#like I’d like to think he’d be trying to knead dough

[magnolia-miraculous]

I know that I’ve been dead for like eight months and there’s absolutely no precursor to this on my blog but,,

I can’t stop thinking about the whole “Plagg replaces Adrien’s arm” possibility for the All Left AU, and more specifically the fact that it wouldn’t be safe for Adrien to hold food in that arm bc it would mysteriously go missing.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Lead Me To The Garden

pairing: Peeta Mellark x best friend!reader

Synopsis: Peeta kisses you before going into the Games but then has an onscreen romance with another girl

“Who do you think it’ll be this year?”

Peeta didn’t look up from the dough he was kneading as he thought about your question. Reaping day always brought a lot of anxiety for the two of you and Peeta typically distracted himself by baking. In a similar fashion, you liked to distract yourself by hanging around the bakery and watching Peeta.

“I don’t know. Maybe one of my brothers.” He said finally.

“Don’t even joke. I better never hear “Mellark” out of that crazy sparkly lady’s mouth.”

“I told you, she’s not crazy. That’s just how people dress in the Capital.” Peeta chuckled and held his hand out. You put some flour into his hand and he slapped in onto his dough.

“I don’t care how much money you have. Nobody should dress like that. How does she even sit in those dresses?” You wondered and took a bite of one of the muffins he had made. You hopped up on the counter top and let your legs swing as you watched him put his bread into the oven.

“What would you wear? If you had Capital money?” He asked as he wiped his hands on his apron.

“A yellow sweater.” You said with a sheepish smile.

“What? That’s it?” Peeta chuckled and leaned on the counter that you were sitting on, boxing you between his arms.

“Don’t laugh.” You gasped playfully. “You can dye cloth but not wool. At least not in this district. And you definitely can’t get any color as yellow as the dandelions that grow behind my house. So I would buy a nice, warm, yellow sweater. The kind with the fancy pattern that looks like a braid. It would be the first thing I own that’s pretty. And that’s new. I would be the first person to wear it.”

“If I had any money, I’d buy you one.” Peeta said with a soft smile.

“Really? You wouldn’t spend your money on yeast or milk?” You teased him.

“Baking isn’t my whole life, you know. I like other things too.” He said and leaned in a little. You inhaled his scent and could smell the baked goods he’d been baking all day on his skin. It was mixed with the scent that was just distinctly Peeta, a scent you had grown to associate with home.

“Like what?” You asked as you leaned in as well. Peeta’s eyes dropped to your lips for a second before he reminded himself that best friends weren’t supposed to think about each other that way.

“Stealing food from you.” He said to cover up his fondness and took the muffin from you hand. He held eye contact with you as he took a bite of the muffin which made you laugh and smack his arm.

“You’re really good at it.” You humored him.

“Thank you. I try to be.” He said and hopped up on the counter beside you. He handed the muffin back to you and you mouthed “thank you” before taking another bite.

“So what would you really buy?” You asked once you swallowed.

“I’d buy a house.” He said without having to think about it.

“Really? But you have a house.”

“I know. But I want my own house. With a nice oven and a book shelf for your books for when you come over. And it would be nice and quiet inside. And I’d have a garden so I never had to go to the market if I found a new recipe I wanted to try.” Peeta said as he traced the outline of a carnation on your leg. You slipped your arm through his and ran your fingers up and down it in the way he once told you his mom did when he was a little boy.

“That sounds really nice.” You said quietly. He looked into your eyes and smiled softly.

“You could live there too.” He told you.

“Why? So I could take care of the garden for you?” You teased.

“So we could be together everyday.” He said, making your laughter stop. You didn’t realize he was being serious and felt guilty for making a joke. You rested your head on his shoulder and continued to run your fingernails up and down his arm.

“That would be nice.” You agreed. “We could get a little house by the meadow. We could decorate it the way we wanted, like with your drawings and paintings. And there would never be shouting because we’d always talk to each other with love.”

“I think we’d be really happy there.” Peeta said as he lifted his head off of yours to look at you. You kept your head on his shoulder and stared straight ahead.

“But what if they call my name later?” You said quietly.

“They won’t. There’s dozens of girls in the district. They won’t call you.”

“What if they call you?”

“Theres even more boys in the district. And if they did call me, one of my brothers would probably volunteer.” Peeta shrugged but you could tell he didn’t believe himself.

You sat in silence for a little longer until his bread was ready. He took it out and brought it outside while you grabbed a blanket. You ate out on the grass in comfortably silence as you stared out at the mountains. A horn soon sounded in the air, signaling that it was time to go. You walked to town together and saw girls and boys getting into their respective lines.

“See you after?” You asked him with a nervous smile. Peeta nodded and pulled you into a tight hug. He kissed the side of your head before joining the rest of the boys. You got your finger pricked and joined the girls in a massive group that faced that stage. A younger girl from distract was called first and her sister immediately volunteered to go in for her. Your heart was finally started to calm down when you heard the worst two words you could possibly imagine being said into the microphone.

“Peeta Mellark.” Effie said with a poised smile. You’d never know she was giving s death sentence by the tone in her voice.

You froze as the crowd was swept with shocked murmurs and people looking at you. Your head was stiff as your eyes slowly followed Peeta emerging from the crowd and walking on stage. He was just as catatonic as you were on that stage and kept his eyes low. He shook hands with the girl who had been picked and was led backstage which was when you started screaming. You pushed through the crowd and ran towards the stage but were caught by two Peacekeepers. You thought you were about to be executed but they actually brought into the back to where Peeta had gone. You passed his brothers and parents in the hallway before getting shoved into a room. Peeta was inside with red eyes and a pale face.

“Peeta.” You choked out and threw your arms around him. Peeta hugged you as tight as he could without hurting you and buried his face in your shoulder. You stroked his hair and whispered comforting words in his ear until he calmed down.

“I’m so sorry.” You said into his ear.

“It’s okay.” He sniffled and pulled out of the hug. You stared into his teary eyes for a second before grabbing his hands.

“We can run. We can sneak out of here and head to the woods and just run.” You whispered.

“We can’t. They’ll catch me and kill you first trying.” He shook his head sadly.

“But we have to do something. They can’t do this to you. They can’t take you away.” You urged. Peeta put a hand on your face and wiped your tear with his thumb.

“There’s nothing we can do.” He whispered. You nodded your head and knew there was no use spending the little time you had left trying to come up with a plan that would never work.

“I guess you’re right. So I’ll see you when you come back, okay?” You said and cupped his face.

“Oh, honey.” He smiled sadly. “I’m not coming home.”

“Shh.” You covered his mouth. “Yes you are. You’re gonna come home to me and we’re gonna build the house with the garden like we said we would.”

“There’s never going to be a garden. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta choked up so you pulled him back into a hug.

“No you’re not. You’re not gonna die. I won’t let you.” You promised him as you stroked his hair to calm him down.

“Our district can barely afford to feed themselves. We have no money for sponsorships. And I have no skills outside of the bakery. I can’t hunt or protect myself. I’ve never even killed an animal. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta cried into your shoulder.

“Shhh. Don’t say that. You can still win. Maybe a miracle will happen.” You said but even you didn’t believe it. A Peacekeeper then pounded on the door to signal that your time was almost up. You froze in Peeta’s arms before gripping him tighter. Peeta pulled away suddenly and cupped your face in his hands.

“I need to tell you something.” He said hastily.

“What is it?” You worried when you saw the panic in his eyes.

“I’m in love with you. I always have been. Since we were kids.”

“Peeta, what?“ You whispered and wrapped your hands around his wrists.

“I have always loved you. I’m sorry it took me until now to tell you. I wish I told you when I first felt it. But I needed you to know before I left.” He said as he stared into your eyes. You were speechless as you stared back but before you could say anything, a Peacekeeper burst in the door. He grabbed your arm to pull you out of the room but you just yanked your arm away. You threw your arms around Peeta and kissed him for as long as you could before you were pulled away by the Peacekeeper.

“Now you have to come home.” You said to him as you struggled against the Peacekeeper trying to pull you out of the room. Peeta grabbed your hand and held it as long as he could until the Peacekeeper picked you up.

“I love you!” Peeta shouted after you with his hand still outstretched.

“I’ll wait for you!” You shouted back as you were carried out of the room.

You watched the broadcast everyday with your eyes peeled for any glimpse of Peeta. You were shocked to see him on fire in the tribute parade and even more surprised at the sight of him in a suit for his interview with Cesar Flickerman. You’d only ever seen Peeta in colorless, wrinkled, cotton clothes from your district which was a sharp contrast to the shiny black suit adorned with sparkly red flames on the sleeve. You smiled shyly as if he were right in front of you and tried to touch the projection of the broadcast but your fingers just went through. Peeta was surprisingly charming in his interview and it made your heart yearn for your best friend. You missed spending the day with him and him making you laugh in person so this was a nice substitution.

“Is there anyone special at home?” Cesar asked Peeta. Peeta smiled shyly and looked into the camera, making you feel like he was looking directly at you.

“Actually, yes. There is a special girl from home that I’ve loved for what feels like my entire life.” Peeta said with a bashful smile. You grinned and clasped your hands under your chin as you watched him talk about you.

“Well that’s great. If you win the games, she’ll have to go out with you.” Cesar said and patted his shoulder.

“Unfortunately winning the games isn’t going to help me.” Peeta said with a sad smile.

“Oh no? Why not?” Cesar asked him.

“Because she came here with me.” Peeta answered.

Your stomach dropped. Your jaw dropped. Your felt like you were going to be sick. He wasn’t talking about you. He was talking about the girl he got reaped with. You turned away from the broadcast and held yourself in your arms as you ran to your room. You slammed your door before throwing yourself on your bed. You cried yourself to sleep and when you woke up, you realized you had missed the start of the games. You lingered around areas that were broadcasting the games to keep an eye on Peeta. Your anxiety was at an all time high day in and day out as you prayed he’d live to see another day. It was a few days in that he got cut with a sword by one of the boys from district one. You cried yourself to sleep again that night since Peeta wasn’t shown on camera for a while after that. Finally, you heard from a girl in town that Peeta had been found by the lake by the girl from your district. You ran home as fast as you could and turned on the broadcast right in time to see him kissing Katniss. You let out a shocked squeak and quickly turned the games off. You did your best to avoid any information about the games after that but the romance between Katniss and Peeta was all anyone in your district could talk about. It was rare that people from your district lasted this long in the games, let alone two of them, so you couldn’t blame people for talking about it. To add to that, the romance was something that had never been seen in the games before and made for very entertaining television for every single person in your district besides you. You were rooting for Peeta, of course, but you could not bear to watch him cuddling with another girl as he fought for his life.

Finally, the last day came. You watched Peeta and Katniss win after nearly killing themselves in front of the world so that they didn’t have to kill each other. You felt your anxiety deplete for the first time in weeks when Peeta put down the berries. You didn’t even care that he was hugging another girl after nearly killing himself so that he didn’t have to lose her because it meant that he was coming home. He was finally coming home.

On the day the winners were set to return home, you waited in the crowd beside Gale Hawthorn, a boy from your district, and Katniss’s little sister. You and Gale were eyeing each other curiously and had no idea that you were in the same boat. Peeta and Katniss were brought out on stage and you felt tears come to your eyes the second you saw Peeta. You clapped for him like everyone else in the crowd but froze when you noticed that he was holding her hand. Peeta was scanning the crowd for you and when he finally spotted you, he dropped Katniss’s hand and waved to you. You weakly waved back but couldn’t shake the mixed emotions brewing inside you. You were beyond relieved and grateful that he was home safe. But that didn’t mean it didn’t deeply hurt you to watch him with another girl after he told you that he loved you. You and Peeta stared at each other from your places on the stage and the crowd and both began to cry without relaxing it. You wiped your face and put on a smile for him despite the pain you were feeling inside.

After Peeta and Katniss gave their speeches, the crowd dispersed and you followed Peeta’s brothers back to his house. You bounced your leg as you sat at their kitchen table and waited for Peeta to come home. Finally, the door opened and he walked inside. He was dressed in fancy Capital clothing but had the same old smile that you knew so well. You watched him hug his mother first, then father. His brothers hugged him all at once and patted his back or rubbed his hair, touching him in any way they could.

Then, he looked at you.

Peeta looked startled to see you at first but his eyes immediately softened. You stood up from your seat and your legs felt like jelly as you slowly walked towards him. His eyes were brimmed with tears and he could not believe you had come to see him after what he made you watch him do in the games. You were hurt and confused by his actions but you put on a brave face for him now that he was home.

“You’re here?” He asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“Of course I’m here. You’re here.”

“I thought you’d be mad.” He said in a weak voice. He was looking at you as if he was expecting a lecture or a blow out fight, but that’s not what you came for.

“I still had to see you.” You said simply.

Peeta gulped when you didn’t deny that you were mad but nodded his head.

“So where’s Katniss?” You asked him with fake politeness.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “With her family, probably.”

“Oh.” You nodded and an awkward silence fell between you. His family exchanged looks and Peeta was fully aware of it.

“Do you think we could talk? Just the two of us?” He asked hopefully. You nodded your head and he lead you to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. A black box on his dresser caught your eye as you sat down on his bed. He noticed it too and went over to it to open it up. When he turned around, he had a soft yellow knit sweater in his hands that made your jaw drop.

“I, uh, I brought you this from the Capital.” Peeta said as a shy blush covered his face.

“You found a yellow sweater?” You gasped and touched the sweater with gentle hands as if you were afraid your damage it. You’d never seen clothes that color in person before and it was even better than you imagined.

“I tried to but I never found one like the one you described. So I asked them to make it for me. They made four of them, actually. They can just do that there. They know nothing about want.” Peeta laughed shortly but neither of you found it funny.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” You smiled gratefully and took the sweater. The fact that he had remembered the sweater you told him about despite everything he had just gone through. You felt guilty for being mad at him now that he had given you the sweater and realized you hadn’t even hugged him yet. You folded the sweater and left it on his bed before standing up. Peeta tensed up and wasn’t sure what you were about to do. You stepped towards him and wrapped your arms around him, to which he immediately responded to and hugged you back. He instantly broke down and cried in your arms just like he did the day of the Reaping. You stroked his hair and cooed in his ear until he calmed down enough to talk.

“I didn’t think you were ever gonna talk to me again.” He sniffled. You pressed your cheek against his blonde hair and took in his scent for the first time in weeks. Underneath the expensive cologne the Capital had dawned him in, you could still smell Peeta.

“Of course I’ll still talk to you. I’m sorry I was so cold to you. I’m just confused.” You admitted as you pulled out of the hug.

“I know.” Peeta nodded. “And you have every reason to be. I told you I loved you and then I professed my love to another girl with the whole world watching. If the roles were reversed, I’d be devastated. But you have to understand, that wasn’t what it looked like. It was all an act.”

“An act?”

“Yeah. We pretended to be a couple so people would send us food and medicine. I had no way to tell you that it wasn’t real and I’m so sorry about that. You don’t know how badly I wished I could tell you.” Peeta professed as he cupped your face in his hands.

“You were just pretending?” You smiled in surprise.

“Of course I was. What did you think? That it was real?” He laughed softly.

“Well, yeah. That’s what it looked like. I thought guys fell for each other during training and your love got you through the games.”

“Our acting got us through.” He corrected. “Haymitch told us to do it the day we met him. You really thought I fell for another girl that quickly?”

You didn’t share in his smile and shook your head instead. Peeta’s eyes softened and he rubbed his thumb on your cheek.

“I’m sorry, honey. I can’t imagine how confusing that must have been to watch after how we said goodbye.” Peeta said with a sympathetic pout. Your anger towards him melted away as you wrapped your hand around his wrists.

“So you don’t love her?”

“No. I never did. I’ve only ever loved you.” He answered with a soft smile. A smile tugged on your lips as well so you rested your forehead against his. Peeta let go of your face and wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you flushed against him.

“You know, the thought of coming home to you was the only thing that kept me going. I thought about the way you kissed me every night.” Peeta said as he stared into your eye.

“You did?” You smiled shyly at the memory.

“I did.” He nodded. “It was the only thing keeping me warm.”

You stared back into his eyes before tilting your head to the side and connecting his lips in a kiss. He kissed you back slowly and tightened his grip with one hand while moving the other up and down your back. All your anger and confusion melted away into the kiss now that he was yours again. When you pulled away, you stayed in comfortable silence in each others arms.

“Will you come live with me in Victors Village? We can plant our garden like we said.” Peeta asked you.

And so you did. You moved in with him and hung his paintings on the wall to decorate the place. You planted the garden in the backyard and put you in change of the vegetables while Peeta tended the flowers.

But you didn’t feel at home when you walked through the door each day. It was only when Peeta got home everyday with a fresh loaf of bread that the house became home.

[strnilolover]

Properly Introducing !Bakery Owner Matt and Reader!! (how they met and how the bakery became to be)

Matt : long sleeve shirts and button ups, comfy jeans, fluffy hair, light stubble, bandanas/headbands, flour covered clothes, apron always around his waist, new recipes everyday, puts his girl first, dad, frank ocean, mac miller, malcolm todd, determined, passionate, hardworking, focused, devoted, visionary, creative, gentle, observant, and more.

It was junior year when you first noticed Matt in the crowded halls of your high school. He wasn’t loud or overly outgoing, but there was something about him that caught your attention— a quiet confidence and an ever-present smirk.

You met officially during an elective class neither of you had particularly wanted but needed to fill credits. It was a mistake of scheduling, really — Home Economics — but fate has a funny way of placing people exactly where they need to be.

Matt’s culinary skills were evident even then. While most of the class bumbled through simple recipes, his dishes consistently stood out. You remember the first time he handed you a plate of cookies he’d baked, the warmth of the pastry soaking into your fingertips, and the burst of buttery sweetness that followed your first bite.

“These are amazing,” you mumbled through a mouthful, barely able to form the words.

“Yeah?” He didn’t look at you, focusing on wiping flour from his hands on the apron he wore around his waist. There was that smirk again — tugging at the corner of his lips like it always did.

From that moment, there was an ease in your interactions. A friendship forged over the exchange of recipes, kitchen mishaps, and inside jokes about the temperamental ovens in the Home Ec room.

It wasn’t until senior year that things began to shift. Matt would bring you experimental recipes he was trying, and you’d sit in the empty classroom together after hours, critiquing the texture of his pastries and the sweetness of his glazes.

One evening, as you were packing up after another impromptu tasting session, Matt stopped you with a hesitant, almost sheepish expression.

“Hey, so, I was thinking,” he began, scratching the back of his neck, “would you want to go out sometime? Like, not just here. Maybe somewhere that’s more…enjoyable?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the slight tension breaking as you agreed. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

From that moment, it was like something clicked into place. You spent the rest of the school year inseparable, navigating the uncertainty of graduation and future plans with intertwined fingers.

After graduation, you and Matt decided to move in with one another. Finding a small place to manage with the jobs you both had, enjoying each others company even more.

Though, the transition to college wasn’t easy. Matt had been accepted into a culinary program at a university not too far from home, and you decided to stay nearby, working odd jobs to support yourself.

Matt dove headfirst into his studies, immersing himself in classes and late-night baking labs. He’d come home exhausted most days, flour dusting his clothes, dark circles forming under his eyes, but there was always a grin spread across his face when he saw you waiting for him.

“Guess what I made today?” he would ask, eyes lighting up despite his weariness.

“Something delicious?” you teased, knowing the answer.

Matt would reach into his backpack and pull out a carefully wrapped bundle — a slice of cake, a new type of bread, or a pastry he’d spent hours perfecting. It became a ritual for the two of you, sharing his culinary triumphs and failures, talking late into the night about his dreams of opening a bakery.

“You’re going to do it, you know,” you told him one night, watching as he absently kneaded dough on the counter of your tiny shared apartment. “You’re going to open that bakery, and it’s going to be amazing.”

Matt looked up, flour streaking his forehead, and smiled softly. “Not without you.”

Everything changed during his senior year of college though. You’d been feeling off for weeks — nausea, exhaustion, a strange sense of something being different. When you finally worked up the courage to take a pregnancy test, the results hit you like a tidal wave. You were pregnant.

Matt was at his part-time job when you found out, and you spent hours pacing the apartment, rehearsing how you were going to break the news. When he had finally walked through the front door that night, looking worn but happy as usual, you felt a lump form in your throat.

“Matt, I need to tell you something,” you blurted out before you could second-guess yourself. The change in his expression was immediate — concern creasing his brow as he dropped his bag by the door and crossed the room in two quick strides. “What’s wrong?”

You handed him the positive test, your hands trembling slightly. His eyes widened as he processed what it meant, and for a moment, you feared he might bolt. But then, he let out a slow breath and reached for your hand.

“Okay,” he said quietly, almost to himself, as if piecing together a plan. “Okay. We’re going to figure this out.”

“Matt—”

“No, listen,” he interrupted gently, squeezing your hand. “It’s not going to be easy, but we can do this. I want to do this. I want this with you.”

Tears stung at your eyes as relief flooded through you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, and you felt the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. In that moment, you believed him.

The months that followed were a whirlwind of changes. Matt continued his classes and worked late hours, saving every extra dollar he earned. You found yourself in a constant state of awe at his determination, watching as he navigated the chaos. There were nights when he came home utterly exhausted, but he always made time to check on you, to hold you close and remind you that he was there.

“How was your day?” he’d ask, leaning against the counter while you made tea.

“Uneventful,” you’d reply, keeping the details light to spare him any unnecessary worry.

Matt would nod, and you could see the weight of the day lifting slightly from his shoulders as he focused on you instead. It wasn’t always perfect — there were arguments, moments of doubt, and fears about the future — but you faced them together.

Eventually, Matt graduated, and with his degree in hand, he threw himself into making his dream a reality. Every cent he’d saved went toward the bakery, and you watched with a mixture of pride and awe as he meticulously planned every detail. He spent hours on end fixing up the old storefront he’d rented, sanding floors, repainting walls, and building shelves for the displays he envisioned.

“You’re really doing it,” you whispered one evening, standing in the middle of the nearly-finished bakery, surrounded by the scent of fresh paint and sawdust.

Matt turned to you, eyes shining with pride and relief. “We’re doing it.”

Opening day had came faster than you expected. You stood beside Matt as the first customers trickled in, watching with nervous excitement as they sampled his pastries and complimented the warm, welcoming atmosphere he’d created.

The bakery was everything Matt had dreamed of — a cozy space filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, pastries, and memories of late nights and early mornings spent chasing this dream.

You often helped out behind the counter, greeting customers with a smile or setting out trays of Matt’s newest creations. The regulars got to know you by name, asking after the baby growing steadily in your belly and congratulating Matt on his success. It wasn’t long before the bakery became a staple in the community — a place where people gathered to share coffee, pastries, and stories.

One evening, after the last customer had left and the bakery was closed for the night, you found Matt sitting at one of the small tables by the window, his head resting on his folded arms. The exhaustion was evident in the way his shoulders slumped and his breathing slowed, but there was a contentment in his expression that hadn’t been there before.

“Long day?” you asked softly, sliding into the seat across from him. Matt lifted his head, a weary smile tugging at his lips. “Long but worth it.”

You reached across the table to take his hand, and he squeezed it gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Outside, the streetlights cast a soft glow through the windows, illuminating the quiet moment between you.

“We did it,” he murmured, almost in disbelief.

You smiled, feeling a swell of pride and love for the man sitting across from you. “Yeah, we did.”

© strnilolover

a/n : AHHH here’s !Bakery Owner Matt!! (Baker!Matt) and how him and reader met and what started where they are today!! I honestly don’t know much about doing AU’s but! i’ll be navigating it along the way with all of you!! i hope you like this and i hope you love them too. (p.s - reader is pregnant toward the end of this. this just shows how they met, how the bakery was opened and such. so it’s not present time)

[i-didnt-do-1t]

“fine, i get your cereal-soup argument, but there’s nothing you can say to convince me that a hot dog is a damn sandwich.” (from the midnight rambling writing prompts) for Henry and Finch? (does not need to be romantic)

Thanks for the prompt! :D hope you enjoy, this was so fun to write

The lodging house was quiet, and maybe Henry would’ve been asleep by now if Finch wasn’t so insistent on stealing the entirety of the thin blanket that was meant to be shared between the two of them.

In fact, it was a specific condition he’d made Finch promise to before allowing him to sleep at the foot of his bed at all. He’d volunteered, partly because he was a good friend, mostly because Finch’s own bed had been doused in jugs of water that morning and the mattress was still sopping wet. (Henry could sympathise, he needed his sleep. He also took that as a further indication to avoid getting on Albert’s bad side at all costs)

The lack of blankets was bad enough, but then Finch made it worse somehow.

“Hey, Henry.” He was at least attempting to whisper but his voice still felt all too loud amongst the snoring.

“What?”

“You ever think about how cereal is basically soup?”

Henry wanted to cry, actually. If he could’ve pulled the blanket up to cover his eyes he would’ve.

“No.” He said, pointedly, “Because it’s not.”

“It is though right? There’s liquid.” He paused. “With y’know, bits, in it.”

Maybe while Finch was distracted talking utter bullshit Henry could steal back his share of the blanket.

“N’ how would you feel if you went to Jacobi’s n’ ordered soup and got cereal?” He asked.

(God, Finch must've had a fist of steel gripping his end of the blanket.)

“I’d faint on the spot I think,” Finch said, making less of an effort to whisper now because apparently he didn’t have any regard for anyone else’s sleep. “I ain’t had cereal in years.”

“Oh. Your biased then.”

Finch dug his foot into his side. “Stop using big words you learnt from Davey.”

“Skittery actually.”

“Oh.”

“Think he got it from Dave though.”

Henry could practically feel Finch rolling his eyes, and grinned.

“Shut up. Anyway, I’m right.” Finch continued, and Henry began to consider that maybe Albert wasn’t being unreasonable when he decided to douse Finch’s bed in water. “Soup is liquid with bits in it. So’s cereal. So cereal is soup.”

Henry thought about it for a second and wondered what his Da would’ve done if Henry had ever tried to claim that; wondered whether or not he could’ve persuaded him to put it on the deli menu.

He could’t have, it took all of three seconds to conclude, but he knew his dad would’ve looked at him like he’d grown another head. Knew he would’ve ruffled Henry’s hair and turned around muttering about young boys and their ridiculous thoughts and continued kneading the dough for that day's bread.

The thought made him smile a little.

And then Finch made it worse. Again.

“And a hotdog is a sandwich.”

This time Henry sat up, the bed creaking underneath him. “What.”

“Bread. Meat. Bread. Sandwich.”

He stared down at Finch, who was still curled up, blanket pulled to his chin, eyes open staring at the underside of the bunk above him, looking to the world like he was deep in thought.

And Henry had to deal with it.

He flopped back down on his pillow, letting his body mimic the unconsciousness he so desperately wished for as he slammed into the mattress and privately thanked God for both the bed not breaking and the fact he didn’t land on Finch’s feet

“Fine. I get your cereal-soup argument, but there's nothing you can say to convince me that a hot dog is a damn sandwich.”

Finch was silent for a second.

Too long, almost.

.

“Bread. Meat. Bread.”

“Oh my God.”

“Are you gonna try and tell me I’m wrong?”

“You are wrong.”

“I don’t think I’m ever wrong.”

At this point Henry had little to do but accept his fate. No sleep, no blanket, no friends with morals when it came to sandwiches. This was it.

“Oh trust me, we know.” He said.

He waited for a response, five seconds… then ten…

But Finch had seemed to finally go silent.

Cautiously, as to not wake him up, Henry readjusted the thin yet somehow lumpy pillow behind his head, shuffled a little to the left so Finch’s foot wasn’t digging into his stomach, said a prayer to his Da and closed his eyes. He had no blanket, but he would live, it wasn’t even cold anymore coming into June but it was more so the principle of the thing.

Henry could move past that, he decided, be the bigger person.

“Hey Henry.”

His eyes shot open.

“You think water is wet?”

[r0und3bitch]

Twin Flames ❤️‍🔥 Blurb: Our Lord and Savior (Taylor’s Version)

MASTERLIST

Y/N’s Notes App

Synopsis: Rafe finally discovers what you’ve known for quite some time now — in Taylor Swift, we trust.

Warnings: Pure fluff and self indulgence. I wrote this one for me.

Notes: this video is crucial. Also reminder “I’d Do Anything To Make You Smile” is a Jack Harlow song. Full notes are actually at the end this time! Enjoy loves

Y/N 🦋: if you come over after work I’ll make pasta and we can open that bottle of wine we stole from Topper’s 😇 Y/N 🦋: and I can play you the new Jack Harlow album - OBVIOUSLY 😈

Boy Wonder 🍤: “I’d Do Anything To Make You Smile” 🫠

Y/N 🦋: cheater! You already listened to it without me?!

Boy Wonder 🍤: like you haven’t already played it a thousand times today…

Y/N 🦋: 🤐

Boy Wonder 🍤: I only listened to a few songs, the ones that stuck out

Y/N 🦋: that one’s already one of my favorites 😈

Boy Wonder 🍤: same Boy Wonder 🍤: made me think of someone…

Y/N 🦋: 🥺

It’s just an emoji but the image planted in his brain of you making that beyond cute, pouty face at him doesn't leave his mind throughout the rest of his work day. 

And it’s exactly how he finds you hours later as he walks into your kitchen, stirring something over the stove, slightly swaying back and forth to the music you have on. He takes notice of the wine bottle on the counter - the extremely expensive one you both drunkenly managed to steal from Topper's family’s wine cellar at the party he threw last weekend. He chuckles at the memory, gaining your attention as you turn towards him, meeting him with that pouty, needy smile he’d been dying to see on you all day. 

You’re so happy to see him you could honestly burst. 

“Shit, I didn’t even hear you come in!” You say loud enough over the music. 

“It smells amazing in here…” he beams, already reaching his arms around you. 

“Thank you.” You smile sweetly up at him before setting the large spoon back down on the counter. 

Rafe looks down at the multiple pots and pans on the stove, chucking slightly as realization dawns on him. 

“You made Gigi Hadid’s pasta recipe didn’t you?” He giggles into your ear, pulling you further into his arms. 

“No way, you noticed?!” 

Of course he noticed. It’d been everywhere on Tiktok and Instagram. Not to mention, Wheezie - the future influencer of the Cameron Family, hadn’t shut up about it lately. 

Rafe’s mouth was honestly watering while looking down at your creation, the smile breaking out on his face was inevitable at this point, taking note of your good mood and breezy nature about you in this exact moment. It’s one of those rare times he sees you just relax. You’re not running around like a chicken with your head cut off between meetings, screaming arguing back and forth with Sid about god knows what, you’re not literally losing your mind trying to manage all of that - including your obligations back in Miami. 

Seeing you like this, so free and happy and full of light touches Rafe deeply, making him pause. 

This is how she should always look. This is how it should always be for her. She deserves to always feel like this. 

“Seems like you’ve had a day, baby.” 

“My dad didn’t need me at the office today so I got high and made fresh pasta too…”

You’re grinning from ear to ear now as you turn to look up at him fondly. He notices small patches of what must be flour on your leggings, proof of your handiwork and he’s beyond elated that you didn’t change for him, didn’t put on some fancy outfit before he came over, loving nothing more than getting the realest, most raw version of you. 

“It looks perfect.” And you grin even further at his compliment. “Maybe we can make some together next time.” 

He presses a soft kiss to your cheek. 

The image of Rafe covered in flour makes you giggle before your mind wanders to how good he must be at kneading dough considering he has huge hands - your brain instantly going haywire  at the mental image alone when he speaks up. 

“Now, what do you say we bust open this bottle that we worked our asses off for—” (you pipe up, “and nearly shattered in my driveway!”) “—and your fine ass puts on that Jack Harlow album I know you’ve literally been dying to play for me all day, sweet girl.”

A final, meant to be loud giggle from you seals the deal as Rafe looks up at you, cute as fucking ever, but slightly confused at your best words. 

“Okay, shrimp…”

You’re on the second full run through of the album, the bottle of wine just about polished off between the two of you as you spread out on the massive couch in the living room, bellies full of pasta and laugher as Rafe clutches his sides, abs almost sore from his bodies reaction to your story. 

“Listen! I don’t even remember doing it!”

Rafe can barely get words out, choking down his own giggles rising again. 

“Fucking, shrimp…”

“I just remember waking up the next morning after that party…barely alive and hanging on by a thread…”

Rafe’s almost cackling at this point of your story. 

“No, I’m serious! I slept in my contacts and could barely open my left eye. I had a full on predator eye going! It was rough. Anyways! I wake up, finally find my phone buried deep in Sarah’s bed only to look down at your contact name, seeing that fucking emoji there and thinking — welp… I guess he’s shrimp now!”

The way you deliver it has Rafe nearly spewing wine out of his mouth, literal tears beginning to form in his eyes, both of you on the verge of hysterics again at the story of how the emoji in his contact name in your phone came to be. 

“Literally, don’t even remember changing it! I don’t even know where it came from!”

But Rafe does and it makes him double down harder as his never ending reel of memories of you from that drunken night come flooding back. 

“Because Kelce and Sarah wouldn’t stop quoting that fuckin’ scene from Forest Gump—”

Your hand clamps over your mouth harshly at his words, as if that would stifle any of the near snorting laughs coming out of you, quite honestly on the verge of peeing your pants as you lose it with laughter again. 

“Then I had to listen to your beautiful, drunk ass literally beg for coconut shrimp the next three hours!”

You reach over and cup his face with your hand, face going momentarily serious and you try to keep an even keel to deliver your next words as you stroke his cheek affectionately. 

“Awww, shrimp…” 

Silence only hangs in the air for about half a second as you both full on lose it, Rafe nearly rolling over onto the floor with how hard he’s laughing. 

It’s at that moment Noah slips into the room, looking quite dapper himself as he grins at the sight of you both so clearly at ease with each other. 

“Having fun, kids?”

You and Rafe whip your heads in his direction, grins not even slightly dampening as you both do a once over on him. 

Noah’s sometimes floppy hair is pushed back over his face, accenting his ‘only visible in the summer’ freckles that glitter his glowing face. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, showing the chain and tattoos poking out beneath the brilliant shade of gold and black fabric. One of his most expensive watches adorns his left wrist as he looks down at the time. 

“Shit, look at you!” 

Rafe cat whistles loudly. 

“Ya got a hot date?”

Noah just sends both of you that trademark grin, lips sealed knowingly as to not give any of his secrets. 

“No, I’m actually thinking of heading to the beach and going swimming.”

You forget sometimes that he’s your twin and can play the smart ass game just as good, if not better than you, at times. 

“Wow, someone’s feisty. Tryin’ to keep the girl a secret? OH!” You squeal loudly. “That’s a song in the album too! Have you listened yet?!” 

“Listen man!” Rafe pipes up “If you’re taking Emma out, I get it. I’d probably lie too…” he laughs and scratches his nose as you slap him in the arm, earning brownie points from you for equally giving Noah a hard time. 

Noah signs loudly. His sister was one thing. But Rafe…maybe you both needed to be knocked down a peg. Or two. (affectionately). 

“God, I just love the two of you together. Honesly, just a fuckin joy!” 

His sarcasm is relentless. 

“You’re really not gonna tell us who you’re wearing your favorite cologne for?” 

You can smell it from where you’re sitting as Noah just rolls his eyes, your persistent questioning beginning to irritate him in a way only a sister can. 

“Not a chance!”

“It probably is Emma…” you whisper to Rafe, full on earning Noah’s annoyance as he sparks an idea in his head, knowing just how to push your buttons. 

“Andddddddd on that note, I’m out! Enjoy your evening lovebirds…” 

He pauses briefly before turning to you fully, delivering the kill. 

“Oh — and call Jordan back before I fucking smack you, Y/N!”

You almost drop the wine glass in your hands. 

“Excuse me?!”

Your high pitched response is proof enough of your defeat for Noah. 

“Ya! You heard me! He called me again to check in on you. I’m not getting into the middle of it but this is getting kind of ridiculous, you know that right? Are you mad at him or something?” 

Noah’s fully aware and knows that saying this in front of Rafe would ruffle your feathers, his game plan exactly. 

“What?! No—” but you’re already sputtering an attempt at a response to his words. 

“Then call him back! It’s not fucking rocket science, Y/N.”

He shoots you both that frustrating, almost downright cruel grin, muttering a “later” in your direction before turning on his heel and heading out the back door to the garage. 

You’re too stunned to react once Noah’s out of the room, taking into account the huge shift in energy in the room as his departure. Are you sure you were laughing just moments ago?

It seems impossible that you could’ve been feeling light as a feather only minutes ago in Rafe’s presence as nothing but guilt threatens to consume you. As it threatens to knock the wind out of you. 

Jordan called Noah again. 

As if his never ending thread of unread texts hadn’t already permanently been tormenting you, along with Whitney’s persistent questioning on the rare occasions she could even get you on the phone these days. 

Rafe’s still on the couch next to you, letting you process a moment or two, gauging your reaction. 

You take one look at his face and already know what he’s going to ask, bracing yourself. 

“You don’t want to talk him?” He asks cautiously. 

“It’s not that…”

He feels you tense up slightly, panicking only for a second before he settles. Rafe takes a deep breath before gently continuing.  

“You never really talk about him. Or any of them, really. Whitney, Kendall…”

He’d been privileged enough to earn just a small amount of conversation with Whitney (the girl LOVED to talk), outside of hearing your call with her on your second day in the Outer Banks. Kendall’s name popped up from you here and there - along with some others, yet literally not a single peep about Jordan. 

“It’s uh…” he heard you shakily release a breath. “It’s just hard.” 

You’re looking around the room briefly before casting your eyes downward at your hands. Anywhere but Rafe’s all too knowing eyes as you shift back farther into the couch, farther away from him. 

You may have only moved an inch, but mentally he feels you pulling back miles as his mind goes into overdrive, reaching out to take your hands in his. 

“Baby — Hey, please don’t pull away from me, it’s just me.” 

His words sound like honey as they come out of his mouth; wrapping around you like a warm hug, making you momentarily forget what’s happening. 

He lifts your hand to his face and lays soft kisses to the inside of your wrist. He’s being so gentle and sweet that it actually makes you want to puke but you can’t help but fall for him even deeper at the action. 

He’s trying so hard. Trying so hard to break through to you that you can’t help but give in, knowing his efforts have been worth it. 

“I didn’t really want to leave any of them.” you’re looking down at where his fingers are still gently grasping your wrist. “And when I had to…”

You choke slightly and Rafe notices, eyes furrowing downward with concern, immediately wanting to embrace you. He compromises by squeezing your wrist encouragingly, giving you the space and time to get whatever it was you had to say out. 

“Sometimes it just makes it harder, ya know?” When you look at him, eyes brimming with tears, his heart actually breaks a little bit because your face says it all. 

The next part comes flooding out of your mouth of its own accord.

“I didn’t want to leave any of them. And when I had to, it felt like —like m-my whole life was torn apart. It felt like I had part of my identity —part of my soul taken from me by having to be away from the only people in my life that ever cared about me.” 

You take a shaky breath before letting the rest out, your voice strained. 

“Miami was so isolating, it just became easy. It became…” you trail off unsure of how to put words to the feelings you’re having.

If Rafe’s heart was breaking before, it’s full on crushed now under the impact of your words. He’d known if had been hard for you — you always kept this part of your life so guarded and part of him was now fully understanding why. It was to protect yourself. It was your defense mechanism. 

“I don’t want to push them away” your voice is barely above a whisper now. “It just—”

The tears are full on ready to brim over now but Rafe won’t allow them to make a home on your beautiful face that was minutes ago laughing at his shitty Game of Thrones jokes. 

“Hey, Y/N” He reaches down under your chin to tilt your eyes back to his. 

“I get it. I know, baby.”

“I don’t think they do, though…”

Rafe contemplates a minute, his words tenderly melting you. 

“I can’t really blame them for missing you, Y/N.” 

You look up at him curiously, hanging on tightly for his next words. 

“I can’t imagine my world without you in it.”

It happens again. Everything stops. The paradigm shifts and alters the weavings of your universe. Time stands still and it’s just the two of you staring at each other, eyes swarming deeply into the others. You’re absolutely positive the rest of the world has melted away and it’s only you and him left, completely and utterly okay with that actually. 

“And if they’re feeling any ounce of what I’d be feeling at that thought…” Rafe shakes his head, his own panic bubbling within him at the thought as he chokes his own terrifying, haunting, insecurities down. 

“They probably hate me…” 

Rafe breaks out of his own subconscious of insecurities as yours come tumbling out of your mouth. He wants to shake every single one of them out of your head, to prove you wrong at all costs. He wants to turn to you and say “not a single person in this world could hate you” yet chokes as he thinks of your father, of Zach… of the laundry list of names who’ve failed you. Of the laundry list of names of people who are inevitably next in line to do the same—, to chew you up and spit you back out, Rafe all but refuses to sign his name to that blank space.

“They could never and will never hate you, Y/N.”

His arms reach around your waist and pull you fully into his lap now, his hands brushing up under the bare skin of your tank top making you shiver in his grasp. Your goosebumps are soon soothed by his warm body against yours, your back pressed against his chest as he places kiss after kiss on your cheek, hearing that glorious giggle as a sign of victory. 

“They love you…” He whispers slowly into your ear, sending chills down your spine. 

Just like I do…

He dips his head further down, his lips planting themself to your shoulder briefly before turning to your neck, resting them against your flesh as he whispers. 

“You just have to let them, yeah?” 

And then his final words that travel through every cell in your body before making a home in your heart. 

“You deserve to be loved, Y/N.” 

His words stay hanging in the air for a moment or two, letting them sink in fully, the gravity of which is enough to pull all the breath out of your lungs.

Only if that means by you too. 

You’re grappling with your own thoughts —thoughts that no one in the world's love matters if you don’t have Rafe’s— as his arms squeeze around you, kisses literally attacking the flesh around your neck, fingers pinching playfully into your sides as you shriek in his arms. 

That giddy, unrelenting feeling of being loved by Rafe Cameron swells through your body until it’s bursting through you in the form of wild laughs and high pitched giggles as Rafe’s equally goofy grinned face shines down on you pressed back against him. 

You turn to face him now, eyes zoning in on the spot you desire the most —his lips, before meeting his eyes fleetingly.

“Okay, shrimp…” giggling for the thousandth time that evening as you both take into account the Jack Harlow album still playing in the background. 

“Do you think the DJ will let me change the playlist? There’s this song I found for this really hot girl that I want to play for her…”

“Hmm…I think the DJ might allow it. The album is almost over anyway.”

“Here…” you slowly break out of Rafe’s arms to reach for your phone on the coffee table. After opening the app, you hand it to him as you slowly stand. 

“The ‘hot girl’ is gonna grab more wine, you cool with that?”

“Who said I was talking about you, baby?” Rafe bites his lip, your eyes rolling at him but shooting him a wide mouth grin nonetheless. 

Rafe’s still chuckling to himself as you walk out of the room, his fingers already scrolling up on the app to the search bar, eager to find the song he'd heard earlier in the day on the way to meet his client for lunch. 

His fingers freeze though when a certain playlist catches his eye. Or rather the name of the playlist. The same contact name you’d given him in your phone…

His fingers hover over the words “Boy Wonder” for only the slightest of seconds before he presses an ardent finger to the screen, mind full on blowing apart into little pieces at what he finds. 

He feels his heart race quicken rapidly, needing to psychically stand from the couch to mentally process what was happening as he runs a shaky hand through his hair. 

Absent-mindedly, partly in pure bewilderment, he presses play to a song at random before him. 

You’d only been gone a moment or two. Long enough to reach far, far back into your fathers wine cellar to pull out a bottle that could contend with the one you’d stolen from Toppers but wouldn’t have your dad threatening to cut off your inheritance if he so happened to find out you took it. 

You’re proud of your selection, ready to show it off to Rafe. You’re beyond giddy, the effects of the first bottle still in very real effect even after your very sobering conversation. The first thing you notice the moment you step back into the living room was that Rafe had undoubtedly held true to his promise; the song had changed.

What you hadn’t, in any world or universe, even remotely expected to hear, was this Taylor Swift song playing — only to be met with Rafe’s frozen, towering stance as he clutched your phone in the middle of the living room. 

The wine bottle almost falls out of your grasp when it slowly starts to piece together. Your phone in his hands…the song playing…the fucking playlist. 

Embarrassment truly doesn’t even begin to touch the surface of the emotions taking over every inch of your body. Rafe’s unreadable face looks up at you as you both stand frozen with what feels like millions of miles between the two of you. 

The muscles around his mouth twitch, and the act alone cuts the distance between you tenfold, immediately pulling you into his orbit. 

It’s one of those rare moments in your life where you’re truly at a loss for words, trying to find the right ones to say that doesn’t make you sound like a psychotic, love struck, teenage girl. 

Fuck me, this is not happening right now! 

“What, uh…” unbeknownst to you, Rafe’s feeling equally giddy and love struck as he tries to process everything. 

“Oh, that’s…”

His muscles are twitching again and you can see the dimples forming in his cheeks, brightening yours what must be a crimson shade of red. 

“…is this…Uh…” his fingers feel shaky as he grips your phone. “Is this for me?” He asks eagerly. 

Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes. 

I mean you suppose it’s his? You’d made it for him certainly, although had literally no intention of him ever knowing it fucking existed! 

You truly feel like you’re about to faint but Rafe’s warm aura encircling the space between you two seems to magically keep you from full on panicking before him, still unable to move a muscle as you just watch one of your most embarrassing moments ever unfold before you. 

“Sort of…”

You meet his eyes again, lost in those ocean blue orbs that seem to read you like a magazine. 

“They’re uh…” Rafe’s heart is swooning so incredibly hard for you, not used to the beyond endearing embarrassment adorning your features, feeling like he’s seeing a brand new side of you for the first time. He briefly wonders what other marvelous versions of you he’d yet to discover. Willing to spend forever seeking them out…

“They’re songs that remind me of you…” you finally say, trying to unclench your jaw as you release a deep breath to try and calm yourself down. 

“Taylor Swift songs that remind you of me?” He questions softly, in total awe. 

You truly have never wanted to crawl deeper into a hole and never come out. 

Internally, permanently, forever cringing at his words. 

HOW IS THIS HAPPENING?!

“Yeah. So, I’m just going to crawl into a hole and—”

“No, no, no!” It’s Rafes turn to panic now, words coming out jumbled together, unwilling to let you feel even an ounce of embarrassment at something that is making him feel like he’s falling for you all over again. “It’s—”

His genuine smile, the one that only Rafe can seem to break through to you with, is the only explanation as to why your lips start moving as words somehow magically leave your mouth. 

“I started making it right when I came to the Outer Banks…”

The thought alone of you spending the past few months casually adding songs to this playlist whenever you’d hear one that particularly reminded you of him —mind floating back to all of the memories the two of you had shared this summer— is a powerful enough feeling to nearly bring him to his knees. 

What in god's name made him lucky enough to have you? To deserve you? Why him?

His mind touches a box of compartmentalized memories —his hands, hands that’ve roamed dozens of girls bodies in the Outer Banks —of those same hands coming down harshly over their ass, meeting their ears with the most degrading of words —of literal slaps to the face as images of random faces cry as he tries to slip out of their bedrooms undetected…

Rafe wasn’t sure what the hell he had done in his life to positively deserve to feel the way you made him feel. Hell, he still wasn’t entirely sure he did in fact deserve it, deserve you. It didn’t make sense at how so sweet and sincere of a gesture could be playing at his heartstrings before him…

How are you real, Y/N? How did I do this before you? 

“It’s uh…” 

HOLY SHIT - his brain will NOT compute. Is he short circuiting?! Fuckin say something idiot! WORDS! 

“Will you play one — well another one—” taking account of the song already playing. “Will you put on another song for me? 

His eagerness slowly, subconsciously, melts away at the anxiety building within you. 

“You want to hear another one?” 

“Yeah —actually I uh…I do.” He’s glancing back down at your phone in his hand again, his thumb slowly moving down the screen. “I’m not sure if I know any of these songs though”

He knows that's not true even as he says it. 

You laugh, confirming you know the truth behind that, further proving his point. Rafe has been hanging around you day in and day out for the better part of summer — there’s no doubt he knows quite a few songs on the playlist better than he thinks…

“Okay…” you oblige softly, already reaching for your phone back. “I can pick one.” 

“Or, uh…..” his heart starts beating erratically as the thought pops into his head, his turn to be embarrassed. 

You see his face falter for a moment, cheeks turning red as he fidgets.

Is he nervous? Why is he embarrassed?! You’re the psycho fucking girl who made a playlist of Taylor Swift songs that remind you of this beautiful man standing in front of you —only for said beautiful man to find THE FUCKING PLAYLIST— OH MY GOD— THE FUCKING TITLE OF THE PLAYLIST—You’re pretty sure you’re fully going into cardiac arrest now. Please God, if you’re out there, just come and strike me down, RIGHT NOW, at this moment. 

You’re waiting for the heavens above you to open and a lightning bolt to blast through the sky, blissfully ready for its strike. You’re saved from fate's seal though, realization dawning that this might actually be your worst nightmare as Rafe finally speaks again. (Thank God…)

“You could…” Rafe feels his hands get tingly, shaking the one at his side jerkily as the other tries to hold your phone steady. Briefly, you see his eyes glance towards the corner of the room where your guitars rest. “Um… would you, shit— will you play one of them for me?”

It takes two whole seconds for your brain to go where his has already landed, freezing when you reach the same destination. 

Only Rafe. 

Was this sweet, too perfect for your cruel world, brilliant boy really asking you to play one of these songs out loud for him? 

Rafe’s gaze on you only intensifies as it turns to panic when you don’t say anything, feeling like an idiot for even saying something, wanting to shove the words back. 

“Y/N/N, you don’t have to— its—”

He doesn’t realize you’ve had your mind made up the second the words left his lips. 

“No!” You nearly yell, your voice entirely too squeaky for your liking as you try to clear your throat. “No, I…. I will. I want to. I just have never really played so… intimately (you cringe—WHY is that first word that comes to mind) in front of another person before…”

The next words fall out of both of your mouths simultaneously. 

“But if I did, I’d want it to be for you—”

“I don’t want to ever make you do something you’re not comfortable with—”

Rafe hears your words loud and clear, like you do his. They wash over him with more purpose, that stupid fucking grin breaking out over his face at record speed. 

Thank god indeed because all that he’s really thinking is please please please god I beg you of you, baby girl—please let me hear these words that you so strongly associated with me; already doing his best to make a mental note of some of these song titles so he can go home and pick them apart with a fine tooth comb. Who the hell is he? Studying Taylor Swift lyrics to feed his growing ego that you actually feel for him. He barely recognizes himself anymore yet feels the most comfortable he’s ever felt. He’s thrown hard out of his thoughts when he reads the next song title that his thumb just hovered over, heart literally doing actual somersaults as his mind goes fuzzy when he finally registers the words “King Of My Heart.”

“I’m always comfortable when I’m with you…Plus…”

Rafe doesn’t move an inch as you step forward, slowly closing the gap between you two until you’re only an inch or two away from him. 

“I’d do anything to make you smile…” 

Your words make the breath catch in his throat, his eyes only getting a glimpse of the wink you throw at him before pressing your lips to his as he sighs deeply, feeling that sweet release now that he feels you against him. 

Your touch is much too short as your lips pull back, a trade off he’s more than willing to take knowing what was coming next. 

With a final squeeze of his hand, the next few moments bleed together so quickly, they certainly don’t seem real. 

Rafe’s surprised to see you pick up the electric guitar as opposed to the acoustic, quickly plugging a few things in before sitting down on the floor cross legged before him. 

His mind wanders back to the beginning of summer, that fateful day when he’d come home from work to hear the not so faint sounds of you and his sisters singing what he’d only assumed at the time was a Taylor Swift song. The emotions he remembers from eavesdropping outside of Sarah’s bedroom door, (pretty creepily, he might add) that day flood back to him, shivers actually rising on his flesh when he thinks back to your voice. 

There’s only a foot or two of space between the two of you. With the guitar still resting in your lap, you lean forward, Rafe’s arms already reaching up to support you as you speak into the side of his face, pressing a stray kiss or two to his cheek in between words. 

“Remember that day we were driving and you first brought up the shopping thing and I told you that you were kind of a dream come true?”

Rafe shakes his head knowingly as he feels your lips press closer to his jawline.

“I added this song that night…”

Wildest Dreams do in fact come true as Rafe Cameron watches all of his come to life before him the second you open your mouth, music and sound filling the air as he clings to your every word, unsure if he’ll ever be worthy of this feeling. 

He said, “Let’s get out of this town Drive out of the city, away from the crowds” I thought heaven can’t help me now Nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down

He’s so tall and handsome as hell He’s so bad but he does it so well I can see the end as it begins My one condition is

Say you’ll remember me standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you’ll see me again Even if it’s just in your wildest dreams

I said, “No one has to know what we do” His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room And his voice is a familiar sound Nothing lasts forever but this is getting good now

He’s so tall and handsome as hell He’s so bad but he does it so well And when we’ve had our very last kiss My last request it is

You’ll see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burnin’ it down Someday when you leave me I bet these memories Follow you around You’ll see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burnin’ it down Someday when you leave me I bet these memories Follow you around...

The second Rafe gets into his truck after leaving your house later that evening, Taylor Alison Swift (as you formally corrected him an hour or so ago) is blasting through his speakers, having already had the song queued the moment he was walking out the door. 

His mind can’t move past the moments you just shared and the walls you crashed down to do so. Matching the song he knew he had to play first, he feels like a King. 

When he pulls into the driveway of Tanneyhill, he just shifts the truck into park, making no move of turning it off as he sits contently while rummaging through all of the songs he can remember on his phone. 

He can’t remember a single time in his life he’s felt this giddy. 

That dissipates quickly when that one song title appears on the screen again, almost tormenting him. 

It was the last song on your playlist. And while that shouldn’t have been cause for alarm, it literally throws Rafe into another galaxy as he stares down at it. 

He can’t deny the horrific feeling rising up in him, threatening to take over and manipulate every positive thought and memory of the last few hours. 

He shouldn’t feel this uneasy at a god damn song title. Yet here he sits, hands trembling as he reads the words over and over again, burning them into his brain. 

What could they mean? Why would she add this song to the playlist? 

And then the horrifying last thought: Why did this make her think of me? 

He can’t live with the scenarios playing out in his head, catering to every insecurity he’s ever had in regard to you, feeling as though you’re already slipping away from him even though his lips were literally pressed tightly to yours —hands kneading into your flesh— not even twenty minutes ago. 

Not ready for the answers this song will give him, (or perhaps just not ready to face them) Rafe refuses to hit play, instead trying with everything in his soul to forget it, to push it away — knowing damn well that’s not an option. 

He knows, in his soul, deep down this never before played song he all but refuses to come to terms with is going to slowly eat him alive.  

Notes: This entire thing was SO self indulgent! The idea was that Y/N was adding the lyrics to the notes app in her phone each time she was adding a new song to the playlist. (and the reader was following along live time as I made the posts, my brain is truly psychotic, i know) The video shared is exactly how Y/N sings Wildest Dreams to Rafe. This was truly very fun to make come to life. ✨

...

Taglist: @lurkymurker @mackenzielovee @mor-bs @totallynotkaibiased @aaleksmorozova @onlygetaway @itsalexwin @tsnelf7 @starkeybae @kotzmagoatz @maybanks-cupcake @goldenjo @valentinearc @valeriiecameron

[imaginesupply]

Spencer Reid Imagine: Just peachy

Spencer Reid Imagine: Just Peachy

Summary : Reader (female pronouns, no Y/N, third person) is hosting dinner night at her apartment for the time. Spencer volunteers to help with the preparations. Derek is a good friend.

Warnings: Smut (handjob – male receiving, cum in pants), sub!Spencer, the Lord’s name in vain (only once), one mild curse word. (Because some of this shows Spencer’s thoughts, I had to refrain from using slang words for bodily parts and bodily fluids sometimes. Please don’t judge me.)

Word count: About 1.5k

Note: I wrote this really quickly when I was taking a break from working on my thesis (how Spencer went through the PhD pain thrice willingly, I will never understand) and my brain was fried. Consequently, this is the fic equivalent of the snack you make at 3am when you’re tipsy.

"Remember what we discussed?" Derek asked an exasperated Spencer for umpteenth time as he pulled over in front of their new co-worker's apartment building.

"Yes," Spencer groaned softly, adjusting his hair. "I have an eidetic memory, you know."

Next to him, Derek chuckled. "I know. No need to be so defensive," he teased, "just be yourself and there's no way she won't fall for you."

"Actually, it's not that -"

Derek cut him off before he could say anything more. "Bullshit. It really is that easy, pretty boy and" - he leaned over, grabbing Spencer's satchel from the backseat - "while everyone is due to arrive at seven, I can divert the rest of team if you just send me a text."

Spencer frowned, staring at his friend like he had grown two heads. "Why would I want you to stall -" He stopped in the middle of the sentence, his eyebrows rising high up his forehead and his cheeks turning pink when he finally realized. "Yeah, no, yes" - Spencer shook his head clearing his now corrupted mind - "what I mean to say is that I would definitely text you but - nevermind. Bye." Then he escaped from the car as if it were on fire, almost tripping on the laces of his converse.

Not even thirty minutes had gone by and Spencer already knew he was in trouble.

They walked through the farmers' market, Spencer carrying the fast filling linen bag. She guided him through the crowd, making them stop at the stalls that held anything of interest and buying various ingredients for dinner: vegetarian gratin and peach pie.

Eventually, they stopped at the fruit stand where she approached and asked the vendor if they could taste the peaches. Though they were out of season, they were looking quite ripe. The old man handed her a peach with a smile. "There you go."

She thanked the man and pulled back the sleeve of her lightweight jacket before taking a bite. That was the exact moment Spencer realised this had been a terrible idea. He should never have listened to Derek. He should not have offered to come earlier and help make dinner.

She took in the scent and hummed against the fruit, softly so, that only he would hear and erotically enough that he had to swallow down the saliva gathering in his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing. She bit down on the fruit, the tips of her lips curling up and then licked off a thin trail of juice along the inside of her wrist and forearm, eyes closed. Then, as if nothing, she turned to the old man. "They're delicious!"

She turned back to Spencer and he noticed she was sporting her usual slightly bemused grin. "Have a taste, darling." She turned the pale fruit in her hand and offered it to him, an expectant look in her eyes. And there, in the middle of the busy farmers’ market, Spencer felt like a teenager whose girlfriend had just slipped her hand down his pants for the first time. Which, of course, he had never experienced so he didn't actually know what that would feel like.

Knowing better than to disobey her, Spencer leaned forward into her hand and took a bite of the remaining fruit, leaving behind only the endocarp, while adjusting his satchel to hide the prominent bulge in his crotch. It was the way she looked and the way she looked at him, the way she made him feel like-

“Are you alright?” She asked.

Spencer swallowed the fruit, his throat tight. “Just peachy.”

If he thought that was torture, nothing had prepared him for the actually cooking part. The space between the cabinets and the kitchen isle was narrow, which meant their bodies always brushed whenever she passed behind him, and he was already a sweaty, blushing mess.

Just be yourself, he reminded himself of what Derek had told him. "Hey, umm," Spencer stammered, drawling off, "did you know that until refrigerators were invented in 1834, salt was widely used to preserve meat."

He heard her soft laugh behind him, immediately turning around at the sound before realising she was bent over the counter, trying to reach something on the highest shelf and he had just inadvertently placed himself right behind her backside.

For some reason he couldn't even begin to explain, his first instinct had been to touch. Luckily, though, he had managed to stop his hands mid air before he could effectively ruin everything, but now all he could see was the black fabric of her pants stretching over the roundness of her hips and the warm pressure against him and-

"Spencer!"

He started, finally looking away. "What?"

She chuckled again. "As much as I appreciate your ability to be a walking encyclopaedia, I'd really enjoy it if you could put your height to good use and pass me the pie dish."

"Of course." Spencer shook his head, clearing his mind. "Yeah, I can do that."

She stepped aside, allowing him to grab the item from the cabinet. "Thank you, darling," she said, grinning.

"No problem," Spencer quipped, wiping his clammy hands on his leg pants as he subtly made sure his predicament wasn't too noticeable.

"Great! You can go ahead and knead the dough before stretching it over the dish."

"Yes, ma'am." His brown eyes went wide when he realised that he'd just said it out loud. It wasn’t even his fault. There was just that natural authority about her that made him very compliant.

She laughed once more, softly, looking up at him almost endearingly. "You can call any m word you like, darling."

His start stopped in his chest. Was she flirting with him? He had noticed her body language did not indicate repulsion and she did touch him more than was strictly necessary, but he didn't think she'd actually flirt with him. Spencer considered that he might really have to send Derek the text, but he tried not to get his hopes up too much. He was already nervous enough as it was.

She came up behind him, taking a look at the dough he had absentmindedly tortured and shook her head in amusement. "No, darling, not like that," she cooed gently, coming up closer until her body was pressed up against his. Spencer gulped nervously, acutely aware of the way her breasts were being squashed against his side.

Then her hand wrapped around his over the dough. "You do it like this, Spencer," she whispered. Her fingers lodged themselves between his, applying light pressure, making them bend to her will. "You need to feel it. Are you feeling it?"

Spencer was certainly feeling it, but not in his hand. He would almost be amazed at how a simple touch on his hand could make him radiate warmth and make all the blood in his brain rush to his dick, if he weren’t becoming so lightheaded.

She kissed his arm over the fabric of his shirt. "Here, let me show you." He felt her free hand slide across his stomach and down to his belt. His body jerked at the touch.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice raspy and sounding like a whimper.

Her hand stilled over the now undone buckle. "You want me to stop?"

"No!"

It came out embarrassingly loud and he might have felt ashamed for it, hadn't she managed to remove his belt and open his pants in record time. She pressed her palm to the front of his boxers, cupping his bulge. The fabric was thin and damp, doing little to numb the sensation of her touch. Spencer knew there was already a stain from the pre-ejaculatory fluid he was leaking, but he couldn't get himself to look down. Two senses at once would be too overwhelming and he was already trembling.

At first, she just ran her the tip of her finger up and down his length, making sure to trace the small slit where the wet fabric clung to the damp head. He shivered against her and let out the cutest, most delicious whimper she had ever heard.

"Do you like how it feels?"

"Yes." He choked out the word. His eyes were shut tight, focusing on the sensation but then she surprised him, sliding her hand inside his boxers. And, oh God! Spencer panicked, if her hand alone already felt this good, how could he possibly survive being inside her - "Stop," he moaned urgently, his hand frantically rising to grab hold of hers but it was too late - it was too good.

"Oh, my darling boy," she sighed gently, pressing another kiss to arm as his dick pulsed in her fingers, making a mess of her hand and his boxers.

"I am so -" He didn't know what exactly he was apologising for and he didn't have the time to find out. The bell rang while he was still enjoying the aftermath of his first non-solo orgasm.

Panic set in. He had never gotten around to text Derek.

"Don't worry, darling," she said reassuringly before sliding her hand out of his boxers and bringing it to her mouth to lick it clean. "I'll go get the door and you go clean yourself. Don't want everyone to know how naughty you really are, do you darling?"

[y-so-hungry]

Midnight Food For Thought

Beelzebub x MC

Ok I wasn't sure whether to write it as "MC did this, they did that" or "you did this, you did that" or even "I did this, I did that" for this fic, so I went with the first option, lemme know if you guys prefer it a different style (I don't mind any way) and I'll keep that in mind for if/when I write another one of these!

This wasn’t the first time MC had gone downstairs for a midnight snack and found Beel already in the kitchen, but this was the first time they’d seen him in demon form at this hour. They supposed that’s why they lingered just by the steps, watching rather than going in. Not that he was scary in this form, but they worried he was upset, and would rather not be bothered. Beel didn’t have his head in the fridge like usual, oddly enough he seemed to be making something. Usually he was too hungry and tired at night to cook, so it was rather odd to see him kneading dough.

What was odder than that was it seemed he didn’t actually have any other ingredients out, just flour and a cup of water next to him. MC watched for a couple more minutes as he continued making more and more of this dough, adding flour and water and flour and water over and over again until the ball of dough was as wide as a dinner plate. That seems to be when he ran out of flour.

He sighed an oddly miserable sigh, and MC watched in confusion as he took a handful of dough and started… eating it. And it was only when he sat down a second later that they actually caught sight of his face.

There were tears running down his cheeks.

“Beel?” they said, finally calling attention to themself. Beel snapped up, fear flashing through his violet eyes before he saw them. After that, all that showed on his face was a mixture of guilt and embarrassment, his face turning as red as his hair and eyes filling with even more tears.

“Beel?” MC repeated, making their way into the kitchen. “What’s wrong, why are you crying? And why are you just eating dough? I’m sure there’s something a lot better than that to eat.”

Beel looked down and took another bite of his pitiful midnight snack.

“There wasn’t,” he muttered.

“What? What do you mean?”

“There wasn’t anything else to eat,” he said, louder this time. “It was all gone, there was only a little bit of flour left. I-I didn’t know what else to do. I’m s-so hungry, I-I didn’t think I’d make it to Hell’s Kitchen before I passed out o-or something so I-I just--” he cut off with a tiny sob, raising a wrist to scrub at his eye.

“Oh Beel, I’m so sorry,” MC said, wrapping their arms around his shoulders and pulling his head to rest against them. His horns didn’t feel exactly comfortable against their ribcage, but they didn’t really care at the moment. “I could’ve sworn there was plenty of food earlier today--jeez I don’t know what happened to it all.” They gazed around at the now completely bare cupboards, feeling almost angry at them for being empty despite the fact it’s not actually their fault.

“There was food! I saw it! We must’ve eaten it all at dinner, I didn’t even go in the kitchen to make sure I’d have something for tonight,” Beel said. His stomach snarled right then, and he quickly shoved another handful of dough in his mouth, grimacing at the taste.

“There should be more, Lucifer always takes into account how much you need to eat--wait, who went shopping this week?” MC asked.

“Mammon,” Beel growled. “He probably spent half the money on some sale and didn’t get enough food.”

“Goddammit Mammon,” MC said, pinching their brow and squeezing their eyes shut. I’ll have to beat him up later, they thought. Snag his credit card, buy poor Beel all the cheeseburgers he wants. They opened their eyes to see the hungry demon was already halfway through his tiny meal, more tears coursing down his face as he watched his food disappear.

“Hey,” they said softly, cupping his cheek and tilting his head up so he could meet their eyes. “We’re gonna go get you something to eat, okay? Something real, not just sticky dough. We’re gonna go to Hell’s Kitchen and you’ll end up so full your shirt doesn’t fit right, how does that sound?”

The rumble that sounded from Beel’s stomach at the suggestion seemed to be rather painful; he wrapped both his arms tightly around his belly, curling in on himself with gritted teeth and a small whimper.

“Oh Beel,” MC murmured, running a hand through his flaming hair. They gently pulled his arms until he stood up, still clutching his grumbling belly. They quickly grabbed his glob of dough still on the table and handed it to him, hoping it would be enough to tide him over until they both got to Hell’s Kitchen.

~~~

MC called the restaurant on the way, letting them know the situation, so despite the fact that it was a rather busy night at Hell’s Kitchen, they were seated quickly, and in a quiet, secluded area of the restaurant. Beel asked for his usual, a large plate of burgers, and said he’d give MC a few. He always seemed to forget that MC didn’t need ten whole burgers to feel full, but they appreciated the thought nonetheless.

Beel’s dough was long gone now, and he kept pressing his fingers deep into his stomach, it’s rumbles only growing louder with time. Besides his belly though, Beel himself was rather quiet, staring down at the empty table with his eyes unfocused and far away.

“You okay, Beel?” MC asked. They felt a little stupid as soon as they said it; it’s quite clear that he’s not okay. But he blinked and glanced at them, seeming to understand what they meant.

“I just… really hate when this happens,” he muttered. “I get all wound up and upset, and now everyone gets to see the Avatar of Gluttony being an idiot and crying because he didn’t have enough of his stupid snacks.”

His face was screwed up now, anger and disgust warping his features into an expression MC wasn’t sure they’d ever seen on him before. They’d never seen him so repulsed, not even when he found out about Lucifer trapping Belphie in the attic.

“Beel, you shouldn’t say such mean things about yourself. You’re not being an idiot, and your snacks aren’t stupid, you need them, and that’s okay. You shouldn’t beat yourself up about this, it’s not your fault,” MC said, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it gently. But his words were still bitter when he answered.

“I bet none of my brothers ever cry about their sins. Why can’t I just be like that? Why do I have to burst into tears if I miss breakfast in the morning, or if someone eats the rest of something I saved for later? Why can’t I just calm down?” Beel muttered, wrapping his arms more protectively over his belly. His shoulders and legs were tensed up so hard MC wondered if it hurt, he looked like he was trying to curl in on himself. Even his wings were wrapped around him, all in an attempt to protect his middle. His muscles bunched even tighter as his stomach gave another pitiful grumble, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

MC sighed and reached over, pulling at one of his arms curled around him until he moved it away with a questioning glance at them. They moved their own hand in to replace his, pressing their palm to his belly. They could feel it rumbling continuously against their hand, and they began rubbing gentle circles into his middle, loosening the knots of pain as best they could. Beel almost instantly relaxed, melting against the cushions of the booth. The grumblings of his belly didn’t stop, but they didn’t seem to be as painful as before.

“Your brothers do cry, you know,” MC said. “Sometimes about their sins, sometimes about other things, just like you.” Beel looked up at them, his eyebrows raised.

“Really?” he said. MC nodded, shifting closer to massage deeper into his middle. He relaxed further, leaning his head back with a small sigh.

“They do,” they said. “Yours I think is the worst of them to be honest. It causes you physical pain, and affects you more often and worse I think than the others. But that doesn’t mean their sins don’t hurt them.”

Beel scoffed, looking away from MC and down at the empty table again.

“What could Mammon possibly be crying about?” Beel snarled. “Getting his credit card taken away?”

“Well… yeah,” MC said. “Mammon can’t control his want for things. It’s a bit like if someone took food away from you. Not quite the same since that would actually hurt you, but it still upsets him. And I mean… He doesn’t actually like how greedy he is. He knows it can hurt people, he just can’t really stop. And that makes him sad.”

“…He actually feels bad about that stuff? I always thought he didn’t care,” Beel said.

“He does,” MC said. “It’s the same with your other brothers. Lucifer is so prideful that when he messes up even a little it can send him spiralling. Levi, his envy can get so intense he feels like he’s all alone in the universe. He gets so jealous of other people that it can blind him to what he has. Satan gets so angry sometimes that he starts crying out of rage. Asmo cries because he feels so much love for people that it hurts to see them in pain. That and of course he gets angry at himself for being so vain. And I’m sure you’ve seen how upset Belphie can get when he hasn’t slept. I've seen him go to bed with tears running down his face after a whole day with no rest.”

“I have too,” Beel said solemnly. “I used to hug him when he couldn’t sleep after Lilith died. Even when I got hungry in the middle of the night, I’d hold him until he fell asleep. …Though I think sometimes he’d pretend to be asleep when he heard my stomach, that way I would go downstairs to get something. He always worried that I didn’t eat enough.”

His stomach growled pointedly right then, loud enough that Beel actually looked down at his belly in surprise before wincing in pain. Those chefs are really taking their sweet time getting his food here.

“Well he had reason to,” MC said, rubbing deep, soothing circles into the place where it seemed to hurt most. “Basically my point is that you’re not the only one who struggles with their sin. I think you struggle the most, but you’re not an idiot for crying over something that hurts.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I never knew my brothers got upset about that kinda stuff,” Beel said, and he shifted closer to them, laying his cheek on their head for a moment and careful to avoid hitting them with his horns. “Thanks for coming with me, MC. You’re the best.”

His words were simple but they made MC’s heart swell with happiness. They were so happy actually, that they may have lost focus and pressed a little too deep into Beel’s stomach. MC only realized this after he grimaced and stiffened up, a loud growl erupting from his middle, the hungry rumbles shaking their fingers before tapering off.

MC opened their mouth to apologize, but Beel was already waving it off with a miserable glance at his stomach.

“Don’t even, it’s not your fault,” he said. “I’m starving. It’s just so empty now, it feels like it’s trying to eat itself. The chefs must be really understaffed today or something, they usually have my food out by now.”

Not a second after he said that though, the rich, thick smell of a variety of foods suddenly got a lot stronger as several people made their way to MC and Beel’s booth. They were waiters, about ten in all, each carrying at least two platters piled high with food, if not more. MC could see burgers, fries, pizza, sushi, and then it seems for dessert they had platters full of Wicked Cupcakes and apple pie.

At the sight of the food MC was reminded that the whole reason they even found Beel eating dough in the kitchen was because they’d been craving a midnight snack, and their own middle shifted hungrily as they gazed at the platters. Their stomach had nothing on Beel’s though, which gave a long, desperate rumble under MC’s hand. He even put his hand over theirs, pressing it deeper into his belly in an attempt to soothe his hunger.

“Sorry for the wait,” one of the waiters said, giving a small chuckle at the look of surprise and desire on Beel’s face. “We wanted to bring it out all at once as a surprise!”

“Well you definitely surprised me,” Beel said, eyes wide as they set down the food in front of him, swallowing thickly at the scent of the burgers only a foot away. But suddenly he got a rather sad look on his face, and he squeezed his eyes closed. “I-I’m sorry, I can’t take all this, Lucifer would kill me if I bought this much food at once--”

“Beel, you misunderstand, it’s on the house!” a curly haired waiter said, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder after setting down a platter of apple pie.

“What?” Beel said, his eyes flicking open again, but staring at the waiter instead this time. “Why?”

“MC told us what happened,” the waiter answered. “And when you came in here you looked so upset, we wanted to do something special for you. You’re our oldest customer here, you were here buying food back when Hell’s Kitchen was small and struggling to stay open.”

“I remember when you found out we were on the edge of going out of business you bought all your meals here for weeks until business picked up again so we could keep everything afloat,” another waiter chimed in.

“And you’ve brought your brothers here for every birthday you’ve had since we opened,” said someone else.

“You’ve been here for us for years, Beel,” the curly haired waiter said. “We figured it was time we tried to pay you back.”

Beel stared at the waiters gathered around him for a moment, his mouth open but with no sound coming out.

“Thank you,” he said eventually. “Thank you, that… that means a lot.” He looked down, his face turning red as his voice cracked with emotion. Several waiters made noises of sympathy or an understanding chuckle, before they all suddenly gathered around the back of the booth, reaching forward to wrap their arms around Beel. MC laughed at the awkwardness of everyone pressed around them, but they could tell Beel was enjoying the affection immensely, a small smile widening on his face, a soft blush in his cheeks.

However, his belly had other plans.

A loud rumble suddenly sounded from Beel’s stomach, sounding quite empty, and desperate for the food in front of it. MC could feel his stomach shaking under their hand, and it was certain that anyone who’s arms or hands were near his belly could feel it too.

“Aww, Beel!”

“Your poor belly!”

“Jeez, you’re really empty aren’t you?”

“Poor thing!”

If it was possible Beel turned even redder, laughing a little nervously as MC patted his belly sympathetically.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I’m starving.”

“No shit,” said the curly haired waiter with a laugh. “We’ll leave you and MC to your food. You fill up, let us know if you need anything, alright?” Beel nodded, waving goodbye to the waiters as they returned to their jobs.

“Wow,” he whispered, staring at all the food. “I… fuck, I don’t even know where to start.” He sounded overwhelmed, but in a delighted, eager way. His belly gurgled excitedly, and he quickly reached out, grabbing the first thing his fingers touched, which happened to be a burger. He ate half of it in one bite.

“Mmmmf,” he said, letting his head fall back against the cushion as he chewed. When he swallowed MC could feel his stomach immediately start to churn and contract, breaking down the food rapidly. It seemed quite happy to finally have something to digest.

“Feel better?” they said with a small laugh as he shoved the rest of the burger in his mouth. Beel just nodded, a deep sigh escaping him after he swallowed. It was in that relaxed, blissful moment that Beel’s form changed, his horns and wings retracting, his clothes shifting from the leather of his demon form back to his soft pajamas he’d gone to bed in.

“Much better,” he said. He reached for a slice of pizza next, folding it in his fingers so the whole thing would fit in his mouth easier. He looked a bit like a chipmunk now, and MC laughed at the way his cheeks puffed out.

“How the hell do you fit all that in your mouth?” they said. Beel swallowed, with a bit of difficulty it seems, but his eyes were bright when he answered.

“Lots of practice,” he said. “Chubby Bunny was my favorite game when I was little. I always won, even with Mammon stuffing bunnies in his mouth like a maniac.”

“…Human world Chubby Bunny is very different from Devildom Chubby Bunny.”

Beel laughed, grabbing a plate of sushi and ignoring the chopsticks, instead just picking it up with his fingers and popping the roll in his mouth. Then he suddenly looked down at MC, glancing from their eyes to their hand still rubbing his stomach, and back.

“Do… you want me to stop?” they asked, a little confused.

“Huh? Oh, no, well, I mean--Weren’t you hungry?” he said, pushing another roll of sushi in his mouth. “You came to the kitchen because you were hungry, right? Here, you like apple pie, right?” Beel pushed the large platter of pie slices over to them, looking expectantly from MC to the pie and back. They smiled and thanked him, transferring a slice to their plate and starting to eat. When MC took the first bite he beamed in approval before continuing to eat his own food.

For a while there was silence, each of them too focused on their food to talk much, but after finishing their second slice of pie MC was starting to feel a bit sleepy again. They turned to Beel, wondering if he wanted to box up the rest of his food and eat it at home, but when they actually saw him, that was no longer at the forefront of their mind.

Beel had actually stopped eating, though not because he’d run out of food, in fact there were a few platters still untouched. No, Beel had stopped eating because there was a significant swell in his middle that definitely hadn’t been there before. His stomach was so full it had begun to press against his shirt, making it look a bit smaller than it was supposed to. He looked up at MC after a moment, hands over his stomach, and a sleepy little smile on his face.

“Think ‘m full now,” he said. “You weren’t lying when you said I’d be so full my shirt doesn’t fit right.” MC laughed, reaching over to press their hand into his belly again. It was still grumbling, but it was in a muffled, happy way now. They weren’t sharp noises, more soft and low, almost like the sound of a kitten purring.

“You sure sound full,” they said, massaging slow circles into his stomach. “You wanna head home? We can get boxes for the rest of your food, we can eat it for breakfast tomorrow.”

Beel nodded, but suddenly leaned over, pressing his cheek to the top of their head.

“Thanks for coming here with me. An’ for rubbing m’ tummy. That felt really nice, even when I was hungry,” he mumbled into their hair. MC laughed and patted his swollen middle.

“Well tell you what, when we get home I’ll rub your tummy all you want, how bout that?” they said. Beel made a small noise of delight and wrapped his arms around them in a tight hug.

It was the best hug they’d ever gotten in their life.

[ibis-gt]

I honestly would love to read about the first time Cam finds out Luther is shrinking because he has feelings for him. In that hanahaki disease au.

ask and ye shall receive.... cam figures it out. just shy of 2000 words.

~~~

“Aaaand… there,” Cam said, and gave the screwdriver one final twist. He pulled on the little contraption in front of him a few times to test its stability and sat back on his haunches, finally satisfied. “You’re all set.”

It is one of four little rope and pulley elevator systems that he’d set up around Luther’s apartment. It consisted of a small wooden plank that Luther could stand on and use the rope system to raise or lower himself. Each one was operable at height ranges between about a foot and a half to four inches. They let him get up onto his sofa, his bed, the kitchen counter, and the bathroom sink.

“You really didn’t have to do all that,” Luther protested from his position just behind Cam. “I mean, I don’t get that small that often, I probably won’t use them that much.”

Cam laughed and pushed a stray wisp of hair out of his face, looking up at Luther. “What are you talking about? You’re always shrinking around me. It’s okay, I’m happy to help. That’s what friends are for.” He watched the usual blush spread across Luther’s face, the telltale shiver run down his spine, and smiled as Luther shrank another inch. He’d lost some height here and there during the installation process as they chatted, and had gone down to about five foot even, if Cam had to guess. “Anyway, you let me know if you have any trouble with these, and I’ll be over to fix ‘em as soon as I can. And there’s the bells if you’re in any real trouble - those strings there, see? They’re hooked up to a bell in my apartment, ring that and I’ll come right over.”

“My cat’ll have a field day with them,” Luther murmured, brow furrowing. “Maybe we should do something other than string.”

Cam chewed on the end of his screwdriver in contemplation. “Hm. Good point. I’ll figure something out later.” He slipped the screwdriver in his toolbelt and slapped his hands on thighs as he stood up. “Well! I’d better get back to my place and start dinner. You’re coming over, right?”

“Oh! As long as it’s not an imposition? I mean, I don’t want to be any trouble…”

“Nah, s’alright, you’re always welcome. Spaghetti and meatballs tonight. See you in an hour?”

Luther’s blush deepened and he lost another two inches. “S-see you then,” he managed.

Cam chuckled fondly to himself as he left. He tried not to think of Luther’s condition as cute or funny, because when the shrinking was really bad it put the poor guy in danger. But he couldn’t help but find it amusing when Luther lost just a little height, ending up just a slightly shorter version of himself. And when he went on one of his long rambles and shrank a little bit at a time all throughout, it put Cam in mind of a deflating balloon, which was just too silly not to laugh at. And when he ended up really tiny, and he was just like a little doll, and fit so perfectly in the palm of Cam’s hand…

Cam shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, that was too far. He shouldn’t think like that, no doubt it was terrifying for Luther to be so small and vulnerable. He sighed as he shouldered his door open, hands full of leftover wood and string. He set them on the little table where he kept his keys by the door, then unbuckled his toolbelt and hung it on the coat rack, lost in thought.

He’d been puzzling over what caused Luther to shrink for a while now. Was it just at random? Was it like an allergic reaction, and some kind of food or environmental thing kicked it off? He had a brief vision of Luther sneezing and instantly shrinking down to bug size. No, knock it off, he chastised himself, not funny. A little funny. But don’t laugh at it.

Anyway, he hadn’t seen Luther ever sneeze when he shrank, so that probably wasn’t it. What were the symptoms? He’d make a list, that would help him narrow it down.

Cam slipped an apron over his head - one of the novelty ones his sister kept getting him, he didn’t bother to read the witty joke about buns printed on the front - and started on the dough for his spaghetti. Whenever possible, he liked to make things from scratch. Besides, having something to do with his hands let his mind work better. He worked the problem around in his mind just like he worked the dough in front of him, kneading it, pushing it around, looking at it from different angles.

So. What were the warning signs? Luther tended to get awkward and shy just before he shrank. He’d blush, stammer or trip over his words, either avoid eye contact or stare like he couldn’t look away, and of course the final sign was that signature shiver right before a loss of height. A lot of those symptoms could be attributed to anxiety as well - was that what triggered the shrinking, just whenever he was anxious? But that couldn’t be it, Luther had been anxious plenty of times without shrinking. Not to mention he worked a high-stress job, waiting tables at a local diner, and wouldn’t be able to make it through the day if anxiety made him shrink. So that wasn’t it.

Cam rolled the dough out flat and cut it into strips. He hung the fresh noodles up to dry and put water on to boil, then opened the fridge and pulled out the meatballs he’d shaped that morning.

His brain kept chugging along on the issue as he worked, hands going on automatic. He came back to the present long enough to taste the sauce he’d made, hem and haw, and add a little more garlic, then went right back to it. There was something tugging at the back of his mind, trying to get his attention, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.

A sound startled him out of his thoughts - the ringing of a bell.

“Shoot,” Cam hissed, dropping the sauce spoon. It clattered onto the stove and left little pools of sauce cooling on the glass surface. He’d deal with that later though, Luther needed him now. He switched the burners to low and headed for the door.

Luther’s door was locked, so he had to duck back inside his apartment to grab the spare key. He opened the door slowly and called out.

“Luther? Was that just the cat, or do you need me?” Cam scanned the room, looking for that distinctive neon green jumpsuit. It clashed horribly with everything, but it was useful for spotting him when he ended up tiny. Sure enough, there he was by the strings for the bell, waving an arm to get Cam’s attention. He was easy to spot, as far as things went, standing about a foot tall. Cam hurried over.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need help?” Cam took a knee in front of Luther and leaned in close, inspecting him for injuries. Luther took a step back, startled by the sudden rush of worry, and Cam made himself pull back as well. It had to be scary to have someone looming over you like that, he told himself, give him a little space.

“I-I’m fine,” Luther said. “I just… well, this happened, and now I can’t really open my door, so I was hoping you could give me a lift over for dinner? Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve used the bell. I could’ve texted you.”

The tension flooded out of Cam and he laughed in relief. “No, that’s fine, I just jumped to conclusions. I can give you a lift, sure.” He cupped his hands and held them out to Luther, who climbed on and settled in, sitting down with his legs crossed. Cam rose slowly, being careful not to jostle Luther, and began to amble back towards the door. A thought occurred to him.

“What did it?” Cam asked.

Luther looked up, startled. “What did what?”

‘“What made you shrink this time? I’ve been trying to work it out on my own and I’m just not getting it. There’s gotta be a common thread, right, you’re not just shrinking at random?”

Luther stared at him in open-mouthed shock, face growing steadily redder.

“I mean,” Cam continued, “if you were just shrinking at random, it’d be hard to hold down a job, y’know? Do you ever shrink at work? And anyway, didn’t you say - ” His eyes widened as that thing that had been nagging at him finally became clear. “You said you don’t shrink all the time! But you shrink pretty often whenever I’m around. Am I doing it, somehow?”

“No, no, no,” Luther said hurriedly, but Cam could feel him getting smaller.

“Oh, liar!” Cam chortled. “Nice try, Pinnochio, but I’m literally holding you right now. Is it actually me?”

“It’s - it’s not - not always?” Luther was practically cowering away from him now, and Cam realized he’d been a little harsh.

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry. Look, we don’t have to talk about it, okay? It’s your business, I shouldn’t’ve pried.”

“No, I… I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, it’s just… hard to say out loud, um…” Luther fidgeted with the collar of his jumpsuit, avoiding Cam’s eyes. He was red as a tomato, mouth drawn up in an adorable little pout, and so small and cute that Cam’s heart ached. Then it clicked.

“Oh. Is it me, like… because you like me?” Cam asked. “Like, you have a crush on me, is that it?”

Luther let out a sound like a tea kettle whistling, shrinking down at an alarming rate to only five inches tall. Cam couldn’t help himself. He laughed so hard he snorted. When he finally got a hold on himself again, the wounded look on Luther’s face sobered him instantly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but you don’t know how long I’ve been trying to work this out, and the answer’s been right in front of my face the whole time! I swear I’m laughing at myself, not at you. Anyway, you wanna go out sometime?”

Luther gaped up at him for a long moment. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Finally he shut his mouth and nodded furiously. Cam grinned.

“Or this could be like our first date, right? I’ll get some candles and dim the lights. We could even 'Lady and the Tramp' it with the spaghetti! Or - okay, okay, sorry, I’ll stop.” Luther had started to shrink again, and Cam didn’t want his cooking to go to waste just because his guest was too small to eat it. “Hey, I joke a lot, but I want you to know I’m being serious here,” he said gently. “I’d like to go out with you, if you’re alright with it. Is it going to cause problems, though? Like are you going to shrink every time we’re together?”

Luther shifted and looked away, finally finding his voice. “I - I don’t know. The doctor said if I told you about how I felt, it would get easier. But he didn’t say it would go away entirely… if that’s not something you want to put up with, we don’t have to - ”

“No, no, that’s fine, I don’t mind it. Just if it was a problem for you, is all. I like you a lot, Luther. I’d love to be your partner, if you’ll have me.”

Luther looked back up at Cam with a huge, genuine, relieved smile on his teeny tiny face. Cam’s heart melted.

“I’d like that.”

[jayaury]

The Help

“You certainly do seem highly skilled, Miss um… I know I’m going to mispronounce this…”

“Gabina. Don’t worry! Everyone gets it wrong the first time. Goblin names are always super hard, huh?”

Chris Locken glanced over the paper at the green woman sitting across from his desk. She was small, but what she lacked in height, she made up with in curves. A fact that Chris had been uncomfortably aware of since her arrival at his door. Her green breasts swelled against the dress that seemed modest, and she surely must have thought it was with its drab grey colour. But what she seemed ignorant of was the fact the thing was about a size too small, negating the boring tone with the way it stretched across emerald tits and hips. Her long black hair hung to her shoulders and her eyes were bright with long, fluttering lashes.

She was, in essence, far too lovely to be a maid.

Chris cleared his throat. “Right, ah. Gabina. So, why is it that you want to work as a maid in my home?”

“I want a career,” she said.

Chris lowered the resume an inch more. “A… career?”

“Oh yes,” Gabina said, nodding quickly, which, he couldn’t fail to notice, made her tits jiggle in her ever so tight dress. “I mean, most goblin girls set out just looking to land a sexy, dumb husband. But I’m not like that at all! I want to move up in the world. I want to be a self-sufficient girl. Someone who can take care of herself. Who’s more than just a pair of glorious green tits for boys to stare at.”

Chris forced his eyes from said breasts and back to her smiling face. “And a… maid is your choice?”

Gabina sighed, resting a cheek in her palm. “Honestly? I don’t really have much of a choice. My mother was very old fashioned. She showed me how to be the perfect housewife for my future husband. So all my skills are about cooking, cleaning, and… ahem. Other services.”

Chris had a feeling he knew what said services were. Goblins did have a reputation, after all. Little green nymphos and eager bimbos, all out to snare a husband by means fair or foul. But looking across at the goblin trying her very hardest to break that mold was something to see, he had to admit.

He cleared his throat. “Well, Gabina. I…” He paused, then put the document aside. “Listen. I can sympathize. I don’t really need a maid, but every noble needs to have some servants.”

“Oh absolutely! And I promise I’ll serve you as well as anyone could ask.”

Chris hesitated still. He really didn’t want any servants. But what he’d said was true. He’d look poor before the other nobility if he had no one to answer the door. And he could sympathise with her plight. Aaaaand the house had been getting dusty…

He’d like to say it wasn’t the sight of her breasts stretching that drab grey that made the decision, but he’d also be lying. And he hated lies. “Alright,” he said, standing. “We’ll give it a few months trial, how about that?”

Gabina beamed, fairly bouncing from her seat in delight and taking his hand, shaking it frantically. “Oh you won’t regret this, master! I’ll be the picture of a good maid! You just wait and see!”

Chris cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Right. Well, I suppose I’d best show you around the place. I’m sure you’ll get used to it soon.”

“Absolutely, sir,” Gabina said, giggling. “I’m sure I’ll feel right at home…”

---

Chris found Gabina a hard worker, dedicated, and willing to take initiative.

He also found her increasingly distracting.

It wasn’t anything she did, so much as what she was. For even with a maid uniform she’d bought herself, there was no denying her almost carnal charms. She just filled out anything she wore. Every movement seemed designed to entice and tease, her skirt riding up her ass whenever she bent down. Her blouse threatening to burst around her breasts with every act.

Chris found it increasingly difficult to do anything but watch her, which was absolutely improper, and also, absolutely impossible to avoid doing. Especially since there always seemed to be something to be cleaned wherever he was.

He was in the library at the moment, working through some documents about recent seasonal weather variances and what it might mean for his lands, when he noticed that Gabina had joined him. She was busy wiping down one of the side tables, but due to its height, she was forced to lean forward to properly clean it, hiking up her skirt and baring the shapely globes of her rear, her panties a thin strand between those firm, green orbs.

Chris swallowed thickly and wrenched his eyes back to the book before him.

“Master?”

He jumped at that word and glanced up quickly to find the goblin before his desk. “Ah, yes, Gabina? What is it?”

“You look tired, master. Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes. Yes. Fine. Just… a bit stiff.”

Her eyes brightened. “Oh!” she said, beaming happily. “I know something for that.”

“You do?” he said.

“Yes! My mother taught me it. It’s a way to massage away that stiffness in the back. Makes you nice and… loose.”

Chris blinked, wondering at the emphasis she’d put on that last word. “Well, ah…”

“Please, master,” she said, leaning forward on the desk, pushing her pretty face with its small nose and large, soulful eyes almost into his. “I hate to see you uncomfortable.”

Chris leaned back, but somehow couldn’t avoid those eyes. He tried to look anywhere else, but the immediate alternative was the pair of emerald breasts absolutely straining to be free of her top, framed by lacy white like two green candies waiting to be unwrapped.

That image did not help him relax. In fact, nothing about the situation was, but as his eyes found hers again, he could only stammer out, “Ah, well, if that… if you think so then… well, alright…”

The joy on her face when he said those words made his breath catch at her beauty. “Oh, thank you master! You won’t regret it. Now, let me just come around there and lend you a hand.”

“Well, I suppose…” he said, trailing off as she bounced about the desk. He heard the scrape of a stool as she dragged it up behind his chair, and suddenly wondered why she hadn’t been using it while cleaning earlier. Then he felt her climb up behind him, her warm breath grazing the hairs on the back of his neck, her tender hands resting on his shoulders.

“Just relax, my lord. Let me help you.”

Chris tried to relax, not easy with the giggly beauty behind him. But then he felt her hands on his shoulders. Felt them dig in, knead, and suddenly relaxing seemed much, much easier.

Chris sighed, sinking into the chair as Gabina worked his shoulders.

“Does master like that?”

“Mmm. Very much,” Chris said.

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me, master. A goblin girl just loves to please. And I do so want to make a very good impression on you.”

“You’re doing wonderfully right now,” Chris said, smiling dimly, finding it easier to be candid with the green beauty when in her hands. Like some barrier between them had been pushed aside as soon as she touched him.

And not just with her hands.

“I’m so glad, master,” Gabina cooed, and Chris felt her lean forward, her firm breasts pressing against the back of his head, her scent, something lemony and sweet, tickling his nose with suggestions of delights untasted. “I so want you to approve of hiring me. Want to have me around, helping out about the house.”

“Mmmm. Yessss,” Chris hummed softly.

“You’re doing so well, master,” Gabina’s voice said as if from very far away. “You’re getting so wonderfully relaxed and… easy…”

“I… am,” Chris said slowly, almost moaning it.

“I know you are. You do so love being relaxed. Being massaged. Letting all your silly worries and thoughts just… slip away…”

“Yessss,” he moaned, melting further. As soft and gooey as dough in the hands of a master baker.

“Good boy, my lord…”

Chris shivered, tingling at that word. But not alarmed. Oh no. He was far too relaxed for that. Far too relaxed and happy and easy…

“Master?”

“Hm?”

“Do you like it when I massage you?”

“Oh yes….”

“Then, maybe I should do it more often? Maybe I should do it every night?”

“Every…”

“Night, yes. Maybe master would like it very much. I think you’ll be far more productive… far more… relaxed… if I get to massage you every night…”

“Oh,” Chris said, the word leaving him like a gasp as he felt her hands move down his shoulders, across his chest, his robe seemingly such little protection against those dexterous touches. “Um… I…”

“Don’t worry,” Gabina giggled. “Don’t fret, master. Master doesn’t have to worry at all, as long as his obedient goblin maid is around.”

Chris nodded softly as her words whispered like a song into his ears. Yes. Yes, no need to worry. No need to… to fret. Just had to… had to listen to Gabina’s words. Her soft tones. So soothing. So relaxing. Her breasts so soft pressed against his back as her hands moved lower. Lower. Lower.

“Oh my, Master, you are so tense here,” Gabina giggled as her fingers stroked the bulge in his pants.

Chris felt his cheeks warm. “Um… Oh. I um…”

“Shhh. Don’t worry, master. Just relax. Let me help ease all that tension from you with my magic hands.”

Magic?

That word stirred some worry in Chris. “Um, Gabina. You… are you… mnnnn!”

His words died in a moan as her delicate fingers undid his pants, his cock fairly springing into the open, and into the waiting grasp of the goblin’s green hands. He groaned as those slender fingers began to stroke him, teasing up and down, tingling against his cock.

“Goodness, master. You were tense! We have to make sure this doesn’t bother you anymore. We’ve just got to get you nice and soft and comfortable…”

“Ah… Ah…” Chris panted, his thoughts tumbling in his head, overwhelmed by the sensation racing through his cock. His loins aching wonderfully. His head swimming in a flood of pleasure as his parted lips panted hotly and his cock throbbed eagerly for more of her tender touches.

“Well, master? Should we have such relaxing sessions every night?”

“Ah… Gabina… I… Mnnnn…”

“Just relax, master. You can’t think when you’re tense. When boys are tense, they get so very dumb. Good boys need to be relaxed. Need to think clearly, or they might make the wrong decision…”

Chris panted, his hips working, thrusting up into her hand. “Gabina. I… ah… mnnnn! Oh, Gabina. I… I… Mmmmm!”

Chris threw back his head, his hips lifting as he moaned, his cock throbbing in her hands as he came, pumping his cum out and onto his lap in great bursts of pleasure. Groaning, Chris sagged into his seat, head cushioned by her tits as empty as his balls, milked by the green fingers of his goblin maid.

Gabina giggled, lifting her hand and delicately licking his cum from her fingers. “My! You were so pent up, master. That’s not good. It’s unhealthy. A good master needs to be nice and relaxed. And you look just exhausted. Maybe you should take a nap…”

“S-sleep? Yes. Sleep… sleep sounds… g-good…”

“Of course it does,” Gabina said, her voice as soft and smooth as velvet. “And I know master is so very easy right now. So sleepy. So… suggestible. In fact, every time I ask if you’re tired, I bet you’re going to feel so very sleepy. So very easy. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Nooooo…” Chris sighed, already feeling the weight of pleasant dreams on him.

“What word will make you relaxed?”

“…tired…”

“So very tired.”

Chris could already feel the word work. Like it awoke something in him. Or, rather, softened everything else. Like the whole world dissolved to that wonderful word.

“Relax.”

“Relax…”

“Sleepy…”

“Sl… ee… p…”

“Good boy,” Gabina whispered, kissing the back of his neck, a blossom of crimson sensation even as the darkness of the void rushed in. “I’m sure you’ll have wonderful dreams…”

---

It was odd. Chris had never felt very tense during work. And yet, since hiring Gabina, it seemed like the day was just a thing to be suffered through so he could go home and relax. Gabina explained that sometimes, men don’t realize how tense they are until they relax, and he had to agree. Ever since he allowed her to massage him every night, he was feeling so much more relaxed! The days seemed to just sail by in a haze.

But not so much that he didn’t notice when he gained a second maid.

He had just gotten home from a meeting with the village council, opening the door only to draw up with surprise. At first, he thought it was Gabina. She had the same green skin, the same short stature, and the same more than ample curves in her tight maid uniform. But when she turned around it was a pair of rich violet eyes in an unfamiliar but no less beautiful face. It was then Chris noted other differences, such as the violet streaks in her dark hair and a small diamond piercing in one nose.

“Hello, master!” the strange goblin said, dipping in a somewhat mocking curtsy,

“...Hello,” Chris said slowly, putting his hat onto a waiting hook without looking away from her. “And… you are?”

“Maggria,” the goblin said, drawing out the A. “Your new maid!”

“I have a maid,” he said.

“Yup! Your head maid, Gabina, was soooo kind to hire me to help out around the place.”

“She… hired you?” Chris said slowly.

“Yup!”

“I see,” Chris said. “And, where is Gabina? I think I’d like to speak to her.”

“Why, in the bedroom, master. And I’m sure she’ll love to speak to you too!”

Chris didn’t like that knowing smile on the goblin maid’s face, but he pushed it aside in favour of getting to the bottom of this. His coat tossed back onto another hook, he walked swiftly down the halls of his manor, his temper flaring. Where did Gabina get off, thinking to hire employees for him? She was just his maid! He was going to have to show her he wasn’t to be trifled with. He was the master of this house, damn it! He might fire her!

The thought that sent an unexpected pang through him, but he pushed it aside as he opened the doors to his private bedroom.

“Gabina!”

The goblin turned from fluffing his pillows and smiled. “Hello, master. You’re home early!”

“Nevermind that! Who is that in the hall?”

“Oh! You must mean Maggria. Isn’t she charming? I hired her on at your behest.”

“What are you talking about, Gabina? I never asked for…”

“Oh no,” Gabina said, her face falling. “Master? Don’t you remember what we talked about last night?”

“Talked about…”

Chris tried to think back to the night prior, but he was having some trouble. All he seemed to remember was Gabina easing him down for another session of relaxation, followed by pink clouds of warm pleasure.

“I… I don’t…”

“You don’t remember me talking about how such a big place is so awfully hard to clean all by my lonesome? About how I could really use some help? Especially now that my tasks have grown? It takes some doing to get my master nice and relaxed every night.”

“But…”

“And I mentioned that I knew the sweetest goblin girl who would make just a wonderful maid! And you were so happy to agree and let me hire her on.”

“I…” Chris trailed off. Had he? He couldn’t remember. But he remembered Gabina talking. A soft, soothing voice ferrying him along clouds of pink bliss. They could have talked about anything. He might have agreed to anything.

“But… I…”

“Oh dear. Master? Are you alright? You look a little… tired…”

Chris blinked, his shoulders relaxing. His body easing and mind growing dim. “I… I’m not that…”

“Oh but you must be! Working so hard. And I know your life is so stressful, master. That’s why I want to make your home so welcoming. So my wonderful, tired master can just… relax…”

Chris swayed a little on his feet. It was like a giant hand was gently pressing him down. His strength and anger bleeding from him in a steady torrent, replaced by teasing clouds of pink bliss. “I… I suppose I am feeling a… a little…”

“Then we simply must get you to bed!” Gabina giggled, taking his hand and drawing him towards his bed. His bed? Had his bed always been so… so big? Not to mention ostentatious. He looked at the curtains and the four posters dimly.

“My bed…”

“Is so soft, master,” Gabina said, her hands very busy. So quick he almost didn’t register when his pants and shirt were gone. “Here. See for yourself.”

She pushed him, and Chris fell into the bed with a gasp. He sank into a mattress as soft as downy feathers with a sound like a sigh.

He tried again to think, but it was getting quite hard to do that. Especially after Gabina climbed onto the bed with him, resting his head on the pillow of her lap. He looked up, but could barely see his maid’s smiling face owing to the great globes of her breasts eclipsing it from his view.

But he could see her smile. So warm. So happy. So… so…

Wonderful.

Chris sighed, sinking into her lap as her hands began to work on his shoulders. Her breasts so close. So wonderful. Her sweet scent surrounded him, soothed him as she always did when she got her nimble hands on him.

“Are you feeling better, master? A bit more… relaxed?”

“Mmm. Getting… there…”

Gabina giggled. “I’m so glad to hear that. A relaxed master is a happy master. It’s so hard to be tired and stressed all the time. It makes you so forgetful! And we can’t have that. We can’t have you being dumb. Far better to be relaxed. Be at ease.”

“Yessss,” he sighed softly as Gabina leaned forward a bit more. Her breasts a bit closer.

“And besides, master. Taking care of the house should be a maid’s job. We can’t have the master cluttering up his head with domestic things. Not when he needs all his brains for work. Better to let me think about the house. Take care of it. Make it a wonderful, relaxing place for my master.”

That… did sound nice. Chris smiled. He was starting to forget why he would even have a problem with Gabina taking over running the house. After all, the master of the house had so much more important things to do.

“And master?”

“Mmm?”

“There’s another reason I hired Maggria.”

“Hm?”

“It’s because she knows an absolutely amazing way to help master relax.”

“I sure do.”

Chris cracked open his eyes. His vision was almost obscured by the green breasts and coal-black nipples above his head (was Gabina always naked?), but he could see that Maggria was suddenly in the room with them, and currently leaning on the bed between his legs, chin in her palm, smirking at him.

Chris knew this was somehow improper. That she shouldn’t be in his room while he was being… relaxed. But when he opened his mouth to say something, Maggria took the opportunity to reach out, and stroke the bulge in his underpants.

“Oooooh,” Chris groaned, words drowned in the hot pleasure of that touch.

“I know all sorts of ways to help master relax,” Maggria giggled, her finger stroking the tip of his cock through the fabric, drawing playful little swirls that made his balls ache. “Lots and lots of ways…”

Chris panted, his head swimming, his eyes glassy with pleasure and bliss and the deep haze of his triggers. He watched, his breath hitching as Maggria tugged down his pants, freeing his cock from their confines. The goblin’s teasing eyes sparked in delight and she grinned wider.

“Mmm. I knew getting a job was the right move.”

“Isn’t it?” Gabina giggled. “Now you can help him relax all you want. Master so loves to relax.”

“Good to know,” the other goblin purred, leaned in, and took the whole of his cock between her lips.

Chris’s head fell back, eyes shooting wide open at the sensation of those heavenly lips going up and down his twitching cock. “Oooooooh,” he groaned as Maggria sucked dutifully, her tongue swirling around his length, her hand resting beneath him, cradling his aching balls and gently massaging and squeezing them, never so much to be painful, but always to a strange sensation so close to pleasure that he couldn’t be sure what it was.

The confusion of sensation spread through the rest of him, but all the while his body was helpless to it. Only able to ache wonderfully as the two goblins adored him, stroking cock with soft lips and shoulders with eager touches, easing all the tension from his frame.

“Master is so very tired,” Gabina crooned. “So tired.”

“Mmmm…” Chris moaned as deeper lethargy paralyzed his limbs. Held him captive to the twin pleasures of his maids.

“In fact, master is so tired, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind his two lovely maids coming by every night to make sure he’s relaxed. He’s always so… tense after work, it must happen in the night too. So tense and aching for his maids…”

“Yes,” Chris panted. “Yesssss…”

“Of course,” Gabina giggled. “Then, the only solution is for his lovely maids to spend all night with him. Make sure he’s nice and relaxed. Nice and easy. Nice… and… dumb…”

“D-dumb?” Chris moaned, a spark of unease working through his mind.

“Not stupid, master,” Gabina was quick to add. “Oh no no no. Master is so smart. But when he’s tired, he’s not thinking right. He’s feeling so very dumb. And that’s why he needs his pretty maids to make sure he’s relaxed. So he’s not so dumb every morning. Because he gets so much dumber when he’s tired. So much sillier.”

“Ah…” Chris whimpered as Maggria’s lips went down to his root and up again, her fingers giving his balls another wonderful squeeze. “Yesss. F-feel d-dumb… Want… wanna be… ah… relaxed…”

“Good master,” Gabina cooed. “And cumming makes you so relaxed. So sleepy. You just have to cum for your wonderful goblin maids. Why, every time you see them, you just feel so happy and relaxed. You never have to worry about being dumb. Your maids are here to serve. All you have to do is.

“Cum.”

The word struck his core like a gong. He shuddered, a rush of sensation shooting through him to every limb. His body quaked as he felt it gather in his balls, teased by Maggria’s hand. Swell up his cock.

“C-cuuuuuum!” Chris moaned.

He came with a shuddering moan. Every pump of his cock into the goblin’s hungry mouth seeming to drain more of his strength. More of his resistance. More of him as he sank deeper into the bed, his head spinning, lids lowering.

“Good master,” Gabina crooned. “Such a good boy. Sleep for us, master. Tomorrow, we’ll make sure we keep you nice… and relaxed…”

“Yes…” Chris said, sighing happily. “Sleep…”

His eyes slid shut, just catching a glimpse of the two goblin maids exchanging smiles. His ears ringing with their laughter as darkness swallowed him in slumber.

---

The weeks began taking on a familiar pattern for Chris. As the day wore on he began to feel more and more tired. More needing the relaxing attentions of his maids. And they were so right. The longer he spent away from his beloved maids, the dumber he began to feel. The more stumbling and fumbling and uncertain he grew until he fell into the arms of his beloved servants and they made everything right again.

Why, soon enough he didn’t even wonder why he had more servants about than before. It seemed like every day he got home and found a new goblin in her tight little uniform hard at work cleaning his manor. Cooking in his kitchens. Smiling at his presence. He didn’t need to worry. Gabina knew what she was doing. And she was happy to introduce him to each of his new servants in his new big bed, where they could help him relax even more.

“Master,” Gabina crooned one evening as he lay in bed, being relaxed like a good boy. The goblin was sitting atop his chest, teasingly bouncing her breasts in her arms while two other goblins cradled his head on their laps, stroking his head and kissing his cheeks.

“Mmmm,” Chris hummed, watching his maid’s big breasts bounce so delightfully. Bounce, bounce, bouncing away all his tension and thoughts and silly worries.

“The other maids and I were talking, and we’re worried.”

Chris stirred. His maids… worried? Oh no. He couldn’t have that. “Wh-what about…” he breathed. It was hard to think at the moment. His cock was tragically being untended, left alone to twitch and throb while Gabina spoke to him.

“Well,” the goblin maid giggled, cupping her big breasts, thumbs gliding over dark nipples. “We’re worried that you’ve been getting a bit… too stressed. A little… too dumb.”

“O-oh?” Chris breathed. He tried to think if she was right, but somehow, couldn’t order his thoughts. He relaxed, though. After all, if Gabina said it was so, she must be right. “Um… okay…”

She giggled, as did the two cradling his head in their laps. “Oh yes master,” Gabina crooned, leaning in closer, letting him admire the big, perfect roundness of her big tits. Dangling them so near his face he could almost kiss them. Almost, if only the touches of the two goblins at his shoulders didn’t make him feel so heavy… “Me and the other servants are worried someone would take advantage of you. And we simply can’t have that…”

“Oh noooo. Not our precious master,” the two goblins at his head cooed.

Chris felt his body warm even further. He looked up at the pair. Maggria and… um… was it Ladina? He couldn’t remember. There were so many goblins about the place these days. So hard to keep track. He felt his cheeks burn. Oh, he must be really dumb if he couldn’t even remember the names of his servants.

“Um… I… Um…”

“But it’s okay,” Gabina said, leaning forward, her breasts so close he could smell the sweet lemony perfume Gabina put on them. “It’s all okay, master. We have a solution.”

Chris smiled, letting his thoughts subside beneath the wonderful haze of his pleasure again. “Oh. G-good. Solutions… good…”

Gabina giggled. “Oh yes, master. Why, it’s so simple! Our delightful master just never has to leave the house again! That way, no mean people can ever take advantage of him…”

Never… never leave the house?

Chris opened his mouth, closed it. Something… something about that felt wrong. So wrong it managed to stir him from his pleasured slumber. “Um… But… My… my lands are…”

“Oh master! Master, please don’t worry. Your lands will be fine. Your lovely maids will be sure to make sure they’re taken care of. They’ll be happy to go out and ensure your lands are so very well ordered. Why, if you need anything done, just tell us, and we’ll make sure your properties are so very well managed. After all, why have so many lovely servants if not to serve?”

“Y-yes,” Chris said, breathing soft and deep. “But… um, that… I can’t… um…”

He was trying so hard to answer. To focus. But his thoughts just wouldn’t line up. Not when his eyes couldn’t stop watching Gabina stroke her big breasts. Bounce them in her arms.

Bounce.

Bounce.

“Of course,” Gabina crooned, plucked a bottle from the bedside table, upending it, pouring glistening oil onto her green breasts. Chris’s mouth fell open as she began to spread that oil over her big, vermillion tits. Making them shine like emeralds and glisten, as slippery as his thoughts. “You don’t need all your lovely servants around the house. Just enough to make sure you’re nice and happy. Nice and relaxed. Nice… and… pleasured…”

Chris’s thoughts fixed on that point. “P-pleasured?” he breathed.

“Yes,” Gabina giggled, sliding down his waist, to his lap, halting there where her big, green tits hovered above his poor, neglected, throbbing cock. “Pleasured.”

She leaned in, and wrapped her oiled tits around his shaft.

“Mnnnnnn!” Chris moaned, head falling back onto the laps of his two other maids, his breath steaming with lust as Gabina began to rub her oiled tits around his twitching manhood. His tentative grip on his thoughts was shattered. He moaned with helpless lust as his maid began to pump his cock between her oiled tits.

“After all, master, you’re not dumb,” Gabina crooned.

“Noooo?” Chris moaned as he panted and bucked, pumping his cock between those wonderful tits. His shaft glistening with oil.

“Oh no, master. Not dumb. Just a bit of a bimbo. Just a silly bimbo.”

“Mmm,” Chris moaned, smiling dimly. Oh. A bimbo. He could do that. He could be a bimbo. He certainly felt like it. Just a moaning, mindless mess in the hands of his wonderful maids.

“Oh yes, master. A bimbo isn’t dumb. He’s just a bit ditzy. A little silly. Well, a little dumb, maybe, but that’s why he has such clever maids around. To make sure he’s nice and taken care of. Nice and safe. Nice and happy and silly and easy.”

“Oooooh,” Chris moaned. He liked the sound of that. He liked the thought of being a happy bimbo. He bucked and thrust ever more eagerly between her big tits. “Yesssss!”

“Silly bimbo,” the goblins at his head crooned, leaning down, kissing his helpless face with big, wet smacks of lipstick. “Poor silly bimbo.”

“That’s okay, though,” Maggria crooned. “We like silly bimbos.”

“Oh gosh yes,” the other goblin giggled. “They’re just the best!”

“Bimbo master. Bimbo lord. Bimbo master,” the two goblins chimed, leaning down, peppering his face with kisses that tingled and sparked across his sensitive skin.

“And good bimbos cum for their pretty maids,” Gabina giggled, his cock cresting the globes of her tits like the mast of a ship, lost a second later as the waves of her oiled breasts rose again. “They cum all their silly brains out for their wonderful goblin maids. They just relax so much they lose all their silly thoughts. Can you do that for us, master? Can you cum out your silly thoughts? We really need you to say yes. A good bimbo always says yes.”

“Y-yessssss!” Chris cried out. He wanted to be a good bimbo so bad! And it was so easy. So easy to just relax. Just let it go.

And be washed away by the sweet waves of pleasure as he came.

His cock pumped; every burst of his seed accompanied by a hot gasp escaping his lips. He pumped his cum with surrender. He pumped his cock with joy. He pumped and came while his eyes spun, swimming with heady pleasure as he sank into the mindless bliss of orgasmic joy, his cock glistening with oil.

As he came down from that height, Gabina giggled and lifted her green breasts, licking the cum from those plump orbs. “Mmm. What a generous master. He deserves a reward.”

“Yes he does,” Maggria crooned, stroking his cheek playfully.

“He so does,” Ladina agreed.

“D-does…?” Chris sighed.

“Absolutely,” Gabina said, rising, crouching above his cock, her velvety pussy dangling over him. The sight of the beautiful goblin above him stirred Chris anew, and his cock rose once more as if magnetically drawn to that silken cunny. Gabina smiled. Or was it smirked? “Good bimbo masters deserve all the pleasures in the world.”

Chris didn’t argue, even if he could find the words. And when she descended, her pussy swallowing every inch of his sensitive cock, words were the furthest thing from his admittedly simple mind.

Chris threw back his head, a trebling moan escaping his lips as Gabina began to bounce atop him. His cock throbbed within her tight depths, the short goblin moaning eagerly as she fucked herself atop him. Took him to the root again and again. Her eyes were warm and eager with pleasure. Her lips parted and panting, her breasts bouncing.

Chris saw no more, because Maggria took that opportunity to plant her own slick cunny on his face, and at once the master of the house was eagerly licking out his maid, tasting her sweet juices as she giggled and moaned, rocking her hips, riding his face.

“What a gooood master. What a wonderful bimbo… Oh yes… yesssss! Oh master, you were absolutely… mnnnn… perfect. Perfect ah… hah… master for a goblin maid,” Gabina moaned.

“Mnmm,” Chris could only moan, his mouth busy pleasuring Maggria.

“And we’re… ah… we’re all gonna be so happy together! Just a big manor filled with your goblins servants. So many… nnnn… so many giggling girls all so happy to s-serve you… To serve our wonderful bi-ah! Bimbo boy. Oh gods yessss! Yesss! Oh baby yes. Give me your cock. Oh yes. Master. Master! Yes! Masterrrrrrr!”

She came, her orgasm almost as thunderous as his. Chris cried out, the last of his resistance, the last of his thoughts, slipping away as he pumped his cum again into his wonderful, beautiful, perfect goblin maid. He almost didn’t notice when Maggria shuddered, cumming as well, drenching his face in goblin juices.

Breathing hard, Maggria got off his face, and Gabina his cock. Chris whimpered at the sense of loss, but Gabina was instantly at his side, giving him a loving kiss. “Don’t worry, master,” the goblin giggled, her eyes shining with delight. “I’ll be back soon. Just have to see the village council and your friends to tell them about the new… arrangement.”

“Ah… I… ah…” Chris panted.

“But don’t worry!” Gabina giggled, patting his cheek. “You’ve got plenty of goblin maids to keep you happy. And I promise to hire plenty more.”

Chris’s worries eased. He relaxed atop the bed, moments before Ladina moved over him, and buried him once more beneath a green muff. As he began to lick, he reflected on how much easier life had gotten since he hired his new maids.

And as he felt Maggria once more put her talented lips to work on his cock, he knew he was going to be very happy with his new servants after all…

[ashen-crest]

Ambrose & Eli Baking

I asked for prompt ideas, and boy, y’all delivered. shout-out to @chaotic-queer-disaster for specifically adding ‘baking’ to the prompt, but everyone who requested Ambrose and Eli fluff, here you go!

(also tagging @writeblrfantasy​, @drabbleitout​, @the-orangeauthor​, and @shydreamyechoes​ because you asked for Ambrose/Eli stuff)

Synopsis: Ambrose tries to bake bread for Sherry’s birthday.

Word Count: 900

TW/CW: food mention, pain mention, light flirting/romance

It was days like today that Eli wished the sparring arena wasn’t quite so far from Rosemond Street.

To his dismay, his party had beaten him soundly in the ring. A few heavy strikes with a wooden sword, and he was limping all the way home, bruises blooming across his ankle. By the time he reached the potion shop, he was cursing with every step.

But as he set his hand on the door, he drew his shoulders back and steadied himself as best he could. “Hey, Ames!” he called, walking in as evenly as possible. “I’m back early!”

“Hello,” Ambrose’s distracted reply came not from the workroom, but somewhere upstairs. Eli glanced up the steps to confirm the man wasn’t looking down, then quickly returned to his hobble and grabbed a healing potion from the shelves.

“I thought you’d be brewing today?” he asked, forcing himself up the stairs with the vial in his pocket. “You said you had that commission to…work on…”

His words trailed off as he reached the top of the steps and saw what had drawn Ambrose away from his workroom. The kitchen was an explosion of flour and bowls, one that hadn’t spared the baker in its destruction. When Ambrose turned to face him, Eli could see the smudges of white that trailed from his hair to his waist.

“Finished the commission early,” Ambrose said, then gestured weakly to the sad ball of dough on the counter. “Thought I’d try to make something for Sherry’s birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Eli set down his pack and slowly approached the mess, careful not to limp too much or step on an errant patch of flour. “And what are you making?”

If the flour wasn’t already enough, Ambrose himself exploded. “Bread!” He threw his hands up, casting puffs of white into the air. “I thought it was going to be easy, but it’s not, and I— look.” He yanked a cookbook off the counter and held it out to Eli. The book seemed to be new, despite the globs of dough now gluing the pages together. “It says to knead until the dough looks like a window. How can dough look like a window, Eli? What in every gods’ name does that even mean?”

Eli had to stifle a laugh. Ambrose’s angry flush, all bright pink cheeks and sparking blue eyes, was the most endearing thing he’d seen all day.

But Ambrose would throw the book at him if he said so now, so instead, Eli bit back his smile and gestured towards the book. “I’ve made bread plenty of times. Here, pass me the book and I can help—“

“No.” Ambrose whisked the book out of reach, his gaze flicking down to Eli’s legs. “Don’t think I didn’t catch that limp as you came in. Take that healing potion in your pocket and go sit in the armchair.”

“But—“

“Go, and don’t put any weight on it for a half hour.”

As Eli grumbled and drank the potion, Ambrose turned back around and stared at the dough. He poked it once, twice. Sighed. Turned to the rose statue on the counter. Sighed again. “You don’t happen to know where Dawn is, do you?”

Eli glanced at the statue, its crystals veins gone dark with its lack of incoming messages. “You wrote to her for help?”

“Twice.” 

Eli set down the empty vial and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think she’s with her parents for dinner tonight.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Ambrose’s shoulders slumped, and his gaze on the cookbook went distant. His next question was so quiet that Eli almost missed it. “Do you think her parents taught her how to make bread?”

Eli’s heart gave a sharp crack, and before Ambrose could react, he was scribbling something on the scroll by the rose statue.

“What are you doing?” Ambrose’s frown deepened when Eli closed the scroll with a snap. “Who did you write to?”

Eli grinned. “No one.”

Ambrose reached for the scroll. Eli batted his hand away. “Eli, come on—“

“You’ll see.” Eli straightened Ambrose’s vest and tried to wipe flour off his cheek. “You’re cute like this, you know. Should just sprinkle you in sugar and pop you in the oven.”

Ambrose glared, even as his face reddened again. “You think you’re distracting me, but I will get to that scroll—“

“I’m here!” Sherry’s voice boomed on the first floor. Ambrose’s mouth fell open. “There’s nothing to worry about, Ambrose, I’ll teach you how to bake!”

“Sherry!” Ambrose whipped around as the woman appeared at the top of the stairs, bowls and spoons and cloth held against her hip. “Sherry, I don’t know what Eli told you, but I’m fine—“

Her eyebrows rose. “Clearly not.” She approached the counter without a second thought and hip-checked him out of the way, leaving him spluttering by the sink.

“But—but—,” Ambrose shot another glare at Eli, who grinned harder, “I was trying to bake this for you, not make you do it yourself!”

“Nonsense.” Sherry beamed at him. “This is the greatest gift you could have possibly given me.” With one hand, she tossed an apron over Ambrose’s head; with the other, she tossed the dough and the cookbook on the floor. “Now, step one. Fetch me that sack of flour, and I’ll show you how to sift it properly…”

[scarofthewind]

Slashers x Chubby!Reader || Lingerie (NSFW)

A/N: Hello everyone, I hope you are having a good Thanksgiving, if you don’t celebrate it then I hope you are having a good day! I am horrible, I know I need to get out the mini series as finish the Farm Life series for Ushijima as well as do a part 2 for the sad thing I posted the other day. 

Warnings: NSFW, R18+, chubby!reader, fem!reader, praise kink, authority kink

Characters: Thomas, Michael, Jason, Bo, Vincent, and Brahms

word count: 2.2k Tip Jar (every bit helps!)

Thomas Hewitt: 

★ You could tell by the way his shoulders sagged, that Thomas was having a rough day. He’d been busy all day ‘hunting’ and cleaning the mess he had down in the basement and at this point he could barely keep his eyes open.

★ So, being the good little lover you are, you waltz upstairs and prepare for a show. You take a nice hot shower and get yourself all cleaned up before slipping into the lingerie you had saved for a special occasion. 

★ Although, as soon as you put on the baby-doll flowing top and the string of underwear that had came with it, you frowned. The mirror in the corner of the bedroom stared right back at you as you grew more self conscious by the second. Would he even like this? I look terrible - I look like the Pillsbury dough boy. 

★ However, your negative thoughts were soon interrupted when Thomas stepped into the bedroom and froze at the sight of you. 

You chewed your lip nervously as you stood there facing him in all your glory; Thomas’ eyes darkened and you swore you heard a deep grumble from within his chest as he approached you slowly. “And what did I do to deserve this?” He asked with a grin, cupping your face in his hands. 

“You looked stressed so I wanted to make you feel better,” You replied, looking down slightly. “Do you like it? I don’t think it looks right-”

Thomas pressed a finger against your mouth and you closed it, reveling in the feeling of his hands traveling around your body. His large calloused fingers squeezed every bit of flesh they could find and Thomas almost blew a fuse seeing the small covering of underwear you had on under the sheer gown. “I think you look absolutely beautiful,” He said gently, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “The color looks good on you, but,” He trailed off, making your heart beat in anticipation. 

“As much as I would love to sit here and stare at you in this, I’d rather it be on the floor,” Thomas chuckled when you blushed, letting him drag you over to the bed and letting you sit down, his large frame towering in front of you. One hand gripped your chin and you craned your neck to look up at him, “Be a good girl for me and spread those pretty little legs.” You obliged.

Michael Myers:

★ It was your anniversary and you were determined to surprise your bastard of a lover before he returned from terrorizing the town. You made sure to pamper yourself, taking a long shower and relaxing in the tub, using the best perfume and lotions you had.

★ You even went as far as buying lingerie, which you examined on yourself in the bedroom. The straps on the legs were kind of tight but you shrugged and fixed pieces of your hair. 

★ The only thing that annoyed you was the belts around your thighs; they made them look so large, almost as if the belts were about to break. As you went to take them off, you heard the front door slam shut and you bolted to the bed, making yourself look as appealing as possible.

Holding your breath, you made to push your chest forward, exposing more of your breasts to the room and you waited for Michael to come bounding up the stairs. “You will not believe what-” Michael came into the room aggravated, but stopped as soon as he looked at you. He blinked a few times before a large smirk appeared on his face. “Is this my anniversary present from you?” He asked and you beamed in excitement and shock. 

“You remembered our anniversary?” You sat up a bit and his eyes followed the curve of your breasts. 

“Of course I remembered, your presents downstairs,” He replied, advancing towards you and groaning when you spread your legs for him to step between. “What the actual fuck, (Y/N)? Are you trying to kill me?” He growled seeing the small string of fabric that covered your pussy. 

“Do you like it?” You asked shyly and his eyes flew to yours as he grabbed your face in his hands. 

“I love it so much that I almost hate to take it off,” You giggled at his statement and his hands ran down your body, snapping the straps on your thighs, earning a whimper from you to which he grinned at. “We are keeping these on.” 

Jason Voorhees:

★ There was no particular reason as to why you stood in the doorway of your bedroom in nothing but lingerie you had covered with a bath robe. Your eyes wandered over Jason’s figure at the kitchen table, his back to you as he continued piecing together his mask that he’d accidentally broke.

★ You slipped the robe off, letting it fall to the ground before walking up behind him and wrapping your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder. 

★ You didn’t say anything, but the minute Jason’s hand traveled up your arm and to your shoulder in a loving manner, he shot up out of the chair and turned to you with a flustered expression. 

He had known from the second that his fingers couldn’t find any article of clothing that you were naked; he just wasn’t expecting the strapless lingerie you wore, framing your body so nicely. His eyes raked over your body a mile a minute, trying to take in all of what was standing in front of him. “Do you like it?” You asked meekly and blushed as Jason nodded his head quickly, moving you both to the couch, sitting you in his lap. 

His rough hands gripped the skin on your sides and you grimaced, knowing he’d probably hate the fat poking out beneath the top of the lingerie. However, Jason only nuzzled his face against your neck as a sign of assurance, his hands continuing to move all over your body. You couldn’t deny the feeling of arousal sweeping over you the more you were being felt up by him and you could already feel his cock hard beneath you. 

When his hands cupped your breasts you let out a soft moan and Jason’s eyes locked with yours, realizing that you had been waiting patiently for him to take you. He could cum from the thought alone of you dressed up for him like this; only for his eyes to see and his hands to touch. “Jason please,” You whined, letting out a small gasp when his hand traveled down to your aching cunt, his eyes widening when he realized you were wearing a thong. He groaned as he moved the fabric to the side, exposing your bare pussy to him. There was something about the small piece of clothing that turned him on; he kept those on you for the rest of the night. 

Bo Sinclair:

★ You could hear Bo torturing someone from across the street in the house you were in and by the sounds of pain coming from the female he had locked up, he was in a mood.

★ So you decided to cheer him up by sorting through your clothes and finding the nicest set of lingerie you had, slipping it on and preparing your trap. You called him on the phone as told him that there was something you had to show him immediately.

★ You watched him run across the street and you waited in the lounge chair by the window; you caught your reflection in the mirror in the corner of the room and you frowned, readjusting your position a few times and growing more and more self conscious by the second. 

Before you had time to change your mind about your plan, Bo flew through the door, making you jump a bit in your spot before his eyes met your figure and he let out a low whistle. “I thought you might need a break,” You smiled sheepishly and he raised an eyebrow at your statement, making his way towards you. “I know it’s a little small, when I bought it I was-”

“Shut your mouth,” Bo snapped at your words, knowing very well what you were trying to say. Resting his hands on the arm rests of the chair, he leaned above you, pressing his forehead against yours, “You look beautiful. I don’t want to hear another self degrading comment come out of that pretty little mouth, do I make myself clear?” He titled his head slightly as he examined your flushed face as you blushed in embarrassment. 

“Yes sir,” You replied and he hummed in approval, his eyes darkening as he pressed his lips to yours, his hands starting their journey in caressing your body. His lips moved along yours heatedly and you let out a gasp when his fingers dipped down between your legs; Bo let out a surprised sound and backed up, looking at your spread legs and smiling to himself at the sight before him. 

“Crotch-less panties? Aren’t you a naughty little girl,” He grinned ear to ear when you blushed deeper, a loud moan coming from your throat as he dove in.

Vincent Sinclair:

★ You don’t expect to get such a rise out of him when you walk into the room wearing a beautiful set of lingerie, covered by a satin robe. 

★ Vincent barely looks up from the book he’s reading, and when he does, you drop the robe and lean against the door frame. You grimace slightly when you feel your back crease, creating what some people call ‘rolls’. 

★ Vincent slams the book shut before making his way over towards you with a heavy look of desire in his eyes.

“If you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask,” He teased, pressing an open mouth kiss against your neck as he pressed you against the wall. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you let out a small moan from the feeling, his loose strands of hair that had fallen from it’s messy man bun, tickling your arm. 

“D-Do you like it?” You asked between moans as his hands cupped the swell of your ass, groping the flesh there like a cat kneading a blanket. You could feel his cock twitch against your stomach, his pants did nothing to hide it at this point. A shiver ran through you when he groaned against your neck, pulling back and resting his head against yours, looking you in the eyes. 

“I love it, you look breathtaking,” He cooed, moving some hair from your face, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “I love you in everything, especially your birthday suit.” He grinned when you let out a small laugh from his statement. “Don’t let those negative thoughts ruin the moment; forget about all of them and just focus on us okay?” Vincent pressed another kiss to your lips, letting out a sigh of relief when you kissed him back in agreement.

Brahms Heelshire:

★ You fiddled nervously in the lingerie you had on, trying on different pieces to see what would look the best. You’d already been through half the drawer and you were sure Brahms would come looking for you if you didn’t hurry back soon.

★ Both of you had been working hard lately to keep the house in utmost perfection and you decided to make a nice dinner and spend quality time together as a break.

★ However, nothing looked appealing to you, especially not anything that didn’t cover your stomach or backside. Groaning in frustration, you bent down and rummaged through the drawer again, not noticing the man behind you. 

Brahms watched you with eager eyes, taking in your beautiful form before him and slowly coming up behind you. “I don’t like this.” His voice grumbled from behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin, feeling his fingers trace along the thong you were wearing. As if not bothered by it, Brahms looked through the drawer and picked out a nice pair of lace panties and held them out to you. “Put these on.”

You stared at him for a moment before obliging, slipping out of the thong and putting the lace underwear on. As soon as you did, Brahms hummed to himself in approval. “You look quite ravishing, my love.” He cooed, his hands tracing over your exposed skin and his eyes watching your face as you blushed. “Have I ever told you why I prefer women with more on them than those twig women out there?” His hands traced along the underside of your breasts. 

“I don’t think you have,” You replied and he let out a noise of surprise before stepping closer to you so that there was barely and inch between your bodies and faces. 

“The more there is, the more I can claim,” His eyes gleamed as they stared down at you, your body trembling with arousal as his fingers dipped into the lace panties he’d chosen for you, the pads of his digits finding your clit and rubbing it gently. “You like it when I leave marks on you, isn’t that right pretty girl?” He smirked and you nodded. “Good, because tonight I’m going to remind you why you are perfect just the way you are.”

[nepenthendline]

hiiii! i saw you were doing the mini event and i’d love to be apart if it! ok so i’m not totally sure how to request this but i’m just gonna go for it lol. so imagine (just pick any of them) kuroo, ushi, sakusa, or aone (can you tell i have a type) and they see their cute lil wife making cookies or something and singing and all they think is: “i’m gonna put a baby in her🧍‍♂️” and they walk up behind her, wrap their arms around her, and QUE THE SMUT (size and breeding kink go BRRR)

anyways i’ve got SO MANY ideas rn lol but if this is something you’re uncomfortable with or if i did this wrong, please ignore it!! thank you so much🤍

Size and breeding kink - Aone 

A/N: hhhhhhhhh you’re gonna kill me, this is all I want stop, also I picked aone because... its aone

Aone:

Aone arrived home from work, although you didn’t greet him at the door with a kiss like usual. Instead he heard your voice call from the kitchen with a ‘welcome home’. Taking off his shoes and jacket, he made his way into the kitchen. Each step closer brought a stronger, sweet scent, mixed with the quiet music that played.

Rounding the corner, he saw you dressed in a messy apron, covered in flour, and swaying your hips to the beat. The kitchen was littered with bowls, ingredients and measuring cups, as well as the tray in front of you that was starting to fill up with cookies that you moulded in your hands. 

He couldn’t take his eyes of the way your small, soft palms shaped the pliable dough, or how your fingers flexed each time you grabbed a new handful from the bowl. The balls of cookie dough seemed so small compared to what he was used to seeing you handle and grip. 

Aone bit down on his lip as he watched you turn your head to send him the sweetest of smiles, almost as sugary as the treats you were baking. His mind was flooded with thoughts of you nesting the house as you prepared for a baby, or how you would bake cookies and pancakes for him and your future children. You looked so cute in your apron, but would it look even cuter if it was stretched out over your growing, round tummy? 

Taking a few, large steps forward, he wrapped his arms around your waist and bend down to press a kiss to the top of your head. His hands could fit over the majority of your stomach since you were so much smaller than him, and his thick arms had you completely trapped to his chest. 

He was never usually too forward when it came to his neediness for you, but right now all he could think about was filling your tummy with his child, his cum. Brushing your hair to one side, he dragged kisses down your neck and across your shoulders, reviling in the way your shivered against his touch. You let out a little giggle as his fingers danced over your skin on your waist, 

“Are you feeling a little needy, baby?” You asked, turning around in his hold and resting your hands on his broad chest. With flushed cheeks he nodded, leaning down to kiss you gently.

“Mhm, wanna fill you up,” he muttered against your lips. Even though his cock was strained in his jeans and his mind was racing over you, he was still so delicate when he held you or kissed you, as if you would break. 

His hands shook ever so slightly as he helped untie the apron from your back, and he only broke the kiss to pull it off, along with ridding you of your trousers and underwear. One hand left your waist and trailed down to your folds, dragging a finger across them to smear your wetness. One thick finger prodded at your entrance, sliding in with a slight stretch and pulling a moan from you. 

He continued to kiss you as his hand worked at your core at a steady pace, building up your release but never fast enough to reach your high. He loved having his fingers deep in your pussy, or getting his face soaked as you rocked over his tongue, but he needed his cock in you immediately - he told himself he’d make it up to you next him. 

You whined at the emptiness, clenching around nothing to feel some sort of friction, but that quickly changed to a squeak of surprise when he lifted you by your thighs and laid you down on the kitchen table. Wasting no time, he pulled his thick cock from his trousers, pumping it a few times before lining it up to your pussy. With one look to meet your eyes, he silently asked for your approval, to which you nodded and gripped his arm, preparing for what was to come. 

He stared intensely as his dick stretched out your cunt, filling you well as you clenched tightly around him. No matter how many times you took him, it was always a tight fit - a perfect plug to keep all of his cum inside you. 

His body bent over you as he pounded into your pussy, blocking the light from above with his size. You looked so desperate, so vulnerable beneath him, and a groan was ripped from his throat at the thought of being the only one to take care of you like this. 

One hand moved to your stomach, fingers spread out over your entire lower torso and kneading at the flesh. He could feel the small bulge in your tummy every time his hips thrusted forward, driving him crazy. If he came enough in you he knew that bulge would stay for him to admire whenever he desired. 

“‘M gonna cum inside you. Gonna make you so full, so round baby,” he murmured in your ear between groans. His deep voice alone has you whining and clenching around his dick, trying to force his cum into you. “Wanna see you with a big, beautiful tummy.”

His face and neck were stained with red as he gasped, unable to hold out any longer. Thick ropes of his cum lined your walls as his cock twitched, and the warm fullness was the trigger to send you into your own orgasm. Your back arched off of the table, supported by one of his large hands as your body spasmed around him. 

After your fuzzy sight came back to focus, you watched him panting above you, trying to catch his breath while still towering over your body. He bent his neck down, placing a passionate yet soft kiss on your lips, before burying his head by your throat. Your hand lifted to run through his hair, trying to tame it somewhat and settled on his shoulder. 

“You can take it out now y’know? We can go cuddle on the sofa or take a bath together,” you murmur, too tired to put much effort into it. But you felt him shake his head against your neck. 

“Need to stay here for a bit longer, gotta make sure my cum doesn’t go to waste.”

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Fire and Darkness Chapter 7

The Darkling x reader

Word Count: 1181

Summary: Moving into position . . .

He’d done it. The crazy son of a bitch (for real, considering what you remembered about Baghra) had actually managed to convince the King of Ravka to create a secondary army of Grisha, ‘creatively’ named the Second Army. It’d taken time to gather enough money to dress like something other than refugees and maneuver yourselves into the ideal position to be invited into the king’s presence, but the pair of you had managed it. Both of you tried not to linger on the fact that neither one of you seemed to be aging; that was a problem for later, after everything was settled. 

Success aside, you did not like being separated from him for as long as you had been recently. He’d left you--albeit unwillingly--in a town near to Os Alta to wait for him to be able to bring you in. Months, it’d been, but you weren’t exactly sure how many. The days all ran together as you toiled them away helping a local baker.

Then the signal came, in the form of said baker offhand mentioning, “Lass, they’ve opened up a position at that new grisha place they’ve been buildin’--oh, what’re they calling it? Right, the Little Palace.”

“A position doing what, exactly?” you asked casually. “And why should I care? Someone’s got to keep you on your toes,” you teased as a way to hide the way your hands were now shaking as your heartrate picked up.

The man chuckled. “Apparently that new general of theirs, Kirigan, I think, needs a housekeeper.”

“And they’re not just bringing in other grisha to do it?” You were careful to keep your tone neutral.

“From what they’re saying, he won’t have it. My best guess is he wants someone without magic cleaning his rooms.”

You bit your tongue to silence the argument that grisha abilities weren’t magic. “And you think I should go for it?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “It’s an in at the palace, and it’ll open up all sorts of doors for you in the future. This could be your chance to get out of this place.”

It was sweet that he cared, but you argued against it anyway to keep up appearances. “They’ll never hire me even if I do go for it,” you murmured, eyes returning to the dough you’d been kneading. “There are a million people with better qualifications.”

“They’re saying he’s turned down a hundred people already for one reason or another. And I already signed you up to try.”

“What--”

“Interview’s tomorrow just after dawn.” He winked. “You can thank me later. Now go rest so you’ll wake up on time.”

~

You already had the job, and you knew it. Aleksander would never hire anyone but you to reside so close to him, especially in his chambers, but why wouldn’t your heart get with the program? It felt like it would beat out of your chest as you were escorted to a large ballroom of the Little Palace; you were honestly worried that one of the various healers around would start asking questions.

That racing heartbeat only worsened when you laid eyes on him for the first time since this ploy began. He looked as beautiful as ever, but it was enhanced by the intricately embroidered black kefta he was wearing. There was amusement in those grey eyes as they landed on you, seemingly laughing at a joke that only the two of you were in on.

“And who is this?” his voice carried throughout the room, immediately silencing the murmurs of the other grisha around you. In that silence, you could suddenly hear the sounds of children laughing filtering in through some open door in the wings. The children, you realized, the first children that would be trained here in safety instead of hunted.

“The newest applicant for the housekeeper position, General,” said one of the black-clad guards that’d escorted you.

“Interesting,” he replied as he stalked closer. “Maid,” you jumped in surprise at the address, hating it but understanding why he had to project this air of superiority over you, “what are your thoughts on this new army of grisha.”

You raised a brow. Okay, you hadn’t expected that. Best keep it realistic so I don’t slip later. “As long as you keep the wolves off our doorstep, I don’t give a rat’s ass if you can control the way your farts blow.”

You could see the struggle Aleksander went through to keep from laughing. “And your opinions on me, specifically?”

“I don’t care who you are as long as you pay me on time.”

“A dangerous attitude for a housekeeper to have,” he was smirking. “One might think you could be bribed by the highest bidder.”

“Then you’ll just have to make sure that you’re the highest bidder,” you couldn’t help but jab, “but I know better than to accept that kind of temptation. It always seems sweet at first, but I’d like to live long enough to spend my money.”

The General’s eyes flicked over to the healer closest to you. “Is she lying?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you’re hired.” Several mumbles of surprise raced around the room, seemingly shocked that he was finally accepting someone. Aleksander leaned closer so that he was looming over you a bit. “Let’s see if you can keep that pretty head of yours.”

~

You were escorted to his suite and quickly shown to the tiny little room to the side of the entrance hallway that would be yours. As if you’d actually be sleeping there. Part of you wondered how long it would take for rumors of a more physical relationship between you and the newly-named Darkling to start circling. The rest of you was busy being torn between enjoying the fact that you finally had a place to call your own and hating the shabby-looking appearance of that very place. 

Those thoughts were thrown aside when your lover finally came bursting in the room, instantly cupping your face in his hands and leaning down to kiss you soundly. You of course offered no complaints after all this time away from him. No, instead, your hands found themselves pulling at the buttons that fastened that kefta closed and kept his body hidden from you.

It was several minutes of near-violent kissing, nipping, and sucking later when he finally pulled back enough to talk. “We are never staying apart that long again, do you hear me?”

For a moment, you were too entranced by his kiss-swollen lips to formulate a reply, but then your senses returned, albeit barely. “Or you’ll take off my pretty little head?” you teased.

He snorted a little laugh. “No, but I have half a mind . . .” he trailed off for a moment. “No, my mind is made up. You’re coming with me.” 

You yelped as you found yourself thrown over his shoulder to be carried elsewhere. “Sasha, what are you doing?!”

“I thought it was obvious?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “I’m bringing you to our bed and not letting you out for at least the rest of the night.”

[chrisbitchtree]

The Thrill of the Hunt

This got a little away from me, but I had to write something inspired by @psychicwarfarebaby headcannon about Billy hunting and fishing with Steve's father!

***

Billy had never met Steve’s dad before, but from what he’d heard, John Harrington wasn’t a bad guy, it was just that he and Steve had never connected. He’d had a lot of expectations for how Steve would be, and Steve never really met those expectations.

He’d dreamed of taking his son hunting and fishing and to football games at Notre Dame, and that just wasn’t what Steve was into. He liked to bake and go on nature walks with his mother and showed a talent for swimming and basketball early on, instead of John’s beloved football and baseball. He’d supported Steve as much as he could, but never stopped being disappointed when Steve continued to shoot down his attempts to share his interests with him.

Steve had told Billy that he felt bad about it, but it was too late to really change things. It was better to lead their separate lives, connecting in the few places that they could.

One of the connections they shared was their mutual love of Steve’s mom’s spaghetti and meatballs, always served with cheesy garlic toast. Every once in a while, she would take a Saturday and make the spaghetti noodles from scratch, fully indulging her husband and son. This was one such Saturday, and Billy had the honour of being invited.

He and Steve had been dating for about a year and a half, and he’d come over that particular afternoon to help Steve with his college admissions essays, which were frankly a bit of a mess. He found the other boy in the kitchen with his mother, kneading pasta dough. Billy was a regular enough fixture around the Harrington house at this point to not feel awkward around Steve’s mother. She greeted him as he grabbed a glass of water and sat down at the large kitchen island to wait for them to finish up.

“Hello, Billy! So nice to see you!” She had an extra pep in her step, and Billy was happy to see it.

“Wow, pasta from scratch! What’s the special occasion?” Mrs. Harrington grinned.

“Steve’s father is coming home this afternoon after a long business trip. I’m surprising him with his favourite meal. You’ve never met my husband, have you Billy? You must stay for dinner!” Steve shot a panicked look Billy’s way, shaking his head vigorously. Billy didn’t know what to do. Steve’s mom looked so excited. Against his better judgement, he agreed to stay.

“Of course, I’d love to stay for dinner. Anything you’ve made is bound to be delicious!” Steve’s mom beamed.

“Lovely! Why don’t you boys go up to Steve’s room and work on your project, and I’ll call you down when it’s time for dinner?” Before he could even verbally agree, Steve was pulling him up to his room. As soon as the door was closed, Steve let loose.

“Why would you agree to stay? This is going to be a mess. Things are always so awkward with my dad. Why do you think you’ve never met him before? It’s better to just keep things separate. Whatever you do, don’t engage him in conversation, don’t give drawn out replies. Politely nod or give one-word answers when he talks to you. Do. Not. Engage. I’ve warned you about him. This is your fault. If it goes bad, no blow jobs for a week. I swear.” What had Billy gotten himself into?

They worked on Steve’s essays for the next few hours, until they heard his mother call up the stairs, telling them it was time to wash up and come down for dinner. They washed their hands in the bathroom, then each took a deep breath and headed downstairs.

Steve’s father was pleasant enough if a bit hard on Steve about his lack of drive. He asked Steve how his college admissions were going, and how he was doing in his classes, promising to try to go to at least one of Steve’s basketball games this season.

Things took a turn for the worse when he turned his attention on Billy. Billy didn’t exactly have the world’s greatest dad, so he was always looking to please anyone who acted like a father figure, and add to it the fact that this was his boyfriends father, even if said father didn’t know that particular detail, and Billy was screwed.

“So Billy, do you like hunting? Deer season is coming up.” In an effort to please Mr. Harrington, Billy nodded his head yes.

“I love hunting, sir. My father goes most years, and he’s taken me a few times. There’s nothing like it.” Steve glared pointedly at him, but Billy couldn’t stop himself.

“I’d love to go with you sometime. Maybe Steve and I could accompany you some weekend.” This earned him a kick under the table from Steve.

“I’d love that, Billy, I really would. I’m a big hunter myself. Deer, moose, turkey, pheasant. I even got a bear once. Not the tastiest meat, I’ll say, but it’s a great story to tell. Has Steve showed you my collection of antlers?” He then turned his attention back to Steve.

“See Steve, you could learn a thing or too about being a real man from Billy here. I’m home for the next month. You and Billy will have to come with me to the hunt camp some weekend soon.” Steve looked downright miserable. Billy had to do something.

“Well, Mr. Harrington, as much as I’d love to go hunting with you, I don’t have my gun licence. My dad’s let me shoot the gun a few times, and I have a good shot, but let’s just keep that on the downlow, for legal purposes.” Billy was proud of his quick save. Steve’s dad could not be deterred.

“That’s an easy enough fix. You can take a gun course in a single weekend, and you’ll be ready to go!” Shit, Billy had really thought he’d gotten them out of it.

Steve was not impressed that he had to spend the whole next weekend learning gun safety with Billy, and no, he would not let that count as their date for the weekend, so on top of the course fees, Billy still had to pay for dinner and a movie to get Steve to grumble even a little bit less.

He’d also had to bribe Hopper into letting him borrow his hunting rifle by promising to babysit El for free for the next six Thursdays, so Hopper could have date nights with Joyce. All of his free time was quickly sliding through his fingers.

Then came the actual day of the hunt. They’d been up since 3am, when Steve had pulled the warm blankets off Billy in the spare bedroom, flipping on the lights and shaking him awake. He wasn’t even bothering to be gentle about it, and frankly, Billy didn’t blame him. They’d sat bleary eyed in the truck beside Steve’s dad, sipping coffee, and trying to seem even half as enthusiastic as he was.

They’d finally arrived at the hunt camp, and by 6am, they were on their bellies, out in the woods, in the dark, silent, waiting for any sign of a deer. They were both damp and cold and shivering, despite the multiple layers and hunting boots they both had on. Billy tried to grab Steve’s hand for a second as his father looked the other way, but the other boy yanked it away, and Billy could tell it wasn’t just because he was worried his father would see.

The night before, he’d tried to win back Steve’s favour with promises of foot massages, pastries from Steve’s favourite bakery, and hours of sex where Steve didn’t have to do anything but lay there and let Billy take care of him, but he was not having it. Billy knew the other boy was currently fantasising about waking up in his warm bed, followed by coffee and Froot Loops while he watched old cartoons in the den, and Billy had no way of giving him that.

The mood was slightly saved by the genuine excitement on Steve’s face when his father shot a big buck. He was downright delighted when Billy was tapped to help clean out the animal.

“Come on, Billy!” said Steve’s father, approaching where they sat, eating sandwiches, and drinking juice. “Help me string it up into the tree! I’ll let you do the honours of making the first cut!” Steve silently cackled as the colour drained from Billy’s face.

Steve really thought that Billy had learned his lesson. It seemed that he had, at least until the following spring, when Steve’s father was discussing the idea of taking the boys on a fishing trip. For some godforsaken reason, Billy enthusiastically agreed.

That’s how they ended up crawling around on their hands and knees in Steve’s backyard during the next big rainfall, toting plastic containers and flashlights, digging for worms. Steve’s father said that that was the mark of a true fisherman, resourcefulness. They didn’t need to purchase their worms from the store.

Steve didn’t feel even a little bit bad when the next morning, he raced downstairs to the sound of Billy squealing, only to find sim staring down at a worm that must have escaped from the bucket in the fridge. Served him right for being such an idiot.

[sup-hoes-its-me]

Adore You (Yamato x Reader)

A/N: hi guys. Yamato is your secret admirer and you are desperate to find out who's been leaving all these gifts at your doorstep. Civilian reader. Will be two parts, and since i just found out i have the coronavirus and cant leave the house, i’ll be putting out the second part very soon.

Ps i headcanon that yamato would be very shy and awkward with his crush. i also think that when he is nervous he definitely has really sweaty hands. idk thats just the vibe i get from him lol. please enjoy.

Word count: 4500

Y/N walked down the street after a long day of working in the bakery, kneading dough and icing cakes and sweets. It was a great job, and she really enjoyed the company of the two elderly owners. In her arms was another small picnic basket filled with sourdoughs and garlic loaves and cinnamon raisin buns. Those leftovers served as her breakfast, lunch, and dinner most days and it saved a lot of money on groceries.

Sometimes, she gifted the bread to friends and family though, like tonight.

As she walked the bustling streets, people walking home from work for the night, she noticed a couple of familiar faces sitting in the windows of a nearby restaurant. Feeling a little social, she walked into the restaurant and turned the corner, walking through the tables and past other booths full of people talking and drinking. It was busy tonight in Konoha, everyone getting ready for the weekend.

She came to a stop beside their table, and shifted so her basket rested in the slight curve of her hip. With her free hand she waved to the men, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Kakashi, Yamato,” she chirped, “I saw you guys in the window on my way home from work and thought I’d stop in to say hello.”

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise.” Kakashi hummed, peering over his glass of golden liquid at his friend, who he could tell was struggling to figure out what to say or do. Yamato wasn’t normally nervous; he was very cool headed. How else would he become such an important Anbu member? But around Y/N, this woman with flour dusted in her hair and the smell of cinnamon and chocolate on her clothes, he crumbled. Just that smell alone could make Yamato lose his composure. And Kakashi knew that very well. “As a matter of fact, we were just talking about you.”

Yamato coughed on his drink, covering his mouth with his arm to keep from spitting up on the table. Even if they were just talking about her, it was completely uncalled for for Kakashi to stab him in the back like that. He turned to face the young woman who looked down at him with curiosity in her eyes.

“Really? What about?” she questioned, raising a brow.

He averted his eyes to the table again where his hand rested clutching at the glass. “We were just discussing the bakery,” he explained sheepishly, a hand going to rub the back of his neck. He felt the stress coming on, and sweat was beginning to gather on his palms. He felt ill, and more importantly, upset with the friend sitting directly across from him, smirking under that damn mask.

What an evil bastard.

“Mind if I join you guys? I could definitely use a drink.” She motioned to the seat next to Yamato, and he scooted closer to the wall to make room for her. She made sure her basket was sealed and secure before reaching over the table to Kakashi. “Can you sit this next to you? I don’t wanna take up the whole table.”

“No problem.”

She slid into the seat beside Yamato, and he realized just how small their table really was. The chair was clearly made for one person, or maybe two small people. They were just inches away. He could literally feel the heat of her thigh beside his. He was losing his mind, he was sure of it. There was absolutely no reason to act or think this way just because of a woman, a little baker from the village. No reason. It was inappropriate.

He took a deep breath and sipped on his drink. Everything was cool. Y/N L/N was cool.

“What kind of goods are you bringing home tonight?” Yamato asked calmly.

“Uh, lets see. A sourdough loaf and a garlic rosemary loaf. Also, I have about eight cinnamon buns in there,” she listed off the top of her head, “Why? You wanna take some home with you, because that’s fine. I’m not gonna eat all of it.”

“No, not this time.”

“You, Kakashi?”

“Yeah, I’ll take whatever.” It was a free meal for the next day? How could he say no to that?

The waitress came around, and Y/N ordered a tall glass of some sweet drink, something she knew wouldn’t taste like shit but would get her all warm and cozy quick, fruit juice covering up the taste of poison. “So, what were you guys talking about before I came around? I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“It’s good you came around, actually. We could use a woman’s opinion here.” Yamato glared at Kakashi, pleading with everything he had for the copy nin to just leave it alone. Kakashi was set in his goals though, and pushed forward with what he was saying. “It’s about Tenzo.”

An even brighter smile grew on her lips, one full of mischief and curiosity. “Oohoho? I see. What’s got you men stuck?” She loved to gossip, it was just something so interesting in her mundane life. Surely, it wasn’t as interesting to shinobi who almost die all the time and always have something to do, but for a village girl who goes home every night to read and eat bread, and then go to work where she just makes and sells said bread, a bit of juicy personal information really intrigued her.

“It’s honestly not a big deal-”

“Our boy here, he’s got a crush.”

Her eyes widened and suddenly, she felt the urge to down even more of her drink. He was interested in someone? She never expected that. He was always so quiet and calm, and kept to himself. He didn’t seem like the type to ever care about someone in that way. She sighed, taking a long sip on her drink, which tasted like peaches and oranges. At least it was sweet enough to help her curb the impending sadness.

Maybe she was stupid for it, but she cared for Yamato. He was such a sweet and kind man, so earnest and gentle. He was everything good about her mornings, when he would walk in and ask for the same hot cross bun to start his day. He would smile and compliment the cake decorating she was working on, and tell her about his missions and what he had to do for the day.

Perhaps Y/N had the tiniest of crushes on Yamato. It was something she would never reveal to anyone else, but it was true. She couldn’t deny herself that fact.

Kakashi stared at the woman, gauging her reaction to the statement. From the way she immediately went to sip away half of the drink in her glass, and the way her shoulders curled in on themselves, he could guess how she was feeling. He wasn’t usually a fan of meddling in other people’s business, but he was beginning to feel tired of Yamato complaining day in and day out about how he could never get the girl or express his feelings. He was afraid of rejection, as sad as that might be.

He was just there to give them a push in the right direction.

“I see.”

“What do you think he should do? What do the civilian girls like?”

This crush was just another civilian. It would be one thing if he fell in love with a kunoichi, someone she would never be able to compete with, but the thought of him choosing another normal woman over her, the envy practically oozed from her pores. What did this other girl have that Y/N didn’t?

Y/N ordered another drink when the waitress walked by. And then another after she drank the second one. Might as well get more down and drown out these jealous thoughts.

Meanwhile, she listed off things that random women normally like when men do for them, things she didn't really care about like chocolates and asking them out to dinner and giving them stuffed animals. Boring things. Things they all already knew. Kakashi agreed that the advice was kinda bland, and he could have come up with that easily.

Yamato eyed her down nervously as she practically chugged the rest of her drink. The woman wasn’t a big drinker, just a couple innocent cocktails here or there, never with the intention of getting drunk.

“You okay, Y/N?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” she told him smoothly. “Anyway, I’m not done telling you all about us village girls.”

The third drink came by and she sighed, taking another long sip. At least it tasted good, that made it easy to drink and drink and drink.

“Maybe you should slow down.”

“Maybe you should worry about yourself. I’m grown. I can handle myself, Yamato.” He felt a pang in his chest at her sharp words, ones that he’d never really heard directed toward him. She scolded Kakashi on the daily for being a pervert, but only kind words met Yamato’s ears previously. “Anyway, about this girl. Have you tried getting her anything as a gift? The things I listed before? Love notes? That sorta thing?”

He shook his head. “Well, no. I haven’t tried anything yet.”

“That’s the thing about you, Tenzo. You’re so modest. If you want the girl, you need to go in and get her. You need to show her what she means to you, since you can’t bring yourself to just outright tell her.”

“The whole bold displays of affection aren’t my thing.”

She hummed, her head lolling from side to side as she twirled the straw of her drink in between her fingers. “Maybe you should try some roundabout approach since you’re so scared of rejection. Send her anonymous letters and gifts, give her little clues that it’s you and see how she reacts.”

“Like a secret admirer?"

“Exactly! That’s sooo romantic. I wish some guy would do that shit for me.”

Kakashi raised a brow. “Oh, really?”

“Of course. I’m almost 27 and I’ve never had a long lasting relationship. I just want some guy to really, I don’t know, just love me. Love who I am, not hook up with me for my body or-or only pretend to like me for coupons on bread,” she complained, quite loudly as well. “Fuck those guys and their bread discounts...”

“Y/N-”

“I’d suggest you do something like that for your crush. Make her feel like you really care about her mind and soul.” Y/N clutched her hand over her heart and squeezed the front of her dress. “So many men nowadays act like horny teenagers, and us ladies are sick of it.”

She really did not need to go into such detail, and Yamato could tell she was drinking too much. Y/N would never say these things aloud if she were completely in her right mind. He felt rude just sitting there letting her rant on and on, exposing her own feelings to the table. But at the same time, he was grateful to know what she wanted in a lover. She never really let on what her romantic life was like, other than single for the most part.

That is what he and Kakashi were discussing before she came around. He was desperate to sweep her off her feet and woo her, to make revealing his feelings easier. Kakashi told him to just go to the bakery and tell her right then and there, but that was just too bold. He wasn’t going to go in without a plan, it was irrational.

“Yamato, I’m telling you, if this woman rejects you, she’s fucking stupid. You’re a catch. You and Kashi over there, both of you could get any woman you want, and that’s a fact.” the woman waved her hand to emphasize her point, only to knock the rest of her fourth drink over into her lap, sticky syrup soaking into her apron and through to her skirt. “Oh man.”

“I think it’s time for you to head home, little miss Y/N,” Kakashi chimed in, “This is exactly why we don’t bring you to bars, you know.”

“Shush. I am fine.”

Yamato sighed, motioning with his hands for her to move to the edge of the seat. He rolled his eyes at her words, knowing she was talking out the ass. “Yeah, yeah. Just get up, Y/N. I’m taking you home.”

Both men were surprised when she lifted her hand and pushed him away from her. Her glare was intense, anger behind those eyes. “No! Not you. I want Kakashi to walk me home.” The man was taken aback by the harshness in her tone. She was normally calm tempered, but her head was spinning and she was obviously growing moody.

“That’s fine by me. Yamato, you’ll pick up the bill for us and uh, clean this mess, right?” Kakashi smirked as he slid out from the booth and picked up her bag of baked goods. She followed suit, climbing out of her seat and grabbing onto the shinobi’s arm tightly. He really couldn’t care any less about her nonsense. It had been so long since they became friends, he’d seen her in every mood imaginable, and much drunker than this. He’s walked her home more than a few times in their past years.

“Curse you, cheap-ass.”

“Gotta go.”

With that, the white haired man walked out the restaurant with a woman in tow. They lived in the same direction, so he started down the street as she stumbled after him, tripping occasionally on pebbles. He felt bad for his friend, really. But the answer was clear as day now. Y/N cared for Yamato a lot more than she let on. It was just up to one of them to make a move. He couldn't do everything for them.

She tripped along beside him, letting her head fall against his shoulder a few times. Her eyes slid up to the man’s masked face, and he felt her hands begin to quiver a bit around his arm, just a tiny bit, but it was still there. Those little, very-telling, tremors.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked gently, knowing she would immediately spill whatever was stuck on her mind.

“Kashi, why does Tenzo want some other village girl?” she questioned, her cheeks puffing out and her eyes getting watery with tears. “Why doesn’t he want me? I want him so badly, it hurts right here.” she placed her free hand over her stomach and gagged. “I might throw up, it hurts so much.”

“Trust me, it’s gonna be okay,” he hushed, a tiny smile on his lips. He didn’t want to reveal too much to her, but it was just so amusing pulling the strings like this. Two of his friends, one a subordinate and the other a sneaky baker, falling for each other right in front of him. With all the work piling up, this was definitely a refreshing take.

“Also, you shouldn't throw up. It'll burn your throat, you know.”

She nodded, and just clutched onto her stomach as they made their way down the narrow alleyways toward her small apartment. He unlocked the door for her when she struggled to fit the key into the tiny hole that blurred together with everything else. He was a good friend, she thought, and made a mental note to thank him next time she saw him. Well, she tried to make a mental note, but when her body hit the mattress in the corner of her small studio, she found herself drifting away.

__________

God, her head hurt so badly she thought her skull was cracking open right then and there, as she lifted her head from her pillow. Light shined in through the window only to make things worse than before. She looked around the room and noticed that her coat was hung up properly on the hook and her shoes were sitting by the door. Her basket rested atop her counter.

Most importantly, on her nightstand sat a glass of water and a couple pills, ready for her to take the moment she woke up. Kakashi or Yamato must have walked her home and put her to bed. They were very nice men, she enjoyed having them as friends, she just worried she had made a drunken fool of herself last night in front of them. She rarely drank heavily, for that reason. She couldn’t even remember what happened, just that she met them at the restaurant and then the rest fell empty in her mind, little images blending together until she couldn’t decipher a thing that happened. She was more than ashamed.

How could she lose control of herself so casually, she wondered. She never even wanted to drink, much less enough to give her this searing headache. Something must have happened last night that influenced her decisions. Maybe she had a drinking contest with Kakashi like that one time before. If so, that was completely uncalled for on the man’s part. He knew her tolerance.

Nevertheless, she needed to get ready for work. A hangover wasn’t enough to heed the workings of the bakery.

She took the pills, and threw off her covers, walking over to her counter to take out one of the cinnamon rolls, taking a big bite to curb her hunger pains. After taking a moment to compose herself, she got ready for work. If she was late, she knew the owners would be forgiving, but she still felt bad regardless. She was going to walk in looking like a complete disaster.

As she headed out her door that morning, she stumbled on something sitting right at the foot of her doorstep on the welcome mat. Resting there, in a tiny little ceramic pot, stood a bonsai tree, trimmed and cared for perfectly. Her eyes scanned the area for who could have set it there, but met only empty space.

Hesitantly, she picked it up and brought it into her home. There was no note attached, nothing to signal who’d given it to her. Just a little tree that she would put on her window sill. It was strange, she had to admit that, to receive an anonymous gift at such an hour. She’d have to ask her friends about it later on to see if one of them had given it to her, for reasons she didn’t know.

But as the days went by, and those days turned into weeks, she continued to receive gifts every few days. More tiny trees in pots, sometimes flowers in little glass vases. None of them at first had anything attached until the most recent piece which when she picked it up to take into her home, a folded piece of paper sat beneath the vase. She made sure to pick it and put it in her apron to read on her break when she went to work. She didn’t have the time when she woke up only about 20 minutes before she was due at her job.

She was more than grateful for the little garden she was accumulating on her window sill, the beautiful flowers and trees somehow surviving despite her little knowledge of taking care of them. She stopped by a flower store in town to get some fertilizer just to keep them alive. It would be a shame if they died since someone was being so kind as to give them to her.

With her boring life, the flowers brought a smile to her face and a warmth in her heart that she hadn’t felt before. Regardless of who was leaving the items there, she felt like she was important to someone. Some person was taking time out of their day to show they cared about her.

Truthfully, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wished it was Yamato leaving her gifts. She’d been attracted to the man for quite some time, ever since they met really. He was just so strong and brave, and awkward in a cute kind of way. He was truly the only man of her affections, and she could only dream she was the object of his as well.

It was more than unlikely though. He was a strong ninja of the leaf. The chances of someone that amazing wanting to be with someone as simple as the town baker were lower than she wanted to admit. He most likely had his eyes set on some gorgeous kunoichi like Shizune or Kurenai. Someone he could relate to, really.

It was embarrassing to even admit she had a crush on him. It made her feel so tiny and weak, knowing that she wasn’t his ideal.

So she pushed that thought from her mind. Yamato would never be interested in her, and he most certainly not the one leaving her little notes and plants.

What she did know was that this person was a shinobi. Maybe not Yamato, but they were definitely a shinobi. She set up a trap, at least one she thought a normal person would fall for. Right before her door, she set up a tiny trip wire made of floss at the perfect level for someone to pull loose when they walked up to leave a gift on her welcome mat. Her room was at the very end of the hallway, so there was no way anyone else except her secret admirer was the one to set off the trap. Any normal person without the high perception of a shinobi would set off the trap and she would be able to narrow down the results to a civilian.

Only, the morning after she set up the trip wire, when she opened her door, there sat another bouquet of flowers, as well as an untripped strip of floss.

This person had to be a shinobi. She concluded. It was the only explanation in her mind, desperate to find out who the mystery person was all this time.

As she walked the streets that afternoon after the store had closed, her eyes honed in on Yamato, who stood next to a vegetable stand picking up some groceries. Immediately, she turned on her heel and cornered him between the squash and the sweet potatoes.

“Yamato, I need to talk to you. It’s urgent. Do you mind?” she practically demanded, and his eyes widened. He did not expect such an abrupt conversation between them. He shifted awkwardly to rest his grocery bag in the crook of his elbow and lean on his left side, arms crossed over his chest.

He knew what she wanted to talk about. It was about those gifts that he had been giving her. It was just a matter of whether she had figured out it was him or not, that was the question. He was kinda hoping she didn’t know yet. He was not ready to face what came after the reveal, rejection or otherwise. He really hadn’t thought it that far out yet. How could he. Just thinking up love notes and what plants to give her next was more than enough to worry about.

But damn, when he looked down at her, hair dusted with flour from a days work, a smudge of cake batter still on her forearm, apron a complete mess, he wanted to cave and tell her everything. She was just so beautiful, so clumsily perfect he couldn’t help but lose his train of thought. He swore he’d never seen a woman more perfect than her, not even Naruto’s sexy jutsu could come close to this girl.

He found his ears heating up and no doubt turning red at the thoughts running through his mind, and he was quick to smother them down. He was not irrationally emotional. Hell, he was ANBU, he should be able to control his emotions down to a tee.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“I have a secret admirer, and I know they are a shinobi.”

He felt himself growing nervous. How had she deduced that? “Ah, that’s definitely exciting for you. How do you know it’s a shinobi?”

“I know because I set up a tripwire last night and the person didn’t set it off, so I know they are coordinated enough to avoid it. This isn’t just some random village boy. This is someone skilled.”

“Y/N, he could have very well just avoided the trap with his natural gait, don’t you think?” he tried to reason with her, try to get her off his trail. Admittedly, he thought she was quite clever for setting up the trap. When he walked over it the night before, he swore it was just a spider web. He didn’t even consider the possibility of a trap in his way.

If only he could throw her off his scent. He needed more time. He couldn’t confess to her now. It was too abrupt, too sudden. He would probably die.

“No, I’m convinced it’s a shinobi.”

Shit. “Well, what are you going to do now?”

She thought for a short moment on what she was going to say, tapping her foot on the ground beside her. Her eyes widened and she smiled at the thought that ran through her mind. Of course, it was so obvious. “The gifts come sporadically, so I know that the shinobi can’t leave gifts when they are on missions. Next time there is a long break in gifts, I will just ask around to figure out who has been on a mission for a while. Bam, I’ve got my answer. It’s foolproof.”

She really had thought this through more than him. She was too good, and he felt himself panicking. He had a weeklong mission in 3 days, and if she asked anyone, they would tell her it was him. He felt moisture gather up at his brow, and he internally cursed his situation. He had to find some way out of this mess without her figuring out it was him.

“Yeah, that could definitely work. I hope it all works out for you, Y/N,” he lied through his teeth.

“I know. I’m just smart like that, aren’t I?”

“You sure are,” he muttered, but honestly, he just wanted to go off and find Kakashi. He needed to talk to him. His eyes slid away from Y/N and he sighed. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. Don’t forget to stop by before your next mission to get some of our special food pills, okay? I just made a new batch and you can try them free of charge. Anything for a fella as handsome as yourself.” She laughed, shifting her weight to press a hand to her hip.

Jeez. There was no good reason for her looking so adorable. Calling him handsome as well? It was all too much for his heart to handle. Needless to say, he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t walk away right then. With that, he simply nodded before patting her shoulder. “Like I said, gotta go.”

“Oh, okay. See you around.”

“See you.”

He walked away quickly, heading in the direction of Kakashi’s apartment, knowing he just had to do something about the mess he was currently in, and ways to avoid the inevitable. His heart was racing so fast he thought he might be having a heart attack. How could he be swayed so easily by a pretty face. He had no idea, but he really wanted it to stop. For the sake of his sanity, he needed to learn to be calm around her.

He would tell her soon, get all this off his chest and share his true feelings. He just needed a bit more time.

[flightfoot]

Greeting the New Dawn

Set post-Reveal in @buggachat Bakery Enemies AU, whenever that ends up being.

Thanks to Queenie for betaing!

AO3 ---------

“If you want me to leave, I will.”

Adrien looked off to the side, as if he thought that he wasn’t even worthy of meeting her gaze. As if already looking elsewhere, trying to impose on her as little as possible. “I can put in my resignation and tell your parents I found a different opportunity elsewhere.”

Marinette’s mouth went dry, her stomach dropping into a cavern. He- he couldn’t- not again- he couldn’t leave her- she’d only just got him back!

She willed desperately to say something, to stop him. 

Nothing happened.

Instead, she felt her mouth move, saying words she didn’t want to say. “I think that would be for the best.”

Adrien’s face fell further, his breath hitching slightly.

He didn’t say anything. Marinette suspected that if he tried, that hitch would devolve into full-on sobbing.

He turned around, heading for the door. 

Marinette regained control of her limbs. She reached out to grab him, to stop him from disappearing-

Her vision turned black.

-----

Marinette happily hummed as she kneaded some dough, her father joining her song. She’d missed spending time with her parents while she was in New York. 

*ding ding*

A customer?

Moments later, Sabine walked through the entryway to the kitchen. Marinette relaxed.

Until she got a closer look and noticed her eyes glistening.

“Maman?” 

“A-Adrien- he- he-!”

She burst into tears.

Marinette saw it then. Adrien desperately scrounging out of garbage bins to survive, getting thinner and thinner, having been unable to find another job. Losing his apartment, being forced out onto the streets.

Until finally someone had caught him going through their dumpster, recognized him, and decided that trash like him was unworthy of even having those rancid scraps. 

Adrien leaning against the dumpster, beaten and bloody as the rain came pouring down. Slowly closing his eyes.

He didn’t open them again.

-----

Marinette looked out the window at the rain. She’d given him her umbrella, he’d be fine. He said so himself. She didn’t need to do anything more, right? He could walk straight, he hadn’t even been slurring his words, he was coherent. Everything would be fine.

------

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news! Today, Adrien Agreste, son of the infamous supervillain, Hawkmoth, was found bludgeoned to death in an alley. The weapon of choice? An umbrella given to him by my favorite babysitter, Marinette Dupain-Cheng! Let’s give her a round of applause for helping set up the circumstances that allowed Paris to get rid of that loose end, once and for all.”

-----

Faceless masses quietly muttered all around Adrien.

A person would occasionally glance at him. Their face would twist up, fear and anger warring over their features.

Until they’d just walk away.

Leaving him alone, crying, desperately trying to reach someone, anyone.

They all slipped through his fingers like water, leaving nothing behind.

A flash of yellow. A defined figure. The last friend Adrien had.

“CHLOE!”

She turned around, gave him a glance.

Her hair swished as she turned back.

She didn’t look back a second time.

------

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news! Today Adrien Agreste was found dead in his apartment. Police are currently treating the case as a suicide-”

Marinette turned off the TV, getting back to designing her new outfit. It was sad what happened, but right now she wanted to concentrate on something more hopeful. 

She smiled as she looked at the red dress she’d just finished, its black accents making the bright red pop that much more.

Her Kitty was out there. She just needed to find him.

------

Marinette jolted awake, panting heavily. She threw off the covers, shakily getting to her feet. Stumbling forward, she reached out for the light switch.

It took her several tries to hit it. Her arm was shaking so badly she just kept on missing. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, she rocketed down. She really missed being Ladybug right about now; she could’ve just swung down to the first story.

A seeming eternity later (36 seconds later, to be exact), she rounded the corner into the kitchen.

The light was on, the sound of dough being rolled out punctuating the quiet of the early morning. 

Please let him be there please let him be there please please PLEASE-!

A blond-haired man turned around. “Mari-?”

She hit him like a freight train.

Instinctively Adrien wrapped his arms around her as they rolled to the side, dough spraying everywhere. 

She couldn’t bring herself to care.

“MARINETTE!” Adrien shouted, anxiety tinging his voice. “What’s wrong? Is someone hurt? Did anything get on you? I’m so, so sor-”

She just pulled him even tighter against her, muffling his voice with her shoulder. 

*thump thump thump*

Adrien was alive. He was here. He wasn’t in an alley or a grave or… or ALONE.

Not anymore.

“Ni-nightmare,” she choked out, trying not to cry. 

The blood drained from Adrien’s face. “It was him, wasn’t it?” He asked quietly, his voice quavering slightly. “I- I should’ve known, I wish I’d-”

“NO!”

She was NOT letting him take the blame for this. 

“It wasn’t your fault kitty, NONE of it was your fault. It was his, ONLY his, you did everything you could to stop him.”

Adrien frowned. For a minute she thought he was going to argue, but he seemed to think better of it. 

“And- and it wasn’t him anyway. Not really. It- it was you.”

“I- I’d never try to hurt anyone here, I’d never try to hurt you, regardless of what happened with Mother I-”

Marinette winced. Foot, meet mouth. Again.

“It wasn’t the Peacock nightmare. It- it was-”

She took a deep breath, pressing her head into his neck, feeling his pulse. “There were so many times when things could have gone worse than they did. Where you could’ve gotten hurt or killed. And- and I would never even have known I lost you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, My Lady,” he murmured into her ear. “Not unless you want me to.”

“If you want me to leave, I will.”

“NO!” She shook her head violently. “Never. I- I couldn’t stand it if-”

If I never saw you again. If you killed yourself because you thought no one wanted you around. Because you thought you deserved it. Or that you deserved to be out on the streets, struggling to survive, because of who your father is and how people see you because of it.

“I want you here,” she told him more calmly. She needed him to know that. To internalize it. “You deserve to be here. You deserve happiness and safety and people who love you and- and just every good thing in the world!” 

She’d tell him this every day if she needed to, until he believed it.

“I- I dreamed that you’d died those times. Like- like when you asked if I wanted you to leave. Or- or thinking back on what could’ve happened if you’d walked home while drunk. But the worst one? Was where you committed suicide before I ever ran into you as a civilian.”

She needed to bake Chloe some cookies. ALL the cookies. She’d probably comment about how she was only tolerating Marinette’s cooking in order to seem nicer to Adrien or something, but she didn’t care. If it weren’t for Chloe, then Marinette’s best friend, the love of her life, would probably be dead.

“In that nightmare, it barely even registered that you’d died. Just- you were just some stranger. Some stranger who was dead now. That- that was most horrifying of all.”

Her hearing about him dying and barely even caring because she didn’t know him - it terrified her more than anything else. Logically she’d known that was a possibility before she’d found out Adrien was Chat Noir, but- well she’d never really seriously thought about him dying. And- and part of her thought that because of how close they were, she’d just know if he was hurt, if something had happened to him. Would recognize him on sight if the worst happened.

But neither of them had known the other when they ran into each other at the bakery. And she’d never had a clue that the boy on the billboards was the same boy running alongside her on rooftops. 

Adrien held her tighter. Something wet dripped onto her neck.

She didn’t comment. His shoulder was damp from her own tears.

“It didn’t happen.” He told her. “It could have, but it didn’t. I- I know what it’s like to have those ‘what ifs?’ running through your head. Sometimes, the best you can do is tell yourself that everything did work out. That it’s okay. I- I tell myself that all the time. Every time I think about what could’ve happened if I never met your parents- if I’d never started working here. If I’d never seen you again. Never met Nino or Alya.”

“Adrien…” 

“It doesn’t help. There’s nothing that can be done about ‘what ifs’. It may not make those thoughts go away, but- but at least it doesn’t matter what could’ve happened, because it didn’t. And thinking about it in circles won’t help.”

He grinned at her. “You know what will?”

She blinked at him, lost for words.

Until she felt something sticky on her forehead.

Reaching her hand up, she got the substance off. 

Dough coated her fingers.

Her partner gave her a shit-eating grin. “Ooops.”

“Oh you are ON.”

As she chased her kitty around the kitchen, trying to tag him with bits of the fallen dough, she smiled.

He was alive. 

Maybe he wasn’t okay yet, but he would be.

And so would she.