#this was not prompted by anything in particular

[invincibledc]

ᝰ.ᐟ𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖

────୨ৎ────

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 (𝐎𝐂) 𝐗 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐎!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

✦ Summary: he can’t ever ignore you, no matter how angry he is. He can never ignore you, he yearns for you desperately.

✦ Genre: drabble/reverse comfort

✦ Info: this OC is an OC I’m written for my own amusement. He’s the son of Harley Quinn and joker. Full name, Jacklyn Oswald Quinn. I got bored. Reader is the twin brother of Damian, but Damian is the older twin of course. Im only a writer so you can imagine who he looks more like but all I can is he is handsome canonically in my head and anything. Boy’s crazy but handsome.

✦ Word count: 598

When Jack is enraged, every word in the dictionary transforms into a manifestation of anger. He shuts out everyone, even his mother, Harley. She’s determined to cheer him up—cooking his favorite meal, trying acrobatic tricks she never mastered, and intentionally failing to entertain him as she used to when he was little.

But none of it works. Jack remains sprawled on his bed, his brows knitted together in a storm of frustration, refusing to unleash his feelings on anyone. In that sense, at least he has some restraint.

Harley sighs, utterly defeated, and exits her son’s room. “Well damn, this is tougher than I anticipated.” She leans against the door, sliding down to sit, rubbing her head, and pouting before a spark of inspiration hits her. She grabs her phone, scrolls through her contacts, and selects “Bats.”

Bruce answers the call, eyebrows raised in his study. “Harley?” he responds, immediately met with her lively voice. “HEY BRUCE! Can your son come over to lift my sweet pea’s spirits?” Bruce exhales, knowing he has several sons, but one in particular is dating hers.

“I’ll let him know.” Bruce hangs up after receiving Harley’s thanks. He pinches the bridge of his nose and then calls for one of his sons.

“Y/N!”

♤

And now, here you are, standing at the door of the Quinn household, welcomed by a sign that reads “Welcome to the Quinns!” You knock, listening intently in anticipation. From what your father mentioned, someone in this house is being a real sourpuss.

The door swings open, revealing Harley with a radiant smile, accompanied by Bud and Lou, her pet hyenas. They circle you as you step inside, and you can’t help but smile while scratching under their necks, eliciting adorable sounds before they dart off.

��Thanks for coming, Y/N. You’re a lifesaver.” Harley pulls you into a big hug, her expression filled with gratitude. “You know where Jack’s room is. Just crack a smile or something—his mood is ruining the vibe.” She directs you toward his closed bedroom door before leaving you to handle the situation.

Most would wait before entering, but you aren’t like most people. You stride into the room, spotting the blonde-haired boy with emotionless blue eyes, his jaw tense as he stares at the ceiling, totally ignoring your presence, likely mistaking you for his mother.

“Beloved,” you say softly, moving closer to his messy bed. Jack's eyes widen, a spark igniting within them.

“B-babe?!” he exclaims, his raspy voice cracking slightly, his slightly tanned cheeks flushing a light pink as he quickly kicks the clothes off his bed without your noticing. “What are you doing here, baby?”

“I came to check on you. Word is you’ve been feeling a bit down?” You cup his face in your hands, watching him melt under your touch as he closes his eyes. His breathing slows as he inches closer to you.

“Yeah… more like angry,” he replies quietly, his gaze intense as he opens his eyes to lock onto yours. “C’mere.” He pulls you onto him, one hand nestled at the small of your back, the other securing your waist.

You chuckle softly, “I thought you were going to ignore me.” Jack rolls his eyes, then captures your lips with his in a kiss. As your mouths meet, his hands wander low, prompting you to break the kiss with a pointed look.

Jack chuckles, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, sorry, Prince. I can’t help it—my boyfriend is just too cute,” he murmurs, planting another kiss on your cheek.

“Besides, love, I can't ignore you.”

Jack Quinn tag: @xxxryukifukuxxx @lockofspades @sramoonlight @darkfaethedestroyer @gayartisticandlonely @sleeping-l0s3rs @itsmonicabc @dead-ry-walking @fanaticf1fan @cxcilla @wolffrankie @jellystar-star @nayykura @nickithearticorn @deadwillow240 @nightblanc @winter-world @valyntime @luxylucylou @timeastronomerdrawer @existingtoreadfanfics @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @jjoppees @qhevy

[kithtaehyung]

satsuma (teaser 2) | myg (m)

you will break min yoongi. 

title: satsuma (m) | ⟶ teaser and taglist enclosed. pairing: iron chef!yoongi x challenger!reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; iron chef au , enemies to lovers summary: this particular culinary prodigy has always bested you—time, and time, and time again. but not today. today? you will break him. you will finally beat min yoongi—the bane of your existence and the youngest ever iron chef. warnings: none in teaser other than a cocky ass long-haired demon, full list posted on drop day! note: what started as a "what the hell, sure" fic ended up in a collab with my dear friends! this may be niche as hell, but it’s ok. i’m having fun with it, so i hope you will too if you take a bite :D note 2: this is part of the in bloom collab, and you'll want to peep the masterlist because the talent there is immense! est. word count: 20k+… lol 🔪 est. drop date: april 22nd, 2025 (finallyyy)

“So.”

Your eyes meet his. 

Burning.

“Finally gonna try this again, huh.”

“I’m standing right here, aren’t I,” you seethe, still squeezing determined fingers around a hand you love to hate. A precious hand responsible for making countless dishes revered around the globe.

If only the man attached to it remained just as wordless.

“Took you long enough.”

Because he is still an asshole. 

But you can deal with people like him. You’ve beaten many men just as insufferable, and his taunts aren’t gonna snap you this time. 

Well. That’s halfway true.

All the ones you’ve bested aren’t exactly culinary titans.

But your losing streak to Min Yoongi—world-renowned cook, international heart-throb, the youngest Iron Chef—ends today. 

It has to.

With a tiny hum and a smile, you parry, “Businesses needed some focus, but. What do you know.” 

And your heart annoyingly skips when he offers a cocky curve in return. As he speaks, you feel nothing but the heat of a thousand flames,

“Maybe you should focus on me instead of excuses.”

It fucking has to.

“Sorry to interrupt the, uhh, sizzle already,” the Chairman bellows, prompting stadium laughs to reach your ears. While you slice him with your glare, he continues with a mischievous glint, “But chefs, head to your stations and we shall begin!” 

Finally.

This is it.

With a head tilt, you give Yoongi’s lethal veins a final squeeze,

“This is where you lose, Min.” 

“You’ll regret picking me, princess.” 

Damn him. 

Breath short, you inhale as you clasp hands at your back, joining your team in your half of the arena—the winning half, the winning half, the half that will win.

As the Chairman yells through his enthusiastic spiel, you steal glances at your opponent, tsking to yourself when he doesn’t offer a single look in return.

“For today, I have chosen something that represents the coming of the new season…” 

So resolute. So focused. Immovable as always.

“We unveil the secret ingredient…”  

You will break him. After all these years, you will best him here.

“Our theme is…” 

As the cloth whips off the elevating table, your face falters when you see nothing but a pile of beautiful, vivid, frustratingly recognizable fruits.

“Satsuma!” 

…Fuck.

What the fuck?

Could it have been anything but that?

Shaken by the reveal and studio-prompted applause, you flick your gaze to Yoongi one more time.

Only to see his jaw slide with what you can only imagine are the same feelings.

Shit, shit, damn. Of all the predetermined choices to choose from, of course the committee picks the one that—

“Allez cuisine!”

Fuck, focus! No dwelling. You cannot mess up again and you already used up precious time caught in the past.

Hustling to the table, you and your sous chefs start piling orange globes into metal pans and woven baskets. 

Think, think, think. What are you making. What is the gameplan. Satsuma? Fuck, you were just hoping that wasn’t the chosen food so you gave it the least amount of thought! Amateur!

Swinging your head, you belt out orders to compete with the cheers and announcer-host talk. The atmosphere has erupted all at once, but you will not let it get to you again. Not now not now not this time.

“Amaury, get the stations prepp—”

“Yes, chef!”

“Nina, the stock needs—” 

“On it, chef.”  

“Jin, start with the prep on the—”

Shit that was not Yoongi’s hand you just touched. 

As you react, you see him already staring, brow cocked and team quietly systematic around his calm shoulders. You can’t even think about how experienced they look before—

“Tough,” he apologizes with zero sincerity. “But you can’t have me for this one.”

You move to snatch a fruit instead of his fingers. “Good,” you bite back. “You’d only screw me.”

To your annoyance, Yoongi only smirks, the tiniest sliver of teeth cutting you deep. 

“Chef.”

You swing your head back around to regard one of your assistants. “Yes.”

“We’re ready.” 

Fast. Prompt. Orderly as usual. 

If everyone’s on their game, you need to get there, too. “Yes, chef. Let’s start.” 

As your handsome sous locks into stride, you expel a determined breath. 

You will break Min Yoongi tonight. That’s always been the plan.

But now you have to see it through with the ingredient that tore you apart in the first place.

“Fucking mandarins,” you grit as you gather two more, hating how you’re—

“I know.”

What? 

Why is Yoongi still here? Did you really hear him correctly or was that a figment of the past coming back to haunt you? 

Stunned, you regard his expression for a set of seconds, not expecting a reaction at all. 

He remembers just as well as you do, it seems. And wasted his own set of seconds to let you know that. 

It’s so jarring that you barely get the words out, and you would like to think they sounded as strong as you intended, 

“Well.. good luck.” 

They definitely did not. 

But you break away as soon as you can, situating a burdensome, citrus-loaded pan on your hip with recipes stirring in your—

“You, too.” 

Turning, you wonder many things at once. Like if they have ever aired an Iron Chef in which the contestants spend this long at the ingredients table. Or why the hell Yoongi’s being so… Civil. 

When you nod, he levels his stare.

And after a moment that lasts three, you both finally part—heavy strides blazing trails on opposite sides of Kitchen Stadium.

-

-

tbc :)

-

🍊 how do we feel! | taglist 🍊

a/n: ALLEZ CUISINE! don't let this teaser fool you.. still (or not still?) water runs deep! there's gonna be a lot of build up and tension and drama and multiple(!!!) juicy scenes, so get your utensils and napkins ready because we are eatingggg

a/n 2: check out the in bloom collaboration and make sure to give all the authors and stories some love!

other links: masterlist | permanent taglist (i check each entry so have your age displayed somewhere in your profile!) 

[runninriot]

Caramel

for @vecnuthy 💜

also written as fill for the @steddiebingo prompt: alternate first meeting

rated: T | wc: 1.903 | tags: best friends eddie & jeff, pre steddie, (chaotic) flirting, Eddie Munson has a crush, confident Steve Harrington, sexual innuendo, Scoops Ahoy, no upside down au | also on ao3

Eddie is going to kill Jeff.

He'll make it slow and painful and even that won't rectify the betrayal.

   “Oh, come on! I've been listening to you whine about your stupid crush forever now, and I'm sick of it. So, do something about it while we're here.”

He does not whine, just to be clear. If anything, he's simply stating the tragic facts of hopeless love and never-to-be requited feelings.

Excuse him for thinking his best friend would actually support him and offer some consolation in these trying times. But no, Jeff's being a dick. Using Eddie's misery for his own amusement by dragging him in here.

They were about to grab lunch, but then Jeff pulled him through the doors of Scoops Ahoy without so much as a warning, under the pretence of a sudden craving for ice cream.

Eddie would've much rather stepped through the gates of hell than set foot in here but he couldn't fight it, not without catching other people's attention. And that's the least of what he wanted, having eyes on him. Especially those hazel ones, dark bright and warm, with green and gold speckles whenever the light hits them right.

   “I'm so going to murder you,” Eddie grits through his teeth, trying his best not to alert the group of girls standing in front of them. He feels hot from- anger, but Jeff has the audacity to laugh.

   “I mean it, man. You can't force me to-”

   “Welcome to Scoops, what can I get ya?”

    Fuck.

He hadn’t even noticed they were next in line but it’s definitely too late now to run and hide. Eddie's heart stops for a moment but contrary to the silent prayer he sends to no one in particular, he doesn't drop dead.

Instead, he's tripping all over his own tongue, swallowing nothing because his mouth's suddenly so fucking dry.

   “I, uh, we, uh-”

    Jesus H. Christ.

He's never been known for being very cool. Or a smooth talker for that matter. Especially when it comes to- well. Doesn't matter. He's obviously not going to try to flirt with the guy that's been haunting his every waking hour and his dreams ever since he started working in the record store across from Scoops. But making a fool of himself wasn't really the plan either.

   “I'll have the triple choc. Oh, and add one scoop of strawberry cheesecake, please." Jeff's palm comes down on his shoulder, patting him appreciatively. "My friend Eddie here is being generous today."

If he turned to look at him, he could see the shit-eating grin on his friend’s face, but all Eddie can do is stare at the pretty-smiling guy in front of him.

Steve, the name tag says.

Steve, wearing his stupid hat and his stupid uniform with the stupid red neckerchief hanging from the far too revealing collar that offers a dangerously delicious glimpse at the brush of dark hair peaking out from the low-cut neckline.

And speaking of neck- fuck!

In all the times Eddie stole secret glances at the man in question, he’s never been this close to him, always just yearning from a distance. But now that they’re standing merely a few inches away from each other, there’s no chance of missing the beauty spots scattered across his neck and face. So close, Eddie can count them individually, wants to remember each of their placements so he can dream about mapping them out with his fingertips, and maybe name them like stars.

   “So, Eddie,” someone says and it's then he realises he’s been caught staring. “Now that your friend's all set, what can I do to make you happy?”

Eddie’s heart does a weird little flip at his words, feels blood rushing into his face, hot-red bashfulness creeping into his cheeks and ears. He could swear he saw the other man wink at him. Could swear the way he said his name had a special kind of tone to it. But that doesn’t mean shit, right? He's probably just charming to all the customers, perfectly selling his happy little sailor act. And it's working, is the worst part. Makes Eddie blush even more than he already had, standing there absently twirling a strand of hair around his finger like an idiot, god.

    Brain to Eddie! Asking permission to reboot.

   “I, uh, I’m not sure.”

Heaven help him. This is embarrassing.

   “Want me to help you decide?”

Eddie is sure Jeff will tease him later for swallowing his tongue, but making up words is hard with your brain on overdrive. So he nods dumbly, eyes wide like those of a deer staring into the headlights of a truck – surely looking as stupid as he feels.

   “Hmm, let's see.”

Steve places both hands on top of the counter and leans forward, deliberately letting his eyes rake over Eddie in a way that makes him break out in cold sweat, giving him the horny-shivers. Making him feel like he's caught in a suffocating heatwave, all heavy-breathing and sweating just from having Steve's eyes on him.

   "You don't seem like the vanilla kind of guy. Maybe something a little more... fruity?"

Eddie's pretty sure he's stopped breathing, feels dizzy and disoriented, can focus on nothing but Steve's lips forming words he must be imagining.

He nods again, doesn’t really know what he’s agreeing to because his brain is on complete shutdown now, incapable of processing any of the words he’s heard.

   “What about this?”

Before he realises what’s happening, he feels the smooth surface of a plastic spoon pushing against his bottom lip. Gently, almost as if asking for permission – not going further than that, just waiting for him to take what he’s being offered.

Eddie’s eyes fall shut when he wraps his lips around the spoonful of ice cream, savouring the tangy-fresh flavour of lemon or lime, he’s not sure.

When he opens his eyes again, he catches Steve looking at his lips, licking his own like he is the one that’s been offered a taste. Like maybe he’d want a taste. Of ice cream. Of Eddie’s lips?

   “Did you like that?”

Like?

    Huh.

What a weird way to describe this earth-shattering experience.

Like doesn’t even come close to what Eddie feels right now. It’s overwhelming, heart stopping, mind-blowing.

It’s-

    Oh, wait.

Steve’s not talking about-

    Oh, God.

   “Yeah, I- I like it. The, uh, the ice cream,” Eddie stutters, feels hot all over from the embarrassment of letting himself get lost in an illusion of Steve flirting with him. Of Steve asking if Eddie liked being spoon-fed by the man of his dreams.

    Fuck!

How he is able to come back from whatever insane idea had possessed him, will forever remain a mystery to him, but he finds his voice despite everything, straightens himself to bring some much needed distance between him and the other man.

    “A little too sour for my taste, though.”

Steve scrunches his nose, and it’s as dorky as it is adorable, which- doesn’t help at all to stop Eddie’s heart from drumming a happy-sappy beat at the sight, makes his stomach swoop the way it does on a roller coaster drop.

   “Should’ve guessed a guy like you likes it sweet.”

Sweet like Steve’s smile.

Sweet like Eddie imagines Steve’s lips must taste like.

Sweet like the kisses he’d place onto every inch of Steve’s caramel skin, if ever given the chance.

   “Caramel!” Steve exclaims like he’s just heard Eddie’s thoughts aloud, “That’s your flavour.”

Without asking if he’s right, Steve takes his scooper out from the pouch hanging from his hip, twirls it around in his hand – show-off! – and drags it through the tub of creamy goodness to his left.

Eddie doesn’t protest, can’t take his eyes off the large, veiny hand wrapped around the metal spoon. The hand he’d give everything to see wrapped around something else. It's not his fault; he’s not in control of his thoughts. Can’t stop his dirty mind from filing every single movement of Steve’s working hands for later use because if that is all he’ll ever get, he might as well enjoy it to the fullest.

   “Try it. I know you’ll love it.”

Steve offers him the cone topped with a giant scoop of the toffee treat, looking at him expectantly with his brows raised high and a teasing glint in his eyes.

And you see, Eddie would never claim he’s the smartest person he knows. He’s definitely a dreamer and bad at reading social cues sometimes, but despite all that, there is just no way he’s imagining this.

Steve is flirting with him.

Has been flirting with him all this time.

Maybe it’s time to give something back.

Eddie brings the ice cream closer to his mouth and starts to lick. Draws it out by turning the cone in his hand, twirls his tongue around once, twice, in a way he hopes doesn’t make him look like a lapping dog, but comes off as seductive as it feels.

Rich caramel bursts on his taste buds and Eddie moans a little louder than necessary around the melting mouthful of flavour. It must sound obscene to the ears of any innocent bystander but he doesn’t care. Puts on a show for Steve who hasn’t taken his eyes off him the entire time.

  “Mmm, fuck! That’s so good,” Eddie groans, watching Steve’s Adam’s apple bob when he swallows roughly at his words. “You really know how to satisfy your customers.”

Eddie isn't the best at flirting, he can admit that. But somehow Steve doesn't seem to mind, smiles even wider now that Eddie gave him something to work with.

   “Yeah?” Steve asks as he leans closer, elbows propped up on the counter that separates them, chin resting on his hands. Looking up at him through his long lashes, his hazel eyes suddenly darker than Eddie remembers them. “Love to hear that. Wanna know what else I know?”

His question throws Eddie off, because it’s not quite how he expected the other man to continue their little game. But it’s too late to turn back from what he started, and he’s curious, so he nods and waits for Steve to continue.

   “I know that you’ve been looking me up and down every day for the past three weeks from your little music store over there.” He points over Eddie’s shoulder to the glass front revealing an open view to the other side of the passage way between Scoops and the equally visible interior of the store.

Eddie gulps, feels caught, but Steve doesn’t give him a chance to come up with an excuse.

   “I know that you take your lunch break every day at the same time and I know that it lasts for another-“ he turns to look at the clock on the wall before locking eyes with Eddie again, “25 minutes. Mine starts in 5.”

Eddie will kiss Jeff on the mouth. Or, you know, maybe not – depending on whether this goes the way he thinks, hopes, Steve’s very unsubtle invitation might imply.

But he’ll thank him one way or another, for dragging him in here.

For being the best friend a stupid man with a stupid crush can have.

And if the caramel ice cream goes to waste, melting away in a soggy cone, forgotten on top of the staff’s bathroom sink- it doesn’t really matter.

Because Steve’s lips taste even sweeter.

[stevesgother]

i adore chalkboard hearts! could i see steve and reader explaining to abby shes gunna be a big sister 🥰

here is this for you darling <3 thank you so much for reading steve harrington x fem!reader

"Mommy?" Abbey asks as she mindlessly roots through the bathroom drawers, looking for nothing in particular, "What is this thing?"

You barely spare a glance from where you're applying your makeup in the mirror above the sink. Ever since the wedding, Abbey has made it her life's mission to never not be right next to you. 'Misdirected jealousy', your mom had told you. It didn't matter what you were doing: cooking dinner, folding laundry-- bathing, for Christ's sake-- Abbey would be there.

That's why you don't register that your daughter is holding your clean, but used nonetheless, pregnancy test. But Steve does, when he pokes his head around the door to check in on the two of you.

"Hey, you almost--oh-- Abbey don't touch that!" He says, all in one panicked breath.

You finally chance a look at what she's holding, immediately understanding Steve's reaction. Without another thought, you quickly snatch it from her innocent hands.

Abbey's still looking up at you inquisitively. She did ask you a question, after all.

"Oh, this? This is-- uhm, it's a, uhm--"

"It's a thermometer!" Steve saves.

"Then why can't I touch it?" She pushes further. You should've known better than to think she would drop it that easily.

"Steve checked my temperature with it a couple of weeks ago, so now it has all my sick germs on it." Both you and Steve make sour faces to really sell it, though you can't see his from where he's perched behind you.

"Hey, Ab," Steve prompts, "I have something really important I need your help with,"

Her ears perk instantly, "Yeah?"

"I need you to go into the kitchen and get some things out to make sandwiches while I talk to your mom, do you think you can do that for me?"

"Uh-huh!" She beams, Steve's request appealing to her newfound craving for independence.

"I don't know," Steve lilts playfully, "You sure you're up for it?"

You're forever in awe at how he manages to make the most mundane tasks feel like an impossible mission; how he turns everything into a game. You'd kill to be a fly on the wall of his classroom all day, content to watch him perfectly in his element.

"Yes! I am!" Abbey giggles as she tries to weasel by Steve where he stands blocking the doorway. He lets her think she overpowered him when his legs finally give way to her freedom from the bathroom.

Steve takes one more glance over his shoulder, "We need to tell her," he says in a hushed sort of tone.

"I know," you pinch the bridge of your nose, "It's just, what if--"

"Nothing's going to happen, sweetheart." He reassures you with two strong arms wrapped around your waist, "The doctor said the ultrasound looked great, and you're not a high-risk pregnancy. You said you had no complications with Abbey, right?"

"Right, but--"

"No 'but's I'm not gonna let anything happen to you-- either of you. You know that." Steve guides your head to nestle in the crook of his neck, enough so that you can't see that he's scared, too.

"She's going to find out eventually," he reminds you.

"You're right," you sigh.

"Per usual." You pinch his side in retaliation, making him yelp.

"Let's have lunch, then we'll tell her?" You ask, lifting you head from the safety of his chest.

"If that's what you want to do, then that's what we'll do.

--

You don't work up the courage to speak until Abbey's halfway through her PB&J, but Steve picks up the slack for you. He's perfect like that.

"Abbey, babe-- there's something Steve and I want to talk to you about," you tell her, trying to keep your tone lighthearted, but your voice still wobbles slightly with nerves.

Both of them turn to face you then, Abbey's mouth full and Steve sending you a look that says You've got it, I'm here.

God, you don't even know where to begin.

"Do you remember-- right before we had that big party where mommy and Steve got married-- when I got sick during dinner time?"

Abbey nods, idly licking jelly off of her tiny fingers; waiting for you to continue.

"Well... I thought it was just because Steve's burgers tasted yucky--" She giggles and Steve lightly kicks your foot under the table, "Really, it was because I have a baby in my belly, and the baby was making me feel sick."

You can practically see the gears turning in her head; she's certainly old enough to understand what it means to be pregnant, but maybe not quite the logistics of it yet.

Both you and Steve wait with bated breaths to see how she'll react. You're bracing for the worst, but all she asks is, "Is the baby still in there now?"

You have to stifle a laugh, not wanting her to feel silly for asking questions, "Yes, it is. That means you're gonna have a little brother or sister,"

She takes another bite of her sandwich, mostly indifferent. You don't know what you were expecting, but this nonchalance was probably the last thing.

Steve decides to take the reins for a moment, hoping to coax a little more of a reaction out of her, "How does that sound?" He asks, shaking her shoulders playfully.

"Good, but-- will we still be able to go to the park?"

Maybe you had been totally overthinking this, "Of course," you tell her, "And the baby can come, too!"

"Does the baby have to come?" She asks, just the slightest bit of whine in her tone, resting her tired head in the propped-up palm of her hand.

"Not always," Steve chimes in, "You'll still get plenty of time with us without the baby, too. We don't want you to worry about that, okay?"

She nods, "Okay," sipping her chocolate milk casually from its straw. "Can we go play on the swings after I'm done?"

"Uhm, yeah, I think we can manage that," Steve smiles at Abbey first but looks to you like 'That's it?'. You only shrug in response.

--

"Did we totally butcher that?" You ask Steve later that night from where you lay waiting for him in your shared bed.

He answers you with his toothbrush hanging haphazardly out of his mouth; making eye contact through the bathroom mirror, "No, honey-- I think kids are just like that sometimes."

You groan, "I feel like a bad mom..."

"Hey," he spits into the sink, wiping his mouth on the nearest hand towel, "None of that, okay? You're a fantastic mom."

Even from across the room, Steve can sense your slurry of racing thoughts. Ones of insecurity and worry for the future of your family-- of your daughter, whom you'd swore would always be your greatest priority.

He makes his way to the edge of the bed where you're curled in on yourself, "It's not just you anymore, love," his hands brush a stray tear you hadn't even realized has fallen.

"What if she feels like-- I don't know, what if she feels like I'm replacing her?"

"Listen to me, I promise you-- Abbey is never going to question whether or not you love her." Steve's hand moves from your face to land gently on your belly, "And neither will she,"

You breathe a teary chuckle, "You seem awfully convinced it's a girl,"

"Yeah, well-- call it father's intuition."

Hearing him refer to himself as a father sends butterflies erupting in your belly, "Thank you, Stevie."

"Hey, I'm serious. Everything's gonna work itself out, alright? Ab just needs a little time to warm up." You nod in agreement, "I'm tellin' ya, once we start getting those cute little baby pajama things-- she's gonna be pumped."

You laugh at his unsuccessful search for the word 'onesie', but you don't correct him. You know he's right, and even if he's not, you're sure now more than ever that there's not a thing in this world you can't conquer together.

taglist - @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @mrsnarnian @negomi123 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @jamdoughnutmagician @cali-888 @kolsmikaelson @1deverland @borhapparker @alexa4040 @chiliwhore @weonlysaidgoodbyewithwordss @paddockspookie42 @foxes-n-frogs @j-mlover383 @i-love-gfv @the-fairy-anon

[toyouhellohowareyou]

20 and Legend?

😘 Prompt game!

20 is Alone, Finally

***

The Chain, and Legend hated that name, and hated Four for coming up with it, and hated Hyrule's giggling every time someone said it, and hated—

And wow! Okay! Yeah! Maybe he was in a mood, huh? Even for him.

The Chain had been together for five days and Legend was slowly losing his mind about it.

There wasn't anything in particular wrong, anything specific anyone had done. It was just everything. It was so many people being around all the time, it was every task taking longer, it was waiting on people and being on their schedules, it was having to be switched on all the time in case someone talked to him, it was that they were strangers. Eight exhausting strangers meant someone was around all the time.

Fortunately for the sake of his increasingly threadbare nerves and patience, they had stopped early today to avoid arriving at whatever town Warriors was directing them to at an inconvenient hour. Which meant even with the endless cycle of chores and maintenance and 'getting to know each other' horrors, he finally had some time to fuck off.

And fuck off he did.

Alone, finally.

For about forty glorious minutes before Wind found him.

"Hey Legend, you busy?"

Din give him strength.

"Yes. " Legend was busy not doing whatever the fuck this was.

Wind decided he was not, "Can I borrow your fire rod? Wars said I can't use his."

He didn't want to know what that was for. "No."

"Lame. Hey, Time said he had an ocarina, did you want to come bug him to show us how to play something?"

Legend was going to kill a man. Legend was going to kill a child.

"No."

"Aren't you bored? Everyone is being so boring."

"No, Wind," Legend bit off, trying not to alienate the entire group he was now stuck with less than a week after meeting them by tearing off the head of the team baby, "I am not bored. I was having a nice time not being in each other's pockets for a single fucking hour."

"But it's great? Isn't it amazing! Meeting heroes from all over!"

Legend just glared at Wind and attempted to set him on on fire with his mind. Wind remained stubbornly un-immolated, and instead squinted back at him for a long moment.

"Oh, you're one of those people," the kid said with the deepest disgust.

"What the fuck do you mean—"

"It's fine, accommodations must be made," Wind waved haughtily, "I'll go tell Captain Teamwork we need to leave you your lonely horizon staring time or you'll murder us all in our sleep."

And before Legend could formulate an answer to that Wind was gone again.

[obscuraimagines]

girl ty for writing a kodiak fic, ur a godsend frr🙏🙏 can you write one where they go through with the plan of hiking to the rescue point and at night kodiak and reader have to share a tent, also pls include choking if you can

A/N: Thank you so much for this prompt, Anon! I wanted to write a continuation and I had a lot of fun figuring out how to make this work: I hope you like it!

Trust Me

Summary: Follow up to Bite Me. Kodiak and the Reader have some unfinished business to resolve.

Content: Intended for 18+ readers. Smut, breathplay, dubcon, age difference (Reader is over 18.) Mature content under the cut.

Back when you still dreamed of rescue, before winter, you never imagined it like this. You imagined stepping onto the sun warmed asphalt of a runway, all your families waiting for you. At first you imagined other things too – a passing plane noticing smoke from your fire, a search and rescue team just over the next ridge �� until you realised just how bad your odds were. Thinking about the logistics of it became too depressing but kept turning the image of home over and over in your mind, until it was worn smooth from handling. 

Now, scrambling up a rocky slope with a handful of your teammates, questioning whether every bird call is really a bird or the friends you abandoned hunting you, you realise how wrong you were. Rescue isn’t something that’s going to happen to you. It’s something you have to claw your way towards: you’re so physically drained you can barely walk straight; you’ve betrayed more of your teammates that you’ve saved; you have no doubt the others will hunt you for it. But it could be worse: you could have been one of the ones left behind. 

Kodiak, the reason you’re here, pauses on top of the ridge and turns to survey the rest of your group, straggling behind him. They know you were the one to offer him a deal: his freedom in exchange for all of yours. They don’t know how you persuaded him to put his neck on the line for you. It’s not that you think they’d judge you: you’ve all done far, far worse to survive. But you’re not so sure they’ll trust him if they find out he has an ulterior motive. You don’t want for that particular secret to come out when they’re all twitchy, paranoid and clutching whatever weapons they managed to grab. You try not to take it as a bad sign that Hannah refused to come. You can't exactly fault her for not trusting you but it worries you that she had so little faith in Kodiak. 

You manage to stagger over the ridge. The hill falls away on the other side into a bowl shaped scoop, too small to be a real valley. The soles of your shoes are worn dangerously smooth: you cut ridges into them with a knife twice already over the past fifteen months; now they’re so thin you can feel each individual pebble through them and there’s no more left to cut. You slip, almost falling down the rocky incline. 

Kodiak catches you. It frightens you a little, how strong he is. You’ve spent over a year in a society made up almost entirely of girls. You’re not used to the space an adult man takes up. His sheer physical presence is overwhelming. 

Even though you’re dreading the others finding out, you still hope he might say something to you, let you know where you stand. Instead, he sets you on your feet and looks back irritated at the others. His hands linger on your arms, making sure you’re steady, but that’s it. You tell yourself it’s ridiculous to feel disappointed but you do anyway. 

“We’re losing light,” he tells your group, not addressing you at all. “We can camp down the slope here.”

Camp in an optimistic word for it: you were only able to grab a few things that wouldn't be missed, plus tearing apart the researchers’ campsite for anything the others hadn't got around to bringing back. You have three tarps, less blankets than people, a single scavenged sleeping bag, and very little food. Kodiak finds a couple of low hanging branches to hang your scavenged tarps over and pin the third over a low hanging rock, securing the edges with rocks. Your makeshift shelters are cramped and drafty, but it'll at least keep the weather off you. 

Kodiak insists there’s no way the others could keep up with you but when your fellow escapees insist on keeping watch, he volunteers to take the first. He’s the only one of you who doesn’t look about to collapse: you’re all in better shape than you were last winter but life out here has still taken its toll on all of you. None of you want to risk a fire, so the others fall into exhausted, aching piles under whichever shelter's closest, sharing stolen blankets, not caring who they lie down next to. 

When you go to fall in beside them, Kodiak wraps a hand around your elbow, pulls you back. “You're with me.” 

You wish you’d had chance to talk to him privately about what happened between you. Between the frenzy of planning and then nearly a full day and night of hard hiking, you haven't exactly had a chance to be alone. Now you have a chance, you’re afraid of what he might say. 

“Get some sleep,” he tells you, holding the tarp away from the rocky overhang so you can slip inside. There’s not much room but then you won’t need much: you’re going to have to share body heat anyway. He's managed to snag the only sleeping bag and you stumble into the shelter, grateful to have something between you and the ground. 

You know you should probably sleep in your clothes in case you need to run in the night. Except the air smells like it might snow later and your jeans are damp to the knee from pushing through wet undergrowth. You’re not sure if it’s cold enough to get hypothermia yet but you don’t want to test it. You kick off your shoes, shimmy out of your jeans, and then dig in your pack to swap your shirt and bra for a dark green shirt you raided from the researchers camp that you think is probably Kodiak's. Your last thought, as you slip into the sleeping bag, is that it smells like him. 

You wake to the rustle of the tarp being pushed aside. At first you think it’s morning but the light is silvery: through the opening in the tarp you can see the moon, just past full. You peer out groggily and see another figure pacing around the clearing, blowing on her cupped hands for warmth. Mari.

Kodiak kicks off his boots and shoulders off his jacket before unzipping the sleeping bag just enough to let him slip inside. You shift to make room for him, so used to huddling for warmth by now that you forget to be awkward. 

Kodiak wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. You can feel his breath warm on your shoulder and you press into him, grateful for the body heat. His thumb traces lazy circles on your stomach, then stops. “Is this my shirt?” 

“I didn't think you'd mind–”

Your concept of personal property has kind of eroded while you've been out here. You all just share, reaching for whatever's nearest. Kodiak's so comfortable out here you forget he's not like you.

“I didn’t say I minded.” Kodiak’s voice turns low and husky against your ear. He hooks a finger into the neckline, baring your shoulder for him to kiss. Then he slides a hand down your ribs, ghosting over your bare thigh, tracing the edge of your underwear with a fingertip. 

You bat his hand away.

“Mari will hear us.” 

“Who cares? She’s eaten human flesh. You really think this is going to be the thing that traumatises her?” 

You wish he wouldn’t just come out and say it like that but you don’t defend yourself. 

“She'll wake up the whole camp. You really want to have that conversation with them right now?” You’ve seen how quickly things can unravel when tensions are running high. Nat’s as close to snapping as you’ve ever seen her. Rescue’s been snatched away once when Lottie killed the other researcher, then again when Shauna refused to let you leave. She’s pushed herself twice as hard as the rest of you, always on guard, expecting threats from every direction. 

Kodiak glances around the edge of the tarp to see Mari, leaning heavily against a tree. Moonlight outlines the barrel of the rifle at her side. He huffs quietly in annoyance but lies still, pulling you close. 

“Remind me why you had to bring your friends?”

You pretend not to hear him because you don’t have an answer he’ll like. The truth is, it’s the bargain you’ve made with yourself: if you can get a handful of them out, maybe you’ll be able to live with the ones you left to die. 

You struggle to get back to sleep after that. You’re not sure what the rules are between you and Kodiak, which is a dangerous thing not to know when you’re fairly sure your life (all your lives) depend on following them. You have no idea what he’s going to expect from you, before you reach the rescue point. Assuming he’s not bored of you by then. You have a feeling it would be dangerous to bore him. You drift in and out of an uneasy sleep, Kodiak’s arm slung over your waist like an anchor. 

The next time you wake, it’s to a hand over your mouth in the darkness. You lash out on instinct, thrashing as your legs tangle in the sleeping bag. Then you remember where you are and who you’re with. You stop struggling and twist your neck so you can see his expression. Kodiak lets go of your mouth but you’re not sure whether it’s safe to speak.

“Turns out your friend’s a pisspoor guard,” he breathes against your ear. He twitches the tarp aside briefly, to reveal Mari in a slumped heap. If not for the rise and fall of her chest you might think she was dead. The trek has been hard on her: she’s not a hunter or a forager used to covering miles, and her knee has never been quite right since she dislocated it. You’re uncomfortably aware that you chose who to bring based on vulnerability as much as skill. You worry what’s going to happen when Kodiak realises that; you don’t doubt he’d leave anyone who slowed him down behind. 

You go to get up, meaning to wake her. Kodiak splays a hand over your abdomen, anchoring you in place. 

“Let her sleep.”

You frown at him. “We’ll be unprotected–”

“We’ll be fine. Like I tried telling you all: the others don’t know the way and trying to track us will slow them down. There’s no way they’re keeping pace with us.”

You really want to believe that’s true. 

“Anyway,” Kodiak says, pressing a line of kisses along your shoulder and to the sensitive point behind your ear. “We have unfinished business.”

“The others–” 

“Are tired enough to sleep through anything. We’ll be quiet.”

You feel a guilty twist of desire at his words. It’s not like you’re not attracted to him. 

You try to twist to face him but there’s hardly any space between you. Kodiak holds you still, his chest solid against your back. The hand on your stomach trails downwards, sliding inside your underwear. You bite down on a gasp and Kodiak shushes you, silencing you with a free hand over your mouth. 

“Okay?” he asks quietly against your ear. You’re surprised he’s asking: both of you know that your survival depends on him. Maybe he just wants to remind you that you started this: you’re complicit. You nod into his palm. 

He’s more measured than the last time, more deliberate. You realise that he’s trying to make the next part more comfortable for you. His touch kindles something in you that you thought was long burned out. Right when your desire is about to crest, he pulls his hand away. 

You grasp his wrist with both hands, trying to keep it there, making a muffled, needy whine into his palm. 

“My turn,” he whispers into your neck. You spit muffled obscenities, making him chuckle. 

You help him peel your underwear out of the way. He’s hard against you and you brace yourself for pain, worrying you can’t take him. He enters you slowly and you hiss: it’s less painful than you expected but it still stings. He murmurs encouragement, rubbing slow circles into your hip, letting you adjust. 

“You don’t know what it does to me, you wearing my shirt,” he tells you. You feel the rasp of his beard on the sensitive flesh behind your ear, his breath stirring your hair. “Makes you look like you’re mine.”

Kodiak slides a hand under the shirt, palming your breast. You moan faintly in response. He takes it as encouragement to start moving, carefully at first. The discomfort turns to a pleasant burn. You roll your hips, matching your rhythm to his and he rewards you by increasing the pace. 

His hand slides down from your jaw to curl around your throat. You tense, remembering when you attacked him, how quickly he’d overpowered you. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks. 

The question confuses you. Of course you trust him: you’ve gambled your life – your friend’s lives – on his ability to get you home. You’re not sure if you trust him not to hurt you. But it’s too late to stop this thing between you. 

“I trust you.”

He guides one of your hands to cover your mouth, then returns his to your throat. He doesn’t squeeze exactly, just curls his fingers round your neck with a gentle pressure, anchoring you in place. It’s just tight enough to make you breathless, your sensations heightened. It’s nothing like your encounter in the clearing: the need to be quiet means it has to be slow, even sensual. Your world shrinks to the two of you, the movement of your bodies, the tent filling with soft, breathy noises. Kodiak lets go of your throat when you come, his hand covering yours covering your mouth. His pace gets faster, rougher, until he comes too, burying his face in your neck to muffle the sound. 

Neither of you talk after. He presses a kiss to your throat, winds a strand of your hair lazily through his fingers. You worry that one of your teammates might have heard something but all you can hear is normal night time noises: the rustling of the wind in the branches, the occasional night bird, a faint snore from one of the other tents. The tiredness hits you again but this time you feel boneless, pleasantly drowsy. 

You’re almost asleep when he breaks the silence. You didn’t realise he was still awake.

“You did good today.”

“Yeah?” It’s faintly mortifying how much you want him to praise you. 

“Yeah.” He sounds sleepy, relaxed. It’s the first time you’ve heard him like that which, considering the last few days, is probably fair. He traces lazy patterns across your skin with his fingertips 

“What do you think our chances are?” you blurt. “Of getting there, I mean?”

“Hundred percent.” It’s reassuring, the way he doesn’t even pause to think. 

“What if–” You were about to say what if the Wilderness won’t let us leave but you realise just in time how insane it sounds. There’s a lot of other what ifs: what if the others catch up to us, what if someone gets too hurt to keep up, what if there’s an early blizzard?

“Stick with me,” he tells you, his voice gravelly with sleep. “Whatever happens I am going to get the both of us off this mountain.”

You’re not sure what he means by that, how transactional this thing between you is. But it doesn’t matter: you’re getting yourself and the others back to civilisation, no matter what. If he’s the best way to do that then whatever he wants you’ll do it. Strangely, the thought calms you. You fall into a dark, dreamless sleep.

A/N: Thank you for reading, if you enjoyed it then please let me know. I enjoy writing these but knowing people want to read them is what gets them off my hard drive and onto Tumblr. Requests are open.

[lucky13cat]

Snippet of my latest Kingdon WIP:

Mel's date ends up with her accompanying said date to the Pitt. No one is pleased with this course of events. Least of all Dr. Langdon.

Mel was beginning to deeply regret agreeing to this date.

Not that it was bad or that her date was a jerk. Neither were really true. The date, meeting up at an arcade bar for drinks and friendly competition, had been nice in the way that she hadn't hated it. It was her second time going out like this with this particular person, and the first time had gone well enough that saying yes to a second had made sense. A simple decision really. Becca had been happy to hear about it though she had smiled and asked if she'd told Dr. Langdon about it.

Which Mel hadn't. Frank was her friend, and she really loved working with him. Talking about her dating life felt treacherous, especially considering his very recent divorce and her own feelings about him she chose not to acknowledge. Frank was her friend. She'd tell him if the second date led to a third. Maybe.

The second time was shaping up to be just like the first date, good with no reason to turn down another. She'd liked the skeeball machines, and the pretzel she'd ordered had been tasty though she'd not enjoyed her drink, alcohol was hit or miss with her. And Fisher, her date, had been nice and not the least bit offended when she'd demolished him at said skeeball machines and stuck with one drink. Which was... nice.

In truth, the date would have perhaps prompted a third had an unfortunate accident not occured.

Alcohol and throwing games should not be combined. Especially when said alcohol is in glass cups.

Mel doesn't see it happen. She's turned her head to stare at the machine in front of them to see how many points Fisher manages. He's quite bad at skeeball which is probably why in his drawback he'd managed to not only shatter the pint glass of someone behind them but also end up with a shard of glass through his palm.

The one time she doesn't have her emergency kit on her too.

By the time she's managed to convince Fisher not to pull the shard out and stabilize his hand for the inevitable ride to the hospital, someone's called 911. An ambulance rolls up just as she's paying their check.

"You coming?"

Technically, she did not have to get in the ambulance. This was only her second date with Fisher, which usually meant she was free to let him be on his way, but that would mean heading either back into the bar or home. Neither option sounded great, and she'd certainly be wracked with guilt if anything else happened to Fisher. So, with a sigh, she'd pulled herself into the back of the ambulance after Fisher was loaded up.

She'd asked the paramedics to take them to Presby. Both had recognized her from work, which was definitely the reason they'd let her climb in. One of them had shaken their head while the other climbed into the driver's seat.

"Sorry Dr. King, the Pitt's closer."

"Ah," Mel tried very hard not to feel defeated. "Alright then."

She checked her phone. 6:27. Hopefully, everyone from day shift suddenly decided to leave early.

[burnishedrebel]

Charlotte’s quip about keeping him to herself rather than showing him off made Leo chuckle. “Absolutely fair reasoning,” he teased in reply, chuckling again. As they continued on their walk through the suite towards the bathroom, Leo continued admiring Charlotte’s naked figure ahead of him. Upon entering the bathroom, and seeing Charlotte in the shower, Leo stopped in his tracks. A smirk curled onto his lips. The water cascaded delightfully onto her body, trailing down her curves and illuminating her smooth, pale skin. 

He could’ve gladly admired her for minutes more, in spite of his stiff, aching cock. However, when Charlotte playfully challenged him to touch her, Leo stirred from his admiring stupor with a smirk. “You can’t blame a man for admiring pure art,” he quipped, moving into the shower so he could stand mere inches from her. Charlotte’s admission about touching herself alone and thinking of him kept the smirk on Leo’s features. It also prompted a quirk of his eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Anything in particular you dream about?” he teased, tone husky again, his eyes darkening with lust as he moved forward to embrace her. Snaking his hands down to firmly cup her bare ass, Leo leaned in to press his lips to hers. 

@writermuses

Charlie took a slow, deep breath to calm herself and resettle that foreign discomfort of feeling out of control of a situation. "Yeah, room service. As much as I enjoy having you on my arm and we're absolutely worth showing off, I'm selfishly keeping you to myself, Sir." Charlotte winked at him and then they made their way through the hotel room. Her body acutely aware of the eyes drinking in her lean, slight frame.

There were definitely perks to her job and luxury hotel rooms were always available to the top mercenaries. This one was no exception can she leaned against the cool tile as the quickly warming water filled the large shower. Gracefully slipping underneath, she turned the heat up until she was satisfied, letting Leo enjoy the view of the water cascading down her curves. "Are you just going to look or are you going to touch me?" There was a smirk on her lips when she opened her eyes, that kaleidoscope of color almost darker as she slid her hands down her body to her center. "It wouldn't be the first time I thought about you while I played alone."

[arkeusruin]

Aeon setting up a weird little quintosis trigger in dew's mind without him realizing and then when they're in band practice and Aeon does a little slide maneuver and something just clicks in dew's mind and he's just rahhhhh

[f0xx0rzz]

man. this website sucks. but all my friends are here.

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

Kinda really wanna ramble of Batman’s no kill rule. Because it’s not really a no kill rule as much as it is a no death rule.

And I feel like I’m always seeing posts which try to act like because it’s normal not to want to kill someone that means Batman is somehow normal for his no kill rule (which, again, isn’t really a no kill rule but a no death rule).

Yes, it’s normal to not want to kill someone.

No, that isn’t what Batman’s no death rule is about.

And no, Batman is not normal for his no death rule. It’s extremely weird, and he is extremely weird about it.

It isn’t logical either for the record, it’s highly illogical and entirely emotions based and Batman refuses to be normal about it.

And That’s fine! In fact, it’s extremely interesting!!

But please, please can we stop pretending he’s normal about it? His stance is not normal! His stance is, like almost everything else about the guy, fucking insane!! That’s what makes him interesting!

[knuckleblaster]

[sonknuxadow]

ngl i kind of dont care for knuckles being labelled as a warrior. i mean yeah hes a character heavily associated with physical strength but like. his whole thing isnt being a warrior its being a Guardian. his strength is used to Protect. whether its the master emerald or the world or his friends. do you get me .

[mirroredmasquerader]

This is one of the first few things I drew in color for this nonsense I think

[judasisgayriot]

[sad-endings-suck]

“Why would you even ship that character with anybody?! He’s basically irredeemable to me—“

TO YOU!! He’s irredeemable to you. But some of us are silly geese that like our men to be the sexy, sad, feral, pathetic wet cats that they really are deep down, because we aren’t allergic to joy.

Is that okay with you??!? Is that permissible in the eyes of the Chronically Online Board of Hypothetical Ethics and Human Resources for Fictional Characters That Are Not Real™️®️.

You can go enjoy your curated selection of stale two dimensional wonderbread men in the corner, like the misguided pitiful lost soul that you are. the rest of us will be enjoying ourselves as our pathetic wet rag himbos and twinks kneel on the ground and beg to taste pussy/cock so hard they nearly come, like real men. just as god herself intended.