#maybe we should turn him into mash

[fuzzbuns]

Inspired by the fact my friend called nanaki a “poor little potato” once and then followed it up immediately with a picture of mashed potatoes LOL and this

[dirtyvulture]

BBB

Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Sergeant!Reader*

18+ only read at your own risk

Word count: 3248

Requested by anon: Hi i love your work..you don't have to do this request if you don't want.. i was kind of was wondering since we haven't heard from Sergeant Nat and reader. If we could hear from them? I was thinking since Nat is always the confident reassured one in that universe like maybe something happens where shes not sure where she stand with reader? Like jealous or maybe reader lets one of her military friends borrow her laptop and they use it to watch porn...and nat finds it and thinks its reader. And nat kind of loses her mind in a way that we havent seen. (Not like crazy but for the first time shes like am i enough). And reader is high key oblivious bc she worships nat. Some communication to sort out and then smutty times. Only if you want. If not i look forward to whatever you post yay. 

AN: *Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Thanks for the idea, anon! This was a lot of fun to write. :)

This is Part 5 in my Sergeant Beef series. Read the first one here.

“Hey, can I borrow your laptop?” Sam asks, poking his head into your room. 

“Why?” You don’t even look at him, focused on you video game on the tiny television mounted to your wall.

“I dropped mine in the lake, so I had to buy a new one but it won’t get shipped off until later this week,” Sam explains. 

“Okay,” you say, hardly listening to him as you race your little car across the screen to bump the giant soccer ball towards the goal. “It’s in my room on the–”

“I know where it is. Thanks.” Sam whisks in and helps himself. 

“Close the door on your way out!” you call, just in time to hear the door slam behind him. Turning your whole focus back to your game, your fingers mash the buttons to a triumphant win.

***********************************************************************

A few days later, Natasha is over at your apartment. While the two of you had discussed a thousand times moving in together, you had always stalled or walked around the subject. Natasha wasn’t sure if it was because you were nervous what the public’s perception would be of your relationship, or if you preferred your own private space too much to give it up. Ever since the deployment, you had been more likely to retreat and hide away (even from Natasha) when you were upset or moody. She wondered if it was a side effect of your PTSD, but you never seemed ready for that conversation so she left it alone.

For dinner, you grilled some steaks (setting off the smoke detector in your apartment) while Natasha made a side of mashed potatoes and green beans. Afterwards, you went to take a shower while Natashas lounged around and found a movie on Netflix for the two of you to watch. She sits on the couch, opening your laptop and finding the web browser. She looks up Netflix and then browses through the recommendations on your home page, but none of them pique her interest.

She goes onto Google to search what other people are recommending and wades through a sea of titles and descriptions to find one. Swapping back and forth between tabs, she finds a website with a host of titles and flips back and forth until she finds a movie that is both on the list and currently on Netflix. But in the process, she loses track of the tab and accidentally closes it, silently cursing to herself, before going to check the history to find it again.

But what she finds in the history is not what she had been looking for.

Natasha feels almost scandalized when she sees the words “big busty blondes” in your search history, followed by a list of pornsites. While she knew you watched such videos in her absence, she didn’t know what genre you were into, and now a deep sinking feeling of insecurity fills her. She was not blonde, nor was she particularly busty after the years of hard workouts had shrank some of her assets a little. You always told her she had the perfect body, but now she wasn’t quite sure if she should believe you.

“Nat? Did you pick a movie?” You poke your head out of the bathroom. You’re not wearing a shirt and your wet hair is dripping water down your chest, emphasizing the lines of your muscles. Natasha can see the bullet scar on your ribs from the deployment that almost ended your life. But you walked away with every member of your team alive, and your tale of bravery had become something of a living legend in the community. 

She knows you could have any woman you wanted. She had seen the way the recruits eyed you and how bold the other brass were with you. Before your promotion to sergeant, you were often overlooked and completely ignored. Natasha, perhaps a little selfishly, always considered herself the catch in your relationship: she was one of a handful of female sergeants with outstanding credentials, and looked great in and out of a uniform. But maybe she thought too highly of herself. You had developed into a very competent sergeant, were extremely good-looking, and had the most lovable personality anyone could ask for.

What if you didn’t want her anymore? What if you wanted someone younger, or someone you could start a family with? Natasha hadn’t yet disclosed to you her inability to have children, but if the subject ever came up, she knew you’d need no other excuse to walk away.

“Nat? Did you pick out a movie?” you ask again.

“Yes,” Natasha says. “We can watch Trolls.”

“Okay. That sounds fun.”  

You come out in a sweatshirt with matching gray sweatpants and join Natasha on the couch. Instinctively, you put your arm around her shoulder and she snuggles against you, letting you rest your head against hers.

You seem to enjoy the goofy children’s movie, laughing out loud at the jokes and cheering when the main characters hug by the end. But Natasha can’t focus for a second, still thinking about the search history on your laptop. She didn’t even know if it was something she should bring up, but it was already eating her alive to think that she wasn’t good enough for you.

Natasha didn’t know if she would be able to survive without you. She would have to do everything she could to keep you by her side.

***********************************************************************

“Give me a sec,” Natasha calls, hurriedly slipping her boots on. She checks herself in the mirror one final time before opening her apartment door to see you.

“Hi, Nat–oh.” Your expression goes flat.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks, her stomach twisting in knots. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“You dyed your hair,” you say, blinking at the short blonde hair she was now sporting.

“You don’t like it?” she asks, her worry growing by the second. She had dropped a significant sum at the salon on base to cut and dye her hair. Perhaps this had been a severe overreaction on her part. 

“Oh. No, um, it looks very nice,” you stutter. 

Natasha is not convinced in the slightest. Her face flushes red and she bites her lip to stop herself from crying in frustration. “That’s okay,” she mutters more to herself than you. “Where are we going again?” she asks, even though she knows every detail of the outing she had planned with you.

“The gym first, then we can get lunch and go grab groceries,” you list off, seemingly oblivious to her awkwardness. 

“Yes, that’s right. Okay, let’s go,” she replies sullenly.

***********************************************************************

Natasha isn’t sure what else she can do to hold your attention after the hair dying incident. She tries to be extra doting with you, but all of her efforts seem to go completely unnoticed. You only say “thank you” once when she gets you your favorite chocolate bar from the commissary. The next time the two of you are in bed together, Natasha feels like she has to guide you through all the motions and you fuck her with a concerningly low level of enthusiasm. Natasha is convinced you’ve found someone else and just the thought of losing you makes her sick. 

She’s nearly sent over the edge when she finally gets a text from you:

From Y/N: Can you come over tonight? I want to talk

Natasha feels like the rug has been pulled out from under her feet. Sweat breaks out on her forehead and her stomach starts to hurt like she had a bad meal. What if she just didn’t go to see you? Would you really still break up with her over text?

Her body seems to have a mind of her own as she responds:

To Y/N: Ok

***********************************************************************

“Thanks for coming over,” you say, welcoming Natasha into your apartment. She steps in guardedly, wondering if you’re hiding your new girlfriend under the couch. Or maybe she’s already in your bed. She shuffles down the hallway to subtly peer into your bedroom, which is empty.

“What did you want to talk about?” Natasha isn’t one to dance around the elephant in the room. Besides, she doesn’t want to draw this out any longer than it needs to be.

“Oh. Um…” You sound caught off guard. “Well, I was thinking that–”

“You want to break up with me.” Natasha can’t stop the tears forming in her eyes. She wipes them away, angry at herself for showing such weakness already.

“What? What makes you think that?” Your shock is so genuine, Natasha almost wants to believe you.

Natasha hides her face behind her hand. “I saw it on your laptop last week. The kind of porn you were watching–”

“Porn? I use incognito,” you say. “Unless that doesn’t actually hide things…” you add in a mumble.

“Your search history said you looked up…” Natasha takes a breath. “‘Big busty blondes,’” she repeats, hating the way the words sound off her tongue.

“What?” You sound confused now. “That’s…I don’t watch that kind of stuff. Wait, is that why you dyed your hair blonde?”

“No,” Natasha lies. “But I saw it on your laptop!” she insists, hastily changing the subject.

You pause for a moment, then start shaking your head with a chuckle. “I’m gonna rip him a new one,” you mutter. Then louder, you explain, “Sam borrowed my laptop last week because his was broken. I’m guessing he used it to…you know…” Your expression turns into one of disgust, and Natasha matches it. 

“Oh. So, you’re not into big busty blondes?” Natasha is embarrassingly desperate for clarification.

“No, I’m not.” You take a step towards her and hold out your hands. “But I do have a thing for hot redheads who could totally kick my butt.”

“I know,” Natasha says, taking your hands and leaning up to kiss you. Her lips lift into a smile when you return her kiss with more passion than you had all week, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her flush against you. You dig your fingers into her thighs, lightly rolling your hips, and when she feels your hard bulge against her stomach and all of her doubts are cast away immediately. Her face burns in shame when she realizes how quickly she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. You weren’t going anywhere. You were totally in love with her and wanted no one else.

“Wait, so what did you want to talk about?” Natasha asks, trying to ignore the arousal building in her core as you hump her.

“Oh! Um…” Your face reddens, as if you’re so turned on yourself you forgot why you asked her to come. “Uh…I wanted to ask if…you would like to move in with me? Or if I could move into your apartment? Or we could find a new place together…”

Natasha feels like she’s gotten whiplash from the subject change. She had come here thinking you were breaking up with her, but instead you actually wanted to move in with her? Just when she had thought it was never going to happen.

“Why the change?” she asks.

You shrug your massive shoulders. “We spend so much time together as it is. And I was mostly nervous because you know I have those night terrors a lot, but…” You sigh. “I realized I get them a lot less when I wake up next to you.” Natasha wants to melt in your arms. “And it would be really nice if I got to wake up next to you every day. And eat every meal with you. And–”

Natasha cuts you off with a hard kiss. “Yes,” she pants, groping for the tie on your sweatpants and pulling them down. “Of course I’ll move in with you.”

“Nat,” you whine when she grabs your cock. She feels it throb in her hand and her arousal spikes. As high as her own sex drive was, there was little else that turned Natasha on more than to see how excited you were for her. She pushes you towards the bedroom and you understand without needing words, obediently sitting down on your bed and pulling you on top of her. You grunt when her weight lands on your thighs and Natasha immediately props herself on her knees; sometimes she forgets about the injury on your right thigh that still causes you pain sometimes.       

“Sorry baby,” she whispers while leaning in to kiss your cheek. It had been a long and sometimes frustrating journey to get back to the same level of intimacy the two of you shared after the deployment ambush and your recovery. The medicines you were on had drastically affected your mood (and performance) and there were still some positions you could no longer do because of the strain it put on your body. But Natasha had been patient and gentle with you, even when all she wanted to do was fuck you senseless. Over time your strength and stamina had come back, and Natasha was thrilled you could still please her in bed. 

She leans back and takes her shirt off while you mirror her. You’re almost back to your weight as before the deployment, but the physical therapy has encouraged you to work out even harder, so you are more muscular and toned than before. Natasha eyes your body hungrily, her hand reaching out to trace the scar on your ribs. While she hates the memory attached to your scar, she can appreciate how much more badass it makes you look.

“Nat,” you say, and she breaks out of her thoughts. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” She pushes you to lie on your back, rolling her clothed lower body against yours. “Everything is very okay.” Her hands skate across your warm skin, squeezing your biceps before resting on your chest, balancing herself as she rocks back and forth. Even though you’re still wearing boxers, Natasha can feel the hardness of your dick pressing against her butt.

“All ready for me?” she hums, digging her nails lightly into your chest.

“Always,” you respond, rolling your hips to match her rhythm. 

“Hmm.” Natasha contemplates how she wants you today. You almost never call the shots in bed, but you have no problem with Natasha taking control most of the time. She likes how submissive you are to her and your willingness to please her even at your own expense. But she isn’t feeling selfish today and wants you to relax and enjoy too. 

Her body seems to have a mind of its own as she humps along your abs, eventually pushing her panties to the side so you can feel her heat on your stomach. 

“Nat,” you whine, gripping onto her waist to guide her movements. 

“Just let me ride you,” she says, lifting off of you for a moment to remove her panties completely, and the two of you moan when she settles back on you. You flex your abs until Natasha swears she could grate cheese on them. She angles her hips back and widens her legs so she can drag her pussy along the ridges of your abs, smearing her wetness everywhere. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” she moans.

“So do you,” you say, your hands tightening around her waist. 

Natasha moves her hips faster, sliding back until she can feel your cock practically poking a hole through your boxers. She’s just warming herself (and you) up and doesn’t want to rush to the main event. But as she hears your whines and feels the tension in your body, all she wants is for you to flip her over and fuck her until she can’t walk.  

“Can you do exactly what I ask you to?” Natasha pants, the building arousal in her stomach almost painful now.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, Sergeant. Whatever you want.”

The use of Natasha’s title makes her pussy clench around nothing. Her body aches for you and she’s done playing around.

“Good. I want you to get on your knees and fuck me,” she demands, abruptly climbing off of you and presenting her backside to you. You scramble to obey, wasting no time lining up your cock with her soaking pussy and pushing in eagerly. Natasha inhales sharply when your length stretches her out, filling her perfectly and reaching places she could never reach with her hand or a toy. When you start moving your hips, she whimpers and moans, gripping handfuls of the bedsheets so you don’t slam her into the headboard.

She spasms around you with every stroke, clenching tightly and trying to draw you in as deep as you can go. Natasha loves to hear you moan, knowing she was the cause of them, and more of her slick leaks out around your cock. 

“Fuck, Nat,” you grunt, your thighs slapping against her butt with every thrust. “You always feel amazing.”

“Harder,” she begs. “I want you to cum when I do.”

“I’ll try,” you respond, your breathing ragged as you start to falter in your rhythm. 

“Fuck, you’re in me so deep,” Natasha moans, wishing that despite your already above-average size, you had more to give her. She lets go of the bedsheets and slips her hand down between her legs, rubbing her clit for added stimulation. “Don’t you dare stop,” she warns, noticing the way your legs are shaking and your thrusts are losing their power.

“I won’t,” you whimper, and Natasha is not convinced you’ll be able to last much longer. Her hand glides back up to her stomach, where she can feel the bulge of your cock through her skin. That alone nearly sends her over the edge, but she has one more request from you.

“Bite me,” Natasha pants, motioning to her right trapezius muscle. Normally, she is very against you marking her during sex because she doesn’t want to worry about hiding them, but now she is panting at the thought of you finally staking your claim on her.

“Bite you?” you say, sounding extremely timid.

“Yes!” she growls, not wanting to repeat herself. “If you don’t bite me, I won’t let you cum.”

You moan and tighten your grip on her waist. Natasha feels your cock throbbing inside her, but she knows you won’t finish without her permission. The bed creaks as your weight shifts and she feels your chest press against her back as you lean over her. She hums in anticipation, feeling your breath across the back of her shoulder. Your teeth graze her skin lightly, your hesitancy obvious. 

“Y/N,” she moans, pushing back into you and squeezing your length. “If you don’t fucking bite me–”

Your teeth suddenly clamp down sharply and Natasha keens, gushing around you and not even noticing you finish inside her. White spots of pure pleasure burst behind her eyelids and she feels cum drip down her thighs. It feels like she’s riding out the high forever, but when she finally unwinds, she feels your weight pressing into her back and a dull stinging in her shoulder. She twists her head to see the clear imprint of your teeth in her skin, the flesh reddening already.

“Sorry if that was too hard,” you say softly, as if you’re embarrassed by following her instructions.

“Nonsense,” she says, reaching behind her to cup the back of your neck. She pulls your head down against hers and nuzzles against your cheek. “Next time, you can bite me harder.”

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

AN: Sorry to Sam lol

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[starboye]

pairings: eijiro kirishima x male reader x katsuki bakugo

request: If you write for My Hero Academia, how about YN riding the boys of your choice in the common room while they play Mortal Kombat? If for example, Shinso wins, YN must ride him until he loses. So if Bakugou defeats Shinso, YN will ride him until someone else defeats him. They just using him as a ragdoll. Oh, and they're all naked by the way and the rest of the students maybe went out to visit their families or something. I don't think Todoroki knows how to play video games, so he just records everything patiently waiting his turn or Midoriya shares his turn with him.

warnings: smut, degrading slightly, unprotected sex, recorded sex, cursing

a/n: please know that I have never once watched this show so if I got anything wrong I'm sorry

when eijiro and bakugo said they wanted to hang out you didn't expect to be spreading your ass across their dicks but here you were getting passed between the two after every win.

"how much longer am I gonna have to do this guys" you ask tired after the hours of riding, your knees feeling like they were mere minutes from giving out "c'mon you can go for another hour" bakugo says focusing in on the game to make sure he can keep you tightly wrapped around him "no I can't" you whine turning your face away from the camera that todoroki was recording with (which was definitely gonna be used for jerk off material later).

"don't be shy baby boy" bakugo says turning your face back to the camera but doing that makes him loses focus and he ends up losing the round "fuck this shit" he curses throwing his hands into the air "yes, my turn" eijiro celebrates, you lift off bakugo and eijiro snatches you onto his dick "can you guys please just cum already" you begged mixed with a moan "should we" eijiro asks bakugo.

"one more round" bakugo replies resuming the game "you guys are such dicks" you huff "yeah but you're still enjoying this huh" eijiro says rubbing the tip of your dick making you moan and lay your head on his shoulder while you begin lightly bouncing up and down on his dick, "yeahhh just like that" todoroki says stroking his dick watching the erotic scene in front of him "shut up you horny fuck" you snarl "don't test me or I'll fuck you till you beg me to stop" todoroki growls making you shut up.

"that's what I thought, now be a good boy and ride the cum out of them" he says, you could hear the buttons mashing as the boys cursed at each other trying to win, but in the end you heard bakugo huff in frustration and eijiro cheered "yeah you get to ride me for a little more" eijiro says smacking your ass and going back to focusing on the game, you moan put before resuming riding him as you feel yourself get weaker and weaker.

you tighten your hole around eijiro, basically begging him to cum so you can finally rest "fuck" eijiro mutters as his vision becomes slightly hazy "about to lose huh" bakugo smirks "n-no... I got this" eijiro says before he closes his eyes tightly and cums in you with a loud groan while curses fall from his mouth, bakugo takes this chance to defeat eijiro and gets his chance with you "my turn" he eagerly says snatching you from eijiros dick.

bakugo doesn't even bother setting the controller down, he throws it too the side and slams you onto his dick "fuck" you both moan, bakugo could feel his dick sliding so easily in and out of you with the mix of eijiro's messy cum "right there" you whimper digging your nails into bakugo's back which will definitely have people questioning what happens to him over the break.

"nghhh" bakugo grunts through gritted teeth holding you down on his dick by tightly wrapping his hands around your waist "oh fuck" you loudly moan as you cum on bakugo's chest before you both collapse on the floor, chest heaving up and down with loud huffs.

"did you get that" eijiro asks todoroki "every second of it" he replies stopping the video and smirking "I'm never doing this again" you say leaning up off bakugo's chest "I'm sure you'll be back begging for more" todoroki says slapping your ass to hear you moan, after the break you were sure the boys showed everyone the video seeing as almost every guy was asking to fuck you, you weren't complaining though, you got to get fucked by every guy in school.

[artdcnaldson]

the ONLYYYY thing on my mind right now is what happened (or didn’t happen 😔) UNDER THAT BLANKET. can’t even imagine the energy in that room. i need a prequel horrendously badly cat 😭

Three’s Company || Art Donaldson x Reader x Patrick Zweig

Rating: E (18+)

Notes: Patrick POV, exhibitionism, very tame descriptions of fingering, sexual fantasies, masturbation

Word Count: 841

Summary: In the Fall of 2006, Patrick just wants to watch a movie with his best friend. Art, unfortunately, gets distracted. Then Patrick gets very distracted.

A/N: Mic…. This was supposed to be short 😭😭😭 but I knew I had to feed you 🩵🩵

Requests are OPEN

Patrick wasn’t paying attention to a single damn thing happening in the movie, and would’ve liked to, considering he was the one who paid the money to rent it from Blockbuster.

He was having a very hard time focusing on Channing Tatum playing soccer when you were panting beside him, hand fisted into the blanket that was covering you and Art.

Your thigh shifted, bumping against his, and you offered a sweet apology that was more of a squeak.

Art was grinning, looking like the cat who got the fucking cream while his hand moved beneath the blanket, finding a home between your thighs. Patrick couldn’t look at him, because making eye contact with Art meant acknowledging that he knew what was going on.

Art was probably doing it on purpose— the fucker. Maybe he was mad that Patrick got to have Tashi, and was making a point about having something the other person can’t. But Patrick wasn’t going around fingerfucking Tashi while Art tried to watch a movie, was he?

“I can’t fucking hear,” Patrick snapped finally, hoping if he turned up the volume on the laptop, it might cover the feeble attempts you were making to stifle pretty gasps and sighs.

He mashed the buttons on the laptop, maybe a little too hard in his urgency, but the volume spiked, barely loud enough for him to force his brain to tune you and Art out.

You leaned into Art’s shoulder, muffling your noises in the junction of his neck.

“What? You don’t like the movie?” Art teased. He pressed his lips to the crown of your head, and it was then that Patrick finally met Art’s gaze.

That smug motherfucker.

He must’ve done something particularly nice with his fingers, because a low moan slipped from your lips that you tried to pass off as… fuck if Patrick knew. It had to have been your first attempts at exhibitionism, because both of you were awful at it.

Art grinned, tilting your face to eye level. “Should we turn it off and do something else?”

“No!” You piped up quickly, eyes wide and glossy.

Patrick tried his best to conceal his annoyance and focus on the movie as Art pulled you closer and closer to the brink. Which was hard, because all of those little noises and the feel of your warm body beside him was enough to make anyone go fucking crazy.

He’d been faithful, even if Art was dubious. He hadn’t stepped out on Tashi— he would probably have a moment of clarity in some foreign country or a shitty bumfuck country club that he loved Tashi.

But it was like Art wanted him to break.

Your body was trembling, breath coming in shaky pants from your pretty, open mouth.

If things were different, he would’ve kissed you. Licked right into your mouth, let his hands wander.

Finish her off, Donaldson.

Art would have the first set, but Patrick could rally. He could always make you fall apart with his mouth. Better yet, he’d fuck you and make Art sit there like a asshole watching the goddamn movie Patrick had rented.

Art wouldn’t like it. He doesn’t like feeling left out. Whatever, Patrick would let you swallow Art‘s cock down your throat as a reward for him being so fucking ballsy in the first place.

A muffled squeak snapped him back to reality. You were panting, giggling softly in the juncture of Art’s shoulder.

Art’s cheeks were pink and flushed, and he wore a smug grin on his lips before he slipped the fingers that had just been buried inside of your pussy between his full lips. And then, like it hadn’t even happened, he reached over and grabbed his Gatorade from the nightstand. Patrick watched as he took a long drink, throat bobbing, and felt like he was going insane.

“What’s happening?” You asked, leaning over to whisper in Patrick’s ear. “I totally zoned out.”

Patrick stood suddenly and went for the door, hyper aware of his cock straining against his jeans. “Start it over, I’m gonna go smoke.”

He made it halfway to the door before Art spoke up. “Patrick?”

His voice was strained. “Yeah?”

“You left your pack.” Art was smug as he handed Patrick his pack of cigarettes— his fingertips still spit-slick when they grazed his wrist.

There was a silent exchange then. An I-Know and an I-Know-You-Know-and-I-Know-You’re-Hard. Patrick almost scowled as he snatched the cigarettes out of Art’s hands and darted out of the room.

He probably should’ve smoked. It would’ve been smarter than… well, anything else running through his brain. He settled on the shared dorm bathroom, a thin curtain of privacy in a mildly molded shower, and a spit slick hand working himself to completion.

Then a smoke.

Ten minutes later, he walked back into Art’s dorm and you smiled sweetly over at him. He sat back down, stole the popcorn from your lap, and glared at Art for good measure.

Art’s laughter made him forgive him for the whole thing anyway.

Thank you for reading!! Hope you enjoyed 🩵 let me know what you think + any other requests in the changeover universe 😚🩵

[porkcutletbowl44]

People turn their heads at Simon when he walks by, or they look away and very casually quickly walk away.

Who wouldn't do either of those?

The guy is all height, muscle, mass, bulk, thickness, just one whiff of him sets off danger alarms. But really? He doesn't care about civilians and their stares. He's just minding his business, no one comes up and talks to him, which is preferable.

It only ever happens during his grocery runs getting the usual; protein shakes, chicken and red meats, some veg, and maybe the occasional fruit to spoil himself.

He loves a simple lifestyle, finds joy in simple things because that's what he is— just a simple guy. (Minus his military streak) He is mostly unbothered by everything off deployment.

But you, on the other hand, are the complete opposite of all of those things.

You're on your grocery run too, prepping for your usual girls night to whip up quick and easy snacks. Chips, crackers and cheese, grapes, wine and beer, sweet treats, rolls to make sliders, anything and everything you and your friends would be in the mood for as you talk to your closest on the phone.

"Uh-huh, I'm thinking ice cream," you'd remark casually while inspecting chocolate covered pretzels with your phone wedged between your ear and shoulder.

"We should have plenty for the whole movie marathon—"

And that's when you see him.

Or, well, the absolute fucking dump truck he's carrying around. He's completely engrossed in the directions of instant mashed potatoes, not even noticing your staring— which normal people would be thinking how he doesn't hit his head on a door frame or how he fits into a car—

You are not that kind of normal.

You aren't thinking any of those things, how the hell is that thing even legal? It would clap from the top of you so much as tapped it.

You don't even need to go to the bakery for sweeter goods because the bakery is right fucking there in all its glory.

His ass is practically a shelf.

With your mouth agape, and your eyes wide, "hey, listen, I gotta call you back—"

[roosterforme]

How Old Are You? | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Bob only gets one birthday every four years. When his wife, Molly, realizes it's almost Leap Day, she throws him a party any nine year old would love. And it's the perfect celebration for a thirty-six year old, too.

Warnings: Fluff, adult language, implied smut, 18+

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC!Molly (this story accompanies The Curveball)

Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Bob was half asleep in bed, post orgasm, when the weird conversation started. "So technically you're about to turn nine? Even though you'll be thirty-six? Is that right?"

He cracked his eyes open again as he watched his wife stretch her arms above her head, her nipple piercings glinting in the soft candlelight that had their bedroom aglow. She was nibbling on her lip, and he could practically see her mind working.

"Yeah," he answered cautiously. "Why do you have that expression on your face, Mo? Like you're plotting something scary?"

"I've never plotted something scary a day in my life!" she told him before leaning down and gently biting his bicep. "I was merely considering what I should get you for your special day."

"I don't need anything," he replied quickly, remembering the naked cowboy statue wearing glasses that she gifted to him last year.

"Well," she said, drawing out the single syllable. "That's where I think you're wrong, Bobby."

"Molly, I don't even want anything." Then he had an idea that he hoped would throw her off. "How about you get some pretty new barbells or rings and let me play with them?"

She rolled her eyes. "That would be a gift for me."

He shrugged as she draped herself across him. "Kind of for both of us when you really think about it."

Her soft lips found his jaw as she whispered, "But it's not every day you turn nine, Coach Cute Glasses. You deserve an extra special treat."

He shook his head in exasperation and said, "I'll really be thirty six though."

"Not according to the calendar." She kissed him sweetly before climbing over him to get out of the bed. "I'll go check on Charlie and Flora one last time before we go to sleep." Bob watched her slip his discarded undershirt on and smooth it down over her gorgeous body, perhaps a little more filled out now that they had two kids.

He reached for her hand and said, "Mo, we really need to sell the condo and get a bigger place. They can't share that tiny room forever."

Even though she told him all the time that she loved the condo and didn't want to leave it, she was finally starting to come around. "I think I'm ready to admit that you might be right about that, Uncle Bob."

"Really?" he asked, jolting up in bed.

She nodded and hummed. "Yes. Besides, your birthday party would be a lot easier to plan if we had more space to accommodate all the guests."

Bob groaned and flopped back down again, and Molly removed his glasses for him. "I don't need a birthday party," he insisted. "I just want a nice, quiet evening with you and the kids. Maybe your sister, Ev and Bradley, too, but that's it."

"We'll see," she replied before leaving the bedroom with a wicked smirk on her face.

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

"Can you get to my sister's house by noon on your birthday? For your party?" Molly asked as she watched Bob feed a mashed up banana to their one year old daughter. 

"I thought we ended that discussion with us both accepting the fact that I do not need a birthday party."

"Yeah... it's too late for that," she replied easily as she and Charlie both ate their own dinners. Molly's favorite hobby was keeping her husband on his toes. She figured his life would be sad and boring without her in it, and since he chose to be with her, he must have a deep-seated love for nonsense. She always made sure to bring it out for him, especially for his birthday. 

He gave her a stern look. "It's just a small party, right?"

"Sure, Bobby."

"I don't believe you."

"Oh come on," she whined. "This is your first real birthday since we met!"

She knew he would crack. He gave her what she wanted the vast majority of the time anyway, but when she whined for something harmless, it was always hers. 

"Fine."

And with that single word, Molly executed the most epic ninth birthday anyone could ever have. She called the vendors. She ordered the piñata. She invited the guests. She procured a balloon arch. And on Bob's birthday, her own sister and brother-in-law were looking at her with shocked expressions from their back deck when she started setting things up at eight in the morning. 

"I thought this was going to be a small party?" Bradley asked as he watched her assemble the red and yellow balloon arch. 

Molly just laughed. "That's just what I told Bob. I lied. The pony should be arriving soon."

"Pony?" gasped her sister. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard. Did you say a pony is arriving?"

"Yes," Molly said, speaking a little louder now to make her point. "How the hell are we supposed to have a cowboy birthday party without pony rides?"

Then Everett came tearing out onto the back deck, still in his pajamas, shouting, "Someone is bringing a horse around from the driveway!"

"See?" Molly asked as the pony and handler appeared in the backyard. "Ev is excited. He has good taste."

"He's ten!" Bradley snapped as he went running across the yard. "Is this thing going to tear up the grass that I spent months watering so it looked this nice?" But as soon as he saw how excited Everett was to pet the cute animal, Molly knew her brother-in-law would be on her side. It was just her sister glaring at her now.

"Whatever you mess up out here, you need to clean up. That includes the horse poop!"

"It's just a pony," Molly assured her, although the animal was a lot bigger than she expected. And yes, it was actually pooping. "It's fine. It'll be fine."

She was hoping it would be fine.

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

When Bob buckled Charlie and Flora back into their car seats in his truck at Myers park, he checked the time. It was almost noon. "Oh god," he groaned as he opened the driver's door. He had no idea what to expect, but the text from Bradley about how he was going to need help filling in the hoof prints in their yard next week had him on edge.

"Birthday party!" Charlie cheered from the backseat as Bob pulled out onto the main road. Molly had been talking about it so much, their son kept saying it over and over.

"That's right," Bob told him calmly. "But I'm pretty sure Mommy went bananas over the entire thing."

"Nana!" Flora crooned before she burst into tears. He should have known better than to mention her favorite food right in front of her like that. So he drove to his sister-in-law and brother-in-law's house with one delighted child and one who was crying hysterically. When he pulled down their block, there was absolutely nowhere to park, and there was a horse trailer parked right in front of the house. 

"Oh, no. No no no. Molly, no," he whispered. When he got closer, he saw the massive banner hanging on the porch that said Happy Birthday, Cowboy Bob. He had to squeeze his truck into the driveway behind the familiar blue Bronco while he gaped at the sight before him.

"Horse!" Charlie screeched. He wasn't wrong. There was some sort of pony walking around the backyard with Everett perched on top of the saddle wearing a cowboy hat. "I want the horse!"

"Okay," Bob told him as he shook his head and climbed out of the truck. He walked around to the back of the house with one child in each arm, and thankfully when Flora saw the pony, she stopped crying, perhaps out of fear. 

"Bob!" Molly shouted over the classic country music that was playing as she popped out of the enormous rodeo themed bounce house and ran to him. Literally everyone he'd ever seen in his life seemed to be here, and they were all wearing cowboy hats. Everyone from work was here. Like everyone. Cyclone was wearing a cowboy hat and drinking a beer. Bob thought he saw the doctor that Molly worked with who delivered both of their children. His parents and both of his sisters were here. His niece Piper was taking a turn riding the pony. There were indeed hoof prints in the yard.

Then Molly was somehow in his arms along with both kids, and she was kissing his neck as she said, "Happy birthday," in a voice that would have been a lot more appropriate for their bedroom. 

"Mo," he said, shaking his head. "There's a pony. It's making Bradley look constipated." 

She just rolled her eyes in response. "He'll get over it as soon as I offer to watch Everett for a few days over spring break so he and my sister can go away and do nasty stuff to each other."

Bob just smiled down at her and said, "You told me this would be a small affair."

"I guess I lied. Oops. Come say hi to Phoenix." She dragged him up onto the deck where Natasha took both kids from him with a kiss to his cheek, and then Molly was yanking his shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked, standing there in his undershirt with his glasses askew. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, she was pulling another shirt over his head. It said Birthday Cowboy, and there was a number 9 that looked like it was shaped out of rope.

And that's when everyone started hugging him and running around to get him drinks and chat with him. Mickey was wearing cowboy boots and a cow print vest. Maverick was teaching the kids how to line dance. Bradley's scowl had started to ease up since Everett seemed to be having the time of his life. 

"Happy birthday, Uncle Bob," Everett said when he walked over. He hugged Bob and added, "Your birthday party is my favorite birthday party ever, and I can't believe it's in my yard!"

"Thanks, Ev," he replied with a laugh as he watched Molly and Flora dancing with Javy. "It is pretty cool."

"Happy birthday, Bob," his sister-in-law said, handing him a card. "You can open it later. We got you opening day tickets for the Padres. Also, I'm so sorry that my sister is so chaotic, but you should have known what you were getting into when you started dating her."

Bob accepted another kiss on his cheek. "She really can't be stopped once she gets going." 

"It's a waste of time to even try. Might as well sit back and enjoy the show."

He did, and the looser he got, the more fun he started to have. He pet the pony while Piper rode around on it. He smashed open a cowboy piñata with one of Everett's baseball bats. He jumped in the bounce house with Charlie and Everett, and Bradley even joined them.

"I'll help you fix your yard next week," Bob promised as Everett did a backflip. 

Bradley just laughed and said, "It's hard to be mad about it when Molly just wants everyone to have the time of their life. You're very lucky. Also, I don't know how you deal with her on a daily basis."

Bob laughed, too. "Sometimes I just take it one hour at a time."

"Get ready for cake!" Molly shouted, and it took five people to carry out the biggest sheet cake he'd ever seen in his life. It was cow print and decorated with boots and spurs, and said Happy 9th Birthday, Cowboy Bob!

After he blew out the nine candles he reached for Molly. "Thank you," he whispered, kissing her softly. "I didn't know I needed a ninth birthday party, but I guess I really did."

"You're only a kid once, Bobby," she replied, smiling against his lips.

"You do know I'm actually thirty-six, right?" he asked, pulling her snug against him as her sister started to cut up the cake. 

"Not according to the calendar," she responded, patting him gently on the cheek. "Your mom and I had a lovely conversation about how terrible you look for your age."

He tried not to smile, but it was useless. "I'm actually having the best day, Mo."

"I knew it all along."

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

Both kids were sound asleep as soon as Molly tucked them into bed. Charlie went on a sugar high and then crashed, and Flora was played with and held by seemingly everyone at the party. They would probably sleep for a solid twelve hours. Which was good, because Molly wanted to give her husband the rest of his birthday presents. 

She found him in their bedroom where he was opening up the cards he got with a soft smile on his face. "You have so many friends," she told him, and he turned to look at her. "Everyone loves Bob Floyd."

He actually blushed which made her want to rip all of his clothing to shreds and have her way with him. He shook his head slightly and said, "Everyone loves the amazing Molly Floyd and her beautiful imagination."

"Bobby," she moaned softly, taking the card from his hand and wrapping her arms around him. "Tell me more about how amazing I am."

He laughed and whispered, "You threw me the equivalent of a kids' ninth birthday party, just because you could. My dad participated in the pie eating contest. My mom learned how to line dance. Bradley almost popped a vein in his forehead. It was wonderful."

She sighed in contentment. "In four more years when you turn ten, we'll be in a bigger house, and we can host your party there. But we'll have to wait and see if you're still into cowboys or if your interests change, Kiddo. Now will you please open your present from me? And put on your cowboy hat? I've always wanted to suck a real cowboy's cock."

Bob grinned. "Molly, you suck my cock when I'm wearing my cowboy hat all the time."

"But you've never had assless chaps before."

Bob let out a strangled sound, and when he opened the box that was wrapped in cowboy paper, there were in fact assless chaps inside. "Please, please, please put them on," Molly moaned. "God, I feel like it's my birthday."

As soon as she started whining, he always gave her what she wanted. It was impossible not to. Five minutes later, Bob was standing in the middle of the bedroom wearing the chaps, his birthday shirt, and his old cowboy hat. Molly was panting and biting her knuckle, already obviously raring to go down on him, which just made him harder.

But she took a step toward him and then stopped, a devilish smirk on his face. "Now wait. I'm having a bit of a moral dilemma with you in that shirt. How old are you again?"

"I'm thirty-six," he replied blandly. 

"You sure about that, Cowboy Bob?"

"Molly! I'm thirty-six!"

"Okay, okay. Just checking," she said, reaching for the bottom of his shirt. "But let's just remove this anyway."

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

I had a blast revisiting these two! I'm so deeply in love with Molly. I hope you enjoyed Bob's birthday celebration. Thanks for reading! And thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yandere Coworker (part 13)

Thank you @i---believe---in---pink for commissioning this chapter.

(2331 words)

tw: cyprus kissing you without consent, a bit of injury , afab reader

Masterlists (+commission info), part 1, part 14

You apologized.

He was silent, focusing on maneuvering the car safely, but you caught how his stern, grey eyes widened a bit in surprise. But aside from that, there was no other reaction from him.

You looked out of the window and curled yourself to the door. Cyprus continued driving quietly.

You nodded off, closing your eyes, and allowed your body to gently sway along with the movements of his car. The constant humming of his engine is making you sleepy, or maybe it was your eyedrops? Or perhaps it's the fact that Cyprus isn't talking for once. Whatever it is, you find yourself struggling to stay awake.

Eventually, you managed to wake yourself up again as you detected a change in your environment; the car stopped moving. You blinked multiple times and focused your bleary eyes, realizing you were back in the underground car park. You grumbled, about to rub your eyes, but resisted when you realized what you were suffering with. So you endured the discomfort and unbuckled your seatbelt.

Then, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Making you turn around without thinking, only to have your lips mashed with his. You let out a muffled scream, and Cyprus seized his chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. You couldn't escape, because Cyprus was progressively climbing over to your seat, trapping you against the door and his muscular chest. His hands were fervently rubbing all over your body; a hand roamed under your shirt and another pushed the back of your head towards him. Your hands were free, but your hits and scratches did nothing to him, or maybe you were holding back and not causing actual harm.

He positioned himself until you're sitting on his lap, you could kick all you want but it's only harming the air. It's fueling your chagrin that he angled you in such a way, that you couldn't even deal any damage towards his car.

You opened your eyes the entire time, noticing that Cyprus had removed his glasses. It's unfair that he has such long, pretty, and dark eyelashes, it's especially accentuated when his eyes are closed and you're this physically close to him. It's also frustrating that he's actually a god at kissing, it's undeniably enjoyable despite being a violation of your autonomy. He knew where to run his tongue to send tingles down your spine, he knew the pace to mold his lips with yours and he knew where to touch with his fingers to fluster you to the maximum.

Sensual smacks and soft moaning occasionally slip through the gaps between kissers filled the car, shuffling and rubbing of fabric also could be heard. But not to the world outside. And you are eternally grateful for that.

You ran out of breath, hitting him a bit harsher than usual. It did the trick, Cyprus got the hint and reluctantly parted his lips from yours with a very audible pop. His grey eyes fluttered open to see you disheveled and dizzy, your cheeks were heated up to an almost uncomfortable degree, and it's not due to a fever. You're panting and gasping greedily for air, it's jarring to see how Cyprus is breathing fine as if he didn't hold his breath for about a minute and a half. A slappable smirk found its home on his handsome face as he chuckled at you.

"Apology accepted." He said as he wiped excess drool from the corner of your lips with his thumb. "And you really need practice; you ran out of breath already?" Cyprus continued as he hugged you close, nuzzling his nose against the side of your face. You whined, trying to pry him off you, but all he did was laugh and press a kiss on your jaw. "You are so not getting through foreplay. You were right, we should just fuck right away instead."

You yelled that you're not going to have sex with him. He still wouldn't let you escape his arms, though, keeping you in place as he peppers your head with appreciative kisses. "Of course, you're not. Because we have a farmer's market to explore. Though, I don't mind a quickie..." He purred in your ear.

You called him shameless. "Only for you." He replied wittily as he gently groped you in different areas.

You called him disgusting. "Ouch." It was a nonchalantly teasing response. You then told him you don't care about his feelings or well-being, if your words hurt, then it's too bad. He merely smiled and hummed; "Mhmm..." Yet, he still wouldn't let you go from his bear cuddles.

You told him that he shouldn't have too much contact with you, because you have pink eye.

"I have grey ones. Your point?" He snickered, kissing the crown of your head.

You said he could get infected!

"And?" You stared at him incredulously.

You said that he's going to get sick and miserable!

"And?" His grin grew the more you talked.

You said that it wouldn't feel good and-- then you saw what he was trying to get you to admit. You couldn't believe that you fell for it, twice.

Cyprus simply laughed, he didn't even need to tease you for caring about him despite saying otherwise. You're humiliated enough and he didn't want you to burst into tears right before exploring the market.

"You know, princess. One of the steps to kicking an addiction is to find another coping mechanism." He stroked your hair while staring at you lovingly.

You asked him where is he going with this conversation. But your words were cut short when he pushed your head into his broad chest, making you take in his scent.

"I don't need to carry a pack with me anymore. But I'm now addicted to you." He mumbled into your hair, letting out a sigh of pleasure as he relished in your presence. "I'm not complaining, you're definitely way healthier than cigarettes."

You were about to say something, but he cut you off. "You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, baby. God, I can't imagine my life without you in it."

You wanted to snark back, however, something stopped you. And you think it's due to the serenity he held in his face.

"You make everything so good. How does my pretty girl do it?" He rambled on. You didn't reply, because you knew it was just a rhetorical question.

He continued cradling you in his arms for a few more minutes.

--

"Princess."

He called to grab your attention. You were distracted by the live animals being sold.

You turned your head to the side, only to have a piece of orange press against your lips. Looking up at his face, Cyprus had his sunglasses clipped on and he was chewing. No doubt, he was eating the orange he bought earlier; it's impressive how he could peel them while walking, and not drop a slice or its outer covering.

"It's great. I never see this variant in stores and I have been hunting for it for a while now. Try it." He prodded your mouth with the juicy piece, you're not going to lie, it does look succulent and sweet.

You hesitantly took it in between your teeth, he let it go so that he could peel more of the oranges for you and him.

It was delicious and seedless too, and you secretly wanted more. But you don't think it's a good idea to try and ask something of Cyprus. You don't have to, as if he read your mind, he wordlessly fed you another piece.

You and he strolled through the stalls, Cyprus was mindlessly feeding you and himself the peeled orange slices. Well, he's mostly feeding you at this point, and you didn't even realize you ate three whole oranges already.

You could see why he wanted to come here, they sold a variety of different fresh produce. Most of which you have never seen before. A unique take on street food, pickled goods, and handicrafts were also prevalent there, it's an overall lively place. Maybe it isn't that bad after all, you liked the vibrant colors, the smell of pretzels and blooming flowers definitely gave you a new experience. The air is much cleaner and lighter here, unlike the polluted city.

Cyprus trailed behind you, peeling another orange for you while enjoying the sights too. He stuffed the peels in the plastic bag where the oranges were from. However, his eyes were mostly trained on you: the sight he enjoys the most.

You felt his hand getting closer to your face, thinking that it was another orange segment, you swallowed the remnants of the previous one and parted your lips for the fruit to enter.

"Ow!"

That wasn't an orange.

You apologized in reflex for biting his finger, but then you blamed him for sticking his index in your mouth, why would he do that?

He rubbed his digit with his thumb while laughing, unclear at you or at himself. "Did you really need to bite that hard for an orange piece? It's not like the damn thing would bite back."

You said that doesn't matter, you wanted to know why he did what he did.

His response was to shrug. "I just wanted to see something."

He wanted to see how strong of a bite force you have?

"Yeah, maybe. That's not all, though." He smirked, bending down to peck you on the forehead. Cyprus dodged your swats effortlessly.

You asked if it's a sexual thing.

"If you want it to be, but I usually prefer to do the biting." He lets out a guffaw when you tried punching him on the arm.

You asked again, why he did that.

Cyprus smiled at you. "I know you trust me."

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. That's such a false statement, it's sickening. He couldn't be further from the truth, Cyprus is the last person you would trust with anything. Why did he think that way of you?

He slung an arm around your shoulders, pressing you to his side as the two of you walked.

"You weren't paying attention when I fed you for twenty minutes, baby. I could have fed you dog shit but you didn't see me in that light. It's cause you trust me not to fuck you over. That's why when I brought my hand to your mouth, you bit me- thinking it was just another slice of orange."

You blinked owlishly at his reasoning. What? Isn't that... the bare minimum? Even strangers wouldn't feed you something so terrible, why would he be any different?

There was an amused look on his face as he snorted. "So you're telling me... if a random guy just starts poking your lips with an orange slice, you'd just... eat it? And let him feed you for a full twenty minutes?"

You think you can see the grave you somewhat dug yourself in. You just said yes just so you could save whatever face you have left in this rebuttal.

And that made him laugh out in glee. "You're so fucking funny, doll. Admit it, I grew on you. And you like it when I take you out on dates like this. Even if you had to be a whiny brat at the start."

You immediately deny it out of reflex.

"Yeah right. You're blushing." He playfully ruffled your hair.

You deny it again, you're feeling increasingly embarrassed as time goes on. Damned Cyprus and his teasing.

He chuckled, kissing you on the temple as you tried your hardest to defend yourself. But you end up stuttering and making more of a mess than it already is.

"You know I love you, right?" He muttered in your ear, brushing his lips on the shell of it, making you shiver.

You didn't reply. This only made his smile wider. "I know you love me too."

You said you don't.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, beautiful. Keep denying your true feelings for me, it totally wouldn't come out sooner or later." Cyprus rubbed your arm up and down. You feel deflated, but you must keep walking to keep the foot traffic flowing.

Then, a food stall caught your attention. They're selling your favorite treat but with a creative spin on it. Their products look edible enough for you. However, the prices were absurd, it was written in chalk, on a blackboard easel next to its food truck.

"You can just say you wanted that." You were snapped out of your thoughts. You turned your head to see Cyprus was already fishing his wallet out, to retrieve the money needed to purchase a dish. "The amount of mind reading I have to do..." He grumbled under his breath.

You lied and said you didn't want it. He paused, putting his hands on his hips and giving you an unimpressed look. "Really?"

You said yes, really.

He rolled his eyes, clamping his hand around your wrist. "Come on, we're getting you one of those." Cyprus dragged you in the direction of the food truck.

You said you really didn't want it!

"Yeah, and I'm Chinese." He retorted sarcastically. "I know that look."

You asked, what look?

"It's like you're physically incapable of telling me what you want. I had to adapt and find ways around it. Come on, a line is forming behind us, which one did you want?" The sun was shining too brightly, so Cyprus stood in front, blocking the scorching rays for you.

You and he stood right at the front of the food truck, where the attendant looked at you expectantly. Her fingers are already positioned on the screen of the digital cash register.

You sighed and pointed at the item on the menu.

Cyprus smiled with satisfaction, he went ahead and told her your order.

You watched him pay for the overpriced treat as if it were a piece of cheap candy.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You can’t remember the last time you had the house to yourself. Even if your mother’s just next door, it feels a little lighter around there. And you’re happy for her. Maybe having Steve around will be good. He can be an outlet so she doesn’t have to put all her frustrations on you. 

She was happy when she left, even excited. That’s another rarity in your life. 

You start your day off with a tea. The apple cinnamon bags are a bit old so you use two. You bring the cup into your room and get your table set up with your pencils and sketchbook. You open the window to let in the sunlight, the natural light much brighter than the yellowed bulb above. 

You know your mom would tell you to do something more useful than just scribble in your sketchbook. You got the dishes done last night. Steve offered to help but you deflected as you foresaw your mom’s disapproval. You can’t let company pick up your slack. 

You try to wipe away the anxiety of last night. It’s over now. You shouldn’t have worry very much about it again. 

You finish your tea. It’s cold by the time you get to the dregs. You sit back to look over your sketch. Your eyes feel a bit fuzzy from hyperfocusing on that one stamen. You rub your brow and yawn. The sun shifts and you look over at the old alarm clock on your nightstand. It’s close to noon. 

Something else catches your eye. You look up at the window across from yours. The curtain ripples around the gap before it’s pulled open from inside. Steve stands on the other side of the pane. Can he see you? 

You can’t tell as he turns away without acknowledgement. The glare of the sun should hide your room well enough. You never really thought of it as your blinds are closed more often than not. 

You get up to rinse out your cup. You stretch your legs as you pace in the kitchen. You’re restless. You’re so used to your mom and her demands and expectations, that having your own time feels aimless. 

You could surprise your mother with dinner. Have it in the oven when she comes home. It’s still early but you can make something more than boxed macaroni. It will be a good cushion to fall back on when you remind her about tomorrow’s appointment. 

🏠

When your mother returns, you can see the fatigue around her eyes. For as little as she goes out, you’re not surprised. What strikes you, is how happy she is. You help her to her recliner and she sighs as she leans back. 

“Such a nice man,” she keeps repeating.  

You smile and let her regale you with a recounting of her day. Still, you can’t help but wait for the pendulum to swing back to normal. She leans her head in her hand, her eyes distant. 

“I swear, the universe sent him to me,” she says, “it had to. It was how much I need someone.” She drops her hand and traces her finger around the armrest, “sick, got a lazy daughter, stuck in this damn house...” 

There it is. You frown. You mash your hands together and waver. 

“I made dinner,” you offer. 

“I don’t want KD,” she snips. 

“I made... I made shepherd’s pie,” you offer meekly, “should be almost done.” 

“Hm, wondered what that stench was.” 

You frown. “I can put it in the fridge for tomorrow. Be good to have something we can just heat up after the doctor’s.” 

“Doctor?” She grumbles, “eh... I forgot.” 

She slumps and her eyes dull. You can’t help the pang in your chest. Sometimes you wish it was you who was sick. It feels like you deserve it more than her. 

“Hopefully it’s good. If you can get the surgery--” 

“Surgery!? Surgery. You keep going on about the damn thing,” she barks. “They can’t fix me, girl, get that through your head.” 

“I know, mom, but they can help--” 

“Like you help me? Crittering around here like a rat!” She hits the armrest violently, “would ya leave me be?” She closes her eyes and turns her face away, deflating once more, “ruined a good day...” 

You sniffle and slowly turn on your heel. You should have known better. You should have just left her alone. As much as she rants about you staying in your room, she prefers you there. Out of sight, out of mind. 

🏠

The next day, your mother doesn’t say much. Her silence is just a bitter as her words. You don’t push it. She gets in the car without argument and you set off into town. Even if she says it’s a waste of time, she listens intently to the doctor and answers all his questions. It’s only when she has to go through the tests that she shows her agitation. 

After some hours spent at the specialist clinic, you’re free to go. Your mom is just as quiet. You feel her mood roiling in the air. Her hand is shaking to the point that she’s hissing at it. 

You steer down to the corner and linger at the stop sign. 

“Mom,” you squeak, “you want some orange julius? A treat for the way home?” 

“Don’t talk to me like a damn child,” she snarls. “Let’s just go. I’m tired. Got no blood left in me.” 

You nod and bite your tongue. Maybe you can just put her to bed. Her naps are a respite, though you find yourself anxious in the silence, terrified of waking her prematurely.  

As you pull onto the suburban avenue, you slow and approach your drive. You pull in and shut off the engine. You get out and go around to help your mom. You open her door and she hauls herself out, tisking under her breath. 

“Didn’t see him,” she mutters. 

“Good afternoon,” Steve’s voice answers your question before you can ask. You look over the hood as he waves from his porch, “busy day?” 

Your mother steels herself and forces a smile, “just went to the doctors.” 

“Oh, everything okay?” He asks. 

“Sure,” she chimes, “just some tests. Nothing serious.” 

“Good to hear,” he stands behind the porch railing, arches crossed, “day’s not over yet. Still lots of time to enjoy the sun.” 

“Mhmm,” you mom grabs onto your wrist, shaking you as leans into you. “Nice day out.” 

“I was gonna do up a milkshake, if you ladies wanted to join me I got plenty to go around.” 

“Milkshakes?” Your mother considers, “mm, I’d have to change out of these.” She looks down, “smell like a hospital.” 

“Sure, take your time,” Steve says, “how about you, honey? I got strawberry. You seem like a strawberry type.” 

“Eh, she’s more a vanilla type,” your other cackles. “Plain.” 

“Got that too,” Steve ignores the joke. “I understand if you’re tired out though. Don’t wanna be too desperate over here, just wouldn’t mind the company.” 

“I’ll be over soon,” your mom assures him, “she’s got some laundry to do.” 

She keeps hold of you and points you towards the house. You help her inside, even though she does her best to hid how she clings to you. Her steps are uneven and stunted. You get through the front door and help her sit on the chair you keep by the door, just in case. 

“Goddamnit,” she’s shaking pretty bad. “Help me, you dumb girl.” 

“I... I don’t...” 

“Get my goddamn inhaler. I forgot it this morning.” 

“Oh, uh, okay.” 

You hurry down the hall and to bathroom. It isn’t in the cabinet. You go back out and scan the table. Not their either. You find it next to her recliner. You wish she’d keep it one place. You go back to her and hand it over. 

“I’m gonna go over,” she says before she huffs from the canister, “you’re gonna stay here. Out of my way.” 

“Alright,” you agree. You prefer that anyway. 

She takes a minute before she gets up. She shooes you away and you retreat to your bedroom. You sit on your bed and wring your hands, waiting as you listen to her. She doesn’t say goodbye before she leaves. Only the front door slamming lets you know she’s gone. 

You exhale and pull the fold out table up to the edge of the bed. You open your sketchbook and stare at the pencil. You don’t feel like drawing but you have nothing else to do. You just sit, looking at the amaryllis. You can pick out every flaw in your work. You close the cover and frown. 

A knock startles you and you stand up. Oh gosh, it’s probably Marge. What is it now? Is the siding too stained? Are the steps crooked? You get up and shuffles down the hall. You open the front door, hiding behind it as you poke your head around. 

Steve has the screen door propped open against his elbow. He holds a tall glass filled with pink, “here. Figured I’d bring this over.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you accept the condensating glass, a wide straw poking out of the whipped cream topped drink. 

“Maybe next time you can pop over too,” he suggests, “I’ve been working on getting the pool going...” he grins, “it’ll be a good summer for it.” 

You nod and look down at the milkshake. 

“Really nice of you,” you say. 

“It’s nothing, sweetie,” he puts his hand on the door above him, looking down at you, “enjoy.” 

“Uh,” you look at him then at the straw. You don’t want to be rude. You put your lips around the tip and take a sip. “Mm, yup, good. Thank you.” 

His blue eyes stick to you and he drags his hand down the door, “I’ll make a deal. You come over to see the pool when it’s ready, and I’ll make you another. How about that, sweetie?” 

You push your lips out. It’s not nice to say no. He didn’t have to bring you the milkshake or invite you. You shrug. 

“Okay,” you agree, “erm, thanks again.” 

He nods and taps the door frame before he steps back. He gently closes the screen door and you watch him through. He turns and strides down the stairs. You shiver as the cold glass numbs your fingers. Hopefully, he forgets about the pool thing. You don't even have a suit.

[brotherwtf]

How about Gale overhearing John talking about him to someone? (with positive outcome)

oooo now this is a very interesting prompt, thanks anon!!

decided to basically mash up all of my fave clegan scenes into one big rainbow scene, I hope you guys enjoy :))

----

John often ran his mouth, both sober and with a drink in him, but the stories always seemed to flow more with the flow of liquor into his system. Always bragging, always galavanting about someone or something to any ear that would listen, especially if it was about his favorite subject, Gale Cleven.

Exaggerating stories until the Major seemed more myth than man, talking to anyone who would listen about all of their escapades, good and bad.

And John would do it no matter if the man himself was there or not, and often did it despite Gale's best wishes.

But even now, as Gale sits on the edge of the dance floor, he can hear John's loud and unabashed laugh as he starts to weave another tale for the poor dames he has coerced. Gale noticed the slightly tense smiles of a woman who was originally only interested in getting beneath John's uniform now being blathered at by a Major far drunker than she expected.

"Nah but my buddy, Buck, here, he don't like sports. Not team sports anyway, likes boxing, 'test of manhood' or whatever the fuck that means," John says, eyes lazy as he points jovially back at Gale, recalling the night Curt lay an RAF pilot on the ground with a singular jab. Gale couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"Was gonna slug that RAF pilot himself the nasty fucker. Ah, he had it coming, don't you worry girls. Buck woulda knocked him straight on his British ass I just know it, there's nothing our Buck can't do, can probably take on the whole Luftwaffe by himself, all engines feathered. Hey, Buck!" John says, turning back towards Gale with loose limbs and gesturing for him to stand next to him.

Usually, Gale would be content to sit on the sidelines and watch John act a fool, but John was gesturing so heavily that it felt like he had a string attached to Gale's chest, pulling him over with just a beckon. Even when Gale puts himself right in the crook of John's body, right where he seemed to fit, John so easily puts his arm around Gale's shoulder.

"Tell em, No-Engine Cleven, nah I'll tell em, he's the best damn pilot in the 100th, hell, maybe even the whole air force, my Buck here is just too good, I wish I could fly half as good as him," John says, leaning his weight into Gale's, leaning so that his face is dangerously close to his.

Gale feels warmth bloom in his stomach but he just lets himself roll his eyes, wrapping a stabilizing arm around John's waist to prevent him from toppling over, giving the women a friendly yet tight smile.

"Easy there, Major, now I think it's best we turn in for the night. It was lovely meeting you ladies," Gale says, keeping his voice clipped and polite despite hearing the girls murmurs of how drunk John seemed to be.

The cool of the English night hits Gale's hot cheeks as soon as he drags John out of the officers club, hiding his tight smile into the night.

"Don't gotta go bragging on me, Bucky, I can hail my own victories," Gale says, breath misting in the air.

John smiles at him, swaying dangerously into Gale as they walk clumsily back to the barracks.

"It's all true, my love, someone's gotta say it and it might as well be me," John says, planting a wet smacking kiss to Gale's cheek.

Gale really should be more careful, but he seems to be getting drunk just on John's warmth and turns his head to press a careful kiss to John's lips, one that's far too slow for John's liking.

"It's my pleasure, Gale, you're my favorite thing to talk about," John says, a rogue hand coming up to squeeze Gale's cheeks and bring him in for another kiss, not being able to help the smile that spreads across both of their faces.

[asliceofzosan]

in which Zoro takes the blame for not paying for the food at the Baratie (sequel to Sanji witnessing the riceball incident in Shells Town)

Ribeye steaks piled one on top of the other, a massive helping of mashed potatoes with boatloads of gravy, salads, soups, and fancy dishes with names Zoro can't pronounce — all made up the massively long order list that he knows Luffy has not a single Berry to his name to pay with.

Zoro looks around the place, tuning out the story of the giant goldfish that Usopp has told them before, his eyes resting on the blonde waiter flitting about and flirting with every woman at every table.

Sanji was his name. Zoro didn't recognize it. But when he arrived to their table and saw Zoro, it looked like their resident waiter recognized him. Zoro's reputation in the East Blue is not a laughing matter, so it didn't bother him at first. But the way Sanji stared at him, wide blue eyes and with a touch of a smile on his lips, told Zoro that there's something a lot more than recognition swimming in that man's head.

He can't put a finger on what it is exactly though. It's driving him crazy.

"Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?"

Sanji turns to him and nearly steps back in shock. Zoro quirks an eyebrow, confused and a little annoyed. He wore his best clothes today (Captain's orders). And he's pretty sure he even took his mandatory once-a-week bath before they went inside (Nami's orders). Still the waiter looked at him like Zoro had grown a second head. Like he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

"Maybe there really is something wrong with your eye," Zoro muses, crossing his arms as Sanji quickly straightens his posture and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Got a problem with me, waiter?"

Sanji coughs out a laugh. Zoro notes with narrowed eyes that there is the slightest tint of pink coloring his cheeks. Is he blushing? The fuck?

"None at all, sir. I think I was just seeing things." The look in the waiter's eyes betrays his statement but Zoro chooses to say nothing. With a practiced smile, he turns back to Nami and asks her how she'd like her water that makes Zoro stare at him this time like he's grown a second head.

"And um..." Zoro is surprised Sanji hasn't left yet and is once again directly addressing him. "We have a few specialty riceballs not on the menu today. I'll bring them out... on the house."

Without even explaining what the fuck that meant, Sanji turns on his heels and beelines straight for the kitchen.

"I think Nami's boyfriend might be yours too, Zoro." Usopp teases him with a snicker and the glare he gives him is sharper than the blades of his swords.

Now, here Zoro is, letting Ussop's words affect him more than they have any right to as he downs his third bottle of beer.

The specialty rice balls haven't come out yet. Zoro's starting to think it's just a sick joke. But he doesn't let it get to him. Or tries to. Why offer free food when you can't deliver on it? Fucking ridiculous. And no, it's not like he suddenly craved rice balls when the blasted waiter mentioned them. That's not it at all. Bullshit.

"Didn't the waiter said he's coming by with rice balls?" Zoro finally snaps and the conversation his crew was having died down immediately at his statement. Ah fuck. He probably should have just kept his mouth shut because Nami was now looking at him with a shit-eating grin not entirely unlike the one he gave her when he teased her before the meal.

"How would you like them, oh great swordsman?" She teases with a glint in her eye. She cups her cheeks with her hands in delight at the irritated snarl Zoro gives her.

"With or without seaweed?" Ussop chimes in.

"Cubed or crushed?"

"Fuck off," Zoro hisses between his teeth. Nami and Ussop share a look before bursting into laughter. Zoro looks over at Luffy who was swinging his feet and obliviously sipping his milk. When Luffy makes eye contact with him, he just tilts his head with wide blank eyes and it makes Zoro question all his life choices.

"You wanna ask him?" Luffy says, already clamoring over the booth and waving at the object of Zoro's unexplained irritation. Zoro sinks into the seat as Sanji approaches with the bill for their meal.

"Your bill, sir."

"Zoro's asking if you're gonna bring the rice balls you promised." Zoro just stared up at the ceiling and thought of a million different ways to cut a hole into the floor so that the ocean could take him.

There is a headache inducing silence that follows Luffy's question. Zoro can't help but finally look at the waiter and he doesn't know how to explain the feeling that bubbles up when they make direct eye contact. Maybe it's indigestion. It's probably indigestion.

Instead of bringing up the damn rice balls, Zoro just grabs the tray with the bill from Luffy's hand. Just as expected, his annoyingly endearing captain put down an I.O.U for the ridiculously long list of food they ordered. Several possible scenarios could happen from this. And Zoro doesn't want to think about Luffy wreaking havoc in someone else's kitchen.

With a deep sigh through his nose and a knowing look at Nami, Zoro wrote down his own name in place of Luffy's.

"Zoro, what—" Luffy almost took the bill back when Zoro stood up and handed it directly to the waiter, who looked just as dumbfounded as the rest of them.

"If your head chef's got a problem with that, he can talk to me directly. Tell him that for me, won't you?" Sanji takes the bill, reads what's written, and there's a phantom lurch in his chest that happens when Sanji looks up at him and smiles. Zoro doesn't want to describe it. He'll allow himself to firmly believe that it's a side effect of eating too much food. It's indigestion. You're just constipated. Never mind that the feeling is most prominent in his chest and not his stomach.

"Of course, sir." Sanji purrs and the sound runs like a cold river down Zoro's spine. There's a hint of mischief in the gleam of his visible eye. Every instinct in Zoro tells him it's dangerous. He should take his crew out of here, onto the Merry, and run.

But he stays rooted to the spot, wrist limp on the hilt of his sword, as he watches that damn waiter walk away from him.

"WHO THE HELL IS RORONOA ZORO?!"

The steady routine of washing the dishes helps quiet Zoro's racing mind.

It's a very welcome distraction. The clinking of the ceramic against metal utensils provides a cacophonous symphony that helps drown out all of Zoro's waking thoughts. The sooner he starts to think, the sooner he starts to notice how that stupid fucking waiter has just been sitting at the table behind him, cursing Zoro with his mere presence.

Scrub scrub scrub...

"You sure you don't want any help?"

Scrub scrub rinse...

"No."

Scrub rinse dry...

"I really have nothing better to do."

Zoro's eye twitches.

"Good for you."

A long silence follows this and Zoro thinks the waiter finally gave up. That was until...

"Are you still mad about the rice balls?"

"Oh my god!" Zoro nearly slams a pile of dishes onto the floor. He turns to Sanji, who is just casually smoking at the table, and stomps over to him. Once he was right in front of him, Zoro snarls at him, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Talk about those damn rice balls one more time, I'm gonna chop your head clean off for them to use in tomorrow's ramen stock."

Sanji blinks, then turns his head to the side to blow smoke away from Zoro. Zoro tries to convince himself that he isn't staring at the way Sanji's lips purse around the cigarette in the process.

"I can still make you the rice balls," Sanji says without a single ounce of fear in his body. "I just couldn't do it while the old man was around." He then stands up and steps around Zoro with a practiced grace. "Are you willing to wait ten minutes?"

"I'm not hungry," Zoro hisses but his stomach betrays him with a loud grumble. He's been washing dishes for so many hours. He probably missed dinner.

Then, as Zoro straightens his posture, Sanji does it again — he smiles and Zoro doesn't know what to do.

"Sit." Sanji gently nudges a chair out with his foot. It lands perfectly in front of Zoro at a perpendicular angle. "I'll have them out in five."

"You said ten minutes." Zoro found himself saying, only to be contradictory. Sanji laughs this time and the resulting smile pierces Zoro's heart with a million cursed swords.

"When someone's hungry, I feed them." Sanji says simply and that's the statement that ends their conversation. Zoro still refuses to sit on the chair, instead finding himself gravitating towards the counter that Sanji was preparing his ingredients at and leaning against the marble.

Before Sanji found them at their table, he brought down a marine and a fearsome pirate with just his feet. Zoro was fascinated by his fighting style even if he didn't want to admit it out loud. But he's always been curious. Especially now, with Sanji whipping out the sharpest knives and using them effortlessly as Zoro would wield the Wado Ichimonji.

"You're good with knives," Zoro says before he could stop himself. Sanji chuckles.

"Of course, I am. I'm a chef. Best one in the East Blue."

"What's a chef doing waiting tables, then?"

"Cause I was kicked off the line this morning. It's a weekly occurrence, nothing special." The way Sanji scrapes his ingredients into a bowl betrayed how he felt about it despite his nonchalance. "I can cook better dishes than everyone in this damn kitchen but Zeff refuses to acknowledge that. It's always 'your food is crap', 'slice those carrots thinner', or 'needs more fucking oregano—"

Sanji throws the knife onto the cutting board, its tip now embedded neatly straight down the middle. It stood perfectly still, like it was afraid of what Sanji could do if he added more pressure. Zoro raised an eyebrow, looking up at the now irritated cook with a smirk.

"Sorry," Sanji mumbles, taking the knife and cleaning it carefully with a cloth. Zoro says nothing. He just props his elbow on the counter and places his chin into his hand as he watches Sanji in his element. Eventually, it's down to just shaping the rice balls with his hands and Zoro asks the question that poked at his mind during Sanji's mini outburst.

"If you're so dissatisfied cooking here why don't you just leave?"

Sanji pauses. His head is down, his blonde fringe obscuring one eye as his fingers twitch against the rice ball.

"It's not about that."

"Yeah?" Zoro leans as close as he could get with the counter between them. Sanji still refuses to look up. "A hot-headed cook who claims to be the best in the East Blue settling down here — where he is not head chef — is as contradictory as it gets."

"You don't know–" Sanji snaps but stops himself immediately. He looks up to glare at Zoro through narrowed eyes. "You don't know why I still stay."

"Enlighten me then, cook." Zoro leans his hip against the counter. "Because really, someone as good as you claim to be has got to have some ambitions. Dreams." Zoro holds the man's gaze. "Do you hate the old man?"

"No!" Sanji counters immediately. "The man fucking raised me. I owe him my goddamn life!"

"Owing him your life isn't the same as giving up your life to work at a restaurant that barely lets you cook."

"You don't know shit!" Sanji nearly slams his fist down on the counter, pointing a finger at Zoro with his face beet red. "This restaurant was his dream—"

"But is it your dream?"

Silence. Total utter silence.

Where color is nothing but a dark void of black and grey, a sea of blue greets him from the pages. Vivid pink skies and tangerine mangroves burst to life. All types of fish swim in his mind's eye but if he reaches out to touch them, it certainly should be real. A phantom breeze kisses his cheeks and water laps at his feet. He's drowning but he swims in delight. He's falling but he feels the clouds cushion him with warmth.

There is a vast ocean out there, one that contains delicacies and species from all four seas. Creatures of every kind, spices that have never been tasted.

The All Blue.

In Sanji's world of black and white — he strives to find the one place that's in screaming color.

There are tears in Sanji's eyes before Zoro could comprehend what was going on. But he wipes them away before he can get a good look at him. The kitchen was quiet around them. The only sound peeking through was the faint music from the bar outside. Though Zoro's heartbeat was louder in his ears than his own breathing.

But he could hear each footstep Sanji takes, the scrape of the plate as it's pushed in Zoro's direction, and the click click of Sanji's lighter as he helps himself to another cigarette. Zoro looks down and sees the rice balls presented in front of him — three heaping helpings, all coated in a different topping, all different flavors.

Zoro takes one.

And it's the best rice ball he's ever had in his life.

"I have a dream," Sanji murmurs, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. One glance and Zoro could see that whatever his dream is... it still burns like molten lava in the heart of this chef. "I'd just rather give up on it than die searching for mine."

Zoro swallows, turns around, and takes the cigarette from Sanji. The ashes fall into his palm, its embers dimming as he squishes it between his fingers.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Zoro says, looking up to make eye contact with Sanji. He can see it almost immediately — the longing for something that seems near impossible to achieve, the acceptance that it's hopeless — but Zoro sees it, clear as day, that the flickering flame of hope still shines in Sanji's eyes. That he's just waiting for his sign to let it once again consume his soul in a roaring fire, brighter than even the sun could be.

Zoro wants to see him shine.

"Come meet my captain," Zoro instinctively wraps his hand around Sanji's wrist. Surprisingly, Sanji doesn't pull back. "I think he'd really like to get to know you."

Sanji doesn't protest.

Zoro takes the rice balls to go.

Never waste food.

[daisynik7]

Give You Blue

Chapter 1: How It Ends

Pairing: Eren x f!reader, Reiner x f!reader (past relationship)

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

cw: explicit sexual content/smut (brief flashback), language, angst, a breakup

Word Count: ~3.2k

Next Chapter

Give You Blue Masterlist | ao3 | Give You Blue Taglist

Summary: Reiner, your best friend since childhood and your high school sweetheart, breaks up with you the night before the new semester begins. With his car packed with both your belongings, the hour long drive back to campus the next day offers some clarity. Author's Notes: Excited to be writing a new series! I hope you all enjoy it. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciate. Thank you so much!

“I think we should break-up.”

It’s the last day of summer vacation, the night before you and Reiner head back to Stohess University for the start of a new schoolyear. You’ve been at his place all day, helping him pack his car, which is already halfway full of your own belongings. With the door to his bedroom wide open, you can hear his mom humming a familiar tune downstairs as she puts away the leftovers from tonight’s dinner. Her signature meatloaf and mashed potatoes, a favorite of yours and Reiner’s. It’s been this way since you were ten years old, when the two of you finally started eating real food instead of only candy, pizza rolls, and chicken nuggets. 

The words come out of his mouth low and monotone, an automated machine void of any emotions. That’s why you’re convinced it’s in your imagination, until he speaks again. “Coco, did you hear me?”

Coco. It’s the silly nickname he’s had for you since you were five, the first time you ever met on the school playground. You were in the same kindergarten class, but Reiner could not, for the life of him, remember your name for two whole weeks. What he does remember is you eating a homemade coconut macaroon every first recess of the day. And like a typically five-year-old boy, he picked on you for it, calling you Coconut even after he learned your name. Even after you became the best of friends. Eventually, it became Coco for short, and from there, it just stuck. You’re not sure if you ever liked it; maybe you only did because it was him calling you that. One of the many special secrets shared between you two throughout the years.

You turn towards him, a pair of his socks in hand, ready to roll and toss into his half empty luggage, unfazed. “Huh?” You’re prepared to hear him say something else, anything else.

He swallows hard, a serious expression on his face, glancing at his feet. “I think we should break-up.”

It takes you a good minute to process it. Three minutes, if you’re being completely honest. And he doesn’t rush you this time for a response, seeing you stare back at him, a deer in headlights, seconds before getting hit and crushed under the weight of a semi-truck. Because that’s how it feels when your boyfriend of four years and your best friend of even longer tells you that he thinks the two of you should break-up. 

You’re surprised at how long it takes for the tears to stream down your face. Everyone knows, Reiner included, how much of a sap you are. You cry easily over the most insignificant things – a car commercial, people playing with puppies, a sad scene in a movie. But this – this absolutely warrants all the tears you’ve cried over stupid shit like that. 

Reiner quickly closes the door and wraps his arms around you, lips pressed to your forehead. “Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His facial hair brushes against you, a sensation you’ve always found comforting. He was a late-bloomer, incapable of growing that rugged look all throughout high school. It was really only last year when he needed to pay more attention to it; grooming became part of his regular routine. Now, it’s harsh and coarse against smooth skin, an itch you want to scratch but can’t. Somehow, you keep your volume to a minimum, aware that Mrs. Braun is downstairs, blissfully ignorant to what’s happening above her. Through quiet, choked sobs, you ask, “Why?”

He sighs, a pained expression on his face now; he’s always hated seeing you cry. How much worse does he feel knowing he’s the cause of it? Leading you to the edge of the bed, he sits, and you follow. With your hand in his, he starts explaining himself. “We’ve been inseparable for so long; I just think we need to take some time to figure ourselves out. As individuals.” He’s practiced this before, you can tell. He usually sputters when he’s put on the spot. Not this time. He’s been thinking about this for a while, you realize, and it breaks your heart more. 

It’s hard for you to look at him as he speaks, so you stare at his lap, his hands holding yours delicately. When you don’t respond, he continues. “We’ve been friends forever, and I don’t want to lose that. I don’t. I just need to explore my horizons.”

In your mind, you replace the word horizons with options. He joined a frat last semester, which you can admit, worried you at first. He assured you nothing about him would change, and you believed him. Before your logic can stop you, you spit out, “So you’re trying to fuck some sorority girls, is that it?”

He clicks his tongue at you, disappointed. You’re better than this, you know this, and he does too. “C’mon. It’s not like that.” 

“Then what? Don’t bullshit me, Reiner. If you’re going to break-up with me, I deserve to know the truth.” It’s fighting words. You can’t help it when you’re defenseless like this. 

He hesitates before confessing, “I’m not in love with you anymore.”

It fucking hurts to hear. The one person you were so sure would never harm you, stabbing you in every vital point of your body. It’s betrayal, disappointment, and heartache all at once, and you’d give anything to turn back the clock and go back to even a few minutes ago, when you were happily folding his laundry. You’re speechless, a jumble of thoughts stuck in your throat, gagging you until it’s too hard to breathe and you’re gasping for air. There’s static noise surrounding your ear drums, and Reiner’s voice is so muffled that you can barely understand him. You reach around him for a pillow, burying your face in it to hide your cries. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” Baby. He still calls you that through a breakup. You’re his baby that he’s not in love with you anymore. It’s all so fucked up. Between anguished sobs, you ask, “What did I do wrong?”

He rambles on and on about how it’s not you it’s me. It was nothing you did, except in the back of your mind, you keep thinking why wasn’t I good enough? He strokes the back of your hand with his palm, his skin cracked and calloused from rock-climbing, one of his new favorite hobbies. You’ve been nagging him about using that special cream you bought for him, the one that’s supposed to help soothe skin with a tiny dollop. Did that annoy him? Is that the feather that tipped the scale? You can’t help but replay every single fucking thing you’ve ever said to him, every single thing you’ve ever done for him, trying to discern when and where it went downhill. 

You’ve always been best friends first, lovers second. You thought it was special this way, that it means something more. Now, as you sit at the edge of the bed with him, listening to him talk in circles about how this isn’t your fault, you realize that maybe that’s what led to this. Better off as friends, nothing more. You were both sixteen when you decided to cross the line. At the time, it felt right. Looking back, maybe it was just convenient. Were the two of you doomed from that day on? 

“I’ll always love you, Coco.” He repeats it, hoping it’ll make you feel better. You hold your tongue, tempted to reply then why are you doing this? It’s a slap in the face when he says it. A consolation prize reminding you that you lost. 

At the end of the day, you can’t hate him. There’s too much history there. You’ve been through too much together, seen each other at your lowest points, held each other up at the highest. That kind of relationship is rare, a treasure too precious to throw away. But damn, you want to bury it in the darkest depths of the ocean right now. Hell, you want to sink down with it.  

There’s no yelling; you don’t have it in your heart to scream at him with his mother in the house with you. He probably planned it like this; he knows you too well. You don’t like making a scene, especially in front of Mrs. Braun, who’s basically another mother to you. 

You think back on the other night, in this very bedroom. His mom went out to dinner with some friends, leaving you two alone. Of course, you took the opportunity to fuck each other silly. He ate you out sloppily at the edge of the bed, kneeling before you on the carpet with your legs spread wide. Was he already considering the break-up in this moment? He must have. This kind of decision doesn’t just happen. As he bounced you on his cock, his usual tired eyes peering up at you with a small grin on his face, he said, “God, you’re perfect.” And when you came with his thumb on your clit, cock still buried deep in your pussy, he whispered, “I love you,” before he released inside you. He repeated it when you relaxed against his chest, bodies spent, chanting it while he caressed your back. I love you, I love you, I love you.

You sleep in his bed tonight. Instead of being cuddled in the middle, you roll the farthest you can, turning your back to face away from him. He does the same.

“Are you still awake?” he whispers, barely audible. You don’t respond. 

You hear him exhale. “I’m sorry.”

Several minutes later, he stops stirring and his soft snores fill the quiet. Eventually, you fall asleep too, wiping your tears on the pillowcase.  

~~~

The next morning, you pretend that everything is normal at breakfast. Mrs. Braun prepares a feast, as usual, before you make the journey back to school. She remains ignorant to the fact that you and Reiner are no longer a couple. He mentioned it last night, how he doesn’t want his mom to worry, that it’s not the right time to break the news to her. Honestly, he’s too scared to confront it, knowing for a fact how big of a deal this will be to his family. You two are practically married in their eyes. Well, were.

You do your best to act like your cheery self, despite being close to dead inside. Reiner gives you nervous glances here and there, afraid you’ll explode any second. You keep your cool, though, making conversation with Mrs. Braun, feigning excitement for the upcoming semester. Laughing along to jokes about how Reiner should be more focused on his studies and less on the frat parties. Ha ha ha.

Around noon, with the car fully packed with yours and Reiner’s possessions, you bid farewell to his mom. She gives you a warm embrace, squeezing you extra hard. “Take care of yourself, dear. And take care of Reiner too. Love you.” It takes all the strength you have left in your feeble body to not sob on the spot, so you quickly return the sentiment and walk to the passenger side, closing the door shut, burying your face in your palms. A few moments later, Reiner joins you in the driver’s seat, one more wave to his mother before starting the car and driving away. 

It's silent for the first five minutes, you wiping your tears with your sleeves, him changing the song every three seconds on his playlist to preoccupy himself. He finally picks a song, a familiar one that you know all too well. It brings back memories of the summer right after you graduated high school. The melody synonymous with weekly road trips to the beach or warm nights staying in, watching a movie marathon in bed. A bowl of popcorn on your lap, his arm wrapped around your shoulder. His face nuzzling your ear, lips nipping at your lobe. Soft touches leading to rough sex, with your mouth biting the pillow to muffle your moans as he pumps his cock into you. The cuddling afterwards, him whispering that he loves you, and that he’s so happy that you’re both going to the same college. Because he wants nothing more than to stay with you, to be with you, for the rest of your lives. 

You can’t take it anymore. Before you realize, you reach over to shut off the radio, the silence louder than the music that was playing. He glances at you, mouth agape like he wants to yell, but he doesn’t. He focuses his attention on the road again, taking a deep breath before saying, “You could have asked me to change the song.”

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning your head against the window, watching the blur of buildings pass as you approach the freeway. “Every song on this playlist reminds me of you. Of us.”

He pauses, unsure how to respond. “I’m sorry.”

You’re sick of hearing it, but you don’t tell him that. Instead, you ask, “When did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That you wanted to break up.” After having a night to let it sink it, you’re ready to talk about it. At least, you think you are. 

He thinks carefully, knuckles tight on the wheel, brow knit. You wait patiently for his answer, growing more afraid of whatever harsh truth he’s about to drop on you. “It’s been on my mind all summer, if I’m being completely honest.” 

Never mind; maybe you’re not ready for this. Still, you let curiosity get the best of you. You swallow back the quiver in your throat, tears welling in your eyes again. “Why did you start thinking about it?”

He sighs, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you sure you want to hear this? I thought I already told you yesterday. It’s not you, it’s me.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the cliché. “I’d rather hear the truth than hear that bullshit again.”

He bites his lower lip, inhaling deeply through his nose. “I guess I started to think about how you and I have been together forever. Basically our whole lives. We don’t really know what’s it like to not be with each other.” 

“And that’s bad?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not bad. It’s just…college is supposed to be about experiencing new things, right? Stepping outside our comfort zone. I don’t know if we can do that if we’re together. We rely on each other so much; we’ll never be able to explore the real world.”

You continue to stare out the window, watching as you zoom past the other cars on the street. Reiner has always been a fast driver, foot heavy on the gas pedal, raring to go past the speed limit for that tiny rush of adrenaline. You, on the other hand, are safe, never willing to push the boundaries, even for a fleeting moment. Maybe this type of mentality goes beyond the steering wheel. 

After a moment, he asks, “Haven’t you ever been curious?”

“Of what?”

“What it would be like to date other people?”

It’s your turn to bite your lip, contemplating the question. In all honestly, you’ve never pictured yourself with anyone else besides Reiner. He wasn’t perfect by any means, and neither were you. But when you pour your heart and soul into one person for years, it’s difficult to imagine repeating that process with someone else. 

You choose your words carefully. “I never thought about it, no. But I…I guess I can see where you’re coming from.” 

He doesn’t respond to that. You can’t tell from his expression if he’s relieved or concerned. Minutes pass before he speaks again. 

“You’re still my best friend, Coco. I hope you know that.”

You bite down on your lip harder, hoping the subtle pain distracts you from the influx of tears gathering in your eyes. Throat dense, tongue heavy, holding your breath because if you don’t, it’ll all come to a crumble. Before you lose it, you tap on the dial of the radio, turning it to increase the volume, not caring what song is playing anymore. Anything to get rid of the strained silence at the end of those words. For some reason, it hurts more than what he said last night. 

He doesn’t continue and neither do you, him studying the road, you gazing at the evanescent glimmer of the ocean as you cross the bridge. Officially leaving Marley and entering Paradis, halfway to Stohess University. It was your top choice when you first started applying for college, and it became Reiner’s, too. And when you both received your acceptance letters, you were thrilled, and so was he. So much so that he ordered matching sweatshirts from the online store, ecstatic to let all his friends and family know that the two of you were going to Stohess, together. That part of your life, although not that long ago, seems like a dream. You’re wide awake now and the gut-wrenching reality of it all is settling in. 

Finally on campus, you point him in the right direction towards your new dorm. He finds parking right in the front, reversing the car and backing into the spot. Turning off the ignition, he remains still, waiting for you. Without facing him, you announce, “I’m going to check in.”

He nods, looking down at his lap. “Okay. I’ll unload the car.”

After you check-in and receive your key, you make your way back to the Reiner, who’s already taken out most of your belongings from the trunk. 

“I’m on the first floor, so I can take it from here,” you tell him, grabbing one of your suitcases. 

“I’ll help you. It won’t take long.”

You don’t argue, swinging another bag over your shoulder and leading him to Room 104. You unlock the door, relieved that it’s still empty. Not ready to face Annie, your roommate, just yet. Reiner helps move your heaviest items, the mini fridge and a box of clothes and shoes. When everything has been pushed into the room, you both stand around, hands on your hips, waiting for the other to speak first. 

“Thanks for your help,” you start. “I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll help you with your stuff now,” you offer, grabbing your keys from the desk.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sure there will be some brothers there to help me.” He’s moving into the frat house on Greek Row, a few minutes’ walk from the sophomore’s dorms. Last year, the two of you lived in the same building, one floor apart from each other. It seems symbolic the way you’re separated this year.

“Anyways, I should get going,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Sure.” You consider stalling by asking him to help you unpack, but you decide not to. 

He looks at you, sadness in his eyes. For the first time all day, you finally meet his gaze, the lump in your throat returning. Stepping towards you, arms out, he embraces you, wrapping you snug in one of his signature bear hugs. “I love you, Coco. I really do. This is just something I have to do.”

You keep your arms to your side, nestling your face into his chest, memorizing the familiar scent of his t-shirt, tears soaking through the fabric. If you return his embrace, you’re certain you won’t want to let him go.

He kisses you on top of the head, giving you one last squeeze. Then, without another word, he walks out of your room, leaving you alone. 

Taglist: @batafuraikisu @bloompompom @monirei @filunara @katestrophes @ichinosejager13 @hoperenae @zellskz @e-ayyy @liliorsstuff-blog

[taahko]

I just found your blog today can you please explain or point out a post that explains the MASH timeloop thing? I love the show but I've never heard anyone talk abt it that way before

oh yay hurray ive been waiting for an excuse to talk about this lmao sorry this is long

ok so basically maeve (my gf) and i started watching mash for the first time about a month ago and we started joking about it being like the characters were stuck in a time loop mostly because the same basic episode format is repeated over and over, because it's a sitcom from the 70s and the episodes arent meant to be watched en masse where you can start noticing all the little repetitions and plot holes and inconsistencies that naturally occur in longform tv

but then i started to pay attention to the dates being mentioned in the show - famously the korean war never technically ended, but american troops were involved in active on the ground fighting between 1950 and 1953, so the entire 11 seasons of mash have to be squeezed into that three year period. with 251 episodes occurring within 1,129 days, that gives every episode about 4.5 days of real time. so it works right? no time loop right? well wait a sec

for the first 5 seasons or so of mash they give very consistent dates about when things are happening. for example, bj arrives in korea in september of 1952, at the start of season 4. colonel potter arrives about a week after him, and talks about how he has 18 months left before his retirement. that gives us about 7 months for the shows final 7 seasons to take place in, meaning that by the episode 'point of view' in season 7 we should be around december of 1952. in that episode the pov character starts writing a letter home and in the corner he writes the date:

september of 1951. ok, could be that this episode isn't meant to take place in the regular timeline of the season - maybe for some reason its just like, a random flashback episode. but bj, charles, and potter are all present, even though none of them got to korea until 1952. now i KNOW that this is not like, the True Hidden Secret Lore of MASH, this is the writers realizing they were running out of road and turning back the clock a bit to accommodate for how long the show was running on. but play in my time loop space with me please

more talking points:

consistent jokes about time zones and how difficult it is to call the states because "our today is their yesterday but if you call them now it might not reach them until our tomorrow and by that point our yesterday will be their today"

hawkeye's increasing mania over the seasons and his conviction that the war will never end, comparing the camp to dante's inferno multiple times. maeve once pointed out that the closer hawkeye comes to realizing that he's trapped in a time loop the closer he gets to being institutionalized - and what does the series finale cold open onto ? hawkeye in a mental institution. the only way out is to lose yourself etc. sidenote frank also escaped the time loop by going insane and getting institutionalized

in a war for all seasons bj potter and charles are all present at the 1951 new years party as well as the 1952 new years party

there are three christmas episodes, two of which bj is present for even though he should only have spent one christmas in korea

details of people's families and lives shift around - sometimes potter's got multiple grandchildren, sometimes he only has one, sometimes its a girl, sometimes its a boy, sometimes she's 5, sometimes he's 2

we're not the first people to talk about this either, here's a good video compilation posted a couple yrs ago of time loop moments

overall ive been using the time loop thesis to add another layer to my mash viewing experience. it increases the already present sense of constant dread, anger, frustration, and disgust with their situation that the characters feel, plus it feels like a very poignant take on the united states' constant warmongering and violent existence. it really never ends, it just goes on an on. the future's been canceled by the war department- we're just gonna replay the past.

[advisorykitty]

Can I ask more about Elise!Reader? (because I like this so much). Elise!Reader was drawing on the sofa in the living room with Randal while he was playing a game (there was also Sebastian but he wasn't playing), Randal kept losing and Elise!Reader frankly said he was bad at playing game. It looked like Mori playing darts with a scalpel and not getting a single hit

Elise!Reader x Randal

Part 2 as requested!!

[Y/N] was sprawled on the massive sofa in the living room, drawing lazily in her sketchbook. The scratch of her pencil filled the room, accompanied by Randal’s frustrated groans as he sat on the floor nearby, furiously mashing the buttons of his game controller. His character on the screen kept dying in increasingly ridiculous ways, and the sound of defeat after defeat was starting to become the background music of the evening.

Sebastian, awkwardly perched on the floor off to the side, he watched the chaos unfold with an expression that screamed, please let me leave.

"I don't get it! Why do I keep dying?!" Randal whined, flailing dramatically, his limbs splayed out on the floor like a puppet whose strings had just been cut.

Without looking up from her sketchbook, [Y/N] said casually, "Maybe because you’re terrible at it."

Randal turned his head toward her, his face twisted in mock betrayal. "That’s... that’s rude, [Y/N]. I’m trying my best." Dramatically placing his hand over his chest.

She shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she added another detail to her drawing. "Your best isn’t enough, clearly."

Randal sat up, crossing his legs and hugging the game controller to his chest. "You don’t understand. This game’s impossible. It’s like—like trying to win a staring contest with a doll. They never blink!"

[Y/N] paused, pencil hovering over the paper as she shot him a quizzical look. "That’s... a weird comparison, even for you."

Randal grinned, clearly proud of himself. "It’s a great comparison! You know, ‘cause I’ve got all those dolls and—"

"Okay, that’s enough of that," she interrupted quickly, cutting him off before he could start talking about his dolls again. She flipped a page in her sketchbook and kept drawing, determined not to get sucked into another one of his weird monologues.

Sebastian, who had been trying to escape before randal forced him to join in, cleared his throat nervously, obviously sensing the conversation was heading into strange territory. "Actually, I think—"

"Sebastian!" Randal suddenly twisted around, pointing the game controller at him as if it were a weapon. "You! You should play! Maybe you’ll break the curse."

Sebastian blinked, visibly uncomfortable. "Uh, I’m not really into—"

"That’s a terrible attitude!" Randal cut him off, standing up and waving the controller in the air like he was holding the answer to all of life’s problems. "Come on, live a little! Or... uh, play a little. Same thing."

[Y/N] snorted, flipping another page in her sketchbook. "You think getting Sebastian to play will somehow make you less bad at this?"

"Exactly!" Randal nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide with excitement. "If we all play together, it’ll... I don’t know, balance out the bad luck or something."

Sebastian looked like he was trying to melt into the floor, his shoulders tense. "I’d really rather just watch."

"Nope, no can do!" Randal marched over and thrust the controller into Sebastian’s lap, his grin uncomfortably wide. "You’re playing. I need all the help I can get!"

Sebastian awkwardly picked up the controller, clearly unsure of what to do with it. "I, uh—"

"Let me guess," [Y/N] interjected, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "You’re about to lose again, Randal, and you’re dragging poor Sebastian down with you."

Randal shot her a mock glare. "Not if we work as a team! With Sebastian’s reluctant help, we might—"

He didn’t even get to finish the sentence. His character on the screen died, yet again, in spectacular fashion. The screen flashed red, announcing his failure for what must’ve been the hundredth time that evening.

"I hate this game!" Randal screeched, tossing his hands up in the air in pure frustration. He dramatically collapsed back onto the floor, groaning like he’d just lost a battle against the universe itself. "It’s rigged! I swear it’s rigged!"

[Y/N] couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head as she set down her sketchbook. "Maybe you’re just bad at it."

"I’m not bad at it!" Randal protested, flailing a bit as he lay on the ground. "It’s just... unfair! The game doesn’t like me."

Sebastian, still holding the controller awkwardly in his lap, opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get a word out—

"Sebastian!" Randal sprang up again, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You’ve cursed me! Your negativity is cursing my gaming skills!"

Sebastian blinked, completely thrown off. "I didn’t do anything—"

"It’s true!" Randal insisted, his voice growing more dramatic by the second. "The moment you said you didn’t want to play, my luck took a nosedive! You have to play now. It’s the only way to break the curse!"

[Y/N] rolled her eyes, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. "Or maybe you just need to get better at the game."

"I’m already good at it!" Randal whined, stomping over to where she sat and dramatically collapsing onto the couch beside her. "Why are you both ganging up on me?"

"We’re not," [Y/N] said with a teasing smile. "It’s just fun to watch you fail."

Randal gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. "You wound me, [Y/N]. Right here. In my heart."

Sebastian cleared his throat again, trying to edge out of the situation. "I really should—"

"Sebastian!" Randal interrupted, again, dramatically flopping over the back of the couch to stare at him upside-down. "Don’t you dare leave. You’re part of this now."

Sebastian sighed, slumping further into his chair. Clearly, he wasn’t escaping anytime soon.

-------

Hours had passed and Randal was still looking optimisticly at the TV screen as if it would change the fact he's lost for the 383848th time.

“C’mon, c’mon…” Randal muttered, furiously mashing buttons as if his life depended on it. Spoiler: it didn’t. “Why is this level still so unfair?!”

[Y/N] glanced up from her drawing, watching Randal’s character fall into yet another trap and explode into a puff of pixels. She couldn’t help herself. “You know… you’re still pretty bad at this.

[Y/N] thought for a moment flipping her pencil between her fingers. “Do you want me to play? Maybe I can show you how it’s done.”

Randal shot up into a sitting position, pointing a finger at her. “No. No way. If I give you the controller, then what’s left for me? My pride? My dignity? No! This is my battle.”

But despite his protests, the controller was still slipping out of his hands as [Y/N] leaned over and casually took it. “Okay, Mr. Drama. Watch and learn.”

Randal’s mouth hung open as she easily navigated the game, breezing past traps and obstacles that had taken him dozens of tries to get through. She made it look effortless, like she’d been playing the game her whole life.

“No… no way,” Randal mumbled, sinking lower and lower into his spot on the floor as [Y/N] cleared yet another level without breaking a sweat. “This can’t be happening. This is… this is witchcraft. Not even on my level...”

[Y/N] shrugged. “Maybe you’re just bad at it.”

Randal pressed his palms to his face, groaning. “Is this what failure feels like? I’ve been defeated by my own creation. This is the worst day of my life.”

Before [Y/N] could respond, they both noticed Sebastian, who had been awkwardly lingering in the background the entire time, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there. He had been inching his way toward the door, hoping no one would notice his escape attempt.

“Sebastian!” Randal suddenly called, flailing his arms dramatically. “Did you see this? She beat the game in, like, five minutes. Five! Minutes!”

Sebastian froze, his escape plan foiled. “Uh… yeah. I saw. Incredible. Truly…” He trailed off, clearly searching for any excuse to leave.

“Right?” Randal continued, completely oblivious to Sebastian’s discomfort. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe I’m cursed. Which could be kinda cool fufu~"

“I don’t know about cursed,” [Y/N] said with a smirk, “but you definitely have no gaming skills.”

Randal fell backwards onto the floor again, staring up at the ceiling like his entire life had been ruined. “This is it. This is how it all ends. Defeated in my own house, by my own creation, in front of my… pet.”

Sebastian took the opportunity to awkwardly edge toward the hallway again. “I, um… have some things I need to take care of. Really important… things.”

Before he could slip away, Randal shot back up. “Wait! Sebastian, you can’t leave me like this. Not in my time of crisis!”

Sebastian let out a sigh, glancing over his shoulder. “You’ll survive, I’m sure. You always do.”

With that, he made a hasty exit, leaving Randal to sulk dramatically in the middle of the living room floor.

[Y/N] tossed the controller onto the couch and resumed her sketching, grinning to herself. “Maybe next time, Randal.”

Randal sighed deeply, rolling onto his stomach. “I think I need to lie in my coffin for a while. This betrayal has done irreparable damage to my soul.”

[Y/N] didn’t even bother looking up from her sketch. “You do that.”

As Randal moped, facedown on the floor, [Y/N] savoured the taste of defeat, a good passive aggressive revenge .

[toomuchracket]

secret admirer (dad!ross x reader fluff)

day 1 of valentine's week by bff @abiiors!! in this one... the kids want to know how you and ross got together. cute as shit. enjoy <3

it's at dinnertime when you're first asked the question. 

ross is quietly coaxing keir to finish his peas, to minimal success. eilidh swallows a mouthful of gravy-soaked mash and turns to look at you curiously. “mummy… how did you and dad meet?”

“you already know, bean,” you take a sip of your wine and smile at her. “met dad and your uncles when i helped design the stage for one of their first shows.”

ross takes a break from lecturing your son about the merits of eating your five-a-day to look at you and wink. there's a warmth in those dark eyes of his - the same one that got you hooked on him in the first place, actually - and you know he's thinking about that fateful first meeting too. “yeah, when i had to save mum, eilidh,” he chuckles. “from matty talking about his vision at a hundred miles an hour. her eyes were proper glazed over and everything, you know.”

“they still go like that when he talks to you now sometimes, mummy,” keir adds, still pushing peas around his plate. his dad and sister laugh, while your jaw falls open at the fact you've been clocked by your four year old.

he's not wrong, though.

eilidh's giggles fade into soft hums. “but how did you end up being boyfriend and girlfriend?”

ross’s eyes meet yours again. he smirks, taking a sip of his own wine. “d'you want to tell the story, love?” he asks, foot sliding up your leg under the table, flirty. “or shall i tell them how i swept you off your feet?”

“oh, is that what it was?” you tease, trapping his leg between your own.

“of course.”

you laugh. “you and i remember it differently, then. but alright,” you stretch, shuffling in your seat before looking at your kids’ anticipated little faces. “here's what happened…”

2013

“should we do something different for valentine's day?”

you turn to look incredulously at matty, exhaling your cigarette smoke. “is further context required there, or are you asking me out? because absolutely not, if so.”

“oh, charming. thank god i see you as a little sister and no more,” matty winces, taking a drag of his own cigarette before he speaks again. “i mean for the show on the 14th. we could do, like, pink lighting instead of white, or something.”

you hum. “i don't hate the idea. but i think sticking with the black and white thing is maybe a good idea for now. cohesion, recognition, establishing identity as you gear up to release the album, all that jazz, yeah?”

“good point.”

“i do like the pink, though. maybe we could do something with it in the future?”

“yeah. i'll keep it in mind. usual staging it is, then,” matty turns to face you, resting a shoulder on the brick wall. “so, given that you've theoretically rejected me…

you roll your eyes.

“... who are you seeing on valentine's day?”

“nobody. we've got a gig, remember?” you ash your cigarette glumly. “i'll be selling t-shirts with your face on them up the back of the venue all night.”

“and i love you - platonically - for that,” your friend grins. “but what about after the show?”

“after?”

“yeah.”

you ponder. “probably just going home to shower off the residual weed smell i'll inevitably take on, to be honest.”

matty laughs; his face drops when he realises you're not kidding. “oh. you're serious.”

“mhmm.”

“but,” he looks baffled. “you're twenty-three. you're cute, objectively. you're sweet. you're fun. there's really nobody you want to spend valentine's day with?”

well… your lips part of their own accord as if to speak; you quickly snap them shut before you make a sound. no. you can't tell anyone. especially matty, of all people.

apparently, though, you don't close your mouth fast enough - your friend notices, and giggles, eyes lighting up. “who is he? go on, tell me. promise i won't tell anyone, honest.”

“not a chance.”

“pleeeeeeeeeease?”

“no, matthew,” you take a final drag of your cigarette before stamping it out. “i'm never telling anyone, because it'll never go anywhere between me and him anyway, and thus i am perfectly fine just letting the crush i have fade without acting on it. i'll develop another one soon, anyway.”

no you won't. you've never fancied someone as much in your life as you fancy…

“there you are. was wondering where you'd gotten to, matty,” ross wanders round the side of the building, relief evident on his face. it seems to light up when he sees you, but that's most likely your brain playing tricks on you. “oh. hiya, love. didn't know you were in today, s'nice to see you.”

love?!

shut up. it's ross. he calls everyone that, dipshit.

you clear your throat. “hi, ross. s'nice to see you too. you look… well.”

you pray neither of the boys noticed the awkward pause while you came up with an alternative for “devastatingly attractive”, or that your voice didn't sound as small and squeaky as it sounded to you.

thankfully, neither of them mention it. ross just smiles, and all you can do is focus on not squealing at how cute his dimples are. “thanks. you look good. hair's nice like that.”

“oh,” you self-consciously touch the ponytail you hastily shoved your hat-messy hair into earlier. “thank you.”

he smiles again. “so, what are you gonna develop another of? were you talking about work?”

you say “yes” at the same time the gobshite next to you says “yeah, but then we moved onto talking about how she has no valentine's day plans but she also won't tell whoever she has a crush on that she wants to shag them because she thinks it’s unrequited.”

for fuck's sake.

sighing, you facepalm. ross blinks. “fair enough.”

“you don't think she should tell him?” matty looks aghast.

“what i think is that you should stop pestering her about it,” ross looks pointedly at matty, then turns to you. “but - and i don't want to overstep the mark here, love…”

“no, no, it's fine.”

“... you’ll never get what you really want unless you ask for it,” he finishes, a pleasant smile on his face. “what have you got to lose by doing so, anyway?”

this. our friendship. potentially my job, if i fuck it up enough.

“yeah, i suppose,” you murmur hesitantly. “i'll consider it.”

and you do - in fact, you're still considering it when you next see ross, during setup for the gig on the big day itself. he appears when you're pushing the box light into position on the tiny stage, quickly laying down his bass to run and help you, despite your protests that you've got everything under control.

seeing his arms flex as he works, though, and the way the stark white light somehow manages to warm up those dark eyes? you most definitely do not. still, you refuse to say anything to him then. or before the show, when he automatically passes you a beer so you can be included in the pre-gig cheers. or afterwards, when he risks being pounced upon by drunken fans just so he can help you pack up the merch stall, cracking jokes despite his tiredness.

it's only when you're loading the boxes of t-shirts into adam's car that you actually start to think that mentioning the crush to ross might not be a bad thing. you close the boot with a weary sigh, turning to face ross and high-five him - like you always do - with gratitude. and then he does something… strange.

he hugs you.

it's not a long hug, and definitely one of the “thanks, mate” variety, but still. it's not a common thing to happen between the two of you, ross’s arms wrapping around your shoulders and your waist and pulling you into his chest. it's warm. cosy. safe. and as soon as he lets go, you miss him.

before you get a chance to dwell on that, though, he speaks. “you coming to the pub with us now?”

“us?” your brow furrows. “who's us?”

“everyone except adam and waughy,” ross grins. “you're not the only one with no valentine's plans, love,” his face contorts into panic. “wait, fuck, i just assumed, because you said last week-”

“ross, relax, babe,” you smile, beating yourself up internally for the way the pet name just slipped out; you blame the joy that fizzed up in your stomach when he essentially admitted he's single. “i'm coming to the pub.”

he smiles again, relief evident in his eyes. “alright. good. i think we'll have a good night.”

you do, actually, despite matty monologuing the whole walk there about “you should just phone that guy you like and tell him. for the love of god, at least one of us needs to pull tonight. s'depressing if we don't”. it's actually george who manages that first, disappearing after the first round with a redhead and returning, lipstick-stained and gleefully dazed, half an hour later. matty's next, chatting up girls at the bar and collecting phone numbers by the handful, pointing out vaguely handsome men to you with “yes? no? maybe?” to no avail.

ross doesn't pull at all.

not for lack of trying from the female clientele in the pub, though - every time he leaves the table, you watch heads turn in his direction, and some bodies following. envy tinges your vision green whenever a girl approaches him, but you needn't worry; no matter how pretty or persistent or personable the girls are, ross politely chats as he waits for the drinks, bids them goodbye, and comes back to you. well, to the table. where he sits next to you.

it makes you feel good. so good, in fact, that you decide to tell him how you feel, right then and there. you take another sip of your wine - dutch courage and all - and rest your elbow on the table and your head on your hand, facing ross. “i'm glad i came out tonight.”

“so am i,” he mirrors your pose, smiling. god, you love his dimples. “it's been a good night.”

“yeah. not a bad valentine's day at all.”

ross giggles. “as good as it gets for singles,” he takes a sip of his pint, then looks at you a bit more seriously. “you spoken to that guy yet? the one you like?”

you bite down a giggle, shaking your head. “d'you think i should? ask him out?”

“if you really like him, yeah.”

“but,” you look down at the table, absentmindedly running your index finger round the rim of your glass. “what if he doesn't like me?”

“why wouldn't he?” ross's voice is soft - so are his eyes, you look up to discover. “you're great.”

“really?”

he nods. “really great.”

your heart glows. your face does the same. “thank you, ross.”

he shrugs. “i'm just telling the truth, love. now,” he grins, tapping your phone. “ask him.”

bless him. 

you exhale, smiling. “alright,” you turn round to compose yourself, then look back at ross with a smile. “would you like to go for dinner with me?”

for a second, you falter as ross's brow furrows. “what, now? like a kebab- oh,” his jaw drops, and he blinks a few times. “really? it's me that you have a crush on?��

“yeah,” you bite the inside of your cheek, nervous. “is that… really bad?”

“hmm? no, no, not at all! just surprising, s'all,” ross takes your free hand in his own. he looks dazed, but he's genuinely smiling. “i had no idea you liked me like that.”

“and here i was thinking i was doing a shit job at hiding it.”

ross laughs, softly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb; warmth erupts under your skin wherever he touches. he looks at you, so tenderly you want to look away. “yes.”

your turn to be confused. “yes i was doing a shit job at hiding my crush on you? or…?”

“no, love,” ross chuckles, squeezing your hand. “yes, i'd love to go for dinner with you. tomorrow too soon?”

you feel weightless, joyous, positively giddy. but you have to stay cool, so you simply beam at him. “tomorrow's perfect.”

present day

“...so, we went for dinner - pasta, before you ask, keir - and that was it. dad said he wanted to be my boyfriend before we'd even gotten to the tiramisu,” you smile at the memory. “and then we were like that for a while, and then we got married, and then we had you two. and now, here we are.”

“that's it?” keir frowns at you, then looks up at his dad. “but you said you swept mum off her feet.”

ross snorts, ruffling his son's hair. “yeah, not literally, keeks. i just meant that she was very impressed by me.”

“i don't get it.”

“well, ask matty to explain metaphors to you when you next see him, then.”

you wince (ross laughs at that), turning to your daughter, preoccupied with petting ash the cat, who climbed onto her lap halfway through your talk. “thoughts, eils?”

“hmm,” she makes a face. “it's not a very exciting story, mum.”

“cute, though, no?”

“kind of, i guess.”

“wow, you two are hard to impress,” you sigh, turning to ross and smiling despite your kids’ boredom. “worked out well for us, though, didn't it?”

“absolutely, love. couldn't have worked out any better,” ross leans over the table to kiss you; you return it with relish.

“ewwwwwwww! gross!”

“dad, please don’t do that to mum in front of me ever again.”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

can i request a conrad fisher fic with ‘santa doesn’t know you like i do’ by sabrina carpenter? thank u smsm i love ur writing

I've been loving Sabrina Carpenter at the moment, thank you for the idea anon <3 It fits right with an idea I had in my list!

Warnings: mention of losing a parent (Susannah)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Dressed in a red sweater and sparkly skirt, you were about to head to your aunt’s house for Christmas dinner. But just as you were reaching for your coat, you saw Jeremiah’s name on your phone screen. A frown formed between your eyebrows as you answered. 

‘’Hello?’’

‘’Are you with Conrad?’’ 

He sounded worried through the phone. You could feel the prayer for a positive answer in his voice, which made your frown deepen. 

‘’No. Why?’’ 

‘’He didn’t come home. He said he would. He promised Dad— He’s not answering my texts or picking up my calls.’’  

‘’Maybe he got held back at college because of the snow?’’

Jeremiah denied that supposition. ‘’I don’t think so. I called his roommate at Brown and he said he left last night.’’

‘’Maybe he went to Laurel’s? He’s talked about going to Pennsylvania this winter break.’’ 

‘’I already called her. We don’t know where he is. He hasn’t talked to anyone in the last few weeks. You’re the only one he talks to. That’s why I thought he might have been with you.’’ 

A heavy pause hung in the air as you recalled your and Conrad’s last conversations, trying to find a clue of where he was. He talked about finals and living off coffee and cup-o-noodles and how excited he was to eat a home-cooked meal, even if it was mashed potatoes or chicken that wasn’t in a nugget form. The sweater he got Jeremiah for Christmas. His roommate. His mom and the bike he got her last Christmas. It’s still in the garage, at the exact place she left it. 

‘’I think I might know where he is,’’ you said. 

It was a wild guess, but it was Conrad’s comfort place. 

‘’Where?’’ Jeremiah's urgency echoed through the phone.

You shook your head although he couldn’t see. ‘’I’m sorry Jeremiah, but I think it’s best if I go by myself. I’ll call you when I get there.’’ 

⁂

Armed with your double espresso, you braved through the snowy roads and drove to Cousins. It was a wild guess, but you were confident enough that he was there. It was the place he went to every time he wanted to be with his mom again. That house was Susannah all over. She had handpicked everything that was inside, painted all the paintings on the walls, and placed every little trinket just the way she wanted. 

Your family was disappointed that you had to cancel dinner at the last minute, but if Conrad was at the beach house, you couldn’t leave him alone. No one should spend Christmas alone. Especially not after losing a parent. 

Propped and clipped to your car’s air vents, your phone screen showed several texts from Jeremiah, all trying to get more information about Conrad. You ignored them all and focussed on the road and taking the right directions. 

After three hours, you finally arrived to Cousins. The small town was dark. Most small shops were closed — it was almost 11pm —, barely any houses were decorated for Christmas as most residents only came for the summer. 

You pulled in the familiar driveway and parked your car. A light layer of snow coated the grounds, allowing the grass to peek through. The air was crisp, and you could see your breath as you walked up to the porch. 

Using the spare key that was hidden under the doormat, you unlocked the door and let yourself in. It was dark and cold as the power was not turned on outside the summer months. The air was a bit stale too from being inhabited. 

As you ventured further into the entryway, you could see light coming from the living room — the fireplace. Using that light to guide you, you called Conrad’s name. He had to be there. If he wasn’t, someone else was in the Fishers’ beach house.

The tension in your shoulders dropped when you saw him asleep on the couch, a thick plaid over his curled up body. He looked so small like this. You got closer and gently said his name, not wanting to startle him. Conrad was a light sleeper. He stirred, slowly waking, a mixture of surprise and sadness in his eyes when he saw you.

‘’What are you doing here?’’ Conrad asked, noticing your skirt and sheer tights. He knew it was Christmas eve. You should be with your family, not in Cousins.

‘’Jeremiah called me, he was worried,’’ you explained briefly.

‘’How did you know I was here? I didn’t tell anyone...’’

No one knew Conrad like you did. You were there through the good and the bad — and there was a lot of this bad this past year. You were the one who had brushed his tears at his mother’s funerals. You knew all of his favorite songs and picked up every time he called regardless of the time. You always knew just how to make him laugh. 

You sat on the edge of the couch, giving your best friend a soft look. ‘’No one knows you like I do.’’ 

The smallest smile curled on his lips. ‘’I’m glad you’re here,’’ he admitted, a veil of tears in his eyes. ‘’I thought I wanted to be alone, but it makes me miss her more.’’

Your heart broke and you pulled him in your arms.

—

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[seventeenytiny]

Elevator Troubles

Smut: Minors DNI

You and Jisung get it on in the elevator after it breaks down. Contains: Public sex, oral (male receiving), I guess exhibitionism, cum fetish but not really but also kinda. Word Count: 1544 Author’s Note: Okay so maybe I’m really into public sex. Also, when I got stuck in an elevator it was way less sexy :(

At this point in your day, getting stuck in the elevator wasn’t even the worst part. At least you weren’t alone in there, you had your lovely boyfriend by your side to help keep you calm. Honestly, he freaked out more than you at first, but hey what’s the worst that can happen? If anything this moment was a blessing in disguise, the two of you can shut off the world around you. Anything that happens outside those elevator doors is completely out of your control, so what’s the point of stressing about it? 

Your friends were waiting for you right outside the doors, they knew you two were in there. You yelled to them through the doors, letting them know you were stuck as the cellphone connection was quite spotty in the elevator. You then hit the emergency call button, unfortunately, the person on the other side of the call wasn’t very helpful, telling you to simply just hit the “Open Door” button like Jisung hasn’t mashed that button twenty times by now. 

You call back out to your friends, “Hey are you guys out there? Can you maybe call the building management to let them know we’re in here?”

And that’s what they did, and then they informed you it would probably be at least an hour before the maintenance guy would show up. You and Jisung shared a look and sighed loudly, slumping up against the elevator wall. You called out one last time to your friends telling them to leave and that you’ll catch up with them later. There was no point in making more people wait around for the elevator to get fixed.

You look over to Jisung, wrapping your arms around him to hug him, “You know, if I’m going to get stuck in an elevator I’m glad it’s with you.”

Jisung kisses the top of your head, “Well if wanted we could do something to help make the time pass.” He smirks at you, wiggling his eyebrow before grabbing your ass. 

You laugh in response, “Jisung, there’s probably a camera in here...”

He’s a bit surprised by your response, to him, it didn’t sound like you completely rejected the idea. “Look around, do you see one? Because I don’t. Anyways, if there is one, why not give the guy watching it a little show?”

You bite your lip, slightly hesitant about the idea but you can’t deny how much the thought of it turns you on. How naughty would that be, getting fucked in the elevator by your boyfriend where you could be caught at any moment. You decide to proceed cautiously, pressing your lips onto his. 

He kisses you back, hands gripping your hips as he slides his tongue into your mouth to deepen it. Your hands reach up to his hair, grabbing and pulling at his locks as the two of you continue to make out passionately. Jisung pulls away only to attach his lips to your neck, kissing and sucking on the sensitive skin. Tiny moans slip past your lips, you can feel your face become hot and red from embarrassment.

“Don’t be shy angel, anyone who can hear those precious sounds you make out there should consider themselves lucky.” 

He places a chaste kiss on your lips, “You know that if you aren’t comfortable with this we can stop.”

His eyes were pure and twinkling as he said that, it always made your heart melt at how caring he was of you. You smile and nod, “I wanna keep going.”

And just like that, he was back to attacking your neck, his hands exploring your body overtop of your clothes. He spins you around, your back against his chest, allowing him to grind into your ass as he licks and nips your neck. One of his hands goes up to your chest, squeezing your breasts, the other going under your skirt and between your legs. He draws light circles on your clit, relieving some of that pressure that’s been building up down there for you. 

No longer holding back, you moan from the stimulation, turning your head to the side to try to kiss him. He stops sucking on your neck to kiss you, allowing you to spin back around and face him. You pull away and smirk at him, “Time to let me make you feel good baby boy.” 

You get down on your knees in front of him, giving him your best doe eyes as you unzip his pants. His hand pulls your hair back out of your face to help you have better access to his cock, he’s eager already, bucking his hips closer to your face.

You rub your hand over the bulge in his underwear, a wet spot of precum forming on his boxers.

“Don’t tease me, angel, please...” Jisung begs, his brows furrowed in frustration.

Realizing how limited you may be on time you decide to dive right in, freeing his cock from his boxers and giving it a couple kitten licks before taking him in. He groans out from the sudden contact, his hands pulling your hair as he ruts his hips into your face. Jisung was always so needy, so desperate to feel pleasure, he struggles to control himself around you.

He takes control as he thrusts in and out of your mouth, fucking your face. You moan around his cock, your muffled sounds send chills down his spine. He’s getting close, too close, he can’t cum just yet. He pulls out of your mouth and roughly turns you around, wasting no time pulling your panties down and flipping up your skirt. He shoves you up against the elevator wall, his tip eagerly teasing your entrance.

“Are you ready for me angel?” Jisung asks, his voice deep and husky.

“Yes Jisung, please stretch me out.”

He doesn’t hesitate after hearing your words, sliding his cock into you with ease.

“You’re so fucking wet angel, do you enjoy getting fucked where you aren’t supposed to?”

No words leave your mouth as you take in the feeling of being full. Jisung doesn’t appreciate your quietness, he pulls out nearly all the way before slamming back into.

“If you want more of that I need you to use your words, angel.”

“Fuck Jisung, I love it, please give me more.”

And just like he starts going crazy, his hips snapping into yours at high speeds. The sound of skin slapping and moans fill up the tiny space, if the maintenance man is out there you’re positive he can hear what's going on.

His fast pace sends tingles all throughout your body, your brain goes fuzzy as you get cock drunk. 

“Jisung... mmm so good...”

“I know baby... need you to last longer, can’t let this end yet.”

You do your best to hold back your orgasm, knowing yours would trigger his and your fun would be over so soon. It was hard though, the idea of someone possibly watching through a camera, someone possibly hearing you get fucked sent bolts of pleasure directly to your core.

“I can’t last much long love, too good.”

“Then cum for me angel”.

Your body shakes and your eyes squeeze tight as that wonderful feeling washes over your body. Your heavenly sounds echo through the elevator.

You can hear Jisung’s breath hitch, a clear sign of his own orgasm taking over. His thrusts are sloppy yet fast as you both ride out your orgasms before he starts to slow down, sensitivity getting to the both of you. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you while the two of you catch your breath. Suddenly, the lights go back on in the elevator, you had moments to clean up before the doors would open up. Jisung pulls out fast, several drops of cum hitting the floor of the elevator. You quickly pull your panties up and flip your skirt down as he puts his member back in his pants. 

The doors open just in time, the bright lights of the lobby shining on your flushed faces. Judging by the look on the maintenance man’s face, he knew exactly what happened. You look to the ground and shyly thank him as you walk out. Jisung stomps his foot onto the little bit of cum on the floor, hoping to smear it out and make it less noticeable. He follows behind you, bowing to the maintenance man as he leaves.

The two of you sigh in relief as you walk out of the building before giggles take over. You can’t believe you actually did that and got away with it. Jisung slings his arm over your shoulder as you walk towards the bar you were supposed to meet your friends at. 

He places a kiss on your cheek, “I love you angel.”

“I love you too baby.”

“I can’t believe you let me fuck you in the elevator, you liked it didn’t you”

You nod shyly, “Yeah it was actually pretty amazing.”

He chuckles, “Well for future reference I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”

You pull away from him to playfully punch his shoulder. You can’t lie though, your mind was already racing with ideas of where else the two of you could fuck.