andrew whose lips were quirking at his dumbfounded expression.

“You’re serious? You join the Bobcats when the new season starts?” His lover nodded.

“I’m tired. I’m tired of being away from you, of all the fighting. I’ve been working with your coach and mine to trade me with your goalkeeper, Angie. They hated it at first but I got there in the end. That’s why I’m so late, they were still hesitant about signing the damn forms.”

“So you started yet another fight with me?” In one swift movement there were hands on his cheeks and words were being breathed against his lips, sending pleasant, incredibly missed shivers down his spine as he wrapped his arms around Andrew’s waist.

“Not my finest moment, but I was trying to surprise you. Clearly, I’m not very good at it.” Neil chuckled wetly, and pressed their foreheads together.

“This is really happening?” He whispered gently.

“Yeah. I’ve still got to move all my stuff out here and things like that, but it’s real, Abram.”

“Then kiss me, you asshole, and make me forget your very bad surprise.” Andrew laughed then too, walking him backwards and pushing him down onto the bed, straddling his waist. They kissed for what seemed like hours, wrapped up and lost in one another. When they finally pulled apart, his lips felt tingly and his breathing came in pants.

That night, he fell asleep to warm sheets, a soft body behind him and cradled in a strong pair of arms. Despite the rocky start, Neil thought this might have been his best Christmas yet.

-------

I really hoped you liked it and if you do want that part two, I’ll be more than willing. I’m actually quite happy with the idea:)

[yespolkadotkitty]

Spuds

Originally a request from @gardensofwhimsy​ . I asked my BFF @hopelessromanticspoonie​ to collaborate on this, and she said yes!

You & your husband Marshall are happily married, but life can be tiring when one of you has a chronic illness and the other is a police officer.

******

You stretched, setting aside your proofreading for the day. The cosy little window seat Marshall had made for you from some old pillows, a favourite ragged shirt of his stitched onto a pillow that had seen better days, and some wooden board made a lovely cubbyhole but wasn’t the best for your back.

Sunlight made the glass warm and just as you looked out of it, you saw your husband’s truck pull up. He cut the engine and stepped out, six foot two of tall, dark and handsome, his curly hair tugged by the spring wind. He wore a thick sweater over worn jeans, and you watched his hips move for a moment before he disappeared through the door of your house.

Standing, you bit off a groan as your joints complained. You really shouldn’t curl up like this for too long, but you often got lost in your work. It was easy to ignore something so constant in your life as an aching body in favor of thrilling plots and frustrating red herrings.

Proofreading mystery novels was an amazing job - but it did mean you often got sucked into a story.

“Sweetheart?” Marshall called up the stairs. 

“I’m up here.”

You heard his treads on the stairs and then he stuck his curly-haired head around the door. “Your favourite hideaway,” he smiled.

You walked to him and he enfolded you in his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, suffusing warmth from that point all the way down to the tips of your toes. “I missed you.”

You leaned back to look at him, to look into his blue, blue eyes. “Tough day?”

Marshall shrugged. “I’ve had worse. No new leads on the drug case. But, Glasgow brought his baby in again.”

“And did you pretend not to love her?”

“Of course. I have a reputation to maintain.”

One that hardly anyone bought anymore, you thought with a smile. Since you’d married Marshall, his second marriage, in a tiny country barn ceremony with candles and woodfire pizza, his colleagues had commented on how happy you’d made him.

And the feeling was mutual. He cared for you, emotionally, and physically. God knew marriage to someone suffering with chronic illness was no picnic, but Marshall shared the load with you without complaint.

You drew your arms away from his neck. “Ugh, sorry. Pain.” Your left shoulder joint clicked as you moved, but at least it didn’t dislocate that time. Marshall knew how to pop it back in, these days, but it was still unpleasant.

“Tired?” he asked with concern, cupping your cheek.

“No more than usual.” Tiredness was your bedfellow day in and day out, and you’d gotten used to it, to a point. If you stayed up late, like on your wedding day, you paid for it over the next seventy-two hours, or longer. “Dinner?”

“Sure.” He took your hand and led you downstairs. Today you’d made sure to take a break from work to marinate some steaks. Most of the time you ate simple meals due to your exhaustion and Marshall’s long and/or random hours. On the weekends you tried to batch cook huge pots of ragu or a big lasagne so you wouldn’t need to set aside spoons for cooking on work nights.

“Smells amazing,” Marshall commented as he stuck his head in the fridge and pulled out the platter of steaks. “Spuds?”

His British vernacular never failed to entertain you - as much as his accent made you melt inside. You mentally translated his word to potatoes. “With plenty of butter.”

He set the grill on while you bent down to the cupboard to get drinks - but when you stood up again, a spell of dizziness caught you off guard.

The world tilted and you grabbed the counter. Marshall noticed in a flash and hurried to your side, catching you before you hit the floor. He gave you a soft landing against a broad chest and settled cross-legged, holding you in his lap. “I got you.”

You huffed, annoyed. “I didn’t even stand up that quickly, that time,” you fake-laughed, but the tremble in your voice gave you away.

Marshall raised a brow. “Okay. Someone is going to sit down on the sofa until dinner is ready.” And before you could protest, he scooped you up and carted you to the couch, laying you on it, draping your favourite blanket over you.

“I feel like a sack of potatoes,” you groused.

A grin crossed his lips. “Good thing I like potatoes,” he sassed.

“With plenty of butter,” you sassed back.

You watched the movement of his hips in the worn denim as he moved back to the kitchen, and thought, it’d be nice to have the energy for sex later. You sometimes worried that Marshall thought he didn’t turn you on, but you knew that would never be the case. You loved everything about him, from his linebacker-wide shoulders to his dedication to justice. 

But most of all, you loved that he was yours.

After he dished up you ate at the table, talking over his day, but exhaustion dragged at your eyelids. You loaded the dishwasher together.

Marshall steeped tea leaves in boiling water for you. "Would you prefer to be nagged to go to bed now, or later?"

His teasing tone made you smile. "I'll go."

You drank the tea and changed into pyjamas as Marshall pottered around the house. Chores helped him think through a tricky case, or so he told you. You suspected he said that to relieve your guilt when your body just wasn't up to everyday tasks.

He settled in beside you, pulling your back to his chest, nuzzling your neck. "My favourite part of the day," he sighed.

You tangled your legs with his. "It's mine, too."

Tagging some of my Henry pals who may like this: @cavillhavoc​ @watermeloncavill​ @just-the-hiddles​ @dr-kayleigh-dh​ @mrsaugustwalker​ @ly--canthrope​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @penwieldingdreamer​ @omgkatinka​ @trippedmetaldetector​ @andahugaroundtheneck​ @owillofthewisps​ @pinkzsugar​ @mary-ann84​

[kirishwima]

drunk RFA+ Jihyun and ge Saeran with not drunk female MC😆

ohhh durnk RFA! i like this hehe

However, since we know Seven doesn’t drink alcohol or smoke, I’ll switch his section into eating edibles with him; so be warned there’s mentions of both alcohol and weed in this!!

YOOSUNG:

* Baby boy is a lightweight like...don’t even give him a single beer can, not even a sip of wine...MC why did you let him drink, this one’s on you

* Knowing how Yoosung gets when drunk, MC decided not to drink at all that night-they were out for dinner with the rest of the RFA, and one glass of wine turned into ordering beer after beer per Zen’s insistence lol

* By his second glass, Yoosung was a M E S S 

* MC actually had to excuse him and herself to take him home, the boy so tipsy he was leaning onto Zen, twirling his white locks of hair flirting with him, thinking it’s MC!!!

* It took a lot of strength to drag him to the car, and Seven actually had to come out and carry Yoosung as he drunkedly giggled while being princess-carried; something Seven will never ever let him live down lmao

* At home she managed to get him into bed, albeit in his day clothes, unable to get him to put on his pyjamas, simply curling up besides him as MC waited for Yoosung to fall asleep.

* He turned to her in his drunken haze, clasping her cheeks in his hands as he looked to her with a grin.

* “Youu...you are so cute! How can you be so cute and be mine? There’s-*hic*, you met pretty boy Zen and-and rich dude Jumin-but you want me! Me!”

* MC rolled her eyes, leaning close to kiss Yoosung’s cheek. “I did choose you. I love you” she whispered, making Yoosung fall into another feat of giggles. 

* “Yess-me! And I-I choose you! Like Pikachu! Chu, chu” he laughed at himself, the sound endearing and adorable all at once.

* He settled himself down after a moment, sighing as he let his eyes flutter shut.

* MC thought he was asleep, when she heard him mumble;

* “Marry her-I’m gonna marry MC...mm, then everyone will know she mine...ha”

* She smiled, curling up on his chest. She’d never admit she heard him say that, but she’d never forget it, and well, if she’s a little extra sweet and cuddly with him the next day, she’ll blame it on his cuteness.

JAEHEE:

* She doesn’t like to admit it, but she too, is a lightweight.

* She’s usually careful about how much she drinks, knowing how..well, how she tends to get when drunk, but this one night-

* MC had brought home a bottle of her favorite wine, saying they should make it a stay-at-home date night, and Jaehee couldn’t resist-between the two of them, they ended up emptying the bottle, Jaehee having just a tad more alcohol in her than she could handle.

* What MC was soon to find out, is that Jaehee is not only a very bubbly, talkative drunk, she’s also very, very handsy, a little cuddle fiend;

* Before MC knew it she was laying on the couch, Jaehee laying over her with her limbs locked on MC’s sides like a koala, talking about anything and everything, context gone in her hazy mind; from her love of Zen’s musical, to her distaste for cats, to Jumin, and how much she’d like to take that silver spoon of his and shove it-um. Anyway.

* MC giggled, letting Jaehee ramble on and on until she tired herself out, her head leaning down to fall onto MC’s chest, her hands clasped on MC’s shirt.

* “Are you sleepy?” MC teased, running her hands on Jaehee’s back.

* “Mmm” Jaehee mumbled, nuzzling her head on MC’s chest, “you-comfy. So comfy. Love you so much” she kept mumbling, the words muffled on the fabric of MC’s shirt.

* Jaehee was never this bold, and in the morning, when she woke up on the couch with MC beneath her, both of them sore from the awkward sleeping position-Jaehee would be a flustered mess, her cheeks a fiery red as she tried to recollect the scattered memories she had of the night before.

* She’d apologise profusely to MC, who’d insist there was nothing to be sorry for. 

* Just a cute sweet funny drunk really lol

ZEN:

* It takes a LOT to get this guy drunk-he’s so used to going out to bars back in his motorcycle-riding days and getting shit-faced that nowdays there’s only few kinds of alcohol that can really give him that tipsy kick.

* Well, one night he and MC were out at a bar with colleagues celebrating the end of a theatre production, when their producer brought a few bottles of some fancy smoked whiskey-Zen’s vice. 

* He loved whiskey, but rarely indulged in it, not only because there’s few situations in which whiskey would be suited, but also because honestly, it was the only type of alcohol left strong enough to get him drunk.

* He was careful at first, wanting to stay sober so he could be a proper escort to MC, but people kept pouring in his cup again once it was empty and he was too polite to say no and he kept drinking and well...this is a long-winded way to say Zen did get drunk lol

* As it turns out, drunk Zen is not too different from sober Zen-were it not for his slurred speech MC might’ve not even noticed he’s drunk.

* She only realized it when he started leaning his head on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist as he looked to her with a big exaggerated pout, his bottom lip jutting out as he blinked up at her.

* She laughed, flicking his nose. “What? What’s with this grumpy face, hm?” she asked him.

* “You are...so beautiful. I love you so much!” he started, and MC rolled her eyes at him.

* “And is that a reason for you to pout like that?” she asked him. Zen shook his head, looking around the bar as if to make sure he can lean up and whisper in her ear without anyone else noticing.

* “I don’t want all these other people to be looking at you-and I want you to only look at me” he whispered, before leaning back to look her in the eye. “You love me the most right? Right??” he grumbled.

* MC realized just how drunk Zen must’ve gotten by that point-and not wanting him to feel embarassed the next day, she slowly managed to get him home, collapsing with him on the couch in a giggling heap.

* By the next morning he was as good as new, minus the horrible horrible hangover he’d been experiencing-but thankfully his own personal Advil was right there to make him all better ;)

JUMIN:

* Honestly, it’s quite impossible to get this man drunk.

* Or rather, it’s that he’s so subtly drunk that it’s almost impossible to realise when he is. He simply...becomes chattier. Bolder. That’s the only difference between drunk Jumin and sober Jumin lol

* MC only realized when one night at a dinner party, after having copious amounts of wine, Jumin leaned onto her, quietly nodding towards other guests and sharing his honest, undiluted opinion of them in MC’s ear.

* “Mrs Portokalou, the lady with the red hair; she’s a stuck up butt” he started, making poor MC nearly choke on her drink as she took in the bold words Jumin whispered. “Mr Khan, he’s a know-it-all, don’t ever get into a debate with him. So annoying. That guy over there, with the blue suit-I don’t...I actually don’t know who he is but I don’t like him. His tie doesn’t suit his suit. Disgusting” Jumin scoffed.

* It was so entretaining that MC didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop, biting her cheek to stop from laughing her heart out at Jumin’s commentary.

* “That man there; Mr Mel. What a douche-douchebag? Is that what Zen usually calls me? Well, that’s what this man is too. Douchebag...I should go tell him that.”

* Woah woah woah! Before Jumin could make his way up to Mr. Douchebag, MC gripped his wrist, tugging him back.

* With some effort and promises of kisses in the car, she managed to get him to go home without voicing his opinion of everyone there publically lol

* By the next morning not only was he completely fine, no hangover to complain about, he also had a full recollection of the night before-and he didn’t seem apologetic, not one bit.

* ‘Mr. Douchebag’ became an inside joke for the two of them, must to Zen’s dismay lmao

SEVEN/LUCIEL/SAEYOUNG:

* He doesn’t drink alcohol nor smoke, but he does really like edibles; he makes his own butter out of weed, and then with the help of MC, will make hash brownies and cookies, and his favorite, honey-buddha chip buttery dipping sauce to dunk his chips into.

* One day the couple made a batch a little stronger than usual, which left Seven into a laughing high mess on the living room couch, an unopened bag of Honey Butter chips laying on his stomach. 

* MC had only had a little chunk of a brownie, so the effect hadn’t hit her nearly as much as Seven-he was giggling at nothing, turning his head this way and that before leaning back on the couch to look at MC who was sitting in the corner typing away on her phone.

* Seven smiled incredulously, poking at her thigh until she put her phone down and looked to him with a raised brow.

* “Hey-heyy, hey-hey did you knoww-” he wiggled his brows, making MC roll her eyes with a smile, “that I really really really love you?”

* MC ruffled his hair, relishing in his giggles. “And I love you Sae” she grinned.

* “No-I love you more! To inifnity and beyond and uh-to space....all the way into the galaxy...a galaxy far far away...” he zoned out, stretching his hands in front of his face as if to examine if they’re really there, wiggling each of his fingers like he’s testing them.

* It took a while for him to get down form his high, but he never seemed particularly embarassed about it-when MC reminded him of how he told her he loves her to infinity and beyond he simply laughed and kissed her.

* “Heck yeah I do” he admitted, and welll, that was that lol

JIHYUN/V:

* Like Jumin, he rarely ever gets drunk-but that’s only because he always, always drinks in moderation.

* He’s went through his rebel years as a teen, drinking himself into oblivion simply to spite his father, and he got that urge out of his system. Nowdays he drinks simply to enjoy the taste, winding down after a long day with a nice glass of wine.

* One night though...hoo boy. MC’s friends had invited her and Jihyun out to a bar, insisting they wanted to get to know her boyfriend better. Not one to disappoint, Jihyun agreed to come along, sticking out a little like a sore thumb in the group of giggling girls surrounding him.

* He’d tried ordering a glass of wine, but MC’s friends insisted he should try this bar’s specialty cocktail, a fruity drink that actually tasted really really good. Jihyun ended up drinking a couple of those cocktails, dissolving into a happy giggly mess, which only made him even more endearing.

* MC’s friends had already taken a liking to him, but seeing him joke around and even get up to try and be a wingman for one of the girls, they all decided he’d now be an official member of their friend group, lol

* MC ended up going home with Jihyun leaning on her shoulder, laughing beside her ear all the time. She couldn’t help but laugh along with him, his sweetness doubling now that the boldness of liquor coursed in his body.

* When she helped him lay down in bed, she moved away to get changed into a pair of pyjamas, she heard Jihyun whine behind her, shuffling on the bed.

* She turned to find Jihyun kneeling up, a frown on his face. “Where-where are you going?” he asked.

* MC laughed. “Baby I’m just going to get changed, I’ll be right back-!” She didn’t get to continue her sentence as Jihyun got up from the bed, fumbling about until he reached MC, sneaking his hands across her waist, hiding his face atop her head.

* “No-you can’t leave, please-”

* MC couldn’t do anything-he was so worried, his brain probably bringing up painful memories, that even having her gone from his side for a moment worried him. She simply hugged him back, reassuring him she was right there.

* They ended up falling asleep in their clothes, MC still with makeup on her face as she awoke to Jihyun shuffling in bed, pushing his palm onto his eyes.

* “never again...I’m never drinking with you girls ever again” he grumbled, pouting when MC laughed.

* He’d absolotuely be drinking with them again lmao

SAERAN:

* Like his brother, he doesn’t drink, doesn’t want to, but once-just once he got drunk.

* There was a bottle of a strong clear liquor in the cupboard, so strong that MC had stored it there to use as an antiseptic.

* Yet...Saeran didn’t think much of the label on it, didn’t even try and catch a whiff of its strong smell. He simply poured the clear liquid in a glass and drank it all in one gulp, assuming it’s just water and someone stored it there by accident.

* Well..he soon found out it’s not. Gagging he smacked the glass back down on the counter, running to the faucet to drink some actual, honest water to wash down the taste.

* MC heard him gagging and gasping and run to the kitchen-one look at the bottle and the empty glass alerted her to what’s going on and she couldn’t help but laugh, even as Saeran turned to throw a glare her way.

* She explained why she’d kept that bottle there in the first place, and helped Saeran sit back down on a chair as she poured a glass of water for him.

* She couldn’t have expected him to start getting tipsy from just a glass-sure it was strong as heck but-it was merely a few sips!

* And yet soon enough she got her hands full of a giggling, cuddly Saeran, so unlike his usual shy demeanor that she couldn’t help but stare at him, wondering how someone could change this much with just a single glass of alcohol.

* Saeran had crawled his way onto her lap on the couch, his arms around her neck as he rested his face on her shoulder.

* “So sweet-You’re so sweet. Wonderful, and great and-and-”

* He wouldn’t stop complimenting her until MC was a blushing mess, hiding herself on his shirt with a squeal.

* That very same night after a nap and a raging hangover, MC couldn’t help but tease him about his previous boldness.

* He was blushing redder than his brother’s hair at the memories, and vehemently refused to acknowledge them-but MC knew. She k n e w .

-send me a mysme headcanon for character reactions-

[mi6-cafe]

THESE ARE THE FINAL LDWS DRABBLES!

For the finale, we asked our competitors to write exactly 400 words in which they had to use the phrase “we aim to please”.

The did an excellent job so come read and vote and help us decide THE ONE DRABBLE WRITER TO RULE THEM ALL...

HOW DO YOU VOTE?

Read all the drabbles. (they’re below the line)

Choose three that you like the most.

Fill out this VOTING FORM, telling us your favourites. (You can even leave anonymous feedback for the author).

NOTE: If you are a competitor, you CANNOT vote for your own fic. But please, do vote. :)

The voting period ends at 11:59 PM EST on Sunday night. Results will be posted and anonymous feedback will be emailed on Monday.

#1

Title: Live to Serve Author: sorion Warnings: alludes to the current political climate in the US (and to a lesser degree the UK) Summary: Bond completes objectives. How he completes them is up to him.

Bond barely batted an eye when his solitary corner of the bar he'd chosen was invaded by another patron with his own drink.

"Felix," he greeted him.

"James. What a surprise."

Bond's smirk widened. "Tell the truth. You knew I was in the States the moment I set foot on the ground."

Felix's lip twitched sardonically. "When you got on the plane to come here."

Bond chuckled.

"I've learned that it pays to keep track of your movements." He tilted his head to look at him and raised an eyebrow. "Just in case."

"I'd be insulted if I didn't do the same thing with you."

They grinned at each other wordlessly and returned to their drinks.

"So," Felix interrupted their companionable silence. "What brings you here?"

"Is that American for, 'What havoc can I expect you to wreak on my home turf'?"

Felix pretended to consider that. "Sounds about right."

Bond's amused eyes wandered to the muted news on the television in the corner of the bar and darkened. "Not as much havoc as I'd like to wreak."

Felix followed his line of sight. "Tell me about it," he agreed. Then he straightened, cleared his throat, and added in a chatty tone, "What's your people's stance on overthrowing foreign governments, these days?"

Bond, fortunately, wasn't swallowing at that moment, or he would have choked on it. It still took all his not inconsiderable self-restraint to not laugh out loud. "Overthrowing governments of allies is sadly frowned upon." He pondered that for a second. "Yours?"

"Same." He leaned closer. "Any orders to such an effect, regardless?" he asked carefully.

Bond shook his head. "More's the pity. I live to serve, and I serve by completing objectives." He squinted at Felix. "How I complete them is my prerogative, however."

Felix nodded slowly, indicating that he was operating similarly.

"What I'd like to do," Bond continued, his lethal eyes on the news, "would be like trying to put out a fire with nitro-glycerine, so I was thinking something more subtle."

"Mhm..." Felix hummed, his voice thrumming with satisfaction. "Subtle is not quite your thing."

Bond's shark-like smile was all teeth. "I know a guy..."

"Smart, dark-haired, gorgeous, can kill from his bed in his pyjamas?" Felix guessed.

They shared a look like two bloodhounds catching a scent.

Felix held out his hand.

Bond took it.

"We live to serve. We aim to please."

#2

Title: An Assist Author: Anyawen Warnings: Summary: Bond learns that he's been equipped with an unlooked-for advantage.

Bond paused, studying the bullet he was loading into his spare clip. There were scratches on the base of the casing. That was decidedly odd. Q would never send out ammunition with any sort of flaw that could impair its use, or worse, damage the gun — or the agent using it. He ran a finger over the base but couldn't detect the scratches. Turning it in his hands he looked again. Definitely there. And, he checked, also on all the other bullets in the clip. The chance of a bad bullet from Q-branch was staggeringly small, but not zero. The chance of an entire bad batch escaping notice, however, could be measured in negative numbers. If Q sent these bullets out into the field, then these marks were meant to be there. There must be a reason for them. There was something niggling at him. He’d seen this pattern of scratches before. He glanced over at his Walther. Picking it up he peered at it closely, turning it over and over in his hands. Ah. There it was. On the back of the trigger was a faint glimmer of markings. ... .||. .|.. .| |.|. . .|. .  ... | ..| |.. . || ..| ... It took him a minute to recognize that the lines were dashes among a smattering of dots. After that realization the letters came easily. "placere studemus" Translating the Latin took slightly longer. A moment later he tapped his ear and heard the faint ambient sounds of Q-branch through the earwig. "Do you require assistance, 007?" Q asked. "Interesting numbers in your annual report." "Focus on the mission, Bond. We can discuss—  " "Decreased stray bullet injuries on ops over the last year, but no noticeable increase in range scores," Bond continued, speaking over Q. "True." "We're hitting our targets more often without actually being better shots." "An impressive feat." "Very. I've not seen magic like it since my gran passed." "I- What?" "She was a hedge witch." "Oh. Are you ..." "No," Bond replied as he finished loading the clip. "Can't sense or cast magic. Recognized the marks as spellwork, though. Nice work. You're some sort of technomage?" "Something like that." "And the spell?" "Merely an assist." "An effective one." "Thank you." "Just one thing, Q." "Yes?" "Is that phrase really the best anchor you could come up with?" "Well. You can't deny it's apropos. After all, 'we aim to please.'”

#3

Title: Marketing Research Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: sex? Summary: Bond discovers what Q Branch has been working on lately

“Well, well, Quinn.”

As Bond dropped the gunmetal grey box next to his laptop, Q felt a cold shudder spill down his spine. There were still a few secrets he’d managed to keep from his lover, though apparently he now had one less. “You should never have been able to access that part of the lab.”

“Mmm, so I was informed. Top Secret. I had to be quite persuasive. An interesting project though, Quinn.”

Q fought down a surge of jealousy at the thought of what that persuasion might have been. “You know that’s not my real name, it’s just a joke amongst the techs.” He crossed his arms in irritation. “Dammit, James, you were snooping! This prototype was meant to be a birthday surprise.”

“It’s certainly surprising.” Bond’s finger traced the embossed lettering lovingly. “And not at all an exploding pen, which I was rather expecting. However did you get this past the projects committee?”

Q sighed. “Given the proclivities of double-ohs, it was an easy sell as a test product. A quite unexpected way to deliver drugs or implant trackers, should the need arise.”

“The box is a bit of a giveaway, though, don’t you think? The logo is literally a Q with a tree branch entwined.”

“That’s not the final packaging! They were just having a bit of a joke!”

Bond raised an eyebrow as he opened the box, stroking a finger delicately over the contents. Q felt a twitch of reluctant arousal as he watched those so very precise fingertips linger on certain details.

“So delightfully unexpected, Q,” James purred as he picked up the creamy vellum card inside. “‘Quinn’tessential Ecstasies,” he read aloud. “Is all of Q Branch so prone to puns and in-jokes?” He smirked and dropped the card back into the box. “But don’t you think ‘We Aim To Please’ is a bit on the nose for a gun-shaped dildo?” James chuckled, picking it up and fondling it in a way that made Q’s trousers just a little more snug.

Q glared. “As if subtlety is your strong suit.”

James laughed wickedly. “I’m quite impressed with the trigger-activated vibrations. Whatever made you think of this?”

“It seemed natural, since an exploding pen is out of the question in the bedroom, and you do have a rather unhealthy attachment to your Walther.”

“It needs testing. And since you present such a tempting target, Q…”

#4

Title: Double, Double, Toil and Trouble Author: SouffleGirl91 Warnings: None Summary: On an undercover mission, Bond considers the merits of murdering customers.

“Is the hazelnut syrup sugar-free?”

Bond bit back a sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m afraid not. Only the cinnamon and vanilla syrups are sugar-free.”

It wasn’t the stupidest question in the world, but this had been going on for five minutes. Or maybe three. It felt like five hours.

First, it had been “what’s the difference between a latte and a flat white?” Which… fair enough. He’d had to quickly remember his crash course in coffee-making to bullshit an explanation without saying “the flat white is cheaper but costs more.”

Then, it was “why does the oat milk have a surcharge but the soy milk doesn’t?” prompting a lesson in the economics of non-dairy milk alternatives all the while considering drowning his customer in said soy milk.

So: not the stupidest question in the world, but quite possibly the stupidest customer.

“I’ll have a cappuccino.”

Seriously?

“Was that with soy milk?”

“Oh no, just regular milk’s fine.”

How was this his life?!

“Syrup?”

“No, thanks.”

He could feel his molars grinding with the force of his fake smile. Five minutes! For nothing!

“And what name is it?”

“Karen.”

Of course it was.

He had been stuck in this god-forsaken job for three weeks, and was seriously weighing the pros and cons of ‘accidentally’ causing an explosion. Things like that happened, right? He could probably get away with it

“No, you can’t kill her.”

Bond stifled a groan. Bad enough that he was stuck undercover as a bloody barista in Canada, without having Q in his ear all day judging his latte art and thwarting his murder plans. It turned out the Quartermaster was the bloody customer service police.

“I would never,” he muttered, too quiet for anyone else to hear. The last thing he needed was for his temporary “colleagues” to overhear him talking to thin air.

“Of course not. Just like you’d never feed your gun to a komodo dragon.”

“You know damned well that was an accident,” he whispered, sprinkling cocoa powder through a bloody maple leaf stencil. “How much longer, Q?”

Q just hummed apologetically.

Straightening his shoulders and pasting another ‘friendly’ smile on his face, Bond handed over the drink.

“Well, at least you’re generous with the cocoa.”

“Fuck you, Karen.”

“We aim to please. Enjoy your drink.”

Bond wondered whether he could talk Q into blowing the place up after all.

#5

Title: Distraction Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: paranoia can be a healthy attitude around some people

As a rule, Q always was rather suspicious of quiet - whether that was a side effect of working in espionage or just his nature, he wasn't particularly sure but he knew better than wasting too much brainpower on such considerations. Besides, a healthy dose of paranoia always paid off if the feeling was carefully kept on a leash. Hand going to grab his taser, Q entered the bedroom and his eyes immediately zeroed in on his lovers "What are you doing?" "Who - us?" James inquired with a shiteating grin, dramatically pointing at his own chest "Man of little faith" Q gestured at Raoul, lounging against the bed post "At least he has the decency to not try to fool me" he pointed out as he relaxed in increments, tension gradually leaving his body as he made his way to the bed to sit at its foot "So?" "What makes you think we are up to anything?" The younger man batted James' hand away from his calf "You always are up to something when you're quiet: it's not like either of you" Raoul's chuckle was satiny and dark - if Q hadn't found it ridiculous to compare a sound to food, his mind would have probably come up with some kind of stupid similitude involving a rich, dark chocolate cake "We aim to please, mi querido" "That awfully sounds like an admission of guilt" "Maybe" Raoul leaned over, finger tapping the point of the other's nose just to see the way it would scrunch up at the bothersome gesture "But who says I feel guilty about any of it?" Taking advantage of Q's distraction, their lover clearly too busy - and failing at - glaring Raoul into properly confessing, James wrapped his hand around his ankle and tugged firmly, a delighted chuckle escaping his lips at the  little shriek Q let out "Let's talk about it later" he murmured, bending down to brush their lips together "There's funnier things to do" "Just tell me the place isn't gonna get swarmed by whatever international agency might be thirsting for our heads" Raoul palmed his cheek, gently turning his head to meet his eyes "I promise" Q sighed, eyes rolling even as he reached for the nape of the other's neck while he sneaked a foot between James' legs "Fine, but don't you think you can postpone this conversation for much longer" "Wouldn't dream of it"

#6

Title: Souvenirs Author: IrishWitch58 Warnings: mild BDSM themes Summary: Bond likes giving Q souvenirs of his travels.

Q examined the box squatting in the center of his desk, a cardboard enigma with a security clearance tag. The shipping label indicated it had originated from Elko, Nevada. Q closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The only agent recently conducting operations in the US was Bond. The joint operation between the CIA and MI6 focused on an information dealer selling military secrets from both Britain and the US. Bond had been pleased to be working with his old friend Felix Leiter. Q had been entertained by Bond and Leiter as the pair entered what Felix had described as a legal brothel.

Bond: “Only in America.” Bond's voice held a hint of astonishment. “All that neon makes my eyes water.”

Leiter: “Ah yes, one stop shopping for a certain type of client.”

Bond: “Felix. They have a gift shop. The souvenirs must be epic.”

Successful, Bond had returned and this had appeared. Q looked at the box reproachfully. Bond and his souvenirs. Being romantically involved with the man had only increased his penchant for gifting Q with odd objects. He carefully slit the tape and opened the flaps, prodding carefully at the packing peanuts. The first item was a six pack of seasonings and sauces intended for American style barbecue. Unusually practical. He resolved to investigate how to use them as he placed the jars on the shelf behind him and dug further. His fingers encountered a narrow object that flexed a bit as he removed it. He flushed with embarrassment although he was alone in the office as he withdrew a riding crop in a rather nice leather finish with the initials MHHP stamped on the handle in gold. He gave it an experimental swing, neatly sending a packing peanut flying. Digging produced a final item. He shook out the tee shirt, and read the logo that explained it all. 'Madame Helga's House of Pain, Barbecue Joint, and Rifle Range' was displayed across the front. The back had an image of an androgynous figure with a bullseye painted on it's pert derrière and the legend, 'We aim to please'. His phone pinged and he checked the text. Bond had sent a video which proved to be a short loop of the neon display at Madame Helga's featuring an animated dominatrix landing a crop in the center of the bullseye. The text accompaniment said, 'Care to provide a target, darling?'

#7

Title: Timing is Everything Author: Iambid (Flantastic) Warnings: None Summary:  James needs a new hobby.

YOU'RE EARLY AGAIN, said the Grim Reaper, with a hint of surprise.

“I am?”  James asked, sounding a lot calmer than he currently felt.

He looked around himself.  He’d been in Saudi Arabia, on the trail of an assassin, when everything had gone to hell. He’d been captured, beaten, tortured and then dumped in the middle of nowhere, somewhere south of Ash Shalfa. The last thing that he remembered was lying broken and bloody in the burning desert, baking under the merciless sun.

Now it appeared he was in a wood-panelled office, not unlike the one that M used.

Except M’s had never had a skeleton dressed in a black robe sitting at its desk.  Well. As far as James knew.

YOU KEEP DOING THIS, Death said, shuffling through the thick paper file in front of him.  Her. It.  Whatever.

“I do?”  James asked, still not entirely sure he knew what was going on.

MMMMM.  AGED TEN, FELL HEAD-FIRST OUT OF A TREE.  AGED TWENTY-ONE.  GOT INTO A FIGHT ON THE HMS ALBION, PUSHED OFF THE FLIGHT-DECK INTO THE ADRIATIC SEA. AGED FORTY-TWO, SHOT OFF A NINETY-EIGHT METRE BRIDGE BY A… Death paused, bringing the page closer to their face. They seemed to squint, which wasn’t bad going for a skull … IT SAYS A ‘FRIEND’.

“That would be Moneypenny.”  James explained.

THERE ARE COUNTLESS INCIDENTS LIKE THIS.  NEED I GO ON?

“I shouldn’t think so.”  James admitted.

COME WITH ME, Death commanded.  They rose, and floated towards the door.  James obediently followed them.  The door opened and on the other side, they found themselves in a hospital room. The occupants didn’t seem to notice.

YOU SEEM TO THINK THAT RESURRECTION IS A HOBBY.  IT ISN’T.  DESPITE YOUR BEST EFFORTS, I SIMPLY CAN’T TAKE WHAT ISN’T MINE YET.

James stepped forward and saw that he was the man in the bed and the man in the chair next to him, the man pressing tearful kisses to the back of his bandaged hand, was Q.

YOU BELONG TO HIM.  HE’S WAITING FOR YOU TO LOVE HIM.  YOU’LL BE MINE ONCE YOU’VE GIVEN HIM A LONG HAPPY LIFE.

James jerked awake, his body suddenly screaming out with a hundred injuries.  He gasped but Q was there, soothing him, calming him.  He squeezed his hand and Q smiled.

“You saved me.”  He croaked.

“Smart blood.  Latest tech. We aim to please.” Q replied.

#8

Title: The Problem With Retirement Author: Venstar Warnings: none Summary: retirement or reunion

The diner was full of quiet little noises this late at night. Silverware clinking, a pen scratching across a booklet of crossword puzzles, tired sighs of the late-night drivers, and in the corner a booth full of a tired family. Where had it all gone wrong?

The snap of chewing gum and their waitress’s voice drew him out of his musings. “Welcome to the Georgia Peach, we aim to please. What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred.”

A long-suffering sigh blew out of the wide mouth that had been until then, pinched tight in annoyance. “Just coffee for him.”

The waitress was a behemoth of a working professional, much like Bond, and simply offered Q a wide smile, showing just a hint of gold at the edges. “And for his lordship?”

Bond answered for him. “Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.”

“Okay, one coffee and hot tea for His Lordship.” She winked at Q and spun on her heel.

Q’s folded his hands under his chin and studied Bond for the minutes it took for their waitress to bring back a carafe of coffee, a mug of hot water on a saucer, and a pathetic excuse for a teabag.

Bond sipped at his coffee as he watched the disgust crawl across Q’s perfect, bony little face. He missed that face.

“Enough. Why am I here and why are you bleeding?”

“Am I bleeding?” Bond reached under his jacket, his fingers came away wet and red. “Huh, thought it was ketchup.”

“You’re supposed to be in the middle of Jamaica. Retired.”

“You could say that. I need your help. Madeline needs your help”

Q stared long and hard at Bond. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. Running off with her, abandoning m...MI6 taking the car-” He broke off his tirade when Bond reached forward and laid his hand on his, blood smearing along the pale skin.

Q’s eyes focused on the blood.

“I never said WE retired together. She’s been a good neighbor, a good friend. That’s all. She still had her secrets. They found her. Whoever THEY are and she needs your help.” Bond curled his fingers under and gripped Q’s hand tightly.

Q made a weak attempt to look away. His eyes stuttered back when Bond’s finger brushed across his wrist and gave an answer Q was not expecting.

“Oh, how I missed you, Q.”

#9

Title: Improvisation Author: AtoTheBean Warnings: None Summary: Turn-about is… unpleasant.

He nurses a scotch and watches the mark, Jason Abernathy, at a table in the corner.  Businessman.  Mid-40s.   On his third round, a group of beautiful people laughing at his jokes.   He’s ignoring the dance floor, despite the urging of the blonde at his table. And he’s noticed Bond watching, but hasn’t approached him. Another agent is on her way as back-up.  Perhaps she’ll be more to his taste. Bond turns the card over in his fingers  “Discreet Escorts: We aim to please!”  It’s not subtle, but it has a certain charm.  If it were just a high-end escort business, he wouldn’t be here.  But if it’s a quasi-legal front for a human trafficking ring...   “007?” R asks. Bond raises his drink to his lips.  “Hmmm?” “Change of plans.” Bond surveys the room, waiting for clarification.   It comes in the form of Q wearing skinny jeans and a tight purple shirt.   Q smiles flirtatiously and moves around Bond so his back is to the mark.  “New intel.  003 won’t be to his taste either.  We had to improvise.” “Improvise?” “Reject me,” Q whispers.  “Loudly.” Bond glances at the mark and sees his gaze fixed on Q’s arse. “You’re not what I want,” Bond shouts, pushing Q away.   One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand. “Is there a problem?” Jason asks, sliding in beside Q. Q levels a dazzling smile at him.  “No problem.  My new employer sent me to a potential client, and I’m not what he wants.” “Well, there’s no accounting for taste.  Who’s your employer?” Q hands him a card just like Bond’s. “Oh, I am.  Shall we see how well you take our motto to heart?” Jason leads Q to the dance floor.  Bond is forced to watch them “dance” for ten minutes, until it’s really just grinding and snogging.  They pass him again on the way to the loo, and Bond feels something heavy drop into his pocket. Jason’s phone. Bond moves to the door.  “I have it.” “And the drive?” R asks. “Inserting now.” Within minutes, the data has been retrieved and Q’s bug is installed.  Bond wanders back in the bar, dismayed to see Q is still missing. “He’s fine,” R assures. Bond doesn’t like it.  He heads down the hall to the loo, placing the phone on the seat the mark vacated as he passes.  The door is locked. “Stand down, 007.” He orders another drink and waits.

#10

Title: Echoes Author: Shush_MummyWriting Warnings: None. Summary: Five + One. Bond hearing echoes.

Bond was surprised at how relaxing it was at Q’s parents’ house. It was filled with homely touches, photos of Q and his brothers through the years, plants and knick-knacks on the shelves. There was even a hand stitched frame in the downstairs bathroom that declared “In this house, we aim to please. In this room, you aim too, please!”. It felt like a home.

It was the second fitting for Bond’s latest suit. The tailor was a genius, the way he managed to conceal the gun holster. “Anything else, Mr. Bond?” he asked. “Perhaps a touch longer in the sleeve.” Bond replied. “Of course sir, we aim to please after all.” Bond smiled.

Bond was actually using his office, studying for his upcoming mission. Eve sauntered in, perched on the edge of his desk and asked, “How much do you love me?” dangling an envelope between two manicured fingers. “It depends on what that is.” said Bond, taking it. “Travel documents where I, your best friend, have managed to secure first-class tickets for your Brazil flights.” “Thank you!” said Bond, who detested long hours in cattle class. As Eve strolled out of the office, she tossed over her shoulder “We aim to please!”.

As Bond entered the R&D department, he was met with the sight of Alec, waving a brochure in the direction of Q, who appeared to be ignoring him. “Seriously Q, just have a look at these specifications. It would be an asset. And it looks awesome! Did you see the clever headline for it?” Q grabbed the brochure, exclaiming “That headline alone is reason enough NOT to buy it. What kind of company would market a rifle sight with the motto “We Aim to Please!” Seriously! Now away with you, I have work to do.” and gestured Bond forward.

Q went over each piece of equipment, saving the best for last. “This is simple, press the top three times quickly, jam it into the keyhole and step back.” Bond took it with a look of wonder “Q, you’ve made me an exploding pen!” Q’s blush was adorable as he muttered “We aim to please.”

Bond settled his breathing, sighting on his target. It should have been an impossible shot - the distance, the weather, etc but between his skill and Q's equipment, another minor government official/major crime lord met his fate. "We aim to please." Bond muttered.

#11

Title: Flirting With the Wild Cat Author: scarytheory Warnings: angst Summary: Moneypenny has a secret.

We aim to please.

There are new documents on her desk, and she's feeling sick to her stomach.

Oh yes. We do.

*

They met when she was still a field agent.

“Miss Moneypenny.”

“Miss Galore.”

It would have been a standard honeypot mission if they didn't hate each other instantly. But there was something they needed, so they flirted, got drunk and angrily fucked on the balcony. In the end, Eve got the information and Pussy Galore didn't.

It should have ended there. But sometimes Mallory needed to contact Galore again, and Eve was the best agent for it – even after she became a secretary.

Eve honestly didn't mind; she loved a challenge, and Galore gave her just that. It was always a rush of emotions, it was hatred with a twist, a complicated game – who was better, smarter, wittier. The constant battle for dominance. Which was also a basis for incredible sex.

They started spending more time together, and suddenly they were laughing and talking about their lives. They didn't even need a mission for that – whatever that was. It didn't feel like they were enemies anymore.

Eve should have known better.

She never should have trusted her.

“You betrayed me.”

“And you are surprised, Moneypenny? This is what I do, what we do – me, you, all your agents and all my people. We aim to please, Eve. We were trained for it, we were trained to be horrible people. However, it’s our bosses we’re meant to please first and foremost. We're fucked up and you know it. There is no way you could disobey an order from M and I have my duties as well.”

“I would never use you.”  

Except she already had. But that was before the laughter, before... everything.

“Honestly, did you believe that there was some miraculous happy ending for us? We are the same and yet different; a heroine and a villain. You should be glad it’s ending only in heartbreak and not with death.” She always loved big words and big speeches.

“I hate you, Galore.”

“Oh, but you don't, darling. That's the problem.”

*

And now Eve's sitting at her desk and staring at the documents. 007 got a new job. Eliminate a target who is no longer useful to them.

Yet, there is still time to warn her.

We aim to please. Until we don't.

#12

Title: A Pizza Pie Author: Ksan ( @starrboned-art​ ) Warnings: None Summary: Bond and Q are having a quiet afternoon together.

"James, that is not - stop that!" Q grabbed James' wrist before he could pour the sauce on the pizza dough.

"Q, that's how I’ve always made pizza." James gave his wrist an experimental wiggle, but the boffin was holding tight, eyes daring him to move.

"You need to oil the edges first," Q insisted, waving the brush and splashing oily drops everywhere.

James conceded, if only to not get his dark blue shirt stained.

"As you say, chef." James smirked, setting the hot pan aside. Q gave the dough a quick brush, nodding at James. "Now you can pour the sauce."

"Yes, chef."

"Stop it," Q said with a huff, but James spotted a quirk to his lips as he turned to the counter. A few plates laid ready with sliced vegetables and meats, all waiting to be added to the pizza.

"Just make sure that the champignons won't touch my side of the pizza." James scowled at the innocent white mushrooms.

Q gave him a smirk. "You are very particular about your food."

"I have a very particular taste," James countered with a suggestive smile. Q laughed, turning to put the pizza into the oven. James managed to steal a few sliced cherry tomatoes from Q's pile before he got caught.

"Go get the wine," Q said, "I'll get the glasses."

"So bossy today," James smirked, ruffling Q's curls. He escaped into the sunlit living room before Q could swat at him with a towel.

It was late noon on a Saturday, and for once none of them had any world-dooming emergencies to solve. The cats were basking in the late sun, the curtains swayed slightly as the evening breeze blew through the open windows.

James opened a red shiraz with a pop. With the wine ready on the table, he closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the quiet rustle Q made in the kitchen.

"Double-o agent, falling asleep?" Q's hand snuck around his waist, chin peeking over his shoulder.

"Before dinner?! You know agents, Q - we aim to please," James turned, kissing Q's smile. He had tomato sauce on his cheek, which James licked (to Q's astonished laughter).

"Pleasing will have to wait for later," Q purred, shoving the wine glasses at James. "What should we toast to?"

James swirled his wine, a habit born out of years of fine dining.

"To more sunny afternoons together."

#13

Title: game Author: azure7539 Warnings: canon typical violence

Summary: Hide and seek as usual, but it's interesting all the same. Just another day at work.

-

Nausea roils like a particularly stormy sea in the midst of a hurricane, and all he can hear is the whistling of his own breathing as his throat wheezes around air before it rattles into his ribcage and never truly fills up those burning lungs.

He’s been running for so long, he can no longer feel the screaming in his feet.

The throng of people felt like a good idea at first, a thick crowd celebrating some local holiday, but now every face seems suspicious, every pair of eyes lingering on just a tad too long. The enemies can be anywhere, can be anyone.

Vertigo dips his world as he crashes into a phone booth, thinking, assuming, he’s managed to put decent distance between him and his chasers, spare change clinking as the coins spill from his shaking hands.

Fuck. Fuck, what’s the number again…

Eight, five, three, two—

The line rings. Once. Twice.

“Hello,” a posh voice he’s never heard before picks up, nonchalant and indifferent. “Identification, please.”

“S-SPCTR-6304,” he nearly trips on his own tongue saying the words.

“One moment.” Soft typing filters through, the calmness perforating through the mad chaos in his mind. But adrenaline licks at his heels—he’s finally standing still long enough to feel the way how wracking tremors are seizing up his overtaxed muscles—and he wants to scream and vibrate out of his skin.

His instincts are shouting at him to start running again, to keep at it until he finds a trustworthy point of contact, something more than just another voice on the other side of a line.

But that’s the thing. This ‘voice on the other side of a line’ is one of his last remaining trustworthy points of contact. The rest are just… gone.

Someone shrieks from over where the people have gathered at the end of the alley, and he’s one hair’s breadth away from slamming back into the wall.

His heart is beating too fast.

“Ah, Mr Roswell. Good to hear from you again,” the person says, pleasantly. A pause. “Did you enjoy your final game?”

“What—”

“At MI6, we aim to please, after all,” the voice drops into a low baritone. Dangerous.

Like the monsters of his nightmares culminating into one singular point of existence.

The last thing he sees before life drains from him are twin pools of glacier. As blue and unreachable as the sky above.

___

You wonderful LDWS writers, you! Thank you so much for writing us these!

And thank you, readers, for reading and voting! THANK YOU!

[supercxrpschild]

baby danvers x supercorp + alex - depression

hi so this is my first piece I’m posting! It’s a baby!danvers one, where she’s struggling with depression, so please be mindful if that is something you may not want to read. 

Word Count: 1383

“Y/n? Honey are you home?” Kara called out, placing her coat and bag down at the table, Lena following her actions. Kara turns and notices that your bag sat where it was left last night. Kara’s brows furrowed,

“What’re you thinking Kara?” Lena asked, resting a hand on her girlfriends shoulder.

“Y/n said she had classes all day today, but it doesn’t look like she left.” Kara spoke, moving to your room, adjacent to hers.

“Y/n?” She said softly, pushing the door to her baby sisters room open, her girlfriend hot on her heels.

Kara saw what she feared, yet also already knew was the case. Her sister was bundled up in bed, staring blankly while tears made tracks down her delicate cheeks.

“Babygirl?” You made no indication that you sensed her sisters presence, instead just continued to stare blankly at the wall.

Lena looked confusedly at her girlfriend, concern evident too. Kara sighed and stepped out of the room a little,

“Its, I think she’s had a bad depression day. She’s been doing well for so long, I .. I should have known she was struggling.” Kara whispered. Lena shook her head,

“Don’t blame yourself love, its okay. We’ll help her, we got her.” Lena rubbed Kara’s arm, “Should we call Alex?” Kara shook her head,

“She’s gone out with Kelly tonight, I don’t wanna bother them.” Lena nodded,

“Alright darling, lets go help her, hm?” Kara turned and went into your room once again, this time moving in closer and sitting on the bed by her little sister, rubbing your back.

“Hey bubs, did you make it to class today?” Kara asked softly, already knowing the answer,

Just as Kara thought, you shook your head. “How about food? Have you eaten?” Another shake of the head, “Showered?” You shook your head once more.

“You haven’t moved since I left this morning?” This time with a shake of her head, tears also accompanied.

“I-I’m sorry” Kara cupped her sisters cheek, her thumb swiping over the tracks your tears had left, “Honey there is no need to apologise, I promise. I’m here now. So is Lena, we’ll take care of you.”

You curled into yourself more, sobbing quietly. “Oh my sweet girl” Kara leant down and kissed your hair.

“Come on, you’re gonna have a bath, alright.” Kara brushed your hair from your face, “Can you stand bubba?” You didn’t respond,

“Alright its okay bubs, I’ve got you.” Kara scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you through to the bathroom, when she went to place you down, you clung to Kara like a lifeline,

“Hey hey, shh youre alright.” Kara motioned to Lena, “Can you draw the bath?” Lena nodded and quickly went about turning on the faucet.

Kara held her sister in her arms and rubbed her back, shushing her every once and a while.

“What scent should we put in Y/n/n?” Lena asked softly, resting her hand on your shoulder.

You shyly peeked your head up from the crook of Kara’s neck “jasmine?” Lena smiled, “You got it little one.”

Lena moved and put in the comforting jasmine and lavender bubble bath, also readying the body scrub and a loofah.

“Bubs, I need to put you down so we can get you out of these pj’s and into the bath.” You shook on her legs, immediately having to hold onto Kara to steady yourself. Both Kara and Lena carefully stripped the clothes off your body, Kara then lowering you into the bath.

You pulled your legs up to your chest, sobbing into your knees. Kara sent a worried glance Lena’s way as she lathered the loofah with the body wash and knelt next to the tub, rubbing your back.

“You’re okay honey, we’ve got you.” After a while, Kara asked you to lean your head back so she could wash your hair, but received no response.

Lena knelt down, reaching and placing two fingers under your chin, “Darling, can you lean your head back so Kara can wash your hair?” Slowly, you complied with the request, Lena stayed where she was though, reaching into the water and grabbing hold of one of your hands, squeezing it gently. Kara wet down her sisters y/h/c hair before grabbing the shampoo and washing it.

You kept your eyes closed as your big sister scrubbed your head gently, tears slipping out still. Kara took her time with the conditioner, hoping it would relax her baby sister a little as she massaged it through the ends of your hair.

“Alright sweetheart, you ready to hop out?” Kara said as Lena readied a towel and Kara swooped you out of the tub and into the towel, Lena pulling another towel out and carefully gathering your hair and drying it slightly.

Kara softly slips fresh pyjamas over your body before picking you up and carrying you to the couch

“C’mon bubs, you’ve been in your room too long.” Lena followed, picking up a hairbrush from the vanity on the way. Once they’d reached the couch, Lena passed Kara the hairbrush and Kara gently started to brush out her little sisters hair.

“I’m gonna go order some food, does pizza sound good y/n?” Lena asked softly, bending down to meet your eyes as you kept your gaze firmly on the ground as your big sister brushed your hair for you. Lena didn’t get a response, but went ahead and ordered the pizza anyway, knowing you needed to eat something.

Kara decided she should probably call Alex, seeing as this was the worst she’d seen you in for a while. As she went to move from behind you, you whimpered, not wanting her to go.

“I’ll be right back babygirl, promise” Lena came back over after setting her phone down and took over from what Kara was doing. Then, after your hair was smooth, her delicate fingers threaded through your y/h/c hair, braiding it into two soft French braids. After she was done, Lena pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. You leaned back into her, your tears once again burning your eyes. She shushed you gently and rubbed comforting circles on your back until Kara returned, when you promptly reached out for her like a small child.

Kara sat down and pulled you onto her lap, you hid in the crook of her neck as you cried. You just wanted this feeling to end and it felt like it was never going to.

Lena looked at Kara sadly, only moving when her phone signalled the food was here. Lena brought over a couple of plates, placing two slices on one.

“Y/n, here honey, you gotta eat something”, you shook you head and buried yourself further into Kara; who sighed and gently pried you off her and turned you around so you were sat in her lap facing Lena and the coffee table where the box of pizza sat.

“Please, y/n? Just at least one slice.” You shook your head again, sobbing.

Just then, the door opened to reveal Alex, her brow furrowed and her eyes searching for her baby sister.

“Y/n” she sighed, rushing over to you. When you saw her, a fresh batch of sobs erupted. Instantly you were attached to her as she ran her hand over your hair and whispered that she was here. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Eventually, with much coaxing and at the start, hand feeding by Alex, you managed to eat one and a half slices of pizza.

“We’re so proud of you little one.” Kara softly said, cupping your cheek.

“Why? I, I’m useless, Kara.” Kara wore the infamous crinkle as she spoke again,

“You, y/n danvers, are one of the strongest people I know – and that’s coming from the girl of steel herself” you cracked a smile,

“There you are” Alex whispered, seeing a glimpse of you reappear.

Kara continued, “You are so resilient, so brave, so beautiful, so smart. You are not useless, you are not worthless. Y/n you are loved beyond the stars and I will keep telling you that as much as I need to.”

You gave a watery smile, looking from both your sisters, to Lena. You were going to be okay. It was going to be okay. You had them, and you were going to be okay.

[djpurple3]

Hiii so could you do a prinxiety cuddling one (because my gay soft heart needs food) thx!

More prinxiety! I forget in my little bubble of other favourite ships that prinxiety is like one of the most popular ones dfjdslgjdfg. Very well. have some sleepytime cuddles. TW for touch starvation

---

Roman is a busy man. He has a lot of things going on, all the time, always. He has to brainstorm and develop ideas, and he has to keep up with Logan’s standard for his work (a high standard, but Roman reckons it’s fair). He has to keep his brother at bay which usually entails fighting him in good ol’ hand-to-hand combat at least three times a week. He has to help Patton with chores. He has to, he has to, he-Roman is a busy man.But when he comes into his room, head in his notebooks and brain thrumming with thoughts at roughly 9:28pm, and hears… a sniffle? Roman has to remind himself of the other thing he must make time for.His boyfriend. Virgil.Virgil, who is huddled up on his bed, in his pyjamas and with Roman’s blankets pulled around him, sniffling quietly. Not crying, but perhaps not far off from it. Perhaps Roman only just missed the tears.

Roman immediately drops his books and makes a beeline for his boyfriend, stripping off his ornate coat with its uncomfortable-to-hug gold braid before clambering on the bed next to him.“I’ve been gone too long,” he hums, “I didn’t mean to get so caught up with all that nonsense, thunder, I’m sorry.”Virgil smiles a little smile, and sets about unwrapping himself from Roman’s blankets as Roman kicks his boots off, before they settle under the covers together, Roman pulling Virgil close.Yes, he can see from the state of anxiety’s makeup the Virgil’s already had his cry, and Roman frowns, and leans in to kiss the stress out from the crease in-between his boyfriend’s eyebrows.“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”“It’s okay,” Virgil mumbles, nuzzling into Roman’s chest, into his warmth, and wrapping his limbs around Roman and curling up like a cat (like the traits his darling boyfriend not-so-secretly has). “You were working. It just… got a little much tonight.”Roman kisses Virgil’s temple again, another silent apology and one that Virgil accepts. Virgil and Roman have a similar problem, being various degrees of touch-starved. Roman’s is fairly mild, but still too much to handle, in Roman’s silent opinion. As soon as Virgil realises he’s allowed regular touch, he openly becomes as clingy as clingy can be. It had started after the Valentine’s Day video, if Roman recalls properly. Where Virgil accidentally grabbed his hand, and then they spent more time screaming in ‘horror’ at each other rather than actually letting go, because neither wanted to admit how wonderful the warm clasp of their hands was.Roman still finds his reaction pathetic. But a few weeks later, they’d managed to have a proper conversation about it, y’know, like adults, and it lead to them seeking each other out when it got a little much. And idle lying on top of each other turned into hugging. Which turned into cuddling. Which, at some point, turned into Virgil kissing him.Which turned into this.

Roman snuggles close, enjoying the close, steady, warm contact of skin-on-skin, of Virgil seeping through his thin t-shirt. It no longer sets his skin on fire; at least, not as badly as it used to. And Virgil is on top of him, his usual long and lanky frame curled up like a dog beside a fireplace, and his darling, sweet, wonderful Virgil has drifted off to sleep on top of him.Roman clicks his tongue, enjoying seeing Virgil so calm and relaxed, but also vaguely annoyed, as he planned on doing more work tonight. He’d promised Logan the next batch of ideas by 5 o’clock tomorrow afternoon.Roman contemplates getting up.But seeing as he’s smothering a yawn and the comfortable weight of blankets and Virgil is lulling his once-busy mind into a more peaceful state, Roman cedes defeat, simply wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and closing his eyes. Before long, he’s fast asleep too.

Logan knocks lightly on Roman’s door an hour later. He shouldn’t be awake, but he has a last couple questions and he knows Roman generally works late as well. Curiously, there’s no response.Logan eases the door open and sticks his head in. Ah, he notes as he realises that a sleeping Roman is stuck under a sleeping Virgil. That’d do it.That was fair enough. They were both looking particularly drained recently.He flicks Roman’s light off and closes his bedroom door gently, smothering a yawn of his own. He has to agree that they have the right idea, and he goes traipsing off to his own room to get some well-deserved sleep too.

[livian-lucifenia]

Soft Fic™

Literally what this was titled when I found it.

This can be manga or game verse. I tended to combine manga Red with game Green, anyway so just pick a side and go for it.

It's cute but v rushed at the end.

It's old fanfiction, there's only so much you can do to it without saying fuck it and rewriting the whole thing.

You know the drill. If anything is fucky, overlook it and keep going.

That being said, enjoy.

____________

Green has such a soft heart and Red loves that about him.

Red thinks about this as he watches Green play peekaboo with a baby shiny eevee at his grandfather's lab. It was the last one from the most recent litter, and Red really hoped Green would take it home before someone else did. He seemed to make up excuses to visit the lab just so he and his eevee, Vee, could play with it. He even bought a little squeaky toy for it, so it would have something to play with when no one was around.

Green's birthday was coming up, so Red made a trip to the lab early one morning and asked the professor if he could take the eevee. Of course, the professor happily allowed him to have it, telling him to wish Green a happy birthday for him just in case he forgot. And with that, Red was on his way back to Viridian.

As expected, Green was still asleep in his room when he arrived. Red had thought about how exactly to give the eevee to Green, and decided on placing it in bed with him so he saw it when he woke up. Vee seemed okay with this arrangement, as she curled around the smaller pokémon and both fell asleep easily. Now to just wait until Green woke up.

It was an hour later when Green's bedroom door opened to reveal a very happy, messy-haired Green with his arms full of just as happy eevees. Honestly, Red could have died right there on the living room couch. Seeing Green like this was something he would never get tired of. Green was so damn adorable and Red was so happy he could live with his best friend.

Green also had a thing for toys and cute plushies.

Red knew this well. After all, Green had collected them as a kid, so it made sense that he would still like them now. He made a trip to Celadon every now and again to get supplies and always took Red into the large toy store. He would show him various things, explain what they did, or what he liked about them, and then put them back on the shelf. He always looked a little disappointed when he did this, and Red knew it was because Green secretly wanted to buy it, but didn't want other people to see him doing so. He was a popular gym leader, and didn't want some embarrassing article to pop up online about him being seen in a toy store. Red thought it was a little silly to worry over stuff like that, but Green liked to keep up his public image.

The wall at the back of the store was filled with various plushies, and Green always gravitated towards it. He liked the small, cute ones best, "How can you not like them, they're adorable!", he'd said as he picked up one that looked like an eevee, but was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. He made comment about wanting to recreate his team with plushies, just as room decor or something, and Red instantly knew what he was buying as Green's Christmas gift this year.

And that's exactly what he did.

Of course, he had no idea how to wrap a gift, so he asked his mom for help. She gladly wrapped up the large box of plushies, and let Red fill out the To/From tag himself while she tied everything up with a pretty, dark green bow. As payment, she asked for him to stay a while longer and help her bake cookies for some gift baskets.

Red was in the middle of 'sampling' the third batch of cookies when his mom asked him a question, "You like Green, don't you?"

"Of course I do, he's my best friend. I wouldn't be living with him if I didn't.", he replied without hesitation.

She laughed a little as she slid another tray of cookie dough into the oven and turned to face him, "No, honey, I mean like a crush."

Red paused, did he have a crush on Green? "I... I don't know."

"How do you feel when you're around him?"

"Happy, but I've always felt like that with him. But there are some things he does that make me feel... different. I don't know how to describe it..."

"Do you ever think about him or miss him while he's at the gym?"

"All the time."

"You bought him those plushies for Christmas, why did you pick those over something else?"

"Because every time we go to Celadon, we go in the toy store, and he always looks at the same ones. He talks about them, too. About how detailed they are, or how soft the material is, or just that he likes them. He never buys them, though. He really wants to, I can tell, but he has an image to keep up. So... I bought them."

"That's very sweet if you. So, I take it you like making him happy?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I? He's cute when he's happy."

It took Red a moment to realize why his mother had paused their conversation to give him a knowing smile. His face felt hot and he just knew he probably matched his name and hat. The silence made him come to a realization, one he never saw coming, and probably wouldn't have if not for his mother.

"Mom, I think I have a crush on Green."

Now the question was, how the hell was he going to tell Green? Or... should he even say anything? Would it ruin their friendship? What if Green kicked him out?

All those thoughts made his head spin, and made him feel bad about even having those feelings towards Green.

He had to tell him, though. According to his mom, even though he had just realized what he was feeling, he had always acted differently with Green and vice versa. This all felt like something a teen should be dealing with, not a twenty year old league champion, but it is what it is. He couldn't complain, after all, the guy he was crushing on had a childish side too.

After having another long talk with his mom, Red decided the best way to confess was through a letter. That way, he wouldn't mess up his words or make an idiot of himself. The letter would be disguised as a card on top on his Christmas gift, and Red knew Green ways opened the cards first, so there was no way he would miss it. When Red sat down with a pen and paper to actually write the letter is where the problem came. What was he supposed to say?

It took two days to write the letter, and the trashcan next to his bed was filled with all the failed attempts to write a decent love letter.

A love letter...

That's what this was, wasn't it?

Arceus, he felt like he was in one of those sappy teen romance movies.

Finally, the day had arrived. Red woke up extra early to go pick up his gift to Green from his mom's house. He'd left it there because he didn't have enough room to hide it, and he didn't want the wrapping paper to be torn accidentally.

He placed the box and letter on Green's desk and quietly walked out, hoping he hadn't disturbed Vee or Viri, as they would surely wake Green up earlier than anticipated.

Red kept the apartment quiet as he waited, too afraid to even turn on the tv. He decided to go back to bed, it was still pretty early, and Green wouldn't be awake for another couple hours, anyway. So, after changing back into his pyjamas, he went back to sleep with Pika curled up at his back.

"...Red.... Red!"

Red woke with a start at the sound of his name being called. The first thing he saw was Green with his glasses on and tears falling down his freckled cheeks.

Oh.

Oh shit, Green was crying. Why was he crying? Is he upset? Red sat up, scooting closer to Green on the bed, "Green, what's wrong?"

Green looked down at the letter in his hands, "I... I got your gift."

Red's breath caught in his throat.

"Do you really feel like this about me?"

Red leaned in a little closer, "Yes..."

"Even... E-Even after all the shit I put you through?" Green wouldn't face him. Still staring down at the letter and wiping his face with the back of his sweater sleeve.

"Of course, I do. I forgave you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but I didn't deserve it. I still don't. I... don't deserve any of this. You're too nice to me. I mean, I appreciate it, I really do, but I feel like I'm not good enough. I forgot your birthday this year and then you brought Viri home for my birthday... and now this. You picked out exactly what I liked, and you couldn't have known unless you really payed attention, and I can't even remember what kind of cereal you like, and I love you so much... but, I don't deserve you."

Red pressed his hand to Green's tear-soaked cheek, making him look up. "You don't have to remember stuff like that for me, or do anything special. You make me happy, Green."

Green closed the gap between them, kissing Red with everything he had. Red responded with just as much eagerness, his hands finding their way into Green's soft, messy hair.

He loved Green, and Green loved him, too.

Red broke the kiss so they could breathe, and wiped the remaining tears from Green's face, "I love you."

Green smiled, "I love you, too."

................

One year later, Red was helping Green put together a shelf for all of their collectables and plushies they had acquired over the year, Viri had surprised them a month earlier by evolving into a Sylveon, and Red was planning a different kind of surprise for Christmas this year.

He was going to ask Green to marry him.

____________

Ah, yes. More fluff.

Don't worry, there's more angst content coming soon.

Asks and add-ons relating to my content are always accepted!! 💜💜

Have a good day/night, my dudes.

[ficsandbits]

Muffins for insomnia

So I just had a burst of happy fluffy energy and just bashed this little drabble out. Hope you enjoy it! 

Y/N in this uses She/her pronouns.

Word count: 1,288

Any comments and feedback are always super welcomed and appreciated, will also be posting to my AO3 here: > https://archiveofourown.org/works/24597085

xoxo✌🏻💕🌻

Y/N was restless. She just couldn’t stop her thoughts from running wild whilst she tossed and turned trying to sleep. The insomnia wasn’t an unusual thing to her at all, but now it seemed to be getting worse and worse and she was lucky if she got 30 minutes sleep. She looked over at the clock. 3:30AM. Y/N huffed loudly deciding that the best option was to do something and hope it made her so tired she’d just drop to sleep there and then. She wandered down into the kitchen, working on autopilot as she pulled out her baking supplies. It was something that always helped to relax her mind, the simple repetitive motions that she could do without thinking about anything eased her. She found her recipe book, flipping through the pages until she found a simple muffin recipe. She found the extra bits; lemon for her love, cherry and almond for her friends, and chocolate for her. She hummed a gentle tune as she swayed around the small space, worktops being filled with appliances and mixtures. She worked steadily, baking batch after batch, for the next 30 minutes with no sign of slowing down.

It came as no real surprise to her when she heard the front door gently open and close, signalling the return of her boyfriend Ignis. His work taking him into the early hours of the morning was a regular occurrence and as such he’d taken to sneaking into Y/N’s house so as not to wake her. With his senses dulled by fatigue, he failed to fully register the smells of baking and the glow of light coming from the kitchen. He shocked at the sight of his beloved milling about the small space, flour spread across her face and hands. Polly looked up in time to see his shocked face melt into one of pure concern and worry.

”You didn’t wait up for me did you?” He inquired, pulling his tie loose and making his was over to her. 

He placed a gentle kiss to the top of her head as she smiled tiredly back at him. “No darling, I just couldn’t get to sleep and thought doing something might help.” She places the bowl in her hands down on the counter so that she could turn to wrap her arms around him. “And why not get a little joy out of my productivity.” She breathed him in as she cuddled closer. “How was work today?” She asks, though she already knew the answer with the hour he was coming home.

”Long.” His groaned response didn’t shock her and his soft squeeze made her melt further into his embrace. “I feel much better now though. Would you like a hand with those?” Ignis peered over her shoulder at the mountain of muffins already baked. “Although I fear we may run out of space soon if you intend to carry on.” 

Y/N’s giggle was music to his ears as she turned around to assess the damage. “I’m nearly finished, just this last batch to put in. But you can help by just staying close if that’s okay? You must be tired.” Her worried eyes wondered over to him.

Ignis did admit he was feeling rather sleepy, but seeing the bags under his loves eyes was enough to steel his conviction to staying up with her. “Nothing a little coffee won’t help if you need me.” 

He made a move to grab some coffee but Y/N was quick to stop him. “Oh no you don’t, you’ve been awake long enough. We’ll be done soon, they don’t take long in the oven.” She let go of his arm in hunt of something and once victorious presented him with a single, delicately decorated muffin. “Here! I made a couple batches for you, tell me how they are.” She beamed up at him.

ignis was always moved by acts of love and this one was no different. Taking the muffin as if it was the most precious thing in the world, he bit in without hesitation. He knew her baking was as excellent as his cooking so there were no worries to be had. His hum of approval lit Y/N up and she turned to continue her work. Ignis moved to follow, placing his arms around her to hold her close from behind. He swayed them gently, murmuring into her hair, “that was outstanding as always my love.” He quickly registered the other flavours on the go around them. “The boys will be thrilled when I bring these to them tomorrow.” Ignis placed a firm kiss onto her temple as she sighed out in content.

”Good, I’d hate for all this to go to waste.” She moved around the kitchen trusting ignis to keep in step with her. It was a dance they’d often do, taking turns depending on who was using the kitchen at the time. “Don’t let them eat yours though, even if they do finish their own.” She turned in his arms after putting the last batch in the oven. “I made yours with extra love.” She kissed his nose and grinned at her cheesy statement, enjoying the way he laughed to cover up the blush spreading across his cheeks. 

Ignis let himself be pulled to the table where a pot of some herbal tea had been steadily steeping. Y/N sat on one side and began pouring herself a cup. He grabbed one of his own, plus two muffins for them to enjoy while waiting for the rest to finish. There was soft conversation, neither wanting to raise the volume and break the domestic bliss that had settled over them. Ignis told Y/N of his day and what had happened at work as she recounted tales of her own workday. The timer went off far too soon for Ignis’s liking and Y/N moved to retrieve the last batch of muffins. 

He heard her huff at the dishes and quietly got up to join her. “I’m sure it’ll go much faster if the two of us work together.” He could sense her about to dismiss him or shut him down so before she could he went about running a bowl of water and beginning with some of the smaller items used.

Y/N smiled despite herself and delivered a fleeting kiss to his shoulder as she pulled up next to him to begin drying duties. “Thank you.” She yawned out.

The general softness that had overcome her when Ignis returned home had made her sleepy and she was glad that the dishes took less time than she had planned them too. As soo as the last spoon was put away she took Ignis’s hand, yawning loudly. “I think it’s time for bed.” Ignis laughed as he looked out the window to see the first glows of dawn starting to appear. But he agreed with her all the same, letting her drag him upstairs and into the bedroom.

Y/N crawled straight into bed having already been in her pyjamas whilst cooking. Ignis watched as she squirmed to make herself comfortable, feeling a knot in his chest at how much he adored this woman. He turned for a moment to find his own pyjamas and when he turned back he saw Y/N already asleep, her breathing shallow and even. The knot in his chest swelled as he joined her in the bed and she instantly gravitated towards him, curling around him and smiling in her sleep. Ignis gave a soft kiss to the crown of her head. “Sweet dream my love.” He whispered into her hair as he fell into his own love filled dreams.

[morannegg]

93 - I’m telling you, I’m haunted. (Logan and Virgil)

@mystic-voyager

“I’m haunted.”

The words were spoken with a… Surprisingly subtle lack of care, floating through the air for a few precious seconds as Logan processed the statement Virgil had just made. Perhaps the hesitation in forming a reply came from how sudden the words had been- Or at least unexpected, considering it was only early in the morning and Logic had not even moved past the task of finishing his coffee yet. 

More likely, however, was that its origin lied in the scientifically improbability of the truth in said words.

As soon as the man managed to gather his thoughts and adjust his tie, Logan straightened up- Refraining from even letting out a sigh at the amount of conspiracy theories Virgil must have been watching last night to conclude he was haunted- and pushed his glasses further up his nose, rubbing the morning sleep out of them. “I must consider such things impossible, Virgil. I am presuming you intended to inform me that ghosts- which aren’t real- have been pestering you an unhealthy amount, and as much as I enjoy conspiracy videos myself…”

He let the silence linger for a moment, watching as the purple side neatly tucked his pale hands into the pockets of his pyjama’s before continuing. “... There is no such thing as true ‘haunting’. Be it the haunting of a location, item, or person.”

Something flickered across Virgils eyes for a moment, before the embodiment of Thomas’ anxiety let out a flat huff and moved to brush past Logan. Unsurprisingly, he reached for the pot of coffee, fiddling with the cabinet to procure a cup. 

Logan was grateful for the fact that Virgil appreciated the beverage as much as he did, truly. Before he joined the light sides, the minimum amount of cups to be made with the coffee machine always required Logan to down an unhealthy amount of the stuff, or- Somehow worse- waste perfectly fine coffee altogether, with Roman being such a tea-heretic and Patton usually starting his day with hot chocolate of all things. He’d tried lecturing him on the amount of sugar he’d consume with such a schedule, but well.. He did have to hand it to the Moral side- Surely the amount of caffeine Virgil and Logan pumped into their systems wasn’t healthy for Thomas either.

Of course, Deceit occasionally fancied a cup of coffee- But he had joined after Virgil had, and the days where he did drink the coffee were few and far between, so he usually made his own.

As for Remus, no one really knew for certain what he drank. Logan did not wish to speculate.

So as he eyed Virgil pouring the last of the coffee into his own cup- A mug gifted by Patton with a Humpback painted onto the side alongside some positive message regarding whalesome love- he relaxed slightly, opening himself up to further comment. Still, it took a few seconds before Virgil continued, clearly aggitated by.. Something. Perhaps Logan’s attempt to debunk his conclusion in the most Logan-way possible- Or perhaps whatever had kept him up all night, if not conspiracy theories. Certainly it must’ve been something, judging by the bags underneath his eyes. 

“Look, Lo. You know that, and I know that, but if telling that to the ghost in my room would have worked, I doubt I’d have to come downstairs and inform you that I’m haunted.” His voice was a low, tired grumble- Much akin to a college student being informed that they have yet another series of tests in two days time after already being pushed to the mental edge. 

Logan shook his head in a calm manner, stepping forward. As one hand reached out to push the sugar and milk set a little closer to Virgil, the other aimed to draw soothing circles upon the thin back of his friend. He pursed his lips slightly, frown burrowing in concentration. “Very well, then. Why don’t you tell me in detail what happened?”

-----

And so he did. 

Virgil had explained the issue as well as he could- Of how something had been sneaking in and out of his room at night, repeatedly, and how items had gone missing- hoodies, scarves, even socks. 

And a left slipper, apparently.

He told him how everytime he tried to investigate, the supposed ghost just… Was nowhere to be found, as if there truly was something incorporeal floating around. Logan, at this point, had already summoned his Sherlock hat, having sent John Patson to question Roman if he had seen anything odd. After all, his room was closest to Virgil’s. 

Not that that had helped them in anyway. Roman was- apparently- in one of his moods, and far too busy focusing on his next grand idea to spare Patton more than a few words. Which, even more so, were spoken quite hastily and overflowing with excitement, to allow the creative side to get back to work as soon as possible.

Dee wasn’t of much help, either. The colder temperatures truly weren’t suiting the side in any shape or form, causing him to drowsily nap in his room whenever Patton was too occupied to warm him up. Remus they couldn’t even find- Likely busy in the imagination, according to Roman.

Which brought them to their current situation.

Hiding in Virgil’s closet with the anxious side certainly hadn’t been something Logan had been expecting to do ever again- truly, all of them were fairly done with being in any kind of closet ever since Thomas finally came out of it- but luckily, this one was far more literal. And spacious. Through the gap, Logan held a good view on the glow-in-the-dark stars he had helped Virgil put up on the ceiling- all with proper constellations, naturally. 

As far as stakeouts went, this one was fairly pleasant all-together, really. Whilst they had initially decided against bringing snacks, apparently Patton was quite against the idea, having hidden a small batch of cookies in the closet for the duo. They were gone before they’d even started discussing the third constellation they could spy from here- In hushed voices, naturally.

In fact, it was so pleasant that they nearly missed that all-defining moment.

“No, see, the Greek were quite biased- The names of the constellations usually came from their myths and heroes, and a whole fourth of them starts with a C. It’s truly a bit- if I may- overkill, to-” And just like that, he was cut off- Virgils hand suddenly shooting up to cover his mouth, holding up a barely-visible finger in the dark. At first, Logans eyes widened at the gesture- But then he too caught on to what the other side had picked up on. 

The door!

The creaking sound rung through the air like nails on a chalkboard. Whilst the atmosphere had quickly eased between Virgil and Logan earlier in the evening, just like that it tensed up again. In spite of his earlier claim regarding the existence of ghosts, the teacher felt a cold shiver snake its way up his back. That must be the doing of being in Anxiety’s room- Although Logan did notice that Virgil was doing his best to keep it from affecting him too much.

He felt the cold air as he sucked in a sharp, quiet breath- Felt the hairs on his forearms prickle as they stood up, felt his muscles tense. Somewhere beside him, he vaguely registered Virgil reacting in a similar way- If not through visual means, then through the simple spike in pure thrill radiating from him. Of course, it made sense to Logan.

Virgil was anxiety. He was fight or flight. He was Thomas’ natural ability to react to what’s unknown and potentially dangerous. It made all the sense in the world that he’d tense up. If Logan already had this strong a reaction due to simply being in Virgil’s room, then he barely even wanted to know what the other side himself was going through.

Instinctively, he reached up to draw circles onto Virgil’s back again, attempting to calm him, whilst his eyes flickered over to the crevice in the door again. They waited. Silence lingered. And then, soft footsteps pressed against the wooden floorboards, as the chills got colder.

The duo in the closet held their breaths as the footsteps drew nearer. Logan could almost taste the tension in the air as his heart pounded against his chest, drumming in his ears. Or maybe that tension was just the dryness of his mouth. It didn’t matter much anyway, as the footsteps suddenly halted- Followed by a soft sound of rustling paper, and then silence.

Until Virgil tore away, at least.

Logan tried to reach for him, grab his wrist and drag him back as a warning cry fought to be let out- But it was already far too late as Virgil burst out of the closet, Logan stumbling after him as the door suddenly gave way. Yelping, Logic tumbled down- Bumping against Virgil and taking him down with him. The Anxious side cried out in a string of words that likely would not be Patton-approved if he had heard them, hurriedly trying to gaze around as Logan pushed himself back up with a startled gasp. 

There was nothing.

“That’s impossible!” Logan exclaimed, rushing to the still-open door. Virgil scrambled after him, hurling around the corner after the logical side. “I’m telling you, I’m haunted!” He called out after him, turning his head to find a trace of the ghost.

“There is no such thing as ghosts!” Logan yelled as they ran, gazing at the different hallways as they reached a split. In spite of himself, he suddenly wasn’t as certain anymore. “Yes there is, it was just there!” Virgil inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath as the friends halted. 

Logans eye twitched. There was no such thing as ghosts. There was no such thing as ghosts! Despair laced his features, however, as he saw no sign of anyone either hallway- Turning around to try the other side with a defiant cry.

“Falsehood!”

-----

Remus held his breath from atop the closet as the duo rushed out the door, Virgil’s Tim Burton poster clenched between his teeth as his limbs were busy keeping his body up and out of sight- Plastered between the wall and the ceiling in a way not-too-different from Virgil whenever he got truly startled.

Was it really worth it?

Remus’ ear twitched as the cry came from the hallway. “Falsehood!” And he just barely spied the two rushing by again, poster still in his mouth.

Definitely.