#why do i smell burning toast

[verse-and-vibes]

from the visionary minds behind Bendelgromp Candlecreek and jonkler (2019) starring quinoa penis comes PIDER-SMAM: A CROSS OF CIDER WURST

join mile moral in PART 2 of the ebic app denture when he fights THE POTS, with PETEB ACRE and introducing GAYDAY the BABY PIDER.

also moral mill is in lov with his gorlfrend but you wouldn’t know her she goes to another school. in another universe. also her name is GWANDA and she lov pills morals too.

but now GAY VAMPIRE PIDERSMAM is there, and he do NOT like the moral pills! he says that THE EVIL POT is destroy universe! I mean multiverse! cider wurst! mm bagel

SPRINKLE-DINK: A TOSS OF SPIDER DIRT is in theaters NOW!!

[lovverletters]

ILLUSION˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

❝IN WHICH ㅡ Your husband seems to have change for the better. Although is it really him? Or somebody else masquerading as your husband ❞

A/N : Unofficial comeback hihi !! I made this in 3 hours please don't judge my word vomit

T/W : bad relationship, mentioned of murder, not edited, yandere theme, twist at the end

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[name] sighed for ninth time of the day, everything is going horribly for them.

Early this morning, they had accidentally burnt the breakfast they were cooking for you and their husband, Mauve. He did not take kindly to it and yelled at them before leaving for his work.

It only worsen as they had forgotten their lunch and had to work on an empty stomach while their less than pleasant boss chewed them up for their failing performances.

Then, their car broke down and had to be towed away while they went home on a cab with the world most unpleasant driver ever.

It felt as if the world was against them. Pinning them against the corner like a bully demanding for their lunch money.

Now, they sat at the dinner table staring at the food that's slowly growing colder as they waited for Mauve to come home. As the clock struck 10 and their husband was still not home, [name] sighed once more before cleaning up the table.

Despite their very best effort to avoid addressing the glaring issue of their crumbling marriage, [name] couldn't ignore it anymore.

Mauve and them hardly resembled a married couple, they don't spend time with each other due to clashing schedule and even if they were free, they'd much rather be alone than with each other. The two of them would bicker and argue over unnecessary stuff, don't even mention being physically intimate with each other. They're practically practicing abstinence.

[name] has been the only party making effort to keep the relationship going but Mauve was not doing the same.

It is clear as day that the spark and love they have had simply dried up.

" I should just divorce him at this point .. " [name] muttered before falling into a deep slumber.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The next morning, they awoke to a delicious aroma coming from the kitchen. [name] sat up in surprise at the smell and walking to the source of the wonderful aroma.

To their surprise for the second time, they sees Mauve flipping pancakes in his suit and ties. Upon hearing their approaching footsteps, Mauve turned over and greetes them with a smile.

" Good morning honeybun, I made pancakes for breakfast. Come take a seat " He plated the freshly made pancakes and placing it on the table.

Huh? Honeybun? Where did that come from?

[name] were puzzled at Mauve's odd behaviour. He glanced at them worriedly when he realised they had not yet taken a seat and had been standing at the doorway with a gaping mouth.

" What's wrong honeybun? Why are you standing there like you've seen a ghost " Mauve placed a gentle hand on their shoulder.

" Whㅡ what's the special occasion, Mauve? " they dumbly said.

" Hm? Don't I always makes us breakfast everyday? " He said, albeit a bit confused.

[name] blinked. Once. Twice.

" No? I'd always do the cooking " They replied with an equally confused face.

Mauve went silent before rubbing the back of his neck nervously with a sheepish smile.

" Ah, I don't? I was just messing with you honeybun~ "

They squinted their eyes at their ' husband ', feeling suspicious of his change of behaviour. Just yesterday he was yelling at them for burning his toast and today he's done a complete 180.

" You don't usually call me petnames either. What is up with you today? " They sat down on the chair and begun cutting up the pancakes.

Mauve closed his mouth once again and stayed silent, [name] could almost hear the cogwheels in his brain turning to form a response. After a while, he finally spoke with a deep sigh.

" Look. [name], baby. I've realised all these years I've been a dick to you and not treating your right " His voice quivered.

" Yesterday, I had an epiphany of sort and I don't want to lose someone as amazing as you, [name]. Will you give me a second chance in loving you? " He held their hand in a gentle grasp, his eyes reflecting his sincerity.

[name] was at a loss for word. They genuinely didn't expect to hear that from their husband. They were ashamed of the tiny flame that sparked within them at his words.

They were conflicted, however after contemplating for some time in their head. They finally made up their mind. [name] placed their own hand atop of Mauve's and gave him a gentle smile.

" I honestly don't know what happened to you yesterday but .. I'm willing to give us a second try to make it work " They said softly.

A grin broke out on Mauve's faceㅡ something they had not seen in years. He then pull them into an embrace and littered kisses all over their faces.

" Thank you, baby. Thank you so much " He happiky hummed onto their skin.

[name] couldn't help but grew flustered at his onslaught of affection. They were not used to it but it wasn't unwelcomed. They slowly reciprocated Mauve's hug and buried their face onto his shoulder.

Finally, something's going right for them.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

He almost felt bad for fooling [name] on thinking that their pathetic excuse of a husband could ever change.

For someone as successful as Mauve was, he is incredibly stupid for neglecting the most amazing spouse a person could ever wish for. Honestly, he felt his blood boils seeing [name]'s astonished reaction to him performing simple husbandry dutiesㅡ it shows that the bastard never treats his spouse right.

It disgust him greatly to be Mauve's döppleganger, to share the same likeness as him. But without it, he wouldn't be able to intervene and replaces him.

Nonetheless, he'd already removed Mauve's out of the picture. If there's one thing he doesn't regret is watching the light slowly dimmed from Mauve's eyes as he kills him.

Now, he shall fulfill his position as [name]'s husband, 'Mauve'.

THE END˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

[lovermyme]

Was thinking about merlin and listening to mitski today and

Post revel where arthur reacts very well at merlins magic, unbans magic and merlin cant actually process that

Yeah, thats about "its just that i fell in love with a war, nobody told me it ended", he suffered too much to allow it to be this easy. Can u imagine? What do u mean arthur and the knights are laughing amused by him magically lighting the fire? It is a big deal.

Merlins saw many many sorcerers be cremated alive to be normal. He heard the screams and smelled the burned skin, the toasted meat.

I havent watched the shows in years but like, i guess he have a "privileged view" of the pire from his room too....... He thinks if uther did that on purpose, by giving gaius (the only sorcerer uther allowed to stay, in his conditions of course) this place of all in the castle...... Like a warning...

The only "mentors" merlin had where a dragon, that had been imprisoned for morethan 20 years. And a old man, that had been walking on eggs for more than 20 years too. They were shit at giving advices, yeah but. Its understandable at some point.

He has blood in his hands. Non sorcerer and sorcerer. Friends and enemies. Civilians. He released kilgharra. Fuck, he lied at the morgouse trials, about arthurs mother! Why is arthur ok w that? He think he is a traitor, of both his kind........

Bonus point if good mordred. Like, mordred adapting very well at the shift laws, and excited about doing magic in frnt of arthur and arthur liking it???? Merlin cant understand. He debated about killing this child.

bONUS BONUS POINT If merlin is struggling at doing magic in front of arthur and the knights, and arthurs doesn't know he is emrys the most powerful sorcerer to walk on earth aND YET IS SO AMUSED. And like, *merlin shaking while firing the fire* arthur and evryone: THATS AMAZING MERLIN 👏👏👏👏 And mordred is so confused

I need a fic like this

Mordred becomes court sorcerer because arthur thinks merlin is not powerful and everything (in a worried way not in a disposed way). Merlin is not jealous, he doesn't care about titles, actually he do like his job, its just about the irony of the thing. Mordred is so so confused.

He does his job amazing, he uses magic and its okay at doing it. When no one is looking. If someone, thats not gaius, is looking, he hardly can do.

He cant do magic w arthurs watching.

Unless its a Arthur's life treating situation.

Its not that he is actually scared of arthur, its just that he simple cant. Theres even a tecnical term for this. Its like a emotional block, but w his magic. He cant control it. He has been under pressure for so long he cant just let go ya know.

Ok, its my post, i like mordred, im gonna put my thoughts here.

Au where mordred was the one who changes arthurs mind about magic. Like, arthur is watching mordred, the one he know has magic and is a druid and asks him if he stills do magic and mordred thinks and chooses honesty and says "to make a fire when noone is looking" or some non harmful thing. And Arthur is like "a sorcerer can be a Knight, im shifting the law". And he shift the law and Merlin is like, was is that easy? *Mental breakdown * meltdown *burnout*

The thing is: it wasn't just because of mordred, like, Arthur's kingdom has been kind w the sorcerers already, not having burned a lot and no one in mordred presence, because arthur is a kind king.

And th thing is how mordred and merlin lived different lifes while in camelot, ya know. Even through mordred has heard stories and lost friends and family to camelots fire, Merlin lived in it.

Merlin, he is extremely suspicious about mordred coming out as sorcerer to arthur (because he is suspicious of mordred), he thinks maybe its a trick, to bring evil sorcerers to kill arthur, something, he even debates w arthur if shifting thelaw is the right choice. He feels awful about his position, but he cant process that everything is alright, he is so suspicious about everything and so scared arthur might put himself in danger.

He tells arthur he has magic after he lift the ban. Arthur is so confused because of merlins position about the law, but he is fine w merlin. And merlin islike "im gonna to protect u i promise, im super powerful", of course he cant prove he is powerful because this whole post.

Im tired now im stoping, but im still thinking alot.

[ugh-yoongi]

Soft, romantic and drunk bf Yoongi waking you up by going down on you when he gets in late after a night of drink (with OT7/ after suchwita/ whatever) in which he could not stop thinking about you and your pussy.

I can even give inspo: tu mbl r.co m/poutyniall/714256286018142208/tongue-technology

yeah hey hi hello thanks for sending this. after only receiving PG requests this really sent me into a spiral.

crescendo

pairing: yoongi x reader (no pronouns used, but gendered terms are used for genitalia) genre: established relationship au; smut, fluff warnings: alcohol, swearing, yoongi is tipsy and just a horny pining disaster, previously discussed and consenting somnophilia, oral sex, unedited. rating: explicit. minors do not interact. wordcount: 1k listen to: middle of the night by elley duhé

Amongst his group of friends, Yoongi is the only one who gets like this when he’s drunk.

Some people regress and act half their age (Seokjn). Some people are overly-affectionate and stumble over compliments (Jimin). Some people try to pick philosophical debates over the point at which bread ceases to be bread and becomes toast (Namjoon). Some people bypass the philosophical entirely and go straight to the conspiratorial (Taehyung). Some people take one sip and slump over in the booth, moaning that they’re half-dead (Hoseok). Finally, some people don’t even bother to show up, because they’re too busy staying home and playing Overwatch to check their texts (Jungkook).

Yoongi, though—Yoongi gets horny.

The kind of horny that has him looking away each time someone’s tongue darts out to catch a stray drop of alcohol. The kind of horny that has him doing complex mathematical equations in his head to determine if he could conceivably lock himself in a bathroom stall and get it out of his system before anyone becomes suspicious. The kind of horny that has him sending you half-legible text messages under the table, detailing every dirty thing he wants to do to you, despite the fact you told him hours ago you were going to shower and go to sleep.

Fuck. He needs to get out of here.

“Aw, look at Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin teases, and everyone except Hoseok creates a chorus of laughter. Yoongi’s cheeks burn, made worse by the garish yellow-red lights of this bar. “I can’t decide if I should be jealous or concerned.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Why would you be concerned, Jimin-ah? Sex is a normal, beautiful thing, and it’s absolute bullshit that people use it as a point of shame—”

“Yeah, okay, that’s my cue,” Seokjin says around a fake gag. “Who had the tab tonight? Just send me a request—”

“You had the tab, you fucker—”

Seokjin hears none of it. Just says, “Mm, bye,” and then he’s gone. Which is Yoongi’s cue too, because he’s the second-oldest and therefore second in command, and the rest of them won’t even hesitate to stick him with the bill because it happens every single time it’s Seokjin’s turn to pay.

So he lies. Says, “Hyung will pay it in a minute. Gotta piss first,” and stumbles out the back.

He’ll hear about it later, if not from his four dongsaengs then certainly his ancestors, but he needs to be home. Needs to feel you spread out beneath him—your sleep-warmed skin, still soft from your shower, the scent of your body wash stubbornly clinging on. Needs to press his lips to every inch of it. Needs the smell and taste of you overwhelming him. Needs to hear all those little sounds you make.

The longer this taxi ride drags on, the more paranoid he becomes. Can the driver tell how fucked up he is in his backseat? Can he see the way Yoongi’s fingers are gripping the worn leather? How desperately he’s trying to keep quiet every time something explicit plays in his memory? He’d understand, Yoongi thinks; he’d understand if he knew you, saw you. He wouldn’t be able to blame Yoongi at all.

Seoul passes by in a blur, all neon reds and blues and whites. Everything is still so alive, even at this god-forsaken hour, and it makes him dizzy. Has his head spinning. He’s drunk and he’s horny and he just wants to be next to you.

Somehow, he manages to dig his phone out of his pocket despite how tight they’ve grown over the last hour. Goes straight to his texts, pointedly ignores all the ones in the groupchat yelling at him and Seokjin, and presses on your name. He’s less drunk now than he was before, but the messages still don’t make sense. Yoongi groans, throws his head back against the seat. Next time he’s just going to skip the bullshit and send you pictures. No use speaking in tongues when hieroglyphics could work much better.

The next five minutes play out like this: the taxi stops outside your building, Yoongi hands over a stack of money that’s undoubtedly too thick, he stumbles up the steps two at a time, so close yet still too far away.

And then there’s the door.

“This okay, baby?”

A nip of teeth at the junction of your thigh. Hands gripping at your waist, fingers dimpling your skin. Warm breath ghosting over your wet cunt. Yoongi’s head between your thighs as he kneels on the bed. You’re unsure if you’re conscious or not, but as you tangle your hands in Yoongi’s soft hair, you decide it doesn’t matter.

So you nod, angle your hips closer to Yoongi’s face. A whisper-soft gasp when he presses a kiss to your thigh, one to your clit; a strangled moan when you feel him smile against you before flattening his tongue and licking a stripe up your slit.

“Fuck,” he groans, doing it again, pulling away only long enough to say, “thought about this pussy all fucking night. You taste so good.”

Yoongi indulges in your body the way other people indulge in vices: incessantly, obsessively. But you aren’t a vice, are you? You’re not something to be ashamed of; not something wicked. As Yoongi continues working you over with his mouth, so sloppy and overeager you can feel it dampening the sheets beneath you, it feels like reverence.

It isn’t long before the heat starts simmering in your belly. Not long before everything starts feeling overwhelming; before your visions starts blurring at the edges. “Yoong, I’m—”

He hums against your core. Sucks hard once at your clit, and then you’re tumbling over the edge. “Goddamn, I love you,” Yoongi says into your skin. “That’s it, give it to me, baby, I love you.”

It feels predestined.

[tmntxthings]

you said your requests are open in your navigation post and i'm absolutely obsessed with your writing !! could you possibly do something with yandere mikey ? whatever you want !! i'm just starving for mikey content and i love the way you characterise him <3

一∑4ÆM。・゜・🐢🧡

author’s notes: ahhhhh thank you my sweet anon for the kind words, i’m a simple person, you say yandere, and i start writing 😂

warnings: dark au, yandere tendencies, erratic behavior, delusion, threats, intimidation, choking, unedited, angsty

song: 4ÆM by Grimes

—————————————————————————

It was late one night. Mikey rarely stayed up past 2 am but here he was, humming to himself as he made the two of you grilled cheeses. It wasn’t 2 but 4 in the morning. Everyone else was in their own respective rooms. You had doubts that Leo and Donnie were asleep. But you could hear Raph’s snores all the way in the kitchen. And Splinter wasn’t exactly a peaceful sleeper either.

“Should I heat up some soup to dip it in?” You offered going to where they kept the cans of microwaveable soup. “Ah sure!” Mikey agreed. As it so happened, the microwave was right above the stove where Mikey was working his magic.

But years of being in each other’s space had you easily crossing the boundary of personal space to get on your tippy toes to press the button that opened up the microwave and placed the bowl of soup inside. You set it for three minutes, clicked start, and then backed away.

The smell of burnt bread filtered through your nose and you looked over to Mikey to see that he was just staring straight ahead. Spatula in hand ready for flipping the cheese sandwiches but not doing anything at all. “…Mike? It’s burnin’” you said plainly.

He blinked, looked down and his blank expression morphed into one of horror. “Oh no no no!” In dismay he flipped to see the charred toast. His teeth clacked as he scooped it once more and went for the trash can.

“Wait wait I’ll eat it! Don’t waste it Angelo!!” You said hurriedly but he just looked at you with a bewildered expression before chunking it. “We’ve got more cheese and bread, I’m not feeding you burnt grilled cheese.” You crossed your arms. “All it needed was a good scraping on the burnt side and it would’ve been fine!”

He shook his head. “Trash!” He said with finality. He got to work whipping up two more. You let it go. And the two of you situated yourself at the kitchen table, soup in between you both as you had your own respective sandwiches. You were starved so you chowed down right away. Blowing out hot air as you burned your tongue in the process.

Mikey had pulled up a YouTube video for the two of you to watch in the meantime. Glancing over at your antics and shaking his head once more but with a smile this time. “Wha?” You said with food still in your mouth. His beak scrunched. And you gave him a wicked grin before opening your mouth fully to show him the mushy half eaten food inside.

“Gross! Why?!” He whined, tearing his eyes away to watch the video he had up. You didn’t have a response for that. Spontaneity you guessed. You hadn’t finished your meal yet but you pushed out of your seat. “Where ya going?” He chirped not looking away from the screen. “Drink!” You stated, bending down as you looked in the fridge to view the options.

“Want something?” You asked. “Nah… actually a Dr. Pepper.” You grabbed one and headed back. Cracking it open you took a sip before sliding it his way. He took a sip without looking away from the screen. You tilted over to see what it was about, some grocery store hijinks. Lame! You got back to the meal. Opening up your own phone to check the messages you had missed.

You hadn’t been on your phone all day! Spending most of it with Mikey doing mundane stuff. Video gaming or watching movies. You smiled down at a specific message.

Unbeknownst to you, Mikey had his eyes on you ever since you had opened up your phone. A blank expression taking over his face once more. “Who’s that.” He said, not a question. But you hardly noticed, your attention enraptured from the slew of messages you were receiving now. Then you halted and your eyes shot up at Mikey, one of his brow bones lifted in question at the shocked look you gave him.

“I never told you!” You said with surprise and turned fully to him. Mikey felt his muscles tighten. Something you hadn’t told him? What could it be? His thoughts spiraled to worse case scenarios. “I met this person… and it was like insta-crush! They’ve just got this way about them. Okay wait wait lemme start from the beginning—“

The muscle by his jaw ticked. A crush. An insta-crush. You were crushing on someone? It was as if by thinking of the worst thing possible it then came true. While you went on distracted by your disgusting puppy love, Mikey sat there not really listening. He watched as you were pulled away from the conversation multiple times by your phone lighting up. And his pupils started to shake.

After the fourth time of you getting all distracted and giggly Mikey rammed his fist down into the table. Smashing bits of it to splinters. “What the hell Mikey?!” You were out of your chair and raising your hands up in what was a mix of emotions. “Heh! Sorryyyyy,” those dead eyes of his crinkled into crescents as he smiled then he shook his fist as if it had hurt.

“Sorry?! What was that?? You smashed the table into dust!” Your eyes were bugging out at the show of strength. “There was a bug!” Mikey lied. You gave him a once over. Then you took a step back. Ah he was such a terrible liar.

“Maybe I should go? It’s getting late. You’re probably tired!” It’s like you were trying to give him an excuse. “But I thought we were having a sleepover?” Mikey whined. Getting up from his chair slowly. You were pedaling backwards. “We can reschedule Angie! Really!” Your voice was half placating, and half fearful.

“Okay okay, you got me!” Mikey held up his hands in a show of surrender and in your confusion you hesitated to escape further. “Huh?” You questioned. “I may have gotten a teensy bit jealous! I had no idea you were crushing on someone!” Mikey explained. Then went further.

“I actually thought.. with how much you’ve been over.. and how well we get along.. I just thought maybe words weren’t needed to describe what we were!”

You blinked slowly. “We’re friends Mikey.” You said plainly. His hands went down, while his head tilted to the side. “Really? Do friends stay up this late together?” You were instantly defensive. “Yes! Donnie, me, and Leo stay up this late all the time!” So Mikey went further.

“Do they share food or the same soda? Do they cross boundaries? Do they text 24/7? Do they say I love you? Do they cuddle? Do they share a bed?” The more he listed the more his face lost control. His eyes widening in a manic sort of way as his hands started to flail about. You flushed at the last bit. “I was perfectly fine on the couch! It was you who had insisted—“

“We. Are. Dating!” He yelled out. His plastron heaving as he struggled to breathe properly. “You like me! And I like you. We aren’t friends. We’ve been dating forever. You don’t have a crush on anyone but me!” He swallowed as his eyes brightened completely into what you could only describe as his ninja stare. You trembled in place as his hands rose from his sides, his ninpo flaring to life as that fiery orange chain snaked into view threatening to shoot towards your form if you dared to bolt.

“Say it.” You couldn’t. It was a lie. It was a delusion. Something Mikey had made up all on his own, something you had no part in. You shook your head. He huffed. “Fine.” The last thing you remember seeing was that chain faster than lightning wrapping around your body, it squeezed you, holding on to every part available. Choking you. And Mikey walking over without a care in the world as your vision swam and turned black.

—————————————————————————

[luveline]

could you please write an early!roan fic where maybe she thinks Y/N is actually just coming around to spend time with her and then she finds out that it’s actually cause of her eddie, and gets all grumpy like “i thought you loved me” and Y/N comforts her “i do love you, but i also love your dad!”

thank u for requesting!! eddie and roan 1k, fem

There's a distinct smell of burned toast coming from the trailer. You trust Eddie but you rush up the steps anyhow, alarmed to find him coughing in the kitchen, window thrown open. 

"Will you take her?" he asks you immediately. 

You spy Roan sitting at the kitchen table and swap her for your bag of groceries. She gasps and giggles at your sudden appearance, quick to wrap her arms around your neck when you offer your embrace. You walk her to the open door and stand there sucking in clean breaths as Eddie fans a dish towel around under the smoke alarm. "What's dad burning?" you ask. 

"Um. Bagels?" 

You rub her shoulder. "Hey, I missed you, huh? It's been a long time since I saw you." 

"I missed you too!" Roan says quickly, eager, wrapping her arms tighter around your neck to squish your cheeks together. 

You smile into her hug. You and Eddie have been busy once again, and when you did manage to steal a date night, Ro was at Wayne's. You really have missed the little girl and you intend to show it, stroking your fingers through her hair gently. She dissolves like always. 

"Shit," Eddie says, throwing two blackened bagels into the sink and running the water. "Shit, fuck. I'm sorry, girls, I don't know where my head's at." 

"Cream cheese can't fix that." 

"It's okay, dad," Roan says. "We can get burgers." 

"I can't always feed you burgers, babe, it's not good for you." Eddie rubs his hair out of his face. "And Y/N just got here from work, she doesn't wanna go out again." You're dying to flop on their couch, but if she wants a burger for dinner, who are you to stop her? Still, Eddie puts his foot down. "No, bub. I'll make some more bagels. It'll be yummy. We have salami and everything." 

"Uh," she whines, laying back in your arms. You nearly drop her. You laugh at her dramatics as she slowly drags herself back up, her eyes practically sparkling with an idea. "Me and you can go get burgers," she whispers. 

"I really am tired. Let's get burgers on the weekend, maybe." You don't like letting her down but you have to be a united front with Eddie. Usurping his authority helps no one, especially when she wants something she isn't going to get today. "And I'd miss dad." 

"Who cares about dad?" she says. 

You laugh. "I do! He's my boyfriend." 

"He's your what?" 

Eddie looks up from where he's cleaning. The burned bagels have been disposed of, the kitchen sink washed out and the toaster cleared of scorched crumbs. "You knew that, Ro." He sounds puzzled. 

"He's my prince," you say. "You know? The prince to my princess Polly." 

"What?" Roan stares at you with an extremely amusing expression, her eyebrows tugged in betrayal. 

"Sweetheart, you know me and daddy are together, don't you?" you ask, hosting her higher on your hip. "That's why we go on dates and stuff. And why he brings me flowers, why we had that anniversary dinner, remember, with the melted chocolate?" 

"I thought you loved me." 

"I love you so much," you say, looking to Eddie for assistance. He seems as lost as you feel. "Like, so much. But I love dad too. He's hard not to love, isn't he? He's handsome and funny, and he makes great grilled cheese–" 

Roan does not look happy. She pushes at your chest to be put down and sprints out of the kitchen to her bedroom, where you hear a clattering of things being pushed over and a whine filled to the brim with attitude. 

"Should I…" 

Eddie shakes his head. "In a minute. Let her be angry for a bit. This is her first heartbreak." 

You meander into him and pinch his waist. "Don't say that to me, that's awful. Poor baby, did she really not know we were dating?" 

"Of course she knows. She just forgets, 'cos she loves you and she thinks you're best friends" He wraps an arm over your shoulders. "Wow. I wonder if she thinks of me as the third wheel when we hang out." 

You take the bread knife out of his hand. "Don't bother with that. We're getting burgers." 

Eddie's laugh is more of a girly, cute giggle, like he's just had a shot. You elbow him in the stomach until he cuts it out, and beg forgiveness for being grouchy with a hug. You press your face into his neck and huff. "I missed you before you got me in trouble," you mumble. 

"Nuh-uh, that had nothing to do with me." He kisses your temple. "She loves you. It's nice. It's… You're awesome. It's great that she thinks you love her more than you love me, even if she's wrong." 

"I do love her more than I love you." 

"Are you trying to piss us both off? You can go get burgers by yourself." 

Roan is face down in her bed when you knock on her door a couple of minutes later, completely still. You pick up the plushies she's flung off her bed and sit them up in pride of place against the wall. "Princess, you know I love you," you say. "Don't you?" 

"Yeah." 

"But you know I love daddy too?" 

"Ugh." She shakes her head in disgust. 

"Ugh," you say agreeably. "You're my favourite, though." 

She turns very slightly to peek at you. "I am?" 

"Obviously. That's why I just told dad we were going for burgers whether he wanted to or not." You tickle her side until she laughs and turns on her back to escape you. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, I wasn't trying to. We're still friends, right?" 

"We're best friends." 

"That's what daddy said." You scoop her up into your side for a squish. "We're best friends forever," you whisper. 

She leans up to rub her nose against yours. 

[sophrosynesworld]

Cooking Lessons

Did anyone ask for this? No. Did you burn breakfast? Yes. Enjoy your cooking lessons.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I pull the skillet off the burner and dump the charred eggs into the sink, frantically turning on the cold water to douse the flames. The smoke detector blares from the hallway, announcing my cooking disaster to the world.

My bare feet scurry against the cold tile as I rush to open the windows, fanning the smoke with a towel. I push my hair out of my face, breathing in the cool morning air that seeps in as the smoke alarm shuts off.

“Are you trying to kill us?” a familiar voice grumbles behind me.

I jump, startled by Katsuki’s morning voice. My gaze flickers over his sculpted abs before I quickly look away, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Katsuki stands there, arms crossed, his expression a blend of annoyance and amusement.

“Seriously, what are you doing?” he asks, stepping closer. The early morning light catches the tousled strands of his blond hair, making him look even more appealing.

“I was just trying to make breakfast,” I mumble, avoiding his eyes as I scrub the skillet. “I didn’t mean to set off the alarm.”

He snorts. “You? Cooking? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

I bite my lip, slightly disappointed. “Well, someone has to try,” I mutter, rinsing the skillet with more force than necessary.

Katsuki sighs, moving to the counter and grabbing a clean towel. “Move over,” Bakugo nudges me gently with his hip. “I’ll handle this.”

I step aside, watching as he expertly cracks a few eggs into a new pan, his movements swift and practiced. The sizzle of the eggs hitting the hot surface fills the kitchen, the comforting smell of breakfast begins to replace the burnt odor.

“Thanks,” I say softly, hopping onto the edge of the counter and crossing my arms. “For helping.”

Katsuki glances at me, attempting to stifle his smile. “Just don’t make a habit of it,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I watch him intently, trying to understand how he can do this so effortlessly. I had tried to replicate this exact process, but failed miserably.

“Why were you even up this early?” he asks, breaking my train of thought as he plates the now perfectly cooked eggs.

“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast,” I admit, feeling a bit sheepish. “Guess I failed, huh?”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, sliding the plate towards me. “Surprised me, alright. Just not in the way you intended.” He grabs another plate and divides the eggs between us, adding some toast from the toaster that miraculously survived my cooking attempt.

We sit at the small kitchen table, the tension easing as we eat in welcome silence. The warmth of the food spreads through me, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos.

“You know,” Katsuki says after a while, his tone unusually gentle, “if you really want to learn how to cook, I could teach you. Just… maybe start with something less flammable next time.”

I look up, surprised by the offer. “Really? You’d do that?”

He shrugs, trying to play it cool, "Yeah, well, can't have you burning down my apartment. Plus,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “it’s kinda nice, you wanting to do something for me.”

A smile spreads across my face. “Alright, deal. But don’t blame me if I end up blowing up the kitchen instead.”

Katsuki smirks, “We’ll see about that. Now eat up before it gets cold.”

[catnipaddictt]

Toast

neighbour!sam monroe x gn!reader

synopsis: your first interaction with your angsty neighbour

wc: 2k

tw: none

Stretching your arms above your head, you will your body to wake up quicker. You swing your legs out of bed and onto the soft carpet of your bedroom. Your alarm clock shows that the time is half past 10. But luckily today was a Saturday meaning you didn't have to do anything productive.

After taking a quick shower, you throw on some jeans and a comfy sweater before heading downstairs. Making your way to the kitchen, you are greeted by your parents as well as the smell of overcooked toast. 

“Good morning hunny, sleep well?” Your mother asks with a smile. Both your parents were good natured but strict. You were their previous little girl after all, even if you were definitely little anymore. 

“Yeah, I slept okay” you reply back as your father hands you a piece of almost blackened toast, earning a scowl from you. He sees your expression and jokes “more flavour this way!” 

You look our the window of the kitchen at the clear skies. Maybe today would be a good day to visit the lake that was close to your house. Deciding that it would be a good use of your time you grab the book you had been reading and your walkman off of the kitchen bench before telling your parents where you were going.

“Okay honey, but be careful and don't talk to anyone you don't know” your mother warns you in a strong tone. “I'll be safe, I promise” you reply before your dad pushes another piece of toast your way. “For the road.”

The walk from your house to the lake only takes about 15 minutes but is made more enjoyable by the music in your ears. Once arriving at the glistening water you find a shady tree to sit against, placing the now cold, burnt toast on the ground. No way you were taking another mouthful of what tasted like tar.

Lost in the world of your book and the song in your ears, you don't hear the figure approaching you, only noticing when a dark shadow casts its way across the pages in front of you. You look up only to be met with blue eyes rimmed with smudged eyeliner. You immediately recognize the figure as your gloomy neighbour, Sam Monroe. 

You were under strict instructions by your mother never to talk to the boy as he listened to ‘devils music’ and smoked enough weed for the entire neighbourhood. However, this never stopped your wandering eyes from observing him. From a distance of course. 

You would watch him slam the front door to his mother's house as he left, wearing dark clothes with all sorts of logos you didn't know. Your bedroom window looked directly into his and even when his blinds were shut, you could see the boy moving around shirtless, cigarette tucked between his slender, ring-clad fingers. 

So what? You're a little fascinating with him. But curiosity never killed the cat, and you weren't exactly breaking your mother's rules as you had never uttered a word to him. 

Sam looks at you, his cigarette hangs loosely between his lips before he pulls it away, exhaling. You hope your mouth wasn't gapping at him. Pulling your headphones off your ears, you look up at him, slightly worried. Why was here standing right here, right in front of you? 

He crouched down in front of you, holding out the cigarette for you to take. You take it from him, not really sure what to do. You wanted to make yourself seem cool, so you try your luck and bring it to your lips before inhaling. 

Almost instantly you feel like you are coughing up a lung. ‘How do people do that?’ You question yourself. Sam lets out a huff of amusement before taking the cigarette from your outstretched hand. He sits down in front of you, crossing his legs and placing his hands on his knees, making sure the cigarette doesn't burn through his well-worn jeans. 

“At least you tried,” he shrugs. “The first time I tried smoking, I started crying” he admits. You take in his words carefully, pressing them permanently into your memory. He was actually speaking to you. He gave you his cigarette to try. His saliva was probably on it. Oh god. His saliva probably made contact with your mouth. If your mother found out she would skin you alive.

“Hey, you with me?” He waves his hand in front of your face causing you to snap out of your little trance. “Uh…yeah” you respond. Smooth. “What were you listening to?” He questions. “Oh...I was listening to David Bowie.” You realise that he is probably going to think you're a loser because you don't listen to anything he likes.

“Bowie's cool” he replies. You can't tell if he is being sarcastic or not. “Have you heard anything by Marilyn?” He asks. “Marilyn Monroe?” you must look perplexed as he laughs “No, Marilyn Manson.” 

“I don't think so?” You reply “My parents don't let me listen to anything that doesn't play on the radio.” He passes you the headphones that were reading around his neck, and plugs them into his much newer walkman. “Here listen.” You place his headphones over your ears and after a few moments music fills them. 

It's nothing like anything you have heard before. It's raspy and messy but you like it. You can also hear why your mother didn't want you listening to this type of music. It makes you feel something that's hard to put into words. “It's different but I like it” you conclude to Sam, sliding the headphones off and passing them to him.

“Yeah? I could show you some other stuff some time if you want?” He says and you nod “I would like that.” 

“I'm surprised I've never spoken to you before, I know we go to the same school, and we are neighbours” he states looking at you. “I was told to stay away from you” you admit. Although now you can't see why you were told to, Sam seems genuinely nice. 

“Ah, your mom's got strong views… or?” “Something like that” you respond. “I've seen you looking at me, you know, I can feel your eyes when I leave the house” Sam says calmly. You in fact are the opposite of calm now, but you manage to limit it to a darker tint covering your cheeks. 

“Sorry” you mutter. “Hey, I don't mind it, although you should also close your curtains better. I don't mind you watching me, but I can see you getting changed. I turn away, don't worry.” Sam speaks before talking another drag of his cigarette.

You go a deeper shade of red, if that is even possible. He can see you getting changed. And for some reason you don't really mind? He said he looks away though, a small part of you hopes he isn't telling the truth. “I swear I don't watch okay?” He restates, trying to get his point across. “I'm not a perv or anything” 

You nod at him, unsure what to say. “Why do you have a piece of burnt toast?” His question catches you off guard. He can't just go from saying he likes you watching him to asking about your dad's questionable cooking methods.

“My dad thinks the toast is better this way, but it really isn't. I was going to feed it to the birds” you admit still tinted with embarrassment.

“It looks inedible.” Sam states, eyeing up the bread suspiciously. He looks over towards the waters edge, where a selection of ducks had gathered. You pick up the now slightly soggy piece of toast and rip it in half unceremoniously. You pass one half to Sam, he raises a pierced eyebrow. “For the ducks” you explain, trying to not come off as too weird. 

He places his cigarette between his pink lips again, inhaling the smoke. You watch as it comes out of his nose, but look away quickly, trying not to seem as if you were staring. He doesn’t say anything but you can feel his gaze on the side of your face. 

You see him move and look back at him as he gets to his feet, unfolding his legs clumsily. He holds out his ring-clad hand for you to take, prompting you to look up at him. “Thought you wanted to go feed the birds, remember?” he says with a sly grin as you take his hand. He pulls you to your feet, and you place your book in your bag carefully. 

He doesn’t let go of your hand, instead he leads you around the lake a bit until you reach a shady outcrop with a dozen or so ducks surrounding it. He lets go of your hand and you internally miss the warmth of his palm. He takes the half piece of burnt toast and rips off a small chunk before throwing it out to the water. The ducks, as expected, start making a racket and swarm the small offering. More ducks must sense that something of importance is happening as more start to swim towards the bank. You rip off your own bit of blackened bread, throwing it at the selection of hungry mouths. 

“Hey, overthere, look” Sam speaks as he points towards two large swans swimming towards the frenzy. Once they get closer to you two, you rip off a bigger piece of the toast and throw it towards the pair. The larger of the swans takes it in their beak, gulping it down. You smile at the large white beauties as they swim even closer, wanting their share of the feast. Sam rips off smaller bits than you, making sure to try and give each loud duck a bit of food. 

After a few minutes of pulling pieces off of bread, both you and Sam have run out of food for the birds. “You know, you’re not too bad company” Sam says, keeping his head facing the water. “Thanks” you reply quietly, “You are a lot less…scary than I thought.” The two swans make their way onto the bank of the lake, settling down by the waters edge. You watch as they ruffle their pale feathers and begin grooming themselves. 

Sam lets out a laugh, now turning to face you. “Thanks, we should do this again sometime.” You nod slowly in agreement. The warm sun bathes both of you in the late morning light and makes the water glisten invitingly. He throws down the remains of his cigarette after taking one last inhale, stomping on it to make it stop burning. 

You watch the last of the smoke drift into the air as he exhales it, politely away from your face. His eyes connect with yours as he turns back to face you. The ducks continue to quack in the background, but as you two have stopped feeding them, some have begun to swim away towards the shady opposite bank. 

“What are you doing the rest of the day?” Sam asks, looking at your face closely. His blue eyes shine in the sun, making them stand out from his messy black hair. “I don’t know” You answer honestly, you really hadn’t planned your day past this trip to the lake. “Do you want to hang out or something?” he questions you, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to”. 

“I would like that” you shoot him a smile, afterall it would be nice to have a friend so close to your house. Even if you would have to keep it away from the prying eyes of your conservative parents. “Lunch?” he queries with a sly grin. You nod quickly in reply, lunch would be nice.

It's safe to say the rest of your day off was spent with your rather attractive emo neighbour, and an hour long lecture from your angry mother when you were caught talking to him in the driveway.

ignore any grammatical errors, I made them on purpose I swear

[xoxo-sarah]

Ms. Perfect

↝a/n: this is an old idea that I had in the back of my notes app. Oops.

↝pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

↝warning: death, widow!Reader, apocalypse, mean! Daryl, swearing, not proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 4.23.24

Daryl wasn't sure why he hated you so much. You were nice to everyone around you, even understanding. But the sight of you makes the blood in his veins boil.

It became a routine; you and him sniping at each other, digging up trauma neither of you really wanted to. He just got under your skin. Like now.

“Sorry, in case you haven' noticed, the world ain't all rainbows and sunshine anymore. We don't shit money to buy the newest thing. Life is different, Doll. Get used to it.” He drawled, his eyebrows scrunched together.

There he goes again.

You weren't even talking to or about him, but he had heard you. That had been enough for him to butt in, apparently.

Ever since you had stumbled your way into Daryl's group early on, Daryl had had it out for you. At the creek, he would be pointing out how your hair had to have been done recently. Your jewelry, clothes, how smooth your skin looked from the expensive moisturizers and night creams you had to use, your newly manicured nails- ignoring the dirt and blood underneath-, and the shine in your eyes. You didn't have the shine at first, but when you would hang out with Carol, you would smile, and the recent glazed look was gone.

Your eyes shone brightly like the stars in the countryside. Not that you would know. You probably never had the chance to see how bright the stars shone in the city.

You were unbothered by the people at the campsite, keeping to yourself. You didn't have to worry about anything when the world was built for your liking and convenience.

Daryl despised you and that god-awful rock on your finger that could feed him for probably 6 months to a year. He glared at the ring every chance he got—so much so that you eventually yanked it off, throwing it in the murky pond.

Even after leaving the campsite, you stayed with the group, arguing with Daryl along the way.

“I get it, you're used to having people do everything for you, but we're not always going to be with you, Princess. Sorry life now is so much different from your perfect life before.” For a quiet guy, he always had so much to say to you. All negative.

You bit your cheek, glancing from Maggie—who you were originally talking to—to the dirty man in front of you. "Yeah-I had the perfect life. I had the fiancé that I couldn't wait to marry. I had the apartment that I had the luxury to design with my mother, gushing about the difference wallpapers." You smiled at the memory. Your mother had been so happy for you. "I had the fluffy dog that had its own room. I had the dad who would always talk about playing catch with his future grandchild. I had the money where I didn't have to worry about anything in life." You didn't falter as you felt behind your eyes begin to burn. " I did, alright? I had the life that almost every little girl dreams about. But it was yanked out of my hands, like everyone else's. One day, I didn't wake up to my fiancé kissing me, or the smell of burnt toast-- cause he didn't know how to cook. I woke up to him nowhere in sight. Instead, I heard yelling outside the door, car horns honking outside of the windows. When I opened the door, I saw my neighbors with white eyes, growling and clawing at the skin of the man I was going to marry and grow old with. His screams will haunt me 'til the day I die. But you will not ever hear me feeling bad for myself. I did have the perfect life, but that doesn't matter now. So, get over -yourself-, cause I am just trying to survive just like you."

Daryl watched your eyes gloss over, your nostrils flare. You were rightfully pissed. And right. He hadn't heard you weep for your past-- ever. You had jumped right into survival mode as soon as he laid eyes on you. You had held your own too- most people called you a badass, Daryl wouldn't let himself verbally agree. With that, you turned and walked away. Maggie shuffled awkwardly, glancing from you to Daryl. She wore a disappointed frown.

Weeks. You ignored his existence for weeks, 2 weeks to be exact. Everytime he would go up to you, you would walk away. Even if you were in the middle to a conversation. The person you were talking to wouldn't mind, really. They would've known about your bitter back-and-forth. They wouldn't think anything of it.

Daryl just wishes you would give him a chance to at least try to apologize. After you had let your walls down and told him about what the end of the world was like for you, he felt bad - pathetic, even. He was so jealous about how you lived before the outbreak, he didn't care about how it had affected you. He should've.

The moonlight led him towards your house, his hands fidgeting. The streets were silent, everyone already in bed. He hadn't been able to sleep. The thought of you kept him up in a different way than before.

His knuckles hovered over your door. You had to be in bed. Was it worth it? You would probably be too tired to yell at him. He knocked.

It took a minute for the door to open. You stood, rubbing sleep from your eyes, a sleep frown on your face. At the sight in front of you, your hand dropped, your sleepy eyes immediately rolling in annoyance. "Oh my god-" You tried to close the door, but his boot caught it before it could close all the way. "Move your foot, Dixon."

"Listen." His eyes were pleading, something you weren't used to. You kept the door open when he reluctantly moved his boot. " 'm sorry."

You scoffed, Sure, you are."

" 'm serious. " He looked at the floor as he brought his hand up, turning it and showing his hand. "Not sure why I kept it." At the sight of your ring, tears bordered your eyes. Your head pressed against the side of the door as your body shook with a silent sob. Daryl didn't look at you. He let you grieve for whatever you wanted to in that moment. He let you have that moment. After your sobs died down, his calloused hand took yours, opening your hand and dropping the ring into your palm.

"You're a dick." You hiccupped.

"I know." 

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[mari-the-bimbo]

Taking care of sick Dorm mate Getou is absolutely adorable but what about being taken care of by dorm mate Getou?👀

Dorm mate Geto: sick days

A/N: thanks for this idea hun, I’d do anything to be babied by this man 😩

“Can you pass me the salt y/n?”

The smell of sauce mixing with paprika traveled through the air. Geto and you were making cheese toast with spicy soup. Sure, he could’ve just had some store bought soup, but why do that when he could convince you to cook with him. Any excuse to have you alone.

“Sure, here” you said with a smile handing him the salt.

“Ahhh it smells so good” you praised, waving the smoke closer to your nose, eager to eat it already. Geto smiles at your excitement at he stirs the soup.

“Of course it smells good, I made it with the best assistant chef” he teases.

“Hey! Why am I assista- ACHOO!-“ your protest is interrupted by a sneeze.

“Oh?” he says.

You sneeze again. “Oh?” he says again but with amusement this time.

“You caught a cold doll?” He coos.

You would’ve replied to Geto but the throb of your nose didn’t make it easy. Geto even turns the stove off and leans back to watch you as you incoherently try to reply. You’re his favourite entertainment.

“Mhm that’s what you get for partying in barely any clothes on cold nights” Geto teases, referring to your night out yesterday. And although he said it teasingly, you could hear the snarky jealousy behind his voice, but you choose to ignore that too.

He smiles to himself as he covers the warm pan with a lid. “Don’t worry doll, we’re done now anyway, why don’t you get some rest hm?” He says so sweetly.

You nod in agreement. Walking away as slow as a snail. He chuckles as he watches your retreating figure.

But once you were out of sight, he immediately grabbed a bowl for the freshly made soup and grilled cheese. As well as grabbing your favourite mug to prepare a hot cocoa for you.

Once you made it to your bed, you didn’t rest for long until Geto invited himself into your room.

“Geto?” You look up to see your handsome dormmate skill fully manoeuvring the tray of food and cup in his hands. He places it on your bedside table before sitting on the edge of your bed. You stare at him in wonder, how could someone be so hot yet mature and kind?

“Well? You gonna eat or is it because you want me to feed you?” He teases. Right, his maturity was questionable, never missing a chance to pass a flirty comment so casually.

“Shut uppppp” you groan, hoping the blush on your cheeks just looks like a temperature.

He chuckles before moving closer to your face, your breath hitches but you release a sigh once you realise he was simply trying to grab the bowl of soup.

“C’mon doll, open wide” he says, your ears only burn more but you move forward to be fed.

You don’t stop him when he grabs your chin to tilt your head up higher as he fed you some soup. You can’t help but hum at the creamy tomatoey taste. “Taste good hun?”, you nod happily.

“But what about the cheese toastie Geto?” You ask, eager to be fed the toast too. He chuckles at you, before he replies “you’re a spoilt brat you know that?”

“Am not” you retaliate, contradicting your own point as you open your mouth to be fed the toast. “I spoil you too much” he explains, but this time, you don’t protest against it.

As much as Geto can be a meanie and watch Gojo brutally tease you or join in, there was no denying he spent rest of the time being affectionate with you and spoiling you.

“C’mon finish your hot cocoa now, so you can have you medicine, or do you want to be fed this too?” He teases, holding up the cup of hot choc, “shush” you reply playfully as you hit his broad muscular chest in retaliation.

But your reactions only rile him up further, “you like me taking care of you don’t you?” He says with an evil smile, grabbing your hand of his chest to pull you closer, “nooo” you manage to say between your own laughs.

But you inevitably end up being engulfed in his big strong arms as he cuddled you, “s’okay doll, I like taking care of you too”

You bury your face into his broad chest to hide the growing smile of your face. Nah, it’s just a temperature right? ;)

Meanwhile Gojo, who is still at the party from last night:

[liminal-space-lesbian]

Breakfast in Bed

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Warnings: Sam being a bit intimidating??

Summary: (request) You wake up and decide to make Tara breakfast in bed. You and Sam have a conversation about Tara in the kitchen as you cook.

Words: 1,296

Friends Family (part two)

a/n YOU GUYS I'M SO OBSESSED WITH THEM ITS NOT FUNNY ANYMORE

You woke up slowly, feeling Tara's warmth pressing against you as you sighed contentedly. You slowly peeked your eyes open to see your girlfriend's peaceful face. Her lips were parted slightly as she breathed deeply, her face serene as she slept. You couldn't help but smile, warmth filling your chest to the point of bursting. I love her so much.

You carefully extracted yourself from her embrace and tiptoed out of the room, heading to the kitchen. 'I'll surprise her with breakfast in bed, she'll love it.' You thought with a faint smile as you padded around the center island to rummage through the fridge. You planned on making Tara her favorite omelette with cheese, tomatoes, mushrooms, and peppers along with some toast and bacon.

You quietly placed a pan on the stove, turning the burner on as you cracked four eggs into a bowl. You then begin chopping the vegetables, humming softly to yourself as you worked.

"What are you doing up so early?" A gruff voice came from behind you, causing you to flinch in surprise. You glanced over your shoulder to see a disgruntled looking Sam standing in the hallway. You offered her a small smile.

"Goodmorning. I'm just making Tara some breakfast in bed. Do you want some?" You asked as you placed some bacon in the pan to sizzle quietly. You glanced back at her when she didn't respond immediately, and you saw her giving you a strange look.

"No I'm okay, I'll just make myself some coffee." She says simply as she shuffles over to the coffee pot. You nod, not taking her demeanor too personally. Sam wasn't really a morning person.

"So what did you two do last night anyways? You guys left halfway through the movie." Sam says as she pours the coffee grounds into a filter, placing it in the machine. You glance at her, feeling a bit nervous. You didn't want to make a bad impression with Sam, she was Tara's sister. She didn't seem to like you already, but you knew she was a good person, and Tara loved her.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I have a weak stomach and don't really like gore, so Tara suggested we go to her room to watch something else. We ended up watching Legally Blond, which was nice. I am sorry if us leaving disrupted the night or made anyone uncomfortable though." You apologize hastily, glancing at Sam to gauge her reaction as you flip the bacon.

"Oh, don't apologize its okay. Nobody was particularly put out by it. Aside from Mindy being Mindy of course." Sam added the last bit in a grumble, looking slightly irritated. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, biting back a yawn.

You awkwardly turned back to your cooking, not sure what to say. The silence was awkward as Sam pulled a mug out of the cabinet, pouring her now ready coffee. You tried not to wrinkle your nose at the smell. You hated coffee, much to Tara's dismay.

"That's really nice of you, you know." Sam says after taking a sip of her probably too hot coffee. You glance up at her in surprise, not sure what she was referring to.

"What?" You ask, confusion creasing your brow as you pause whisking the eggs to look at Sam. She gestures to your cooking with the hand that isn't cradling her coffee mug.

"You making her breakfast. It's a nice thing to do." She says, her eyes drifting from the food to your face. You feel yourself growing flustered, a blush burning at your face as you squirm under your gaze. You were never good with compliments.

"Oh! Well- I mean why wouldn't I? I mean, it'll make her happy so..." You trail off, awkwardly turning away from Sam as her gaze felt all too heavy. 'Ew, why did I say that that sounds so performative.' You mentally berate yourself as you take the bacon out of the pan and pour the eggs into it.

"You know, I always thought I'd hate whoever Tara ended up dating. Like, I imagined it'd always kind of be me against them, in a way." Sam admits suddenly, sounding thoughtful. You feel anxiety burst in your chest at her words, nervously shifting your weight from one foot to the other. 'Sam hates me?'

"But with you it's not really like that I guess. I mean I know you'll always do what's best for Tara, and take care of her." Sam's tone shifts to something softer, and her words cause you to snap your gaze to her in surprise. Was Sam seriously being... vulnerable with you right now?

"You're one of the good ones (Y/n)." She says as she steps closer to you, so she can gently pat your shoulder. You stare up at her wide eyed, and you don't know if you want to laugh or cry. Sam doesn't hate you. Sam likes you. She approves of your relationship with Tara.

"Thank you." You manage to choke out, feeling a lump rising in your throat. Sam offers you a small smile before pointing at the pan.

"Don't burn your eggs." She says with a wink before giving you a final pat on the shoulder and heading to the living room. You quickly turn back to your omelette, hastily flipping it right before it crossed from overcooked to burnt. You quickly assembled the omelette and buttered the toast, plating the meal before carrying it to Tara's room along with a glass of orange juice.

You carefully entered the room, setting the plate down on the end table as you kneeled on the bed, smiling down at your sleeping girlfriend.

"Tara." You whispered, gently brushing your fingers along her shoulder. You didn't want to startle her awake, which had happened more than once when you were waking her up. Tara was a rather jumpy sleeper.

"Mm." She hummed sleepily, turning her head in your direction before slowly squinting her eyes open. She took a deep breath and smiled up at you, her hands coming to gently rest on your forearms.

"Goodmorning beautiful." You murmur, leaning down to kiss Tara's forehead. She smiled wider, her hands moving up to cup your face so she could guide your lips to hers. You kissed her gently, melting into her. her lips were slightly chapped from sleep, but they still were as plush as ever. You could kiss Tara forever.

"I made you breakfast." You mumble against her lips when you finally pull away, unable to fight a smile. You pulled back to look at her expression, and you felt your heart soar at the way she was looking at you. Her eyes were impossibly soft, her bottom lip jutting out in a minuscule pout as her eyebrows pulled together.

"Oh baby, you're so sweet, you didn't have to do that." She whispers as she sits up and sees the meal you have prepared for her. You shake your head and smile as you gently hand her the plate, unable to stop smiling.

"I'd make you breakfast in bed for the rest of my life if I could." You murmur as you sit beside her, your shoulder brushing hers slightly. She leaned further into you, her eyes welling with tears.

"Aww baby." She coos as she kisses you again, unwilling to pull away. You gently push her away with a smile.

"Eat it before it gets cold please." You plead as you gesture to the meal. She nods and begins to tuck into her food as you watching her contentedly. You couldn't help but remember what Sam had said. 'I know you'll always do what's best for Tara, and take care of her.' In that moment, you knew you would do just that.

[crystalsoobin]

burnt toast! ➤ c. beomgyu

#. pairing bf!beomgyu x reader

#. synopsis gyu tries to cook you breakfast in bed and fails… miserably.

#. genre romance, comedy, fluff

#. warnings mild swearing, gyu almost causing a fire 😃

#. author’s note i’m back??? im taking a creative writing class in uni this fall so i thought id get some practice in lol

a small smile lays across beomgyu’s face as he admires your sleeping frame one fine morning. he had woken up quite early that day, eager to surprise you with breakfast in bed.

he gets up silently as to not wake you, and makes his way to your small apartment kitchen. not sure what to make, beomgyu opens the fridge and stares inside as if the idea would just present itself in front of him.

he finally settles on making eggs and toast, an oldie but a goodie. only problem was, beomgyu never cooks.

it can’t be that hard to fry an egg, right?

at least he knows how to toast bread, so he starts there first. grabbing some bread from the pantry, he walks to the toaster where he suddenly stops, a little confused on how to work it.

shade?? hmm, i think 8 is good.

he drops two pieces of toast in the slots and pulls down the lever, stepping back to the fridge to pull out some eggs. he grabs a pan and puts some oil on, maybe a little too much oil.

beomgyu cracks the two eggs, one by one. satisfied, he puts it on high heat so that — in his mind — it’ll cook faster and he won’t have to wait too long.

he then reaches over to the cabinet and pulls out your favourite mug, which was a gift from him. then going over to the coffee maker, listening to the loud crackle of the eggs on the pan.

when he’s done making the coffee he turns around to find the toaster smoking, and a nasty burning smell coming from it. in panic, he runs over to it and tries to take out the toast, almost burning his fingers.

“dammit!” he exclaims, disappointed by the burnt toast and realizing 8 was way too high. he finally succeeds in pulling out the burnt toast, the smell remaining throughout the kitchen.

as he returns to check on the eggs, his eyes widen, also finding them burnt and smoking, a lot. he panics, trying to blow away the smoke with his hands as to not set off the fire alarm. in his panic, he obviously forgets to turn off the heat, making it worse for himself.

and as if the morning couldn’t possibly go more horribly wrong than he imagined, the fire alarm does in fact go off.

“no no no! fuck!” is the first thing you hear as you walk into the kitchen after being woken up by a loud beeping noise and your boyfriend not in bed.

you watch as beomgyu finally remembers to turn off the stove, sighing disappointedly with his face in his hands as his back towards you.

“what. the fuck. did you do.” you finally speak. beomgyu yelps and turns around, surprised at your presence in the kitchen.

“i- i didn’t mean to baby, i swear! i was just trying to make you breakfast!”

“gyu, i really appreciate the sentiment but you know you can’t cook!”

“i know, i’m sorry,” your boyfriend leans into you for a hug, saddened that he couldn’t surprise you with a nice breakfast, “i thought i’d at least be able to make eggs and toast.” you wrap your arms around him and give him a small kiss, suddenly you bursting out into laughter as you look around at the mess your poor boyfriend made.

“why are you laughing?” he asks. “i actually wanted to surprise you, im serious.” he pouts.

“i’m sorry,” you chuckle, “it’s just so funny when i think about it.”

beomgyu hits you playfully on the head as he steps back and stares at his mess.

“hey, at least i made the coffee right?” he handed you the mug. you grimaced as you tasted it.

“i think you forgot milk, and sugar.” setting down the mug, you get an idea, “you know what, why don’t we clean this up and the i teach you how to cook eggs and toast.” you smile.

beomgyu chuckles in agreement, “sounds like a good idea.”

© crystalsoobin / do not steal

[riaki]

a spritz of peppermint | megumi fushiguro x reader

pt.6 of christmas event! cw: petnames i think idk, not proofread, there’s probably other stuff i’m missing but wtv happy birthday the prettiest king pls come back the food is cold

today is a very special day.

megumi notices that you rise early— mostly because when he wakes up in the morning, rubbing his sleep-heavy eyes groggily with a groan, he notices you’re not there. he rolls over, and smacks his face into cold sheets, devoid of your heat.

it pisses him off. so he starts his special day out as a grouch.

when he eventually crawls out of bed and makes his way into the kitchen after pulling on some sweats, though— he stops just short of the threshold to that sweet smelling cozy haven you love to spend your time in. the scent of pine needles and fresh chocolate orange wafts across the space, warm and welcoming and awfully wintery. he’s impartial to the cold— but he likes seeing your nose get red, so he guesses that’s one point positive.

“megumi?” your soft voice drifts across the open space, and the frost around his grumpy heart melts just a little; a crack in the frozen surface of the lake.

he reluctantly emerges from the shadow of the hallway, past the bundle of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. the thought causes a memory to flash across his mind— your sweet smile and your prettier laugh; a distinct feeling of fuzzy warmth like a knitted sweater spreading across his cheeks when you pulled him close by the sleeve of his shirt and leaned in—

he shakes his head, trying to dash the stray thought. he’s supposed to be mad. it has no right to be there.

“why’d you get up so early?” he sighs heavily as he joins you at your side, scratching the back of his neck and running a hand through his unruly hair. you smiled sheepishly, turning to face him and you wrap your arms around his middle, squeezing lightly as a silent apology. he takes it with a grumble, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his face in your hair to bask in the scent of home before pulling away.

“it’s a secret.” you grinned, and he glares down at you, clicking his teeth in annoyance. you just laugh like the angel you are, leaving no room for guilt. you’re wearing one of his sweaters; you smell like him, and he supposes it makes up for the way you ditched him this morning.

“i expect compensation.” he grumbles, leaning against the counter as he watches you move about the kitchen, pale winter sunlight painting you like an ethereal dancer beneath the surface of misty lake water, crystal clear in your beauty. it’s mesmerizing.

you laughed, and his teeth dig into his bottom lip. “what, missed me? were you feeling lonely, gumi?” you smiled.

he just shoots you a piercing glare, the color of icicles in his eyes, but the warmth of your grin melts it away. you spend the next few moments in a comfortable silence, preparing a french toast topped with sweet berries and powdered sugar that looks so soft megumi could probably sink into it, until your lovely voice breaks the crisp morning silence.

“want black coffee?”

…

that’s weird. he never hesitates. and you know he takes his coffee black; of course you do. not because he wants to look cool, or look suave in another person’s eyes… well, except for you, of course. but not in the area of caffeine doses. and to be perfectly clear, all he needs is a dose of you to get him going.

he clears his throat. “can you make me hot chocolate?”

you pause, and he almost wants to bite his tongue off. why is he so embarrassed? but you just chuckle, like morning bird song across fresh dew on the grass.

“switching it up, huh? that’s cute.” you hum, and his face burns hot like embers in a brick fireplace. he coughs, throat scratchy like the pricks of a pinecone— but you make no note of it, simply going about your day.

he’s content to watch as you fish around in the rum-colored cabinets, pulling out a crinkly bag of cocoa powder. you put him on milk microwaving duty and he busies himself, lithe pale fingers unscrewing the carton of milk and pouring it into his favorite little painted dog mug. you were the one who’d made it; that silly little ceramics class you insisted on taking clearly didn’t help you too much in the way of smoothing down the bumps and blotches on the mug, but it holds your fingerprint, so he might as well memorize the shape of your hands when you’re not there.

megumi’s snapped back to reality when you grab a candy cane from the mini tree you decorated together sitting on the kitchen counter, smashing it up in the wrappings to mix the pepperminty dust with the cocoa powder. he eyes the pile of holiday drug warily as he brings the steaming mug over, placing it before you and leaning against the counter again to watch you work your mystery magic.

“that looks like brown cocai—”

“shh, megumi. keep your pretty mouth shut, please.”

he’s about to butt in again, lips parted before he presses them together irritatedly and resigns to sulk in silence.

you pour the hot chocolate mix into the milk, swishing it together as it forms a pretty spiral of cocoa; the color of dark chai and chocolate tart. he’s content to watch in silence, humming some christmas carol he’d overheard you listening to one gray afternoon— until he realizes you’re opening a bag of those sickeningly sweet and fluffy marshmallows he’d bought you on a whim. he only did it because his mentor told him they made the best gifts, but he’s beginning to realize it was the sweet tooth talking.

“hey— wait… are you going to put those in there, pretty?” he asks, putting a gentle hand on your wrist to stop you from vigorously emptying the bag into his poor victimized hot chocolate mug.

you glance up at him and flash a toothy grin, giving him one of those looks that makes his heart skip a beat. “trust me, gumi! you’re gonna love it.” you laughed, shrugging his hand off, and his lips curve downward. less because of the marshmallows that are toppling into his mug with a splash and more so because you freed yourself from his grasp.

obviously, you notice— your eyebrows knit together, a pinch of guilt weighing upon them like the snow on the streets outside. but it’s wiped away as quickly as it comes; before he knows it, you’re walking away with a bounce in your step, disappearing behind the counter before re-emerging with something behind your back.

“don’t look so sad, gumi. here,” you say, the cadence of your voice as soft and playful as he ever remembers it being when you pull a bunch of roses from behind your back. the bouquet is small and there’s dirt clinging to the stems— but his heart melts at the thought that you hand-picked them, prickly thorns and all, for him. “happy birthday,” you whispered, and his walls break.

“you’re not so different from them, you know.” you hummed, smiling as he takes them from you and gives you an inquisitive, quiet look. “you might be a little prickly on the outside, but you’re just as beautiful. you just have to look a little past the thorns.”

he feels his face flush; at this point, it’s probably as red as the stray candy cane shavings melting in his mug and the vibrant petals of the roses. he splutters and mumbles something annoyed under his breath, but he’s sure you can hear the undercurrent of fondness and affection weaves into each syllable like the beats of his heart, where you’re so close to. megumi thinks you might’ve just cut him open and made a home in his ribcage.

the bunch of handpicked roses for his special day sit on the marble counter dusted with cocoa powder and candy cane shavings, marshmallows bobbing at the surface of his hot chocolate like apples in a bucket as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in to press his lips insistently to yours, slow and tender like the way he always loves you. his hands curl around your sides, as if to ground you there; freeze the time in this bubble of warmth, forgetting the chill outside to warm his hands on your skin. you’re so little in his arms; he wants to hold you and never let you go, to keep you under his tree and have you make hot chocolate for him instead of black coffee every morning he wakes up, because it’s fine if you’re not there in bed— as long as you’re waiting for him with open arms elsewhere.

and when he kisses you, he realizes he might not need his hot cocoa to warm his stomach— your lips are as soft and pillowy sweet as the marshmallows melting in his mug, filled with steaming hot cocoa and all the love he could ever wrap his heart in this cozy winter; his christmas gift to you.

he’s grateful today is a special day, if only because of you and his sweet little painted dog mug filled with your heartwarming love.

stop this was so close to being late my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[captain-mj]

Okay, so I'm very sick rn, and could use an order of Fluff, please.

Maybe some GhostSoap where Ghost gets deliriously sick and is having hallucinations, and Soap just stays there and comforts him through it all?

Wrote this while a tiny bit depressed so I hope you like it

Ghost never got sick. He just didn't. The mask kept him from getting most airborne illnesses (presumably) and he was careful to never get infections.

But somehow. Someway. He had... something. Didn't matter. The fever that wracked his body was vicious and cruel.

Soap was currently sitting with him and fretting. He was muttering about medicine and what to do and stuff that made Ghost's head hurt.

Someone... spoke. His head jerked towards it but it didn't repeat.

"Simon." Soap called to him, putting his hand on his warm cheek. "You're burning up." His voice sounded very far away.

Gentle hands laid him down. For a moment, he felt like a kid again, safe and sound in his mom's arms. He heard someone whimper and wondered if Soap had hurt himself.

Soap carefully tapped his cheek and he opened his mouth on command. A pill was slipped into his mouth and then some cold water followed. Ghost closed his eyes and drifted.

Something called to him again. Speaking to him sweetly. "You need to get up."

Ghost grunted, his head aching. The hand came back, gently running through his hair.

The voice faded to a soft humming. One of the Beatle's songs. His mom's favorite.

Ghost softly hummed along and he swore he could smell her perfume.

Her absence hit him hard as the perfume disappeared. He keened softly, reaching out for her hand again. When he was sick as a kid, she'd give him plain toast and maybe a cup of tea until he felt up for soup. Always the same. Some cheap mix of chicken and vegetable.

Ghost wanted that. He wanted her hand on his hair and his childhood bedroom.

Soap kissed his forehead. "Simon. Why do you look so sad?"

Ghost looked at him and winced. "Johnny... Please don't leave me."

"Hey, I'm not going to leave ya. Gonna stay right here."

Ghost grabbed his hand and kissed his wrist.

"You're burning up." Soap said softly. He grabbed a rag that he dipped in cold water and gently puts it to his forehead. "I'm worried about you."

"No medics. Please."

Soap smiled sadly. "Alright. I'll stay with you until you feel better." He gently put the rag on his cheek and then on his throat.

Ghost groaned softly in relief and smiled. "Thank you. I love you." He missed Soap's sad look.

The hallucinations could not be kind. They couldn't stay as just a sign of grief.

A skeleton stood there. It watched him. Body unnatural.

It popped it's head off and held it out to him.

"Your mother's skull. You killed her."

Ghost closed his eyes tight, afraid.

"Your brother's rib cage. You killed him too."

Ghost covered his ears and the whimpering came again. It didn't occur to him that he could make those noises.

Soap put his arms around him and pulled him to his chest. "I got you, Simon. I got you."

Ghost shivered hard and he pulled up just long enough to take off his shirt. He pressed into Soap's body, feeling the heat rolling off of him. When he tentatively opened his eyes, there was nothing there.

Soap kissed his sweaty hair. "Later, we'll take a shower okay?"

Ghost turned around and hugged on to him, face buried into his skin. "I love you."

"Stop saying that. You're only saying that because you're delirious."

"I'm sorry. I guess I should say it more often. Don't want you to doubt that." Ghost rubbed against him like a cat.

Soap sighed softly and gently ran his hands up and down his back. "Alright, Simon."

Ghost rested against him, enjoying the warmth. Later, he might put on his mask and pretend this never happened. But the part of him that he normally kept shoved down really hoped he wouldn't. He hoped he'd kiss Soap sober and say he loved him again until he realized he was telling the truth.

But for now, his whole body felt like it was on fire. His head hurt. His muscles were sore. So he rested there, safe and sound and with Johnny's heartbeat in his ears.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 51: Oliver's Anticipation

Prev > Masterlist > Next

tw: burns, mind control, body control

October 1925

Alexander's sire would be here at midnight sharp.

Oliver had woken up in his master's chambers, pitch black and smelling of woodsmoke and book bindings, with cold arms wrapped around him. For just a moment, it felt like a strange nightmare, until he remembered where he was.

Perhaps still a nightmare, but an increasingly familiar and strangely comforting one.

Warming his master's bed really hadn't been unpleasant, though. Oliver had enjoyed a truly restful sleep under Alexander's spell, and with all of his anxiety over the next evening's social call, it was just as well.

There was a sore spot on his chest, and when he reached for it, he found it was protected by a thick bandage. Where did that come from? His memories of the night before were so fuzzy. He remembered fretting by himself, Alexander coming home drunk... and Miss Lily was there too...

"Mmm." Without warning, his master stirred, and gripped Oliver tight to his chest. "Fitz..."

Oliver's chest clenched. "Um, it's me, sir. Oliver. Your thrall."

"Hm? Oh. Sorry. Yes. Don't know what I was thinking." Alexander's grasp mercifully loosened, and he rolled over on his back, freeing Oliver. "What are you doing here?"

"Um -- I think Miss Lily told me to -- warm your bed, sir? I confess I don't quite remember, but if I've broken any rule and you want me to leave, I'll leave right away, sir."

"No, no, no. You're fine. I don't quite remember either, but no doubt I wanted you to be here." He reached out and touched the bandage on Oliver's chest. "Oh, yes. That was why."

"What is it, sir?"

"...A mark. An unfortunate but necessary one."

"A mark, sir?" The wound on his chest throbbed.

"You can see when you take the bandage off. You'll need to clean it, too. We'll both need to get cleaned up before midnight," he said. "And you'll want to eat, as well. I can take care of my own preparations. It's better if he's distracted by my faults, anyway. Less attention for you. Anyway, you should go on."

Oliver looked around the inky black room, remembering what a mess Alexander's floor was. He wasn't even sure quite where the door was located.

"Is there something else, Oliver?"

"I can't see, sir."

"...Yes, of course. Wait a moment, I'll light a lamp." 

Oliver could hear his master fumbling around in the dark.

"This one's out of oil, damn it. Hang on, I know there's another just... here."

The dim flame lit up the room just enough for Oliver to get his bearings. He was surprised at how reluctant he was to roll out of his master's bed. He could get used to this, and he'd probably need to, given how much his master seemed to appreciate his presence or at least his temperature.

Emerging back out into the drafty, cold manor brought Oliver back to his worries and fears, the ones he had spent the previous evening turning over and over, the one that his master's spell had taken away from him for a while. "...Master?" he said, impulsively poking his head back into the door, hoping he wasn't breaking any rule.

"Yes, what is it, Oliver?"

"...If it's not too much trouble, sir... could you help me to sleep again, at the end of tonight?"

"Of course I can," said Alexander, who sounded quite pleased. "It would be my pleasure, any time."

"Thank you, sir."

The thought of his master's spell of bliss helped calm Oliver's nerves enough to attend to his breakfast and hygiene, and to ignore the ticking of the clocks on the walls.

But he was still acutely aware of the fact that his master's sire would be here at midnight sharp.

Breakfast was a sombre affair, as Oliver found himself without much appetite, choking down a few slices of toast solely because he didn't want to face the night on an empty stomach. Hygiene was an equally somber affair, a short and joyless bath and shave. Oliver peeled off the bandage to find a round and painful scar, swollen and indistinct. 

A burn? His master had burned him? Alexander had called it "unfortunate but necessary," and Oliver couldn't figure out what that would mean. He must have been very deeply under his master's spell to not remember a thing.

When he returned to his bedroom, there was a modest blue dress laid out for him on his bed. He donned it and looked at himself in the mirror, heart thumping in his chest.

His master's sire would be here at midnight sharp.

As soon as Oliver descended the staircase, he was met by Alexander, who looked more put together than he had at any other point Oliver had seen him. He was wearing a sharp suit and his mop of hair was neatly combed. Oliver couldn't help but wonder how had he groomed himself without the aid of a mirror or assistance -- but that was hardly the most pressing question on his mind.

"My sire will be here at midnight sharp," Alexander repeated the words stuck in Oliver's hand like a protective mantra. "Here, let me straighten your dress. You have a lock of hair out of place here, too."

Oliver let himself be fussed over. "Sir, can I ask about the mark on my chest?"

"My sire requires his thralls to be branded, and requires the same of me," Alexander explained. "I don't intend to be under his thumb forever, but for now, I must acquiesce to his rules." His face grew even more grim and sour. "That's why I must allow him to drink from you."

Branded. He'd been branded. That little voice buried deep within him wanted to protest about a permanent mark done without his permission, but it was easily overruled. After all, he was here to serve his master forever, wasn't he?

"I understand, sir," said Oliver, swallowing hard. Why was this so difficult for him? It was a  service his master required, and Miss Lily had taught him that his primary purpose was to provide blood for vampires. But Alexander's unease made it impossible for his heart to calm.

"I would provide a spell to soothe you or prevent you from feeling pain, if I could, but he would detect it and make things worse for both of us. Unfortunately, I have to ask you to be obedient once more. Do not struggle against his control, do not lie, and do not disobey."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, shivering as he recalled how it felt when his body moved on its own. "Sir, may I ask another question, one which is possibly impertinent?"

"Of course, Oliver, you have free permission to ask questions, as always. I just may not choose to answer."

"...Why is your sire so terrifying, sir?"

His master looked up at him in surprise, then let out a sharp laugh without mirth. "Straight to the point. An excellent question. One which has often kept me awake through the day." He sighed. "Well, he does have the power to puppet your body against your will on a whim. He can do that to me, as well -- since a sire always has power over their sired. But even that, terrifying as it is, is not the whole of it, is it?"

"No, sir, it isn't."

"He's a traditionalist, of course. He believes that humans only exist to serve vampires and should have no will of their own. But if that's all it were, he'd merely erase his thralls' minds, as some of my kind do," he said. "I've always thought that, despite his unparalleled power, he is simply... miserable."

"Miserable, sir?"

"Miserable and perhaps even lonely. He doesn't allow himself companions among vampires or humans. He only takes pleasure in cruelty. I could almost pity him, if he weren't the greatest threat to me and mine." Alexander once again reached over to fuss with Oliver's dress and hair. "I expect that's not a satisfactory answer, but it's the best I can provide to you."

"It's satisfactory enough, sir." An image flashed through Oliver's mind, one long buried. His father, stumbling in drunk once more, towering over him. He shook his head. No, it wouldn't do to think of that now. He had to be brave.

His master's sire would be here at midnight sharp, and all too soon, the chimes rang throughout the house. One, two...

And one beat after the twelfth chime, exactly in rhythm with the grandfather clock in the library, there were three knocks on the front door.

"You must answer the door, Oliver. I'll receive him in the music room."

His master disappeared before Oliver could respond, leaving his heart to thump out of its chest as he walked to the front door. As he opened it, he found himself frozen to the spot before he could even fully take in what he was seeing.

He caught a glimpse of the man from the ballet as he was forced into a low, uncomfortable curtsy. Alexander's sire was dressed much as he was then, all in black with a long silver ponytail, posture straight as an arrow.

"Good evening, sir," said Oliver, trying his best to keep himself relaxed and not fight against the bonds gripping his limbs. He had to be the perfect thrall, for both himself and Alexander's sake.

"Good evening," said that entrancing voice. If Alexander's voice was like gentle waves washing over his mind, the Maestro's voice was like a metronome, forcing Oliver's thoughts into an inflexible rhythm. "I trust your master is prepared for this social call?"

"Yes, sir, he will be receiving you in the music room."

"Very well. Follow." With a crisp snap, Oliver was marching behind him like a toy soldier at attention, his thoughts racing even as his body's movements were unnaturally precise.

He could do this. He could. He could make his master proud. 

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Thanks for reading! Next week, the conclusion to Oliver's evening.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Byers

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 3.9k || cws: check tags || full fic ao3

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper

Can be read as a standalone

~~~

Steve’s filled with dread, standing in front of the Byers’ front door at 6:30am on a Saturday morning. Out of all the kids’ parents, he’s pushed Joyce off as long as he could manage. But he’d promised Mike he’d try, and according to Jonathan, this is the best time to catch her.

That doesn’t change the fact it’s not even light out, and a boy she probably hates is about to knock on her door. Hell of a way to start the day.

He knocks anyway.

Joyce opens the door in a soft grey t-shirt and baggy black sweats. Her hair is brushed through, mascara coats her long lashes, and the smell of fresh coffee wafts through the open door. At least he can find small consolation in the fact she’s been up for a while.

“Hi Joyce, I mean Ms. Byers,” he stumbles, off to a great start. “Sorry to catch you so early but–” 

“No,” Joyce interrupts, voice firm. 

Steve stands there, mouth hanging open around an unfinished sentence. He watches as her eyes harden. She squares her shoulders and stands straight-backed and tall, only reaching about Steve’s shoulder. Joyce Byers in all her fury still makes him feel small, like maybe this was a bad idea.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Joyce says. “But I know why you’re here. And the answer is no.”

“Oh,” he responds lamely, deflating even further. 

Her voice is soft, but she’s unyielding. “The kids like you, and I know their parents are ok with you watching them. Which is fine, for their kids.”

She pauses, and Steve knows what’s coming. Mentally prepared himself for the worst-case scenario. All of Dustin’s logical arguments and Lucas’ hype talks couldn’t prepare him for how thoroughly Joyce flays him open.

“But, Steve, I would never trust you with my kids.”

Even though he's desperate to run, he plants himself like a tree on her front stoop. He's trying not to be that guy. The kids deserve the best version of him, and on some level, he knows cutting out the bad parts of himself includes letting Joyce Byers drag him through the mud.

He tries to hold her gaze, really he does. Her dark eyes are filled with conviction, but he can see the gentleness to them as well. Almost sad, like he’s making her do this to him. 

Joyce grips the door, knuckles white with tension. She takes a step out onto the front stoop, forcing Steve to take a measured step back. The door stays cracked and the smell of burning toast reaches his nose. Nausea rises in his throat.

“They shouldn’t have even been in those tunnels in the first place,” she says, voice growing louder as she gains momentum. “We asked you to watch them, we trusted you with them, and they still almost got killed! And I know, I know, you helped Jonathan and Nancy last year– saved them from that, that thing crawling out of our walls.”

Her eyes flicker over her shoulder, like the demogorgon’s still haunting her house. He follows her gaze, like Billy could still be standing in her living room with a blood-stained, toothy smile.

She sighs, exasperated. At her wits end for being pushed into a conversation she’s probably been dreading for weeks, since it seems she knew what he wanted. “But you’d be with my baby, my Will, everyday. He’s had bullies since kindergarten, and it’s only gotten worse since everything.

“He doesn’t deserve more bullies. And from what I’ve heard, you’re no different. Just like your father.”

Steve flinches– can’t help himself– the sentence ringing through his head.

Just like your father.

“No, no I’m not, I swear,” he chokes on the words as she steam rolls his pathetic lamentations.

“You’ve pushed my boys– and kids just like them– around your whole life, making them feel small for having less money, less friends, less stuff. Every time Jonathan came home with a new bruise or bloodied knees, how do I know that wasn’t you?”

Steve’s watering eyes are fixated on the small, furious woman before him, flushed with a rage familiar to any decent mother protecting her kids. He’s trying so hard to hear her, but his head is filled with static and his mouth feels stuffed with cotton. Steve wipes his hands down the front of his pants, then shoves them in his pockets.

“You called my boy queer! Something I’m sure you heard from your father. I saved for months to get him that camera for his birthday and you just smashed it, like it was nothing. Like we’re nothing.”

Neither of them notice the pair of shadows moving beyond the door frame in the living room. 

“I cannot allow someone like you around my boys,” she hammers home. This is what Nance meant by a thesis statement he thinks deliriously. “Sue and Karen might be alright with it, but my answer is no.”

Steve sniffles and nods stiffly as turns to leave, hoping to at least make it to his car before the tears start. He knows he deserves what she’s said, knows the truth of it in his gut, but he’s stood here long enough. Now it’s time to run and hide, like his mind’s been screaming to since she set her sights on him.

“Mom,” Jonathan says, out of breath like he ran here from his bedroom. He’s appeared over Ms. Byers’ shoulder like a ghost, or a ninja– silent and on the attack. “What’s going on?”

He’s a sleep-rumpled version of his mom, wearing a plain, soft t-shirt, and grey sweatpants scattered with light bleach stains. Steve notices he still has pillow creases on his left cheek. His gaze follows the red indent down to Jonathan’s jawline where a small, purpling bruise is haloed by faded red lipstick.

All of the air in Steve’s lungs is punched out of him, hard and fast. A feeling he should be used to from Jonathan Byers. 

Steve thinks he sees a flash of pastels in his periphery, dashing through the trees to the road. Or maybe it’s his imagination. It doesn’t matter, because he can’t look away from the uncomfortably familiar mark on Jonathan’s neck.

Jonathan must notice. His hand flies up to his neck, wiping the mark and finding a smear of red on his fingers. The spell holding Steve breaks, and he can breathe again. 

Their eyes meet, and Jonathan’s cheeks now match the stain on his fingers. It’s awkward and Steve doesn’t know how to fix it or how to make this easier. Because Steve never knows how to fix things, only how to break them. Something Joyce seems well aware of.

Distracted, Steve’s just now noticing the small shadow creeping up behind Jonathan. He sees the young boy poke his head out from behind his brother’s back as he takes a small step towards the commotion.

“Steve was just leaving, sweetie,” Joyce answers, voice soft and sweet as she turns away from him to go back inside.

“Wait, no that’s not what I meant,” Jonathan continues. He shakes his head and roughly pushes his unruly bangs from his eyes. “Steve, why are you here?”

Jonathan’s looking at him like he knows the answer. And he should really, considering the only reason Mike agreed to have Steve as his babysitter was because Jonathan promised he’d talk to Will about it, and then they’d talk to Joyce. 

A long train of telephone Steve was relying on to get a head start at Joyce’s good will. Which, apparently, never happened.

Steve plays along into Jonathan’s prompting. She’s already said no, so what’s one more try with a little back-up.

“I was asking if I could babysit Will, since I watch the rest of the gang too. Can’t leave any party members behind,” Steve says, parroting Dustin.

“And I was just telling him–” Joyce starts, before she’s interrupted.

“I think Steve would be a great babysitter,” Will says. His hair’s a mess, and he’s straightening out his matching Star Wars pajama set as he steps further into view.

Joyce rushes over to him, squatting down to meet his eyes. “Will, honey, you don’t need a new babysitter. You can still spend time with your friends at their houses, when their parents are home.” Jonathan takes the distraction to wave Steve into the house, silently closing the door behind them.

“But the other parents don’t know about– you know,” Will hesitates, before mustering up the courage to say “about what actually happened to me.”

“Baby,” she says, gently running her hands up and down his small arms. “You know we can’t tell them. We went over this.”

“It’s not about them knowing the truth,” Will says. Steve watches as the boy tries to make himself bigger, taller, even with the slight shake in his voice. “They just look at me like I’m broken. They’re sad when I’m around and they just think I was kidnapped or lost or– whatever the story is. That I was sick or something.”

Steve can’t help but imagine Will Byers, always the shy, quiet kid in the Party, having to constantly withstand the severely misguided pitying glances from adults who aren’t read-in on vast government conspiracies and alternate dimensions. Steve’s almost nineteen and can barely manage alone.

Her brows are knitted tight and her lips downturned the more Will confesses. “Well, Jonathan can–”

“I don’t want Jonathan to watch me anymore.”

Joyce’s eyes widen, confusion painted across her face as her mouth drops open. Steve turns to glance at Jonathan to find that, unlike his mother, he’s not surprised at all. In fact, there’s a light shining in his eyes and a small uptick to the corner of his mouth.

The tension is thick but familial, leaving Steve unwelcome and gawking at a private conversation. Which he supposes he is: both unwelcome and gawking.

“Go on, Will, it’s ok,” Jonathan encourages. He shines with a proud smile, like he’s watching his little brother walk for the first time. 

Will’s hesitant, his eyes downcast as he shuffles side-to-side. Waiting for him to continue, Joyce stays quiet. Steve can’t help but feel envious of Will and Jonathan at having a mom patient enough to hear her son outright, even when she doesn’t agree with him. She saved him from an alternate dimension, but sometimes the little things are just as important.

“When Jonathan dropped me off at Steve’s for DnD last week, it was fine… at first.”

“You both told me that was at Mike’s,” Joyce interrupts, turning a motherly glare at Jonathan who sheepishly avoids eye contact. She rounds on Steve again, closing the distance between them in three long strides to get in his face. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Steve. What if something had happened and I didn’t know where to find him because of you?”

“Mom,” Jonathan interrupts, irritated. “That’s not fair. We are the ones who said it was at Mike’s– Will and I. I knew you wouldn’t let him go if you knew it was at Harrington’s place, so I told Will to lie.”

“You’re damn right I wouldn’t have let him go,” Joyce argues, turning back to Jonathan. “He’s not safe there! I know Steve Harrington and I know his parents. What if they had been home?”

“They haven’t been home in weeks,” Steve mumbles. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, catching himself off guard. Years of practicing the lie, and he slips in front of the last three people on earth he’d want to know about his home life. He’d never complain, not to them. 

She shoots him a confused glance, an emotion behind her eyes Steve refuses to consider. But it seems she’s the only one whose noticed he said anything at all as Jonathan speaks up again. Shaking her head, she shifts her attention back to her son. In the midst of the chaos, Steve breathes a small sigh of relief.

“Mom, it was fine– everything was fine. Just–” Jonathan stops. He gestures to Will to keep going.

Will puffs his chest up, holding his mom’s gaze as he barrels on. “I liked having it at Steve’s. It smells nice, like candles, not like farts and laundry detergent like Mike’s basement. He had all the snacks we like, and he’s got a huge table that can fit all our stuff.”

The kid’s smiling now, and goddamn if it doesn’t melt his heart. Steve’ll be disappointed if Joyce says no, but at least he knows for a fact Will felt comfortable around Steve and liked being at his house.

“But after Jonathan picked me up, Lucas said they stayed up and watched movies all night. That Steve even made an ice cream sundae bar and there were a million toppings.” Will’s arguing is starting to sound like a petulant child, a slight whine to his tone, and Steve can tell Joyce is losing her patience.

“Will, that’s something you and Jonathan can do. We’d love to do sleepover nights with your friends.”

“No, Mom,” Jonathan states, strong in a way Steve’s never seen from him before. His only tell is the waver behind his voice. Steve’s willing to bet Jonathan would rather face down another demogorgon than take on his own mother. Yet here he is, sticking his neck on the line for Will.

“What do you mean, no?” It’s barely a question.

“I don’t want to babysit Will anymore.” He quickly closes his eyes and shakes his head, like an etch-a-sketch. “No, wait– I’m not babysitting Will anymore.”

The room falls deadly silent. Joyce’s lips flatten into a thin, white line, matching the color of her knuckles. She looks ready to explode, like how his father used to look before the first blow. 

Steve flinches when she takes a step towards Jonathan, and she clocks his reaction just like before, but ignores him to glare at her oldest son.

“I want to spend more time with Nancy.” Jonathan’s eyes are wide, like he forgot Steve was there, and he can see an embarrassed flush painting his ears. Steve just shrugs. It is what it is, he’ll get over it like he always does. Jonathan relaxes a bit. “I want to get a job so I can take her on dates that are more than just driving out to the quarry.” 

“Jonathan,” Joyce jumps in, “you can’t get a job. You’re grades are slipping as it is and you don’t have time–”

“Exactly! I don’t have time for a job right now. But if Steve starts watching Will after school and some weekends, I can get a job and keep my grades up and spend time with Nancy.”

She’s shaking her head, but Jonathan plows on before she can jump back into the fray.

“Billy Hargrove is a goddamn monster, Mom. He almost killed Steve! And we all know the kids would’ve found a way to get to the tunnels no matter what. Steve was beat to hell and still went with them.” Jonathan points at Steve’s face in emphasis, like a fucked up version of a pretty model showboating a new car. Except the model is the guy who stole his girlfriend, and the car is a has-been with a fucked up brain and no future.

“And last year,” Jonathan continues, “Nancy and I would be dead if he didn’t come back for us. After everything that happened between us, he had no reason to turn around. Hell, I’m not sure I would’ve.”

He doesn’t know Jonathan Byers well, but Steve knows for a fact Jonathan would’ve faced death to save him– to save anyone. It’s not even a question.

Joyce still doesn’t seem convinced. “Everything that happened last year is exactly what I’m worried about, Jonathan.”

“It’s my fault, not his!” Jonathan shouts. “It’s my fault he got sucked into this mess, it’s my fault Nancy left him, and it’s my fault he broke the camera!” Color drains from his face. Steve freezes, staring at him. 

Steve still hasn’t told anyone why he broke the camera– none of them have talked about it, and he never planned to bring it up. Ultimately he’s thankful that the pictures exist, since it provided the only clue to Barb’s death and the Upside-Down. 

But he doesn’t understand why Jonathan took the pictures. And it doesn’t change the fact Steve closes his blinds every night.

“What do you mean, your fault?” Joyce asks, out of sorts. 

He stammers a bit, looking to Steve for help. Steve doesn’t want to have this conversation at all, let alone in front of Jonathan’s entire family. He glares back at Jonathan, tersely shaking his head once.

Lie.

He gets the gist, relief stark on Jonathan’s face. 

“Steve caught Nancy and I sneaking around when we were looking for Barb and Will,” Jonathan quickly recovers. “We didn’t want him poking around, so we let him think we were flirting. But some pictures I had taken of Nancy fell out of my bag, and Steve saw them. That’s why he broke my camera.

“We ran into him and his friends later while they were spraying up The Hawk. I didn’t know it was all Tommy Hagen’s idea, so I got in Steve’s face and I hit him first. He called me queer, and that’s shitty. But he apologized, saved our lives, and bought me a new camera. So–”

Jonathan turns to him and holds out his hand. It reminds Steve of his father, but also of Hopper, which he decides is a more apt comparison.

He reaches out and Jonathan grasps his hand firmly, shaking it up and down just once, yet continues to hold on. Forging a new pact for the future.

“Steve, I’m sorry about everything.” He seems genuine– eyes wet, shoulders set, and back straight. Steve tries to match his posture. He might not be as good with words as Jonathan, but he can at least show this moment is just as important to him. “But you helped protect the kids so we could save Will. And you saved Nancy and me. So– I trust you.”

Steve can’t handle this. It’s too early in the morning for heavy emotions and deep confessions, but Jonathan’s searching for forgiveness in the face of a former bully. Steve steps up to the plate and meets him halfway.

“I shouldn’t have broken your camera, I know how expensive they are and how much it meant to you. I was angry and I wasn’t thinking. And I, I umm–” 

Steve realizes he’s never really had to apologize to someone before. Sure he’s apologized to Nancy, but it seemed like a normal thing for guys to always apologize to their girlfriends. He’s apologized to Dustin, but that’s more like placating a rowdy toddler. 

This feels different, somehow bigger. Maybe it’s because Jonathan’s his own age, or someone his parents have programmed him to think is lesser than himself. Maybe it’s the deep regret that’s made itself a home in Steve’s stomach, rotting away at the memory of a vicious word spat haphazardly at a stranger.

“I’m sorry I called you queer. That’s fuc– I mean messed– up, and I’m sorry.” Steve sighs, running a nervous hand through his hair, less painful with the stitches removed. He almost misses the stinging sensation. “It’s something my dad says all the time and it was the first thing I thought of, and I hate that. I’m not my dad, I never want to be like him.”

Jonathan nods and pulls Steve forward into a hug, and when they separate Steve feels lighter. A heavy weight he hadn’t known about, removed from his shoulders with Jonathan’s help. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Jonathan felt the same way by the smile on his face.

“Yeah!” Will shouts, unprompted and overly excited for the tone of this entire conversation. There’s a wide grin on his face when he holds up his hand to high-five Steve and cheers “welcome to the Bad Dads Club!”

Steve scoffs, shocked but completely delighted and confused at Will’s eager declaration. Joyce smacks her hand to her forehead and mutters something like jesus christ under her breath, while Jonathan barks out a laugh. 

He grabs his little brother by the shoulder and shakes him like a rag doll until Will breaks out into giggles. “Will,” Jonathan says, failing to keep a straight face, “remember when I explained the difference between family jokes and not-family jokes?”

Will’s smile fades slightly, red embarrassment splashing his cheeks as he quickly glances between Jonathan and Steve, realizing his social blunder. Jonathan squeezes his shoulder and gives him a sad, reassuring smile. But Steve won’t be the reason for the small frown tugging on Will’s lower lip.

Steve holds out his hand, palm up. He smiles at the kid, eyes alight with mischief. “Bad Dad’s Club,” Steve says, like it’s more than just a fucked up childhood and is instead forging a pact, binding them through one shitty commonality. 

Will returns his smile and high fives him, who then turns to his brother. Jonathan laughs again when he pulls Will in for a hug instead, shrugging at Steve.

Joyce’s gaze travels between the three boys standing in front of her, and Steve can see the moment she cracks.

Her stance has softened. Her lips are still pursed, her eyebrows only slightly furrowed, but her arms hang relaxed at her sides and she’s looking at Steve less like she wants to throw him out and more like she doesn’t know what to do with him.

“You get one week,” Joyce says sternly, pointing a finger in Steve’s face. He goes cross-eyed looking at it, but he can still see Will and Jonathan high-five. “One week of picking him up after school. I get done at Melvald’s at six, so you can bring him home at six-thirty.”

Before Steve can wholeheartedly agree, she rounds on Will and Jonathan next, who stand at attention, trying to stay serious through their own excitement. 

“You,” she points at Jonathan, “better keep your grades up if you’re getting a job.”

“And you,” she gestures to Will, “better have all of your homework done when you get home. If you can’t get it done at Steve’s house, then you don’t get to go.”

She backs away from them, taking a deep breath in and exhaling loudly. “Is all of that clear?”

Waves of yes’s pour from their mouths. Will wraps his arms around his mom’s waist and Jonathan lightly punches Steve’s shoulder. 

“Thank you, Ms. Byers,” Steve says as he turns to leave, “I’ll make sure you don’t regret this. Any of you.”

She sighs, a small sad smile on her face. “I really hope that’s true, Steve.”

On the drive home, he realizes she never mentioned the slip-up about his parents’ absence. He’s grateful for it. Talking with adults has never been his strong suit, and his conversations with each of the kids’ parents are starting to weigh on him. 

The Byers’ might not have as much money or means as the Harrington’s, but that doesn’t stop Joyce Byers from being a damn great mom. So he’s not surprised she took note of his own small mishaps. Maybe she’ll bring it up one day, maybe she won’t. All Steve cares about is that he finally has the opportunity to earn the trust of the fiercest parent he knows.

~~~