#brain full of tissue paper

[bunearysdaily]

[ID: a digital drawing of the pokemon buneary with poison status condition bubbles. The background is a pink-purple, and the buneary is drawn unevenly and tinted purple. End ID.]

am feeling a bit sick

#bunearysdaily day 12 #brain full of tissue paper #not feeling very well today so i drew a Buneary with poison status condition #buneary #id #pokemon #not sure if i described this well but idk how to describe it more clearly

[seconds-2-midnight]

CAN SNAKE HOLD ME...? PLEASE I AM A LITERAL WHORE/CUNT/SLUT FOR THIS MAN (NOT ACTUALLY THIS IS A JOKE I AM NOT A WHORE SLUT NOR cunt for him lmao)

BE HOLD

it's okay I am just a slutty whore cunt in general /j

#hi <3 #sorry i'm in dumbass mode tonight #my brain is full of shitposts and crumpled up tissue paper #also why him hand look like that #snakeswhore #your username is great lmao

[fanaticsnail]

Oh snail, i know you already have a long list of WIPs (i can't wait to read them) and your Inbox is probably already full with requests, so i understand if its not in the cards right now.

I was just wondering what the kid-pirates would do, or how they would react if ther precious doc-reader is the one that was injured badly or was very sick. Especialy how Killer would react after that romantic tention between them (i need more of that 😩). I don't have a particular song in mind, because the seires already has a vibe to it, hope thats okay.

I wish you a wonderful day/night/evening! 💕Sooo looking forward to your next work, whatever it may be 🐢

I love you for this prompt, @daydreamer-in-training. Thank you!

Sit your ass down, would ya, Doc?

Hey Doc Masterlist here

Word Count: 2,000+

Synopsis: You've taken care of your crew and nursed them back to health from their flus... but now it's your turn. The Kid-Pirates do their best to take care of the worlds worst patient, their doctor: you.

Themes: platonic!kid-pirates, eustass kid x gn!reader, swearing, illness, comforting, taking medication, kid is a bit of a dom, doc is a bit of a bra, you're the kid-pirate doctor: the crew calls you 'doc'.

Notes: I am currently struggling with the flu myself, and this was simply too cute to not write about. Thank you for your ask, it's been fun to write about!

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sinning-23 @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @sordidmusings @nerium-lil

“Hey, Doc? Did we need any more petroleum jelly from the-...?” the fire breathing devil-fruit user called beside you, hating when you turned to face him, “...-Shit, Doc. You look like absolute balls today.” 

Rolling your swollen, glassy and red eyes at him, you draw another tissue from your counter and sneeze into it. The silky tissue felt like sandpaper over your leaky nose, the skin splitting surrounding your nostrils and leaving small stains of red on the pale paper.

“Always so full of compliments and kindness, Heat,” you huff out, your voice sounding hoarse and cracking along with every word. Heat cringed, recoiling away from you with eyes narrowed in sympathy. You attempt to breathe through your blocked nose, no air passing through the dual nostrils.

Treating the crew for the past two weeks, and nursing them to health in recovering from the flu, had finally caught up with you. You felt both cold and hot at the same time, your skin both dry and sticky with sweat. Mind swelling and cracking behind the tense throbbing throughout your brain caused a dull ache ringing in your ears and fogging your mind.

“I-... I’m just saying, Doc,” he reiterated in defense of himself, “You don’t look too good. Maybe you ought to sit out from the in-land trip to restock. Stay home on the Victoria Punk?” Heat suggested with a soft smile and a subtle shrug.

“What?” you grunted out a cough, “And leave you lot to restock my clinic for me? Not fucking like-...” coughing into another tissue, your glassy eyes pricked at the corners and began to spill out and down your cheeks, “...-likely.” 

Heat’s smile fled from his face, his lip downturning in sympathy. He shook his head and extended his hand out to you, gesturing you to follow him out through the door towards the deck. You attempt to sniff back another intake of air to reopen your nose to no avail. Following on, you trudge somberly towards the top deck where the crew were all waiting to step foot onto the pier. 

Without drawing attention to yourself, your eyes squinted lazily to compensate for the pain the sun caused your mind. With each achy step, you attempted to bite back the ache your body was going through. Barely aware of your surroundings, you gesture in the medicinal remedy booths at town square for herbs, ointments and aromatic fragrances. 

As you reached into your pocket to pull out your small folder of Berry, a large right forearm reached over your shoulder and paid the vendor before you could. Rolling your eyes, you turn to look at the scowling grimace of your captain, Eustass Kid, baring his rage down at you. Attempting to roll your eyes at him again, you clenched them tightly shut instead as the world became far too bright to process.

“Captain,” you acknowledge him with a clumsy nod, fighting the urge to not to fall over with the vertigo overcoming you. He growled at you immediately, gesturing to Wire beside him to gather the supplies and walk back to the ship. 

“You’re a real fuckin’ idiot, aren’t ya, Doc?” he spat, scolding you with his heavy growl. You laughed at him, shaking your swirling head and beginning to walk beside him. Your overexertion and sleep deprivation caught up with you as you tripped over an uneven divot in the rocky path.

“I'm not into degradation, Cap,” you respond in a half-joking hum, your eyes feeling heavy and weighted, “Not my kink. Might be yours, though, considering the amount of times I yell at you to hold you accountable.” That comment earnt you another low growl from your captain, his face turning a few shades darker than his hair. 

He turned to face you at his side, his lips curling as if to speak. As he opened his lips, he was lost for words as you fell into him, bracing yourself against him to steady your walk. He caught you in his right arm, bringing his face down towards you and brows knitting with concern. Turning towards Wire, he cocked his chin to the side to usher him on towards the ship. 

With no further warning, Kid dipped at the knees and hoisted you up into his chest beneath your thighs. He curled his bicep and hooked your head beneath his chin and cradled you firmly into him. Under usual circumstances, you would’ve fought this tooth and nail.

You do not enjoy being manhandled by the crew, especially by your captain. While you enjoy the embrace once in a while with your more sensitive crewmates, particularly Bubblegum, the Captain has only ever been this close to you when he’s sparring with you.

“C’mon Doc, I'll get you seen to,” he grunted down at your position curled into his chest, “I’ve-... And the-...” his words trailed off, the fever raising your temperature higher and prompting you to seek out sleep against his pectoral. 

Voices and words fade in and out of your ears, a slow drawl and murmurs of several of your crewmates swelling around your assumed resting spot for the day. The room wasn’t physically moving, even though your vertigo suggested it was. 

“When was the last time Doc’s had a day off?” you recognised the feminine voice of Quincy in the room beside you. Several grunts and incessant babbling reverberated around the room, prompting you to flutter your eyelashes open and push through the pain. 

“Doc!” you cringed as a body almost flew into your bed, sitting on the plush sheets beside you, “You’re awake! I’m so happy to see you’re up!” You wince, slowly waving Bubblegum away, swatting at his zig-zagged head.

“Off, off,” you shooed him, wincing as you shrugged your duvet off your thighs and swung your legs over the side of the bed. As you began to wobble to your feet, the booming voice of your captain called over the chatter of the room,

“Sit your ass down, would ya, Doc?” he growled, striding over in intentional steps and giving you a shove from his right hand in the middle of your chest, “The medics here said you need a week in bed to rest. Sit down.” You growled at him, doing your best to gather the strength to growl at him. 

“If I’ve been prescribed ‘rest’,” you began, gesturing to the crewmates surrounding your current room, “Why the fuck are you all here?” Several sheepish mutters surround the room, a few members pinching the scruffs of their necks, a few more wringing their hands in front of their waists. 

Your captain clapped his hand on your shoulder, pushing you to lay back down and wrangling you into your bedsheets. Refusing to go down without a fight this time, you wriggled in his grip and fought both the fever and the strong arm of your captain. 

“For fucks sake, Doc!” Kid yelled at you, pushing and shoving you down into the very comfortable and unfamiliar bed in front of the crew. “Just lay down and rest, damn it! Go back to sleep.” You wriggled harder. 

“No!” you yelled defiantly, kicking off the duvet and fighting each and every time your captain attempted to shove you into your bed. Kid looked around to the crew, angled his chin sharply to wordlessly order them to leave the room. As they left, Kid turned back towards you and crawled up onto the bed. 

“You are more of a pain in the ass than that fucking bullet to the buttcheek,” he growled, climbing over you and baring down his weight onto your smaller frame. Straddling your thighs, he placed his knees on your open palms and successfully pinned you beneath him. He pressed his forearm over your chest and gave you a firm shove to force you to lay down. You had no choice but to thump your head back into the plush pillow behind your head. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you clench your jaw and growl behind your lips. The rumble in your throat hurt the raw swell in your jugular, but you pushed past it to air your frustrations at him regardless. The chuckle from your captain above you only served to propel your anger to rise higher. 

“Yeah, yeah. Growl and groan all you want,” he scoffed at you, pinning your chest with his bicep while reaching his hand between you and gathering the blankets in his fist. Slowly raising it up, he continued his place straddling your thighs until he thought you would no longer fight him. 

“Why are you doing this, Captain?” you snarl at him, finally opening your eyes to gaze up into his eyes. He smirked at you in response, pressing his palm to your forehead and clicking his tongue at the temperature. 

“Because,” he leaned over to the bedside, taking two small spherical tablets into his hand, “We love you, Doc.” He leaned back over you, gesturing with his chin for you to part your lips. You take a moment to snarl at him before complying, parting your lips and allowing him to place the bitter tablets on your tongue. 

He leaned back over to the bedside, finding a glass of water and bringing it down to your lips. Tilting the glass slowly as it brushed with your bottom lip, he carefully fed you a sip of water to take the pills with. Placing the glass back over on the table, he drew his attention to the small amount of water seeping from the corner of your lip.

“Now, be a good Doctor and get loved on, idiot,” he softly huffed, his voice low and husky as he leaned forward. He used the pad of his thumb to gently collect the spill of water from the corner of your lips. Your eyes never ceased its glare up at him. He grinned tauntingly down at you, arching his brow and ensuring you swallowed the tablets. 

“Get off, Captain,” you growled at him, bucking your hips up in an attempt to remove him from your body. He cackled his rumbled laugh down at you in response, shaking his head. 

“You gonna get up again if I do?” he asked, leaning down and caressing your cheek in a gentle stroke. His eyes held nothing but mischievous mockery, but his hand felt like it was gently coaxing you to comply with what he asked. 

“No, I’ll behave,” you snarled at him. His laugh was genuine this time, low and gentle. Slowly backing off you, he slid off your body before adjusting the sheets and smoothing them over. 

“Good,” he nodded, beginning to leave the room by the door off to the side of the room. Halting at the door, he fought with himself for a moment before looking at you over his shoulder and uttering, “I’ll-… I’ll get Kil to check on you in a few hours. Get some rest, okay?”

What he said next was something you weren’t expecting to come from his lips. In all the time you served with him, he only ever called you ‘Doc’, or ‘Doctor.’ You were your title, and you appreciated that about the crew. You were Doc, only ever Doc. But what he said changed all that.

After he uttered the word “okay,” it was immediately followed by your name. Waiting a few moments, you responded in a cadence just above a whisper. 

“I’ll be right where you left me, Kid,” you replied with a soft smile back at him. He closed his eyes, offering you a reflection of your smile in return before it grew back into its usual mischievous face. 

“Good,” he again offered you, scrunching his nose up at you and looking up through his red eyelashes at you, “Otherwise I would’ve gotten your doting daddy to come coddle his whiny baby.” Your eyes went wide, your jaw clenching and your eyebrows shot up to your hairline. 

Eustass Kid just laughed in response, exiting the room and giving you both the time and space you needed to recover. Your recovery was not only the flu, but of the second hand embarrassment that Killer must’ve relayed to Kid what he’d said to you in the consultation room. Either that, or you left the shell of your Den-Den accidentally activated from when you spoke with your captain earlier in the day.

Either way, you pouted as you did as you were told and huffed back into your bed and went to sleep: the paracetamol activating and stilling your swelling head and masking the undertones of pain in your body.

#one piece #x reader #ask snail #snail answers #eustass kid #kid pirates #op kid #kid x reader #op kid x reader #one piece x reader #gn!reader #one piece x platonic!reader #eustass kid x reader #subtle killer x reader #killer x reader #one piece kid x reader

[stqrgir1e]

lucky simon riley!!!!

simon is such a lucky man to have such a sweet girl like you!! this was longer but tumblr ate it so i cried and gave up

mentions of . . . p!in!v, lovie, darling (lots of petnames) used, afab reader, age gap implied, husband!simon. :p requests always open!

"such a dirty fuckin' cunt on my sweet girl, aye? all wet f'me already..." simon groaned while sliding his thick index finger over the wet spot of your lacy pink panties. his plush bottom lip was tucked under his top teeth, deep brown eyes scanning over your drenched folds like it was the most irresistible thing he had ever seen in all his time on earth. it was something he often came to realize when in moments like this, when your knees were pressed against your perky tits, lips agape as pleas for his touch escaped your mouth. he was so lucky to have such a sweet girl like you, a girl that would let him have his fantasies and play time with zero complaints. of course, simon always promised to return the favor, he was a man of his word.

you whine lewdly, hands holding onto the backs of your thighs to give your gorgeous husband simon the best possible view of your pussy. he deserved it after all, being away from you for oh so long. he needed your pussy just as much as you needed to be stuffed full of his girthy cock. the thought alone had your pussy gushing, panties clad to your sticky cunny. "p-please Si, gonna be so good for you," you make the soft promise to simon in a low whisper, mind too fogged over with pleasure to even form a coherent thought it seemed. the rough heel of his hand pressed into your mound, clit rubbing against the rough fabric so so sweetly.

"yea? y'gonna be a good fuckin' girl f'me t'night?" he questioned tauntingly, words falling past in lips in a mocking manner as he ate up the sight of you squirming pathetically. you bucked your hips into his hand further, simon only chuckling deeply in return. you gazed up at him with wide doe like eyes, the throb of your clit almost unbearable as your body pleaded for more and more form the burly british man towering above. "y-yes!" you spoke quickly, mouth working faster than your brain as one of your hands releases your thigh to grip his wrist. you tried to move his scarred hand, tried to make him rub against your cunt just a little bit, but it was no use.

"gonna need more than that lovie..." he leaned down to groan in your ear, teeth grazing against the fleshy lobe before leaning back to stare down at you once more. your petite hand trying to move his wrist made his heart swell, a sweet yet humorous sight that made his cock stir in the restraints of his jeans. he watched as your lips parted once more to release a high pitched moan, neediness reflected back at him through your eyes and he knew what you needed. he just wasn't sure if you were ready for it yet.

"g-gonna be so good for you Si, make you feel so good, let ya' cum deeeep in me baby..." you rambled on while raking your manicured nails along his forearm. your legs were spread, pussy still covered by dainty pink lace that simon eyed more intently with your words. his rough hands moved quickly, fingers slipping under the thin fabric before tearing it as if it was thin tissue paper. the action makes you arch your back, head turning to look down at simon with a look of astonishment on your face.

"be careful what ya' wish for sweet girl..." he grumbles deeply while tossing the torn fabric onto your bedroom floor. it would be added to the various ruined pairs simon liked to keep for his private times. the times when you were away with friends, or too busy with work to come worship your husbands meaty cock. he could go to his little stash of torn fabric and pairs ruined by public-play that simon never wanted to forget. he would wrap the soft fabric around his aching cock, stroke it slowly while allowing his fantasies of his wife to play in his head like a major motion picture. or if he was feeling a bit more filthy he would inhale the sweet scent of you on the fabric, coming all over his toned stomach to the thought of his face buried in your sweet heat. he didn't have to imagine though, here you were on full display for him. he was going to soak up every moment, not letting any of your sweet attention go to waste.

"oh fuckin' hell lovie, look a' that..." he spoke tauntingly while sliding his calloused middle finger through your drenched folds. he collected all your sweetness on his digit before bringing it to his lips to suck it clean of your essence. he would never get sick of the delicious taste of you dancing on his tongue, bitter sweet juice making his cock twitch and twist. "a-all f'you Si," you let out the words with a breathy sigh, hands gripped onto his broad shoulders to brace yourself for whatever simon had in mind for tonight.

what you weren't expecting? for him to wrap his massive hands around your waist, flipping you onto your stomach with ease before landing a playful slap to your round ass. "c'mom sweet stuff, ass up," he spoke with a light chuckle, like the words were such a casual thing for him to say. you whine with compliance, hips raising to put your tight ass and gushing cunny on full display for him once more. the cool air nipped at your most sensitive parts, perky nipple grazing against the sheets.

"gonna make me yours, baby?" you tease back, words as sweet and smooth as honey while you wiggled your hips. he soaked up your sweet voice, gripping your hips roughly and pressing his jean covered cock against your ass. "feel tha' darling? tha's all for you, y'sweet pussy's gonna take it s'so well," he grunted lowly in your ear, jerking his hips against your ass once more. he wanted his need for you to be recuperated, for him to feel the sheer desire that oozed out of you. your pussy said more than your mouth did though, wetness drenching the supple skin and dripping onto your puffy clit. simon toyed at the swollen nub with a shit-eating grin on his lips, getting sick pleasure out of the way your body squirmed under his massive frame.

"c'mon baby doll, you know how bad i need that cunt of yours," the words were dirty, filthy even. they rang in your ears like loud booming bass, and made your heart pound against your chest like a drum. you aimlessly reach your hand back, trying to grab at his belt loop but only slapping at his jean clad thigh pathetically. your head swirled around in a melted mess of pleasure, you were like play-doh in simons hands. he chuckled darkly at your pathetic attempt, your dainty hands clawing at his jeans like they were the worst barrier between them.

“use your words, darling…” simon growled lowly, leaning down so his lips grazed the shell of your ear. his massive hand kneaded your ass like it was just a play thing for him, rough skin melting into soft flesh as if it was such a soothing action. you push your face into the pillow, eyes screwed shut out of frustration and desire. you lower your hand, sighing in your own personal defeat before turning your face to look at simon with wide twinkling eyes. “need it so bad, Si, wanna see your p-pretty cock, baby…” you mutter pathetically, feeling your wetness drip down your thighs as a shade of pink adorns your cheeks. simon cocked an eyebrow, grabbing your face in his calloused hand while squishing your cheeks playfully in the process. “how’d i get so fuckin’ lucky with you, eh?” he huffed with a throaty laugh, leaning back to begin removing his belt at the slowest pace he could handle. you weakly giggle in return, taking a moment to catch your breath before preparing to be stuffed full of your husbands thick monstrous length.

the size never failed to astonish you, a good 8.5 inches when hard, uncut with a peachy pink tip that oozed mouth watering precum. it was like a sacred item to you- embarrassing? very. simon loved poking fun at the way you would ogle at his dick whenever it was bobbing in front of you.

simon let his belt rest discarded on the side of the bed, his hands quickly removing his jeans revealing the large tent in his navy blue briefs. you cranked your head once more, mouth agape when you saw his heavy balls sway with each movement. his briefs were gone in a flash, discarded onto the bedroom floor along with your torn panties and bra from earlier. garments of clothing only intimate enough for both of you to see in private. “so hard for me, hmph?” if there’s one thing you adored, it was dirty talk. simon always took note that no matter how fucked out and dazed his pretty little wife was- her filthy mouth would never fail to amaze him. simon grunted, wrapping his hand around the thick base before smearing precum over your cunt and ass, the sticky feeling making you squeeze your thighs together.

“fuck lovie, y’keep talkin’ so much and we’re gonna have a problem…” he spoke lowly, voice deep and gravely as his hands expertly spread your ass cheeks before he lands a thick glob of spit on your cunny. it mixed with your wetness, trailing down to your clit as simon soaked in the lewd sight. really, how did he ever get so lucky?

you felt his tip prod at your entrance, anticipation soaring through your body as your try to push back onto his cock. simon was quick to stop you though, large hands halting your movement with a iron grip on your hips. a series of whines and pants leaves your lips, incoherent pleas for touch from him. “p-please simon, i’ll shut up, i-i’ll be good!” you plea in return, trying to gain his approvel for whatever it was your body cried out for- his touch, his voice, or just overall pleasure.

you’ll never get sick of that mocking chuckle he always lets out whenever he was pleased with what you were saying. the way his thick cock twitched ever so slightly inside of your sopping cunt, it was a dead giveaway. he groans while slowly inching into your tight warm heat further and further. you squeeze around his thick cock, pushing your face into the plush pillow further to stifle the burn of tears in your eyes. the stretch and pain was pleasurable- a pain that meant something very good was to come- quite literally. “fuuuck, takin’ me so well yea? i knew ya would…” he grunted while allowing his head to fall back, basking in the warmth of your cunny embracing him.

his cock was halfway in as he stood achingly still behind you. your breath was ragged, back arched in a such a elegant manner that simon wanted to take a picture and hang it up in his office later. this sight was only for him though, something that only was saved for his eyes. “m-more… more Si,” your words were muffled by the pillow, but simon could make out every word of your melodic like voice. his palm rested on your lower back, thumb rubbing soothing circles as he pushed further into you. eventually he bottomed out, thick cock buried deep in your drenched pussy. his plush lips were parted, a groan escaping them as his other hand instinctively grabs your neck. he leans down close to your neck, licking from your collarbone up to your jaw before whispering lowly, “up darling.” the words were low and demanding sending waves of warmth to your poor cunny. of course you complied, allowing him to pull you back against his muscular chest.

he moved at a painfully slow pace at first, one hand on your waist, the other loosley resting around your neck. you whimpered and moaned, a sweet combination of sounds that made simon pick up the pace a bit. the sloppy thrusts simon inflicted on your poor pussy made your body squirm and writh, pussy squeezing his fat cock so sweetly. you cried out, the sweet intrusion sending waves of ecstasy from your tummy to the tips of your fingers and toes. simon was in awe at the way you reacted to his touch, such a sweet girl for such a brute man. "fuckin' aye lovie... howd i get so bloody lucky, hm?" you were in fo suuuuch a long night ): ) : ) :

#cod headcanons #cod smut #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod imagine #cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut

[whorediaries-09]

hi lovie, me again, an anon (not so anon) James' lover. I loved your writing for the celebration, thank u, love.

so that's why I'm here again, asking, begging, imploring for a blurb, Fireman! or Policeman! James x baker! reader, something like reader's muffins burned a little sooo the smoke turned on the smoke detector.

postscript, James was already head over heels for reader and her muffins :)

oh my thank you so much love! i love it when people request for something and when i write it out they actually tell me whether they liked it or not. also please keep sending in your requests, i love your ideas!!

you're in love;

pairing- policeman!james potter x baker!reader warning(s)- fluff, james being an adorable idiot. (let me know if i should add more.) a/n- i say this again, please keep sending in your ideas, who ever you are lovely anon, i love your ideas!! i literally had so much fun writing this.

' you two are dancing in a snow globe, 'round and 'round and he keeps the picture of you in his office downtown. '

james mouth is full of the rich chocolate muffin he stuffs into his mouth. it's buttery, soft and crunchy? it's a chocolate almond muffin he realizes as he takes another big bite. oh no, he doesn't like those. but somehow, he chews on. in his imagination, you're feeding him the muffin with your hands, a sweet shy smile on your face. he imagines then licking off the melted chocolate off your fingers, from the overdose of chocolate chips in your delicious muffins.

you're a great baker, he decides when he swallows the muffin. to be able to make the james fleamont potter eat almond muffins was tough work, for he doesn't like too much texture variation in his food. but somehow you manage to balance it out just right.

you're a great thief too, he decides. an oblivious one, though. perhaps the 'friendly' winks or the constant writing of his number on tissue papers or the nicknames did nothing more make you blush and laugh.

he loved your saccharine laughter. it reminded him of the muffins you baked. he loved the subtle blush on your cheeks. it reminded him of the jam cookies from your bakery which had been a hit during the valentine's week. he loved the crinkle of your skin beside your mouth and eyes when you smiled or laughed. it reminded him of the soft buttery croissants that you'd so beautifully crafted to bake them with the perfect texture and taste.

he watches the a butterfly flap it's wings, flutter in the sky. the sunshine reflects on the spots of it's beautiful wings just right. it feels him with a warm comfortingly fuzzy feeling soothing him. he loves it. it reminds him of the time he'd seen you smile for the first time, and felt his heart soar.

james is distracted from his thoughts when his walkie talkie beeps, grabbing his attention. he slides it out from his back pocket, brushing his muffin crumb covered fingers onto his pants. he holds it up to his ears, listening to the speaker.

'attention, officer james. smoke alarm detected in batter and crumbs. please take your team as quickly as possible.'

he doesn't listen further, running towards the bakery. it's probably unsafe, his brain says, but his heart beats otherwise, at the aspect of you stuck like a damsel in distress within a cloud of smoke and the ferocious flames of fires.

he opens the door of the bakery, entering in a rush, his shoes chafing over the polishes tiles as he rushes, runs and jumps into the kitchen. anything but a normal walk.

when he reaches the kitchen, he finds you bent over towards the microwave, smoke sizzling out the oven. his brain doesn't register the fact that there's no fire in sight, when he pulls you by your waist, steering you away from the smoking oven. you carry a burnt muffin tray in your hands, and hit the intruder's head with it.

it's hot and thus, it burns his forehead. he screams, letting go of your fighting body. he massages the burnt spot, and when the realization dawns upon you, you're quick to to run to the freezer and bring him ice.

you wrap it up in your apron, avoiding direct contact from the ice to his burn, and making him sit down on one of the chairs, you slowly place the ice. his fingers clench into his thigh, and he hisses at the contrast of feelings on his nerves.

'fuck, mr. potter, i'm so sorry,' you mutter sheepishly, slowly rubbing the ice on the burn, trying to soothe the burn. he doesn't say anything. and even though feel scared, you look at his face, searching for any signs of anger. oh why did you hit him! you just lost the hot regular who you had come to good terms with and who you had a crush on-

not a sign of anger to be found on his expression. all you saw was a dopey grin and red tinted cheeks underneath the dusk of his skin. oh.

'i-i'm sorry?' you said again, though it came out more of a question. he grins even wider, looking into your eyes. for a minute you think he's drunk, but he's a policeman on duty so...

'it's okay,' he whispers. 'heart-thief' remains silent as you stand in front of him, letting the ice soothe his burn.

for what the man seems so jolly for remains a mystery until a a few years later you're cuddled up to him watching a silly sitcom and laughing when he confesses out of the blue it was because you were so closer to him... and also because your breasts were directly in front of his hungry eyes.

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taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

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#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter smut #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #marauders #harry potter fanfiction #the marauders #james potter #james #james potter x y/n #marauders era #james potter x you #dead gay wizards #the marauders era

[candycandy00]

Forest Guide - A Toji x Reader Fanfic

Smut. 18+. Toji x Fem Reader. Rough sex. Virgin reader. Size difference. Breeding. Monster fucking. Non-con! Dividers by @benkeibear!

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Any feedback whatsoever would be adored! For @idk1375.

When you heard the rumors of a werewolf stalking the woods in the next town over, you figured it would be a great topic for your supernatural themed podcast. So you packed up your gear and headed on over. You put a post on a local forum asking for a guide to take you into the forest, explaining that you were investigating the werewolf rumors, and a man named Toji volunteered. He didn’t even ask to be paid. 

So now you find yourself standing in front of the man as he introduces himself. The first thing you notice is that he’s huge, so much taller than you that you have to crane your neck to look up at his face. He’s ruggedly handsome, with dark hair and the kind of physique men spend years in the gym trying to obtain. All of this combined with his deep voice makes him the kind of man you want to call “Daddy”.

You follow him into the woods, thinking to yourself that he could probably fight off a werewolf with his bare hands. He makes friendly conversation along the way, telling you about some of the rumors you’ve heard, but seeming to have more information about each incident than you read online. Probably because he’s a local. 

He leads you so deeply into the forest that the sun is almost completely blotted out by the trees, making it seem much later and darker than it actually is. It looks like night has fallen, though you know it’s only the afternoon. 

Toji stops in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by towering trees, and turns to look at you. 

“This is the werewolf’s favorite spot to take his victims and feed,” he tells you, a lazy smile on his lips. 

Huh? How does he know that? Wait…

You turn to run back out the way you came, not wanting to wait and find out if your terrible assumption is correct. Either he’s a serial killer pretending to be a werewolf, or…

An ear splitting howl assaults your ears as you reach the tree line, and you hear the sound of fabric ripping. You can’t resist. Two years of running a podcast dedicated to exactly this sort of thing has made you too curious, so you find yourself looking back, even though the logical part of your brain is telling you not to. 

Charging straight for you is Toji, his shirt completely ripped off and his pants shredded. He’s at least nine feet tall now, and the outer edges of his body are covered in a thin layer of black shiny fur. His chest and abdomen, trailing down until his pants cover the rest, are bare, like the reverse of a normal hairy man. 

He catches you in an instant, forcing you to the forest floor on your back, the claws on his hands digging into your shoulders and drawing blood. He leans over you, and you can see that his face has remained nearly unchanged, except for glowing red eyes and a full set of razor sharp teeth.

“You were lookin’ for a werewolf,” he says, his voice even deeper than before, “well you found one, girlie!”

You shriek in terror, thrashing about wildly beneath him. But it’s no use. He’s far too big, too heavy, too strong, for you to budge even an inch. 

“Please don’t kill me!” you cry pitifully, tears streaming down your face as your body goes limp. 

He grins, showing off his teeth. “Now why would I do that to a cute little thing like you?”

With that, he rips off your T-shirt with one swipe, as if it’s made of tissue paper. Next go your shorts, and even your panties, leaving you stunned and completely exposed. 

You scream again, clamping your legs shut, a renewed vigor in your struggle as you realize what he intends to do. 

“I could smell it on you the moment we met,” he says, pinning your bare arms above your head. “You’re untouched by a man.”

You freeze, your eyes widening and your skin burning with embarrassment. He knows you’re a virgin, from scent alone?

He draws back slightly and lets his red eyes roam over your nude body, settling on the spot you’re trying to hard to protect with your pressed thighs. 

“I could smell something else too,” he adds, a low rumbling chuckle escaping his wide mouth. 

He leaves one large hand to hold your wrists together, and lets the other slide down, effortlessly parting your thighs despite your best efforts to keep them closed. You flinch as you feel a clawed finger glide up your slit, then he holds the finger up so that you can see the sticky, glistening fluid dripping off it. 

“I could smell this.”

You close your eyes and turn your face away, too humiliated and horrified to look at him. But he grips your face and turns it back to him. “Don’t go closin’ your eyes, girlie. You’ll wanna see what’s coming.”

You open your eyes and watch, petrified, as he rips the shredded remains of his pants off. And there, between his muscular, fur-covered legs, is a gigantic erection. You’ve heard the term “monster cock” before, but you never imagined even a real, literal monster cock would be this huge. You scream, trying again to close your legs, but he’s already positioned himself between them. 

“Please, no! That thing will kill me!”

He leans his face down close to yours. “I think you can take it,” he says. Then he closes his mouth over yours, plunging his tongue into you, just as he shoves his entire, giant cock into your virgin pussy. 

You scream into his mouth, the sound muffled by his lips, as your body jerks with pain. He gives a few deep, ripping thrusts before he breaks the kiss, grinning down at your sobbing face. “Don’t pass out,” he tells you as your vision starts to go fuzzy. He releases your wrists, knowing there’s nothing you can do regardless, and slowly rakes his claws down your chest. It’s not enough pressure to draw blood, but enough to make you snap to attention at the possibility. 

He fucks into you, so hard and deep that you have no idea how you’re still alive and not bleeding out. He watches your face, making sure you’re awake and aware, eventually moving one hand down to where your bodies meet. Again, you feel a clawed finger in your slick folds, but this time he finds your clit, stroking it and then gently scraping his claw across it. 

You jolt, the unexpected pleasure hitting you like a truck. And then his mouth is on yours again, absorbing the pitiful moans you can’t suppress. 

When you cum, even you are shocked, staring up at him with a stunned, tear-streaked face as your body trembles. 

He laughs again. “Look at you! Cummin’ on my cock even though it’s your first time gettin’ fucked! This little pussy feels so good, I might just put a pup in you!”

You shake your head frantically. “No no no!”

But it’s too late. He shoves in as deeply as he can, and you feel his thick, hot cum filling your womb all the way up. 

He stays that way, buried completely inside you, until he’s sure he’s emptied himself. Then he pulls out. You look down, see that his cock is covered in blood and cum, and you fall back against the ground, exhausted. 

He stands up, and as he does so, reverts to his handsome human form. “If you survive, I’m gonna make you my bride,” he says. You don’t have the energy to respond. He bends down and picks your sore, twitching body up from the ground. “But first, let me take you back to my place and lick your wounds.”

Heat floods your face at those words. You reflexively curl against his strong chest, wondering if you’re now living a nightmare, or a dream. 

#toji x reader #Toji #fushiguro toji #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #x reader #candys2kevent

[phoneuserhana333]

.°˖✧ part 2/3: neighbor!doctor!abby / neighbor!producer!reader headcanons .°˖✧

tags: NSFW!!!, sick!reader, mention of nausea and illness, hand on throat, cliffhanger, ellie appears.

i acc hate how this part turned out :( i hope it’s somewhat enjoyable, barely proofread</3 sorry :((((

PART1 — PART2 — NSFWHC — N(SFW)HC

• you successfully forced abby into a temporary truce. sort of. falling sick and losing your voice, motivation and strength left you low on groceries and medication. so you opted to sleep through the nauseating headaches and eat oatmeal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. it was bad bad.

• so bad, in fact, that you sought out abby’s help. sure, she was a seemingly pretentious, stuck up ER nurse with a mean streak and a hatred for anything fun, but she had the medical knowledge you desperately needed to get back on your feet. plus, she definitely had pain relief medication lying around her house.

• this lead to a strange deal to form between abby and you; nurse anderson agreed to get food and medicine and deliver it to you until you got better, in exchange for three weeks of peace and quiet. hesitant, but desperate, you agreed. this was a huge win for abby. all she wanted was you to be quiet, after all.

• on the first day of your deal, you didn’t let abby come inside, claiming that you were quarantining and demanding she leaves the tote bags full of groceries outside. you barely managed to pull them into your home and the heaviness made you break a sweat, causing your fever to worsen. you texted abby that you were feeling worse and she managed to convice you to come over tomorrow after work for a check up.

• the day after, a defeated patient greeted abby at the door, avoiding her questioning gaze. she sighed and entered your home with a smaller bag filled with medicine and her briefcase with equipment that her dad gifted her. abby was a keeping her side of the deal to a t, she was determined to get on your good side, hoping you’d tune your partying and constant noisiness down for good.

• upon entering your home, the blonde was stunned. bookshelves, a grand piano, papers everywhere, even a chess board. you were smarter than she gave you credit for. the woman let you lead her to your bedroom where the air was thicker and the blinds were pulled down, hiding a bed full of tissues and forgotten mugs in the dark. fuck, her condition might be worse than i thought, abby thought to herself as she stared at your messy floral sheets, or she’s lazy, which might be even worse.

• abby checked you with the care of someone who has been in the medical field for decades, taking her time with you. your temperature was high and you were shivering, claiming to be cold while burning up. abby telling you to pull your shirt up wasn’t helping your trembling state either.

“take me on a date first, w-why dontcha?”

“sorry, y/n. i don’t date neighborhood brats.”

• you pout, too tired to argue, jumping when you feel the freezing stethoscope abby placed against your bare back.

“ow, ow, ow- abby what the hell?! s’cold!”

“god, you’re such a crybaby! here-“

• abby pulled away and warmed the metal with her hot breath, rolling her eyes as she did. your pitiful appearance was only surface level, a cruel reminder to abby that you weren’t a doe-eyed, helpless girl next door she got to take care of and feed soup, much to her disappointment. her cute little face is hiding a literal devil, abby muses, listening to your irregular heartbeat.

• what abby wasn’t aware of however, was how often she thought of you as cute. it was always- “that cute brat”, “…kind of endearing if she wasn’t so annoying” or even “a handful”, complaining to manny on the phone with her darkened eyes glued to your ass, watching as you rushed past her home to catch a train. abby was getting lost in thought, her brain full of aforementioned handfulls and soft plump skin and maybe even her landing a rough spank on- fuck. no. that was wrong.

• … right?

• you, on the other hand, were wide eyed and choking on words. abby placed her warm hand on the small of your back, forcing you to straighten up. she was moving the chest piece around, occasionally telling you to breathe deeper, in a voice that your hazy mind registered as surprisingly hot.

• what really made your heartbeat skip, was her thumb rubbing your back, tracing the elastic waistband of your pajama pants and then slipping underneath to explore the hidden skin. was abby aware she was doing this?! why weren’t you saying anything?!

• … why did it feel so good?

• abby pulled your shirt down, packing away her equipment as she started to speak, offering you a final diagnosis (“you’re so dramatic, it’s just a cold”). the blonde was peeking at your shaking form from the corner of her eye, watching you pick up your tissues and mugs, trembling with barely open eyes. it may be just a cold, but you were obviously drained.

“… ugh. lay down, okay? i’ll take these downstairs.”

• abby rolled her eyes and took over cleaning up your cups. she ignored your protests as she walked downstairs to your kitchen to rinse your dirty dishes in the sink and get your dishwasher started. when she looked up, she saw a few photos on the cupboard above the sink, memories of you and your friends.

• on the one in the middle, you were hugging two girls, playfully kissing one on the cheek, caught mid laugh. her gaze softens. you were a good friend. but a horrible neighbor. for a second, abby lets herself get lost in her head, her eyes staring at the polaroids, unblinking.

• the next few days went by quickly with daily visits from abby. you started to get better, taking it easy and trying to cough quietly as to not bother your neighbor. abby was tired; december was coming up and she was unsure of her plans for the holidays. work was becoming more stressful and the ER was full of people- well, more than usual.

• abby stopped visiting as frequently when she noticed you were getting better, instead sending you wave and tell you off for not cleaning snow off your doorway or wearing a jacket she deemed to be too thin.

• until she stopped acknowledging you altogether. abby was purposefully ignoring you and you just couldn’t find out why. you were used to her eyes following you around, guarding you in some way, like some weird nurse-angel. why was she slowly becoming a ghost you could barely catch a glimpse of? had you done something wrong?

• instead of simply confronting abby, you chose to ignore her back, sending cold looks towards her whenever you crossed paths on the sidewalk. abby, on the other hand, would blush, thinking about how she saw you in only your tiny maroon panties a week ago, naked and on display in your window. since then, she couldn’t look at you, scared that you’d somehow find out that you were the reason she’s been moaning at night the past few days. seeing you on the street would make abby shut eyes shut tightly, fighting her mind as it conjured the image of your pussy and your hard nipples hidden by lacy curtains on a cold december night.

• one thing lead to another, and both of you ended up alone on christmas eve. abby swore she was just going to check on you, see if you were alright. the sight of you with puffy eyes and pouty lips, wrapped in a festive blanket made abby feel fuzzy. before she knew it, she invited you over.

• emotions running high and a somewhat romantic candlelit dinner resulted in you falling into abigail anderson’s bed. she fucked you until morning came, overstimulating you into oblivion and not letting you go until she was satisfied. and after that, she made you hot cocoa.

• despite pretending to be nonchalant, you were a goner. abby had wrapped her hand around your neck and reached down your throat to squeeze your heart. you wanted abby to be yours so bad.

• abby, however, was still hesitant to commit to you. you were the best sex she’s ever had in her life, your hot mouth and tight cunt left her aching for days after, running home to you every night after work, but did she like-like you? what if you didn’t like her back? abby was used to being non-committal, so why was she so enamored with the idea of sharing her life with you?

• this inner turmoil didn’t stop abby from eating you out on your counter top, fingerfucking you while taking a bath together, letting you grind against her thigh in her bedroom.

• god, why was everything so intimate all of a sudden? abby ground you harshly on her chiseled leg, moving your hips with force and pulling a nipple, anything just to hear you whine. with your forehead pressed against hers, you whispered “please, abby. need you-“ and she was gone. her pace quickened as she moaned “good girl, goooood girl…” over and over again. you truly were the best girl ever, abby thought, as you rode out your high on her, now wet, leg.

• sex this heavenly landed abby in your house on new years eve, attending one of your infamous (and unexpectedly fun) parties. she met your friends, dina and jesse. and… ellie. she recognized the two women- they were on one of the polaroids in your kitchen, ellie was the girl who’s cheek you were kissing.

• ellie was too close to you for abby’s liking, touching your back and brushing a finger against your lips after you took a shot of tequila. why was she telling you to “take it easy, babe”, why was she calling you babe? abby felt her blood boil as she rolled her eyes at the overly flirty tone ellie used, taking a sip of her favorite wine you made sure to get just for her.

• just when abby thought that it couldn’t get worse, ellie tried to make a move on you.

“so, y/n. any-uh, plans on who you’ll kiss tonight?”

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #tlou #wlw #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #abby the last of us #tlou x reader #abby tlou #abby anderson headcanons #abby anderson x female reader #abigail anderson

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Scratches in the Surface

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader 

Synopsis: Investigating Shepherd was a mistake, but the betrayal of John Price hurt more than anything Shadow Company could do to you.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Talks of gore, torture, violence, swearing, blood, angst

A/N: Not really sure if I like this or not, but the idea was good so I kept it. Your codename in this is ‘Key.’ Part 2

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The buzzing lights above you were going to drive you insane faster than the damn clicking of the man’s pen, but you endured the overstimulation of your brain with an expression of boredom. 

Click, click-clack, click,

God, You clench your teeth together, either stop that, or I’m going to– 

When you go to move your hands over the metal table, the cuffs around your wrists shriek as they slide. The man in front of you pauses, looking up from his file, the manila folder sitting tantalizingly close; your fingers curl over the paper cup to your right, grabbing it and dragging it to your lips. 

As you sip the stale water, your eyes bore into the CIA Agent over the rim, unblinking and dead. Feeling the liquid travel down your throat and hit hard into your empty stomach, you watch the man tense in his seat, his eyes averting from your own quickly like you were a blazing fire. Suppressing a smirk, the man clears his throat.

You place the cup down delicately, leaving a small amount of water behind, right as the door behind the man opens loudly, creaking on its hinges and making you cringe.

Your gaze snaps to the familiar head of blonde hair that belongs to Kate Laswell, her stone-cold face more wrinkled since the last time you had seen her. The woman walks through the door, and the Agent gets to his feet quickly, leaving the file on the table.

“Ma’am,” He says, holding onto the back of the chair as he turns to face Laswell, “She hasn’t said anything since she arrived.”

“Thank you, Moore. I’ll take it from here,” Kate sighs deeply, her white dress shirt and black pants swishing as the air conditioning comes on. The lanyard around her neck makes a slight clinking noise as her name card jumps with her steps. 

You tilt your head as far as the bandages around your neck allow, feeling the stitches on your throat pull painfully; you hoped your former friend could see the blood already staining the gauze. 

The man leaves with clacking shoes, taking the godforsaken pen with him, and Laswell takes his seat. You couldn’t help but compare the scene to a transaction – you being the package thrown between unwilling participants. Not that you cared. The aches and pains in your body demanded retribution; you were more scar tissue now than skin. 

The silence between the two of you is thick, eyes clashing in a mute battle of wills you know you’ll win. You’d had four years to squelch every ounce of weakness from your body – waiting, praying, for this moment. 

Just as you imagined, Laswell breaks first.

“I never knew that Shepherd was capable of doing what he did,” Her hair collects in a bun at the base of her neck, and her bangs caress her forehead. The Agent’s style hadn’t changed, at least, “When you told me that I should–”

Kate stops mid-sentence. 

You watch her gaze fall to your arms on the table and your fingers twitch. 

Frowning, you suppose the widening of her eyes was about all the reaction you would get out of her; the one second of horror that sweeps Laswell’s eyes before the practiced calm resettles like mud in the water. But the satisfaction you garner is unparalleled. 

“You ever been thrown into a tub full of glass, Kate,” Laswell flinches at the gravel in your throat, vocal cords ripping with every word, “It’s not that bad if you don’t move so much,” You smirk, letting the dry skin on your lips break open, “Kinda hard, though, when you have a million little knives digging into your flesh.” 

“I didn’t…” Kate closes her eyes and sucks in a breath, looking away from the mangled remains of the skin of your arms, the more significant cuts starting at your elbow that jaggedly run down your forearm. Those ones weren't made by glass, but you didn’t tell the woman that. 

Let her squirm, You pick up your paper cup, grasping the rim and the hard wire hidden in the fold, It’s been a long time since I had that effect on anyone. I want to get my edge back. I need my edge back.

Kate continues her previous sentence, placing her hands on top of the folder on the table and clenching them together. You bring the cup to your lips, sipping down the last few drops before letting your bound hands fall once more. You rest them on your lap and fiddle with the cup, shifting your shoulders to relieve the tension that sits there.

“I didn’t believe you at the time about Shepherd, Key, and that was my biggest mistake. I led an investigation the second you went missing but as far as everyone was concerned you had disappeared off the face of the earth. We had no leads, no information, and no trace,” She sighs, “You have to believe me when I say we did everything that we could too–”

“We?” You scoff, “We? You’re saying you had Price working on this?” You spit out the name as venom leaks from your tone; leaning forward you see shadows move from the corner of your eye. 

You had nearly forgotten the glass window to your right, no doubt the multiple shadows barely seen behind the one-way were faces you had prayed to come and save you for all that time in the facility. You knew Price’s outline when you saw it – bulkier than the rest, large shoulders, and the bulge around his head because of that damn black beanie. The fidgeting was a new tick, though. Then again, it had been years. Maybe you had never really known him at all. 

You blink, stuffing away that fact with a pounding heart. 

Calm down, you growl to yourself, You’re in control. You…You are fucking in control. Don’t think about John Price. 

“...That’s really cute. Do you want a medal? A pat on the back?” You grunt and shut down the conversation, noticing you’ve been crushing the cup in your grip under the table, the object shaking from the force of your fingers. Leaning back, you take in a slow breath, “It never really added to much, did it?”

To anyone besides Kate Laswell and John Price, no one would have noticed your sanity fraying at the seams inside your pounding brain. Licking your tongue over your teeth your eyes stay locked with Laswell’s as you feel panic build.

It’s a long time before the woman speaks again. She utters your real name under her breath.

“We tried everything to find you. But as I got sucked more and more into Shepherd’s world, allegations started to gain validity, and the news of your death–”

“And all it took was him losing three American missiles and his little Shadow Company friends killing more than half a city in Mexico?” You force out a chuckle, your white hospital t-shirt uncomfortable over the mass amounts of bandages digging into your skin. Kate brings a hand to her temple, rubbing it with shaking hands, “Yeah,” You deadpan, “They told me about that.”

“Do…Do you know anything about where he might be?”

“Shepherd?” You sputter out a harsh laugh that leaves Laswell swallowing, “what, do you think I’m the center of the gossip ring? They kept me in a fucking dark room for days at a time. The only thing I heard was the rats eating the corpses in the corner and the sound of my blood hitting the drain basin.” 

You rose your right hand as far as the cuffs would allow and pointed your thump at the one-way glass, “Until your Toy Soldiers broke me out, that is.”

“Key,” Kate shakes her head and you know what bullshit she’s about to spill, “I can’t imagine what you went through for all those years. If we knew you were still alive I know Price and I would have–”

You tune out whatever Laswell says, fingers fidgeting under the table as you turn your head and itch the thin bandage over your chin with your shoulder, feeling stitches break open. The Ac unit was so damn loud, and that stupid buzzing of the lights. 

Fuck, everything’s just too loud, You begin to bite on the skin of your bottom lip, peeling back the flesh until you feel blood dribble down. 

Laswell calls your name, and you narrowly suppress a flinch, your eyes flickering closed before snapping back to the woman. You release your lip silently and live with the pain that breeds. 

“What?” You numbly question, foot shaking under the table.

“How about I get you something to eat?” Kate draws out and you don’t like the concerned glance she sends to the glass as she shuffles forward in her chair, “They have those mini sandwiches in the cafeteria that you love.” The woman licks her lips, her blue eyes running over the noticeable bulges of bandages and gauze that span your chest and abdomen, down your thighs and legs. The bottoms of your feet, under your socks and shoes, even have wraps. All stained red.

“Not hungry,” You clear your throat through the lie. 

“Key,” Kate whispers, “you’re skin and bones.”

“You think I don’t know that, Laswell?” The words set you off, snapping from your lips as your eyes flash and your face twists. The Agent tenses, shoulders locking tight, “I’ve looked like this ever since you and Price sold me off like a fucking dog with a rope around its neck!” Your wild eyes revel in the fear that sweeps Kate’s face. She doesn’t know you anymore, “That was you two wasn’t it? Or are my memories more fucked up than I know…? Huh?! Did the electrocution finally fry my brain?!” 

Laswell’s eyes fall to the table.

“I trusted you!” You’re screaming now, guttural and savage; every so often your voice would break, and the shadows behind the glass were all straight as a rod except one, one who slightly hunches as if in guilt, “You both left me to die! I gave you evidence, I showed you facts and you turned me over like I meant nothing to you! Like I meant nothing to Price!” The words hurt you when you spit them out, and the stitches over your throat feel like they’re on fire. 

Oh, God, John I wanted more than anything for you to find me – t-to stop it. Stop the pain, stop the torture. I need you. Where did you go, John?

“We couldn’t act on–”

“You trusted Shepherd more than you trusted me! That’s what you acted on. That’s the truth.” You turn your head to the ceiling, trying to stop the vile tears that coat your eyes as you suck in ragged breaths. Your ribs ache awfully. 

A minute passes, then two.

The next words come out muffled with numbness, whispered from your bloody lips, “Their deaths are on you. I pass off my guilt of it.” 

You could hear a pin drop. Hell, did they even know? 

“The bodies in the corner…” Laswell whispers, and you hear her throat get clogged.

“What,” You snicker, “Your forensic team not identify them yet? The ones with their faces still on, that is?” 

“Who are they, Key?” Kate whispers but you know she knows the answer already. So does Price. 

You turn your head to the glass, finding that familiar shadow and boring your eyes into it blankly. Feeling your tears dribble down your cheeks, you smirk when the black on the other end turns its head away. The others shift nervously before you look back at Kate.

“Shane, Jax, Alice, and Sam.”

Laswell’s eyes snap downward to her clenched hands.

You lean closer, “Look at me,” You growl lowly, “Kate, look at me.” 

Her eyes are red when they meet yours and you stifle a deep-chested laugh at the sight. A vicious smile blooms over your cheeks, teeth and all.

“He killed my fucking family, Laswell. My squad. My brothers and sisters that I never even involved in this because I knew how it could end if it went south. And they ripped them to fucking pieces while they were still alive,” You lift a free hand and throw your unlocked cuffs on the table, the small, thin, metal wire from your paper cup visibly stuck in the key slot. It rams onto the surface with a bang. Laswell flinches back, head snapping to the object in surprise, “That’s on you and Price. And I want it to haunt you just as it haunts me.” You tilt your head to the side, nodding towards the cuffs, “Good to see my nickname held up, at least. As you can imagine my tricks don’t work so well on rope or barbed wire.”

A ruckus sounds from the other room, loud shouting, and the rushing of feet. You lean back in your chair, slouching, and not soon after the door to the room slams open; John Price stands in the doorway with a stupid look on his face you can’t help but huff at.

“There he is,” You mutter, staring his blue eyes down as his large frame nearly hits the sides of the wall. You spread your arm out, elbows on the armrests sarcastically, “The other person I’m so eager to see.” 

Laswell stands on shaky feet and exits the room, shoving past John as he stares at you. For a moment you see what you could on describe as guilt on his face before it's wiped away the next instant. 

Not bothering to speak anymore – you’ve said your piece – you bring your hands up and caress the red skin where the cuffs had been. The area was more sensitive now that the flesh had been torn away time after time while you were held by Shadow Company in some godforsaken facility in the wilderness. You throw the remnants of the ripped-up cup onto the table. 

The door closes nearly silently, and heavy feet pad forward. You could lie to yourself and say you don’t feel your heart pounding, but what use would it be?

John sits in Laswell’s chair before palming the once more left-behind file. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, as he slowly flips through the pictures. Pictures of you, of your once perfect body full of scars and burns and bruises over every inch. You swore you saw his fingers begin to shake as he turns another page. 

John Price used to be something important to you. A friend, a mentor, and if time had permitted, perhaps he would have been something more. You don’t choose to dwell on these thoughts, but they haunt you still; how he would always prioritize your safety on missions, and give you a rare real smile when you impressed him. His laugh when you slipped out crappy jokes on missions together. The imprint of his calloused hand seemed to forever live on the back of your head, dragging you into a tight hug as you remember an OP in Romania.

On the mission, when a bullet had lodged itself between your third and fourth rib, the outcome had seemed grim – hopeless – but all John did was grab your cheeks and force your eyes on him as the Medic worked hastily, grunting and uttering calmly.

“Eyes open, Sweetheart. Keep them on me, eh…? There you go, atta girl. I’m right here,” It was safe to say you had chosen to stare at those unusually soft baby blues the entire time you were getting Evac. and John had dragged you into the ramshackle head-to-chest-hug the second you were stable, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Talking so sweetly you had wanted nothing more than him.

He had been so much more than a Captain to you. 

But that was all so long ago, and the memories were rotted like tree trunks. He was just another face, a handsome one, yes – he still hadn't shaved his beard and the circles under his eyes looked darker than you could ever remember seeing them – but still that rugged charm that was John. 

I trusted you, You want to scream at him, hit him, tear his throat out. But in the end, you did nothing, but you didn’t trust me. 

The wrinkles around his eyes tighten as he sees the extensive claw shreds over your back on one of the printed sheets, the impression of dog teeth over your left shoulder blade and right thigh.

You feel a tightening in your throat. 

“They liked their dogs,” You mutter, “That’s for sure.” 

Price’s throat bobs. 

“German Shepherd?” He asks, accented voice thick, picking up the picture and grasping it so tightly the corner creases. 

“Nah, Doberman.” 

“Hm,” He grunts, finally looking up from the picture to stare into your broken eyes. Against your better judgment, you look away first, not able to stand the unwavering blue with that specific emotion staining the iris. John was different from Laswell. He…He had meant more. 

That’s why it hurt so much to be near him because he would always mean more.

Under the table, your feet shook. John cleared his throat, placing the image down and closing the file before he, in the buzzing of the lights and the whishing of the Ac, whispers your name under his lips.

You’re ashamed of the way it makes you feel like you could cry, your body freezing. Only he could utter it in that way. You had waited to hear him say your name every single day you were stuck with the Shadows.

“Save it,” You nod your head his way once, not looking up from your lap, “I don’t want your apology, Price. It’s done.”

The Captain’s head nods firmly, ever the gentleman, chin jerking as he clenches his jaw. John’s fingers close your file and he taps it with the back of his knuckles, prompting you to raise your gaze to follow the motion. 

“I want every name you can remember, yeah?” You pause, for a moment you thought you hadn’t heard him correctly. Under the table, you can feel your knee spasm with nerves. 

Picking your gaze up, you travel the length of Price’s tight gray shirt; looking over his combat vest and all the tiny pouches holding only he knows what. You settle on the man’s eyes with a small hitch in your breath. He looked furious, downright lethal. 

John’s shoulders were tense, muscles vibrating with badly concealed anger. At his neck, he had a visible tendon from how hard he was clenching his jaw. Had he not read the file before now? Seen the pictures? Or was that not even the point? You frown, shifting in your chair with nervousness. Your head was all messed up. 

Logically you knew his anger wasn't directed at you, but you could never be too cautious when it came to someone you haven’t seen in a while. Men had been the source of your problems for four years, and even if you knew John the thought remained that if you had changed so drastically, so could he. 

At your silence, Price pauses, blinking a few times before he realizes his hand is clenched on the table, nails biting into his skin. He leans back into the chair with a heavy inhalation, bringing a hand up to rub over his face. John holds a hand over his mouth for a moment, eyes closed, and you watch him and his unsteady breaths that echo through the interrogation room. His chest sputters.

So now he cares, You ask bitterly, blinking away the anxiety in your bones with false calm, now he wants to help.

“Where was that anger when I asked you to help me investigate Shepherd?” You whisper, saliva stuck under your tongue. 

John never answers and not a second later he’s standing and stalking out the door with measured steps, but manages to close the door softly behind him before his form disappears.

Come back, You want to plead the second the lock latches, your hands shaking violently in your lap, don’t leave me alone here, John. Don’t leave me alone. I-I can’t be alone again.

But you say nothing.

Outwardly no one can analyze your body language the way that the Captain or Laswell could. All they see is a blank slate waiting to be filled sitting stone-still in an interrogation room. Left alone, all you can do is force back the tears and listen to the loud buzzing and the whining of the Ac, trying with all of your might to forget Captain John Price and the damning comfort his presence still brings you after years of hell.  

But how could you forget him? All of the good memories you have left are of him; the only ones untainted by blood or a dark room with no light. The shrieking of rats is like a symphony of death that plays on repeat in your head, digging into the small spaces in your ribs and intestines. But you welcome it because anything is better than thinking about John. Of the times you shared with him.

The betrayal itself is less painful than the memories.

#john price #john price x reader #John price x you #modern warfare #MW2 #cod #cod x reader #cod mw22 #cod x you #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #mw2 2022

[sister-of-hitoshi]

Begging on my hands and knees for a Warumono san x small chubby reader who has body image issues PLEASE- like he doesn't understand why humans feel so saddened about their bodies sometimes, or why they think skinny people look so attractive???((I'm going off the idea that for his alien culture, it's very much akin to Sparta types of likes and stuff, ie: everyone wants to be the strongest in order to serve their planet and help.))

To my lovely anon, this is my first ever ask!!! Thank you so much for having faith in me with your request (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠) I hope it's alright ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

Sending loads of love your way<33

...You love me more??!!

Genre: Slight angst, fluff

Character: Warumono-san/Mr villain

Warnings: Body image issues ahead! Please love yourself <33

It was a regular day-off date at a nice cafe.

A regular day of admiring this tall and handsome man who had taken pity on your state a few days back and started to temporarily date with you.

Yes.....That's what you explained to yourself. There could be no other explanation.

It was just another day.

Another regular day of self-loathing.

You were never happy about yourself. At your home, you had even put some translucent sheets over your big wardrobe mirror as some sort of barricade which deterred you from seeing your full figure. You didn't care if you couldn't properly see which dress was more flattering on you, it was better than seeing your ugly, unflattering self. Yes...ugly.... unflattering...

"...There's no way that this hot guy would actually be in love with me." You muttered to yourself absent-mindedly, the other half of your brain busy admiring his sharp feautures. You were never going to believe that he was actually in love with you. You knew your place.

But what you didn't know was the extent of Mr hot guy's love for you.

For he was even willing to choose you over his lovely pandas.

Even though it had only been a little while, he became so open to you about almost everything- well everything except for his job and identity which were classified information. You were so soft to hug, just the right size for him to squeeze his chest when patting your head or booping your nose. You were just way too adorable. So much so that imagining you in a panda onesie was enough to make him cough up whatever food he was having at that moment and roll on the ground back at his home.

Right now at this quaint little cafe, as both of you were lost in thought about the other, you didn't fail to notice how his face suddenly became all serious as he scrunched up his brows.

Well it looks like even he's disgusted now.

He was about to say something when you beat him to it.

"I'll excuse myself to the washroom."

You didn't wait for his response and hurried away.

"Of course", you said to yourself. "Of fucking course."

You loved him so much, you were so scared that he was actually going to bring up his disinterest in you at the table, so you excused yourself first.

Your fist slammed beside the sink.

A coward. That's what you were.

"I knew it from the start... that's why I didn't try to love him too much but...what can I do when he's so good with me?..." You bit your lip hard, the air felt nauseous. It was getting hard to breathe.

"Why did he have to be so attractive and kind..."

It seems even your tears were mocking you, for they were fat, full of the weight of your misery.

"I hate myself, and I love him, and I hate that he has to date such a miserable looking person like myself"

With tears rolling down your cheeks and you using your hand to wipe your face to no avail, you turned around to leave the washroom and fetch some tissue papers from the dispenser. Seems like you couldn't even wipe off these ugly tears.

But before you could even comprehend it, you were swiftly hugged by strong, large arms.

"Y/n....what happened?"

A man with his familiar deep, soothing voice, voiced out his worry. This made you cry harder.

Mr villain felt akward, he didn't know how to comfort his favourite earthling who was crying like this infront of him, so he did what he thought calmed him the most when he was feeling stressed. He hugged you and patted your head.

"Oh it's nothing....But it's okay if you want to stop now....I know we are together only temporarily and I know too that...you don't really like this ugly unflattering thing that is me-"

"Y/n what are you saying?" He shook you by the shoulders. This was one of those very rare times when he was swiftly losing his composure. But he knew that he needed to comfort you right now. You are his top priority.

"You're my favourite. I love you..........even more than I love pandas"

Wait- wait what?

"No no- wait- pandas are your favourite, even a kid who sees you for the first time will get it... And you're telling me you love me more??!!"

You fake-gasped and started laughing a bit, finding it really absurd but more unbelievable.

He was glad that your tears that stopped now, and that he had internally taken snapshots of your face and saved them to his memory. He means- you looked so adorable even when crying. His poor heart could only take so much.

Deciding now was the best time, he confronted you.

"I heard everything Y/n."

His deep voice ran through your being, making you shiver. Your immediately became tensed. He noticed this. He only held you tighter.

"I really love you a lot, and I love hugging you too. Why would the way your body looks really affect my love? I love you for who you are"

You immediately looked up at him, and the sincerity in his eyes was enough to break all the bars of negativity that were caging you in.

"I appreciate that you like me too, so please accept that I love you, both you and your body, and I want you to love yourself the way I love you" He continued to look at you through his bangs, until he suddenly turned away from you.

"Iloveyourcuteness"

"Hmm? What was that? Can you please repeat it?" You were trying to lighten up the situation now, so you playfully pleaded him with those big doe eyes that always made him kneel and pull on his bangs even he even thought about them.

"I love your cuteness... you're adorable. The perfect size for me to hug and p-perfect for a kiss-"

You brought him down by the shoulders and kissed him on the nose.

He became so blushy, his eyes became glossy, he was so awkward and genuine, your love for him grew tenfold, while his for you grew manifold.

It seems that everything that you had claimed to know about your situation was entirely wrong. But this was a wrong that felt right.

___________________________________________

"So why were you scrunching up your brows at me and making a serious face back then? I thought I had offended you...haha, sorry if that's the case though" you said, looking at him bashfully while scratching your cheek.

"You don't need to be sorry, it was just me trying to imagine you with a panda costume...sort of"

"Oh."

The response did little to conceal your vibrant blush. You internally screamed and kicked your feet, he was soooo cute being all mumbly and blushy, you'd definitely make it a point to surprise him with it later, heheh!

Well looks like you'll have to say 'bye-bye' to those sheets now.

#fluff #fanfic #kyuujitsu no warumono san #mr villain's day off #mr villain x reader #warumono x reader #mr. villain's day off #cutie pie #little angst #warumono san

[reptilian-angel]

The Cafe' Prince & The Killer Cook Pt. 1:

Chapter One - "Egg on your Face" Mega-Omelet

ME: Blitzø, having suffered a the worst day of his life, finds an unexpected silver lining when he awakens inside some random cafe hosted by a sweet (if oddly articulate) little girl, Via and her chef daddy, Stolas (Who looks like Hell on Wheels and cooks just as good, but who gave a shit.)

Later on after this chance encounter, a completely unanticipated offer might just be what Blitzø needs to turn his trashfire of an existence into a lifetime of amazing food, exciting moments and maybe even . . . Love?

Stolitz fluff, food chain puns, good food and healthy doses of angst await you at the Stars & Stir-Ups Cafe’!!! (Yet to be named)

Inspired by Pink Lomito’s ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE Stolitz Cafe’ AU fanart and written with their blessing, so I can only hope this will live up to the hype! (Displayed Below)

Full disclosure, I DO bake as a hobby, but I am NOT a career baker so most of descriptions of any foods mentioned, cooking and otherwise, will totally be written by an author completely in the dark, so please be gentle with any criticisms regarding any of the cooking displayed here. (Also see the end of the chapters for the recipes used, or at least the closest comparisions.)

Get Your knives and forks ready, you sinners & saints, and please enjoy!! I owe nothing!!!

Normal P.O.V.

When Blitzø woke up, he was automatically confused.

He had expected to be face flat, ass up on the shitty, grime covered flour of the bar he had trudged into last night like he had only hours to live. It had been a record-breaking shitty-ass day for him and he decided, like the many, many bitchy broke losers out there who had had their dreams squashed and trampled on like gnats in Hell, to drown his sorrows. Burning $ouls like tissue paper, he had began going for broke, mooching off other patrons and drunkards, earning petty shots in impromptu contests and maybe even performed a small strip tease for a gaggle of succubi and incubi.

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure how it ended, although he did have a vague recollection of plowing his dick into one of the incubi in one of the nasty as fuck bathroom stalls and wondering if the greasy pump soap could be used as lube before fading to black.

Christ on a Pogo stick he had REALLY gotten fucked up, didn’t he?

That said, he wouldn’t have been shocked in the slightest if he had found himself upside down, half- naked and definitely robbed of his wallet and phone in some shady alley at the crack of dawn. Yeah, that would have been normal for him.

Waking up in a plush, fancy-pants booth with a soft, comfortable quilt thrown on top of him was not.

He began leaning up to try and get some sense of where the fuck he was, but everything between his ears immediately started to bitch at him with an acute, relentless thrum that felt even worse than the headaches Moxxie gave him while bitching at him. On a good day.

He gave a low groan, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes in a sorry attempt to dull the throb. He swore everything was hurting, his horns were hurting, his scars were hurting, fuck, even his brand was hurting -

“Fudge.”

That innocent correction almost made him tumble out of the booth. He barely smacked his palms against the floor to keep him from actually falling face flat on its surface. Points for highly trained trapeze instincts. Centering himself, he found a pair of big, bright pink, and admittingly cute eyes of a little owl demon looking right at his.

Even with him being upside-down, he could tell they were a girl; maybe four or six, with a messy nest of long dark hair let loose save a small ponytail tied up on the side of her head with a scrunchie covered with moons and stars and a simple pink jumper with white stars of various sizes printed all over it.

It had taken a second for his hungover brain to figure out she was an owl, the white heart-shaped frame of her face like that of an owl’s a dead giveaway. The way she blinked at him only cemented that conclusion. She blinked calmly at him, despite how fucking weird he was sure he must’ve looked as a middle-aged, hungover, hot mess sleeping in what he just know fully realized was a restaurant booth.

Feeling caught off guard for a number of reasons, he could only respond with, “Sorry?”

The Little owl gave him a reproaching look, or at least as close to one as a toddler could manage. “‘Fudge’. You said it wrong.” She stated in all seriousness. “You’re supposed to say ‘fudge’ when you say the ‘F’ Word. Otherwise, it’s not polite.”

“Says who?” He asked.

“Says my daddy.” She said proudly as if she was referring to Lucifer himself. “He says ‘Politeness is the-” She paused, her face scrunching up in concentration, “- ‘Per-Ah-Get-Ive’ of sensible young demons’.”

He gave her a small smirk. “Oh yeah? And what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“Whatcha just said – Know what it means?”

He had expected her to respond with a "yes" as all little hellspawn do to prove they were just as smart as their parents who most of the time are dumber than the garbage man, and of course be all snooty and snobby about it too.

But, amazingly, she shook her head so much her hair flew in both directions. "Nope! But my daddy taught me that word. Which means it must be a smart grown-up thing to say. My daddy's all grown up and smart so it makes sense to try and apply it to my everyday 'Wing-guess-tics'."

"Uh, 'wing-guess-tics'?" He repeated with a smile.

The little owl nodded. "You know, the way you talk and how you sound to other people. Don't you ever take pride in how you sound towards others less proud of themselves?"

Blitzø sure as hell didn't. In fact, good mood or bad, he couldn't give two shits in a Gluttony Ring brand crapper what every other piece of shit thought about him or the way he talked. Which is exactly what he should tell to this innocent, sassy, too precious for words little oh satan's taint, he was too hungover for this.

Getting up at an old man's pace, he grunted, "I don't really have an answer to that, ow."

Okay, sitting up straight didn't quite stop the ache, but it wasn't harping so badly now.

The little owl made a sad sound. "That's too bad. Everything needs an answer."

"Does it?" He asked while once again pressing into his eyes to try and settle his headache. She gave an affirmative hum.

"They do. Sometimes."

Blitzø gave up trying to squeeze his eyeballs back into his brains and gave a slow roll of his neck, breathing with the small audible stream of cracks that followed. "Yeah, well, sometimes is better than no times I guess." Once his neck didn't feel so stiff, he looked down at the little owl who still was blinking up at him. "Hey kiddo?"

"Yes?"

"Can you, uh . . . Can you tell me where we are right now?" Geez, Blitzø, you need a little kid to tell your dumb, hungover ass where you crashed? Talk about hitting rock bottom.

She giggled like he had just told a funny joke. He admitted, even with a headache, the sound was nice to hear. "You're in our cafe, sir. Mine and Daddy's cafe. You've been here ever since last night."

He felt embarrassment collide with exasperation in a wave that only incensed the pounding in his skull. Grreeeaaat. Now he had to deal with a bitchy dad that could probably make a Karen more bearable. And considering his crappy luck, he could probably give Moxxie a run for his money when it came to whining and botching. Like he didn't have enough of a migraine already.

To distract himself from the imminent ass-chewing, Blitzø decided it was a good time as any to take a quick peek around. In case, things went tits up, he should know how much he could tag with horses and dongs later.

Look all over, he had to admit . . . He was pleasantly surprised.

The cafe was definitely a little ritzier than almost every other diner or bistro in Pride, at least the ones run by imps or sinners. It wasn't an 'in-your-face-so-suck-it-bitches' bourgeois nightmare that you found on the cover of rich people magazines, but it was still easy to smell the $oils that had been burned to buy the number of furniture and appliances that filled it. Pristine designer steel tables, floors tiles so clean you could eat off of them, cushy warm booths like the one he was sitting in that felt comfy enough to be small bed; yeah, this place made the local Hellbucks look like a gas station men's room (Which was also, coincidentally, one of the many places he would periodically wind up in after a bender).

He could probably make off with one of the tablecloths - Made with actual fucking linen, not rag or crappy burlap - And the money he would get for it would easily pay off his non-existent mortgage.

The walls, covered in perfectly intact, shiny wallpaper that was neither covered in mildew nor aged and peeling, colored the interior with a tasteful cream and vanilla striped pattern. Each dark strip of cream had subtle motifs of shooting stars, little crescent moons and cheery spiraling suns. The cushions seated on each chair and the fabrics of the booths were royal blue and spotted with muted violet stars, all differing sizes, each cleaner than the back seat of an Imp City taxi cab. Plus, no springs popping up to try and fuck him in his little red hole.

He then noticed the bar. A quaint but spacious counter as long as Blitzø's body and tail combined, a simple but pricey cash register at one end, with matching leather stools lined up perfectly beneath it. A large glass case half the size of his van sat at the other end, the inside holding shelves of numerous plates of decadent-looking desserts and pastries that drew an expectant grumble from his stomach.

It wasn't his fault, the last thing Blitzø remembered having that was even close to food was some outdated peanuts and the olives he wiped from some douche who had ordered nothing but martinis that were drier than Wraith in a heatwave.

And he normally hated olives, Christ, he must've been fucked up to devour those things, pit and all. Fuck, did I bang the guy who ordered then too?

Okay, not the priority right now, Blitzø. Especially with the cute little kid in front of you whose dad is definitely gonna throw you out on your ass the minute he sees you -

"Oh! Daddy's awake! Good morning, daddy!"

Fuck.

Blitzø jerked his head up at her cheerful greeting, opening his mouth if only to curse at how his head throbbed in response -

— Only for it to immediately die when he caught sight of "Daddy" coming into the cafe'.

Fuck him twice.

The demon that had stepped into his view was, hands down and pants down if his belt was loosened, one of the most gorgeous demons he had seen.

And the tallest, Jesus Christ.

The owl demon was as tall as a tree, with legs for days ending in jet black talons that clicked delicately against the immaculately clean tiles as he strode over. His body was much, much thinner than Blitzø had expected, delicate and lithe with sinfully svelte curves around his well-rounded hips that he felt an instant, barely concealed urge to wrap his legs around and squeeze. His upper body was just as long, lengthy frail arms that grew like willow branches from his shoulders with dainty but large hands and fingers that reminded him of spider legs as they moved and were just as dark as his feet. They were probably as soft as that little fluff of feathers that peeked out on his chest.

Looking at his face, he was slightly taken aback at the sight of not one but two pairs of eyes peering back, although the second pair were smaller and placed higher on his forehead, just as wide and bright as Via's, but instead of pink they shone with crimson and were as opaque as a ruby. It was obvious who this little girl got her looks from the most; the same dark spot at the tip of his beak, and the same shade of grey blue feathers, only his grew darker in hue as they climbed up his very lean throat, combed into a neat and very trim style that clearly was given a lot of attention. The only blemish to it would be the bold streak of grey that cut through the feathers which easily gave away his age, but somehow that had actually improved his looks as it contrasted the young (and pretty) features of his face.

His outfit wasn’t too extraordinary but still, Blitzø felt himself growing warm at the sight of the white button up dress shirt and the open cranberry pink waistcoat the owl was currently snapping shut dexterously and simple dark slacks that hugged his legs perfectly.

Fuck. I was once woken up with V wearing lingerie that was made pretty much just string but this guy is dressed like a fucking waiter and I wanna lay him flat on the counter.

Blitzø was suddenly that much more thankful for the blanket covering his lap, because he was sure feeling the telltale signs of a growing boner.

Oh well, he was sure it would go away once this guy started to whine about having to deal with a drunken piece of shit first thing in the morning -

The tall owl, even with the slightest of sleep still clinging to it, smiled warmly and brightly at his daughter. “Good morning, my Owlette.” Blitzø felt himself once again be knocked off guard by his chocolaty, silky tenor voice, the sound of it sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

Fuckhim three times, he sounded hot too. Satan, this sucked.

The owl’s pleasant chuckle only added to Blitzø;s horny chagrin. “I see you beat me down to the cafe’ today. I hope you slept well, my Starfire.”

The little “Starfire” nodded happily. “I slept good, Daddy! And so did our guest!” She gestured innocently at the imp, who then tensed at being put on the spot by a kid. “When I came down to check on him, he was snoozing like a kitten!”

Blitzø, of course, made a face. A kitten?

It went unnoticed by the little owl, but not by her father who gave her a stern, but still soft look. “Via,” He started. “You didn’t disturb our guest while he was sleeping, did you?”

“Via” quickly shook her head, he feathers swinging side to side in a flurry. “Mh-mm! No, Daddy, I promise I didn’t! I was real quiet until he woke up and said the bad thing wrong.”

He blinked at her. “The ‘bad’ word?”

“One of the words that Mummy used to -” He explanation was abruptly cut off by her father’s wincing and his hands waving the universal sign for stop. “O-oh, alright, alright, sweetie, I understand, no need to go further!”

Blitzø watched them quietly.

Huh. So pretty boy had post-marital troubles with the little former wifey, huh?

Yeah, that made sense. Aside from his friend’s, Blitzø had yet to see any marriage that wasn’t one step away to instating the “death do us part” vow.

This guy must have gotten out while the getting was still good. But not without a few licks dealt, judging by the signs of wariness on his face.

He mentally sighed. Alright the hottie daddy knows you’re here and first impression has clearly gone to shit so, get ready for take two, dumbass.

Blitzø, deciding that jokes was the way to go in a pinch, then said casually. “I guess ‘Mummy’ wasn’t a ‘fudge’ kinda girl.” He then put on his best smile as he looked straight on at the pretty owl. “Me, personally, always liked the mine with plenty of nuts.”

As smooth as it sounded, he still cringed on the inside. Oof, Blitzø, how lame do you sound right now?

However, to Blitzø’s surprise and relief, the innuendo did not go unnoticed by the only other adult in the cafe’. Both sets of eyes went wide and the haggardness on his face was instantly washed away with a swift, prominent pink flush that Blitzø definitely liked seeing. Next to Via, it was probably the cutest thing he saw this morning. It certainly took the edge off the ass-chewing he was sure to get.

Usually, anytime he cracked any sex jokes around others, he was almost immediately told off by whatever prude or asshole or Karen was in the vicinity (i.e. Moxxie) and who clearly had no sense of good humor. (Like they didn’t start humping on each other’s earlobes the second every one’s back was turned like the hypocrites they were.)

Anybody else who didn’t was either not giving two shits or just as eager to talk dirty after a line up of shots.

But this bird seem reasonably sober. But then again, judging by his frame, he was probably the type of demon to go for light drinks like martinis or cocktails rather than tequila or beezlejuice. Considering the little girl now running up to him and hugging his shins, it was more than likely. He had the bitter experience of always dealing with a parent more often found nursing a hangover rather than an infant and it was an all around shitty experience he had no wish to repeat.

However, right now, he wouldn’t mind getting another peek of that cute ass blush as the bird briefly ducked down to scoop up into his arms. “W-well,” He started, “It’s certainly good to see you awake, Mister . . . ?”

“Name’s Blitzø. The “O” is silent.” Blitzø stated without missing a beat.

The owl blinked. “What ‘o’?”

“Exactly.” Blitzø nodded without thinking and once again, groaned in pain as everything from the neck up throbbed.

“Oh dear, hangover not quite remedied yet?”

Blitzø hissed out a breath. “Yeah, that’s a big fat fff-fudgin’ no.” He smirked weakly at Via’s approving nod. “I feel like I decided to go dumpster-diving outside the nearest Sinnabon’s for a midnight snack-run.” His empty stomach than made itself known by giving an impatient grumble. “And it looks like I’m up for round two so I think it’s about time I get outta here.”

The owl blinked again. “I’m sorry?”

Blitzø carefully climbed out of his improvised bed and unsure of what to do, opted to take apart the bedding and fold it as neatly as he could. “Yeah, I know, I know, I should’ve been out of here hours ago, I get it. Satan knows no-one wants to deal with a hungover dumb-a first thing in the morning. I know I wouldn’t, plus you gotta kid here and I can’t imagine you want some strange weirdo around your baby-girl so I better clear out before -”

The quilt literally rising out of his hands cut him off like a record scratch. The fuck-?

He watched cow-eyed as some kind of blue sparkly whatsit energy surrounded the quilt and untangled the lump he had been making a mess out of. It than began folding itself in a much more professional fashion than his was and as soon as it finished, it levitated right over his head and towards the guys who, judging by the ethereal sheen wrapped around his talons, was making it.

“Mr. Blitzø,” He started calmly. “As the owner of a cafe’, I have often had ‘strange weirdos’ coming in and going out from here every day. Thankfully, most of them are courteous enough to show up around working hours, but I am no stranger to any who who wander in from the late-night crowd, which I’m assuming is where you come from.” His tone wasn’t accusing but Blitzø still frowned at the teasing lilt he definitely heard.

“As for my little Starfire,” The bird continued, nuzzling his daughter on the cheek which earned a giggle. “Via, I like to think at least, is an excellent judge of character, especially more so with strangers. So, if she thinks that you’re trustworthy then that’s more than enough reason to let you stay.” With a twirl of his talon, he sent the quilt through the door leading upstairs to, whatever the fuck it led to as he set Via down on one of the stools after a quick, dramatic spin that earned him another giggle. “At least, long enough for us to feed you a decent breakfast.”

That last bit was definitely NOT what Blitzø thought he’d hear. “Uh, excuse me?”

“Oh certainly, after you’ve been given food of actual substance to eat instead of the leftover, surely bacteria-ridden remains scrounged from a random dumpster.” The big bastard responded blithely as he made his way around the counter, to where Blitzø finally noticed the fancy-looking coffeemaker that made him feel more broke-ass than he already was. “But first, I believe refreshments are in order. Would you prefer coffee or tea?”

The asshole part of him wanted to deliver a pissy comeback at the offer. He was a grown-ass man, more than capable of getting his own food, fuck you very much and no trust-fund, (sexy) long-legged prick had the right to tell him what was okay for him to eat or not – Moxxie already got his ass enough about that, he didn’t need anyone else doing that shit.

Big bitch was probably trying to keep him here long enough to call the cops on him the minute his back was turned so he could stick him with some BS robbery charges just for shits and giggles. Which had happened to him before due to more than one nut-job Karen and/or Kevin.

And of course, since it was fucking Hell, there was only a certain amount of times that you could get arrested and get bailed out before the taxpayers think to simply say “Fuck it” and just take your money and never bother to find your cell keys.

That in mind, he was so not in the mood to bust out of prison again, that one stint in Greed was enough for the next five years.

Well, fuck this bird. The front door was right there and he was not gonna have to put up with whatever bullshit this guy was -

His stomach halted his would-be flipping-the-bird-at-the-bird-on-the-way-out escape with a rumble even louder and more impatient than before. The tell-tale smell of brewing coffee didn’t do anything to help quell it. And damn, did it smell good . . .

. . . . . . Oh, forget it, they dump that dumpster every other day and he was too hungover to spare the effort to drive. Or Look for his van. Or try to remember the name of the club he was at.

“. . . I usually have iced coffee. But right now, I’ll take a regular coffee, as black as blood.”

That request was responded to with a humored smile. “I myself usually take it black as sin, but I’m always up for a challenge.” Turning to the way too complicated than should be normal looking, coffee-making monstrosity, he also added, “Also, forgive me.”

“For what?” Blitzø asked as he came closer to the bar. This close, he could now spot a simplistic yet obviously custom-designed hotplate big enough to fit enough food for five people, flat black surface on one side and a classic stove-top on the other.

“For not introducing myself properly earlier.” A clean, see-through glass coffee pot that Blitzø didn’t even see him pull out appeared in his hand as he whipped out a coffee filter so finely made it looked more like a hankie, bypassing the coffee maker completely. “I’m Stolas, owner of this cafe’ as well as Chef and Barista. You’ve already had the pleasure of meeting my daughter, Octavia, my darling little helper.”

“Daddy says I’m his ‘Suzy Chef’!” Via, also now known as “Octavia”, chirped proudly. Before Blitzø took a seat on one of the stools, he moved as to help her up but she shook her head. Gripping the crank under the seat, she pulled it up and down like a desk chair’s until the seat was low enough for her to climb up. He watched in bemusement as she then adjusted the seat back up. Clearly, they were built with the varying heights of Hell’s diverse demographic in mind.

Not bad thinking, Blitzø had to admit.

“Indeed you are, my Owlette.” Stolas chuckled. Having placed the filter inside a clenex wrapped around a chic-looking coffee pot, he placed a silver carafe onto the stove-top side of the hotplate and flipping the switch. Taking out a bag of coffee grounds that smelled fucking fantastic. “She and I have been running this little cafe’ for about four months now. And if I may so, we’re doing rather well. Granted, we’re not millionaires but I’m certainly not complaining.”

In almost no time at all, the carafe’ started whistling sharply. Stolas took it off and replaced it with a small skillet that Blitzø didn’t see being pulled out either, only to stare unabashedly at the medley of cheeses, meats, veggies and eggs that literally flew in from the entry to what he guessed was the kitchen like it was something of out of a kid’s movie. He knew Via giggling at his face but he forgoed responding to that, as while Stolas attended to the coffee pot, a bottle of oil floated over to the skillet and poured a delicate amount inside with two slices of butter following suite. “. . . Uh, yeah, if you’re good at something, you should capitalize.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not really so much about the money as it is the business of cooking itself.” Stolas said earnestly as he dumped the grounds into the filter and sweeped up the carafe to pour in the hot water in one fluid motion. “I find that this line of work gives me much more gratification than that of my previous occupation.”

“Oh, what was that? Real estate spokesman? Attorney? Phone seee-” Blitzø was instantly reminded of Via’s presence as the little girl hummed happily while folding and unfolding a napkin she plucked from the napkin holder closest to them. “-eeecrecy operator?”

If Stolas noticed the near slip-up, he didn’t comment on it. “No, I’m afraid. Simply one of the cogs of the crumbling, over-heated machine that is known as Hell’s government.” While the skillet started to pop and sizzle, the owl than summoned a sizable knife to finely chop one onion to join the oil and butter. As the coffee grounds were left to bloom, Stolas made quite a show of crumbling up a thick sausage into bits with one hand while simultaneously conjuring an actual clutch of flames in the other hand, selecting a few strips of bacon to cook and crisp in a matter of seconds. Most likely to show off for Blitzø and his daughter who “oohed” at the sight.

Admittedly, Blitzø was a little impressed too, but he’d be fucked by a mime before he ever let on. “Geez, playin’ it up a bit, don’t ya think?”

“Perhaps a bit.” Stolas admitted, not so sorry in the slightest. “But compared to how stoic and quiet I had used to be, I relish any chance to ‘play it up’.” Having deemed the bacon thoroughly cooked, which it definitely was going by the smell, he extinguished the flames and set the crispy strips onto a cutting board for a magicked knife to chop up. Washing his hands in a small sink set by the hotplate, he gestured towards the enchanted parade of flying ingredients, allowing three eggs to gently land on the counter.

Blitzø, at this point, had taken his eyes away from the free magic show in front of him, cool as it was, to quietly observe Stolas’s shapely ass as he bent over to retrieve something from one of the lower cabinet.

Hmm. He could feel the tip of his tail flicking in appreciation. Guess the cake wasn’t only in good in the cases.

He tried to keep ogling as unnoticeable as possible as he asked. “Old job sucked that bad, huh?”

“Oh, abominably so.” Stolas groaned as he fished around in the cabinet obliviously. Eventually, he made a small sound of triumph as he located his prize; a small mixing bowl which he then set on the counter next to the eggs. A crooked finger brought a whisk right into his hand just as all three eggs were lifted and cracked into the bowl and the shells were tossed away. “And all I can say is that I’m bloody well glad that it’s behind me.”

“And now Daddy gets to be the bestest chef in all of Hell!” Via proclaimed, which was rewarded with a loving smile.

“Well, I certainly try my best.” He said cheerfully. He made sure to keep close attention to the carafe’ as it poured more water into the now ready coffee grounds as he beat the eggs thoroughly. As dark, fresh coffee began to drip into the pot, he set the bowl aside to neatly dish the sausage and bacon into the skillet. “I don’t know if anything I make will win any awards, but I wouldn’t mind if they didn’t. As long as I have my Via and this cafe’, I’ll be happy.”

Those words, despite himself, left a deep pit in Blitzø’s stomach.

He was all too familiar with the feeling to know that it wasn’t hunger.

And the cause of it was the warm translucent air wafting around in the little cafe’ that was more potent than the coffee.

And more pointedly, how out of place he felt to even be watching it.

He felt his claws clench the leather of his seat, the fabric creaking softly in response to his tightening grip. The pit felt like it was growing larger, making his shoulders tense. He found himself staring full-on at the clean surface of the bartop and tried to ignore the itch of his spines going erect. For the next few minutes, all that was heard was the sizzling and firecracker-like popping of the skillet as the eggs were poured in, the repetitive sound of coffee dripping and Via humming as she tried to fold her napkin into something other than a lopsided square.

Blitzø took a deep breath through his nose, his lips sputtering a bit like a horse’s (Didn’t he wish) as he exhaled.

“. . . Look, I’m . . . ” He paused a moment to think his words over carefully. The last thing he felt like doing right now was to sound an utter dickhead to the guy who was making him a hot meal for a total stranger.

No telling if he was the type to spit in on the plates of assholes who deserved it.

“. . . I’m sorry for, uhm, for having you make deal with me first thing in the morning.” He managed to get out rather lamely.

He wasn’t sure if the bird heard him. But that didn’t stop him from continuing. “I . . . I had a really, really real sh- crappy day yesterday, and – And I just needed to blow off a little steam.”

Images started to flash unbidden in his head. Of zeroes, of bottles, of bitter looks and smashed frames only made everything in Blitzø had been able to blissfully ignore up until that moment, then chose to rear its ugly head making him let out a barely concealed grunt. “. . . Point is, I-I’m sorry for screwing up your day and -”

He was interrupted by a good-sized mug being set calmly before him. He started as the smell of the dark roast curling in soft puffs and into his nostrils, the scent heavenly and already mending the throb of his head – only to be taken aback at the feel of a large, plush-soft hand petting the space between his horns in a comforting rub.

It took every single inch of Blitzø not to either smack the hand away or bite it off on sheer impulse.

He looked up and instead of what he thought for damn sure was going to be a patronizing sneer, – Because how else would any prick look after patting an imp’s head like a puppy’s? - Stolas’s face was as soft and reassuring as the smile on his beak.

A smile filled with nothing but understanding and warmth.

Sweet Lucifer, when was the last tim anyone had smiled at him like that?

“No apologies are need here, Mister Blitzø.” Stolas said simply. No hint of bullshit. “Nothing’s been broken, nothing’s been ruined. So please, don’t worry. I’m not a demon so easily rattled. Especially by lovely surprises such as yourself.”

. . . . Blitzø blamed the warmth he felt tingling on his cheeks on the steam coming from the mug.

Stolas didn’t comment on it, but he was sure that he heard some not very subtle amusement in his voice as he turned back to his cooking. “Would you like for me to add some peppers to dish? They were freshly picked this morning and I’m sure that they’ll taste wonderfully with the eggs.”

“UH-” Blitzø grabbed the mug and pretended to study it to keep himself from doing anything else dumb. “Y-yeah, sure, whatever, go nuts. I’m good with whatever.”

“Marvelous! I’ll add some as soon as the eggs have cooked for a bit.” Stolas said cheerfully. Blitzø muttered a “yeah, whatever” to his back as the owl reached from some green and red peppers big enough for Via to hold in both of her hands. He then made a small hoot that Blitzø, even with how off-kilter he felt at the moment, found cute. “Oh, and let me know how the coffee is, please. I’m trying a new blend I finally managed to put together a few days ago and I’d love to hear your opinion.”

Blitzø blinked at that. “Wha-? You mean this isn’t instant?”

Stolas shook his head. “Oh no. I try my best to use fresh items whenever I cook. Not that I have anything against instant or frozen food, but, as a chef, I find it almost like cheating if I’m not as authentic for my customers. The last thing I want is to have our cafe’ be mistaken for another Twink Trip or Hexxan.”

Blitzø would have taken a shot at that remark. Namely how if you loaded up gas station coffee with a fuckton of sugar, cream, and booze, it didn’t matter about the quality ‘cause who would give that much of a damn about dirty bean water -

That is, had he not taken a sip out of his mug.

It took a moment of peering down at his “coffee” to think up a much more direct response. “. . . . This is the best damn cup of coffee I ever had.”

“Thank you!” Stolas accepted the compliment cheerily. I admit it took much longer to properly cultivate and grow the beans for it than I had originally anticipated. I mean, I already knew the process was intricate but it’s a whole other experience when you actually attempt it yourself.” Stolas gave a weak chuckle as he prodded at the eggs simmering in the skillet. “I’ve lost count of the amount of times I almost blew up my grinder or ruined my insides.”

Blitzø, taking a much larger sip of his coffee hummed appreciatively. “Yeah, bad coffee can f- trip you up.” He knew that to be true. He once had to get his stomach pumped from drinking brew made by some dumbshit in his RV. That experience wasn’t really as painful as the telling-off Moxxie gave him afterwards. Little bitch always had act like he was right.

He took another big gulp. “You did good, though. Five stars.”

It wasn’t blind praise. Blitzø never bullshitted how he felt about what he drank and ate, (Much to Moxxie’s, Fizz’s, his Sunday Barista or, really, anyone’s annoyance) and the coffee was no exception; heavy and crisp with a balanced pairing of earthy and floral notes, the acidity like berries that left plenty of room for flavor instead of just tang. And the aftertaste didn’t linger like secondhand smoke, it left gradually with a mellow sheen that he didn’t mind in the slightest. Even though he was more an iced coffee guy, this was a kind of coffee Blitzø could see himself drinking again. When he wasn’t hungover, that is.

“Well, I’m thrilled to hear that, Mister Blitzø. Thank you.” Stolas responded gratefully.

By now, he had placed a lid over the eggs to let them simmer which allowed him to focus on chopping up the peppers. The imp assumed that had all he had been cutting up before Stolas turned to delicately slide a plate baring an apple that had been sliced in a way that the core stood erect as a tower with the slices spread open like a flower bloom. Before he can ask how the hell he did that so fast, Via chirped happily before plucking one slice and biting into it with a thank you.

Blitzø found her delight over the piece of fruit adorable, which the baby owl took as an invitation to pluck another slice and offer it to him with a smile. Satan, could this kid get any cuter?

He took the offered slice with a cheeky grin. Only to quickly toss it in the air and catch it with his tongue like an iguana’s, adding a “Bleh!” just for laughs, for which he earned a round of giggles from Via. He had almost missed by being blindsided by the cinnamon and spice flavor that had been baked into it. It had to have been made that very morning if the warmth and freshness of the slice was anything to go by, allowing the fruit to melt orgasmically well into his taste-buds. Wow.

He and Via had had unanimously agreed to split the apple between them, with no objections from Stolas as he busied himself with divvying up the vegetables and summoning other ingredients from the kitchen to prepare accordingly. Via filled up most of the time with chattering on innocently about little things, how funny her dream was last night, how home-school was “five times better than private school as there were less big dummy poop-heads” - Blitzø almost choked on a slice while Stolas lightly admonished her about “language” - And how her daddy once made her the bestest cake ever in the in the whole wide world for her fifth birthday. Blitzø, for as sweet as he found her daughterly praise, had to swallow the gag when she started going on about the “tasty” mouse chunks Stolas had added.

Bird or no, eating mice for Blitzø was a flat out no.

A sudden, horrifying though than popped into his head. Was Stolas going to add mice to his food?

Like mouse sausage? Mice bacon? Rat peppers? Was that a thing?! Or was he just pulling a Moxxie and asking dumbass question?

. . . Probably just being a Moxxie.

His internal debate was cut short by something else being set before him. A damn good-looking something.

An omelet the size of Blitzø’s fist lay before him, hot and steaming and straight from the hot plate. Yellow as can be with spots of golden brown, there were no signs of tears of breakage, with a perfect fluffy layer peeking from the folds stuffed with meat, veggies and oozing cheeses. The artsy fucker had even gone the extra mile and draped the top of it with a thin sheet of mozzarella, some garnish and a couple slices of baby tomatoes. Talk about extra.

“There you are, this morning’s special - ‘Egg On Your Face’ Mega-Omelet, with all the fixings and extra cheese for those unwelcome aches and pains. If I’ve done my job right, it should fix you right up.”

“Like magic!” Via dded with a bright smile. Both men chuckled at her.

“Like magic, huh?” Blitzø smirked. Well, I’ll just have to see about that.

Sure, the eggs may have looked good, but Blitzø had learned all too well that food looking good and tasting good were two totally different things.

What looked like a pile of slop to the naked eye could taste just as good as a five morning star meal served Beelzebub herself. The same thing applied to a plate of fancy finger foods that cost the same as a house mortgage but tasted like cardboard in the end. And Blitzø certainly had more than enough exposure to lousy food like that, thank you and fuck you very much, with no wish to repeat it.

Which he hoped he wouldn’t with this monster-omelet before him.

Deciding not to put it off any longer, he picked up his fork and dug the prongs into the soft-cooked eggs, scooping up a decent-sized bite with plenty of pepper, meat and cheese. After a moment’s consideration, he also speared one of the baby tomato slices. He gave the loaded fork a few blows to cool it, because there was no way he was going to down a maybe-shitty breakfast with a burnt tongue.

He stuck the fork in his mouth -

And his mind was BLOWN.

If there was such a thing as a bit of paradise, than these eggs were the mother fucking proof in the pudding. Or omelet, in this case.

The eggs were cooked to perfection; nice and fluffy to where they melt on in his mouth like luscious chocolate from Lust’s first class bakeries. And the flavor was like a parade in his mouth, from the salty onions, the crisp tomato and the sweet peppers, the numerous flavors sucker-punched his sense of taste without overwhelming the presence of the eggs. The meat inside was spectacular too, the bacon was at the optimum point between chewy and crispy, and the sausage was deliciously flavorful and greasy. His kind of meat, with the right amount of salt and black pepper.

He could barely hold down the pleasurable moan, but did nothing to stop all the muscles in his body from going lax.

Man, fuck trying to go to heaven, the key to fucking Eden’s Gate was right in his head hole.

A bemused coo. “So I take it you like it?”

Blitzø taste-jizzed mind abruptly snapped back into focus. Stolas’s beak was curled into a big, smug-ass grin that made his own fault in to a frown. The owl simply looked at him expectant. Dammit, if the kid weren’t here, he would have gladly told the bird exactly where to shove that grin.

Instead, he gave a disgruntled growl. “Yea, it’s . . . okay.”

Most chefs would have promptly gotten offended by such a dry appraisal of their “masterpieces”, especially if it came from an “uncultured swine” such as him.

But once again, Stolas surprised him by delivering a pleased smile in lieu of a hissy fit. “Well, I’m glad you like it. Eat up now, or it’ll get cold.”

Blitzø chose not to shoot off a shitty comeback, despite being rankled by the “order”. He took out his bubbling frustrations out on his food, picking up the plate and bringing it close enough to begin shoveling the omelet into his mouth like a starving man.

The petty, spiteful gremlin that was roughly, meeeh, ninety percent of his overall personality hoped that such a messy personality hoped that such a messy display would earn at least, would earn a groan of disgust. Always did the trick when he wanted to annoy Moxxie.

However, much to Blitzø’s complete consternation, the owl just gave a small humored hoot and returned to the hotplate with a single crack or insult. Like he didn’t give two shits about his bad manners.

Blitzø internally growled. What an ASS.

. . . A pretty ass, but still.

“I’m glad you’re pleased by my cooking skills.” The big bastard (Yes, Blitzø was calling him that again, suck it.) said happily, busying by wiping down the skillet while beating a new batch of eggs and sliding two slices of bread into a small old-fashioned toaster. “I have to admit, my main specialty is baking and drinks, but I try my best to expand my range of cuisine when I can.”

Once the yolks and whites were thoroughly whipped, there were poured into the skillet and almost immediately they started to sizzle and bubble from the rewarmed metal. “Unfortunately, I can’t cook the kind of food necessary to run a full-fledged cafe’.”

Blitzø swallowed a sizable bite of egg and pepper before asking, “Can’t you just wiggle your fingers and hocus pocus a steak or something?”

Stolas shook his head. “Alas that’s more Lady Beelzebub’s forte than mine. Even my magic can only do so much. Now if this was a flower shop that would be another matter, but it is what it is.”

“I’m glad it isn’t.” Via piped up. “I love Daddy’s cafe’! And I love helping him cook!”

“And you do such a magnificent job, my Owlette.” Stolas’s praise was followed by a small plate of scrambled eggs encircled by toast cut into the shape of flowers and mice, covered in butter and jam. Via took it with a bright thanks, digging in right away with a sparkly pink fork also provided by Stolas. “But sadly, a cafe’ needs more than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and milk to cater to wider clientele. Not that I’m downplaying your talent as a chef, darling.”

“I’s okay, Daddy.” Via said, crumbs dotted on her beak from biting into one of her toast flowers. “I know it’s only because I’m not big enough to use the stove yet.” Blitzø mirrored her smile as she beamed up at him. “Once I can do that, Daddy said I could make even better dishes just like him.”

“Indeed I will, Starfire.” Stolas affirmed. “But for now, I’ll have to settle for looking for another cook. Sadly though -” Stolas pulled a face. “- There hasn’t been one suitable enough to help me run things here.”

“Yeah, it’s hard running the show solo.” Blitzø agreed. “Sucks even more when you don’t have a good crew to back you up. Don’t know where I’d be with M&M.”

Stolas blinked. “Uhm, ‘M&M’?”

Via blinked too. “Like the candy?”

Blitzø snickered. “Nah, Moxxie and Millie, friends of mine and my emplo-” He cut himself off with a grimace. “Well. Who were supposed to be my employees.”

The sudden downtrodden shift that overcame the imp id not go unnoticed by Stolas. “‘Supposed to be?’ What does that -”

“Don’t ask.” Blitzø said curtly. After a second, he added a little less harshly. “I-I don’t really wanna get into it right now.”

Because if I do, I KNOW I’m just going to get pissed off and do something shitty all over again.

“. . . . Alright then.”

Blitzø could hear it clear as day that the bird bastard had more questions, and would more than likely prefer to bombard him with rapid-fire questions like Moxxie would when he wanted to be particularly annoying. But thank Satan, he looked put off enough to put him off.

Small blessings.

The next few minutes passed in silence. The lull of it broken only by the sounds of silverware hitting the plates as Blitzø and Via ate, the drip of coffee as more was brewed in the pot and the subdued sounds of crunching each time either a somewhat concerned Via offered Blitzø a bite of her toast or, returning the favor, when he offered her a bite of bacon or sausage – He learned quick that she didn’t like peppers so much so he did well to avoid giving her any filled-to-the-brim bites. He could only hoped that the reason she liked it wasn’t because the meat that was in it wasn’t made from rodent.

It probably was, though, because . . . Birds.

Eventually, Blitzø had cleaned his plate, a satisfying weight settling in his stomach, he let out a contented sigh, his headache feeling miles better than almost a half hour before. “Woo, that was good. A frickin’ plus.”

The owl’s smiled chased away some of the terseness from before. “Happy to hear it. It’s always good to get good reviews on new dishes.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Quick question, though.”

“Yes?”

Blitzø pointed at the now empty plate. “Level with me – Was there any mice in that? Because, I get it, you and Via are birds, but I kinda draw the line when it comes to eating plague-carrying little turds.”

Stolas tittered at that. “No, no, I assure you, no lovely vermin of any kind was served to you. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that mice are terrible cures for hangovers.”

“What’s a hangover?” Via asked in that no-filter, childishly clueless way that all little hellspawn did.

Stolas, in a perfectly natural response to such a question, was freeze awkwardly. “O-oh, well, erm-”

Blitzø supplied the answer. “It’s like a really bad stomach bug, but for grown-ups.” Giving the little owl a conspiratorial grin, he added in a fake whisper, “Basically, if you eat too much green stuff, your poop comes out greener than Mammon’s butt.”

Via burst into a peal of little girl laughter that definitely brought an easy diffusion to Stolas’s unease, even earning a couple of barely smothered hoots that were poorly hidden by his hand.

Huh. That was twist.

Usually the parents were scolding him at this point, the usual uptight bullshit spiel about “using such vulgar language in front of their innocent little babies, you demented little firetoad!”

Not that he gave a shit because he was a comic genius, fuckyou, Moxxie.

After a bit, both birds managed to quell their laughter enough for Stolas to gently urge Via to head upstairs and get ready for the day. She agreed without protest, stopping only to allow Blitzø to ruffle her headfeathers as he added, “Gotta look cute for the suckers!” That earned him an admonishing look from Stolas that was weakened by his approving smile.

A smile that only grew bigger when Via caught the imp completely off-guard with an unexpected hug, her tiny arms wrapping swiftly and tightly around his waist, almost sending him falling off his stool. Before he could recover, Via was already heading up the staircase, humming cheerfully all the way.

Stolas’s soft chuckle drew Blitzø out of his shock. “Via has certainly taken a liking to you quickly.”

“Uh, yeah, I-I guess.” Blitzø rubbed at the back of his neck. “Last time I got hugged like that, some piece of shit nicked my wallet to buy thirty Bruiser King gift cards.”

“Oh, that’s a pity.”

“Joke was on him, though, he got food poisoning with the first card he used.”

Stolas hummed approvingly as he poured them both a fresh cup of coffee. “Well, I suppose there is such a thing as karma.”

Blitzø barked out a laugh. “Ha! Yeah, and maybe there’s a God.” He accepted the refilled mug, along with the offered sugar and creamers, and dumped almost each one in like an alcoholic adding liqueur. “Uh, speakin’ of, what do I owe ya?”

Stolas, who had added his own preferred condiments to his coffee in much more moderate manner, paused in his blowing at the steam rising from his mug. “Pardon?”

“What do I owe ya? For the food and coffee.” After a moment, he also added with only a tiny wince of guilt. “And whatever else my drunk ass did to your place before I blacked out.”

By emotionally-traumatized principle, he wouldn’t have asked outright. Often times, being the victim of a classist system that shat on those on the bottom rung, he had been subjected to grossly padded bills and unexpected expenses issued by a good percentage of the “well-to-do” owners of “upstanding establishments” where he wound up spending half the night washing up dishes. Once he got fast enough, and only if neither the food nor the service was worth the lightening of his wallet. Blitzø didn’t hesitate to pull a dine and dash; making escapes either through the bathroom window, the vent, or once through riding one of those fancy dining carts into the kitchen and out the employee entrance that admittingly had been fun to ride . . .

. . . Right up until he learned too late that the entrance opened right up to a three-story staircase with no handrail.

Needless to say, that had been one shitty ride to the hospital, Moxxie lecturing him the whole damn eight miles.

After everything – And he meant everything – in his lower body healed, he opted to hold out on anymore dashing. At least until the little baby-dick whineypuss would get off his fucking back about paying.

That aside, he saw no reason to be the deadbeat bun right now. Not when Stolas had been nothing but polite towards him. Even though he certainly didn’t deserve such kindness . . .

He braced himself for the amount as he took a long sip of his sweetened coffee -

“Oh, you needn’t worry – You don’t owe me a sint.”

Blitzø sputtered into his mug, nearly choking on the brew as he processed the owl’s words. “*Cough* *Cough* *Hack* Blegh! Excuse me?”

“You don’t need to pay me.” Stolas restated. “Like I said, you’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve been nothing but civil, you are obviously sorry for any offense you think you’ve given – Not that you have, don’t make that face – And more importantly, Via likes you. So I see no reason to change you.”

Blitzø frowned at him. “You’re screwing with me.” He stated flatly.

“I assure you, I am not. Honestly, your praise over your breakfast was payment enough. In all honesty, you were doing me a favor.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t get a chance to try out new recipes on new faces very often, so any new opinions are always appreciated.” Blitzø felt his face fault at the slow, awfully sensual smile the owl sent him. “Especially ones as sublime as yours.”

Blitzø forgoed looking him in the eye, each cerise eye of his hooded and looking at him like he was going to be the next dish for him to devour, choosing instead to chug down half the contents of his mug. Gulping audibly, he mumbled back, “Glad I was such a good guinea pig for you.”

“I prefer the term ‘freelanced taste-taster’, personally.” Stolas retorted politely.

“I don’t want your charity.” Blitzø bit at him.

“Nor am I giving it to you. Like I said, you did me a favor.”

“How do you know I’m not some thieving bastard taking adventure of goody-two-shoes shop owners like you?”

“I have measures set to prevent such an occurrence.”

“I’m an undercover health inspector and you just failed.”

“Now you’re just grasping, dear.”

Blitzø rubbed a hand over his face. “You can’t just -” He let out a frustrated breath. “Look, I get you’re an . . . Okay guy and you are obviously trying to set a good example for your kid. I get that, but I don’t want to be the lasting impression of what to expect when giving out freebies to poor drunken bitches like me. No one should have to deal with that without getting paid, -”

“Mister Blitzø.”

Stolas’s firm tone stopped him with the sharpness of a smacked ruler. His face was stern, but not completely harsh as he eyes were looking at him with a softness that pricked at his chest.

“You. Do. Not. Me. Anything. And when I say something like that, it’s because I mean it with all the sincerity that is implied. It is not just for the sake of looking good in front of Via and certainly not some sort of dastardly ruse to get you to lower your guard. You’ve apologized and you meant it, you’ve been kind towards my daughter and enjoyed my cooking without bias or sarcasm. That said, believe me when I tell that is something I care for much more than any check or bill.”

Stolas sipped at his coffee calmly, making no comment about the for certain mollified expression on his face. “So, please, no more apologies. They are appreciated, but to be honest, after twenty-two of them, it just feels repetitive.”

Blitzø gave him a look. “Sorry what now?”

“Mister Blitzø -”

“Nah, nah, what you just said, the fuck you mean I said sorry twenty-two times?”

Stolas’s beak dropped into a thin line, taking a moment to maybe think his words over before formulating a response, “When Via and I found you last night, you were in a . . . A great deal of distress.” He was clearly trying to more emphatic than judgmental. “You were greatly intoxicated and horridly incoherent. Once I was close enough, all I could hear was you saying sorry over and over.”

Blitzø could feel himself growing hot from the neck up in embarrassment. The apprehensive caution in Stolas’s voice was doing fuck all to help the crashing wave of shame following up like a speeding train.

He didn’t need Stolas to tell him what he was bawling like a baby over.

But, ever the bottom bitch for punishment, asked anyway. “. . . I say what for?”

Stolas then turned sheepish. “O-Oh well, uh-uhm, I don’t quite recall -”

“Bird, I don’t do any of that hee-haw Shit, it’s too early and I’m still hungover and all I’m gonna do is get pissed off now WHAT did I SAY?”

With two sets of eyes, it was easy to see that Blitzø was not going to give up on getting an answer. Stolas sighed softly.

“You made a great deal of apologies to a great deal of people. I didn’t catch every name but, erm, you had quite the list.” He sipped at his mug, stalling for only a minute before continuing.

“You apologized to a miss Mistly for dinging her car door while trying parallel park by a Wacdonald’s, a miss Queen for breaking smashing her one of a kind pirate ship in a bottle instead of the pinata by accident on her birthday, a miss Millie for chipping her favorite ax, a mister Moxxie for making him run all the way to Greed for a single battery for your TV remote, dropping his guitar fourteen times, borrowing his wallet, or more accurately, pinching his wallet to pay for Voxflix twice, a miss Barbie for stealing one of her skirts and ripping it whilst performing a split, I couldn’t really make out what exactly you were apologizing to a “Vee” and a “Fizz” for -”

“Okay!” Blitzø blurted out. “Okay! I get it! I get it! I was a hot mess, no more shit needed, I got it!” He cringed at the indignant crack in his voice. Christ, like he didn’t look enough like a pathetic shit already. He might as well plan to fake his own death again.

You know what they say, fifth time’s the charm.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Stolas’s weak attempt to reassure him only bounced off of the imp like a ping-pong ball. “It really wasn’t. Really, you should have seen me afterwards when I was binge-drinking.”

Blitzø scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you got real frisky from all those white wine spritzers.”

“Actually, I tended to lean more towards absinthe.” Stolas retorted, with no little bit of sass, taking a small bit of gratification from Blitzø’s surprised. “Of course, with how I was knocking back each bottle, you’d almost believe they were Purgerade drinks.”

Blitzø lifted his head from where he had been pressing it into the bartop. “Damn, how many we talkin’?”

“At least two to three on a good night, or whatever was close to that.”

The imp gave a low whistle. “”Fuck me, bird. I get shit-faced after half a bottle, how the fuck are you still standing?”

“At this point, stubbornness and sheer dumb luck, I believe.” Stolas quipped.

That startled enough mirth in Blitzø to actually make him laugh. “Join the club, pal.”

“I fear I cannot, as I have cut back my vigorous drinking to properly attend to Octavia. Leaving my former occupation did wonders for helping me cub the habit.”

“Bosses sucked that bad, huh?”

“Doubly so, considering it was a family business, sort to speak, although, I can assure they were family in name only.”

“Ugh. Preachin’ to the fuckin’ choir – there’s only so much shitty family a bitch could take in one day.”

“That, Mister Blitzø, I can wholeheartedly agree on.”

There were getting off-track. Blitzø bit his lip. “. . . I’m sorry for my shit.”

“For the final time, no more apologizes are necessary.”

He angled his head towards the staircase door. “I probably scared your kid.”

“Via has seen far worse, I assure you. Even when off your cups, you weren’t untoward her in any way, so you can save any of the claims of indecency that you’ve half-heartedly concocted in that crafty little mind of yours.”

“Just let me fuckin’ pay you.”

“I neither require nor want your money and I promise you, should you try to force any $ouls on me, I will promptly set it to aflame.”

“Lilith’s titties, you’re a stubborn bitch.”

“And you are an equally stubborn spendthrift.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not without dinner, if you please.”

Blitzø groaned. “God, we’re gonna keep talking in circles if you don’t just charge me and get it over with. I’m not fucking broke, I have the $ouls, just let me pay you.”

Stolas’s counter remark definitely caught Blitzø unawares. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s done something genuinely kind for you, hasn’t it?”

Blitzø’s hackles rose instantly at the “innocent” statement. “You trying to say something?”

Stolas merely sipped at his coffee. “Just an assessment.”

“Or you being a dickhead.”

“I made you a free breakfast for which I expect nothing in return. I am being absolutely forthright whereas you are choosing not to believe that I have no ulterior motives. Who, might I ask, is being the dickhead here?”

Oh, this smug bitch.

He had wanted to let loose a snarl that would make the owl falter in his not requested charity streak. He felt the urge already rising in his throat, ready to finally tell off this prick who was seriously starting to piss him off . . .

. . . But could only let out a low whine at the exhaustion of prolonging the one-sided argument, the fatigue of a bad night, getting totally smashed and crashing just as hard setting in. Being still half hungover sure as shit was not helping to keep the spark of pride burning.

If anything, Blitzø felt even more tired.

He wanted nothing more than to lay everything out, pay whatever the fucking bird deserved and drag his broke-back ass back home and lick his wounds from last night. And the only thing that was stopping him was getting through to this royally stubborn and feathery (Not to mention pretty soft-looking) bastard of a demon.

“Alright, look – I want to pay you back, but for some weird ass reason, you won’t let me.”

“I think we have perfectly established that.”

“So we got a problem.”

“Which could be solved by you accepting my putting your breakfast on the house.”

“And it should be clear as fuck that ain’t happening.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

Blitzø blew a breath of air out of his nose. “I’m not just being an asshole here – I don’t like owing people anything. I’ve been dipping in and out of debts for years, financial and personal. And just that fucking recently I finally managed to pay off a good chunk of them only to literally be screwed over again almost the same fucking day. So now I’m once again edging too damn close to bankruptcy for my liking.”

He gave the owl a flat look. “Meaning I can’t take any chances, such as freebies or random handouts, cuz Charity was just as easily turn into high-interest loans with zero time frames for return payments, unless you want to set up an installment plan that involves cutting out pounds of flesh ever week. Obviously, a guy like me can’t afford to look any more fucked up than he is with a chunk of anything missing.

“All that said, do you see what I’m gettin’ at?”

“. . . . I’m starting to.” Stolas said with a considerate look.

“Satisfaction eased through Blitzø’s frame. “Great. Glad we finally got that -”

“All the same, you needn’t pay me.”

And just like that it was gone.

He growled so sharply it would have destroyed eardrums had he done it inside of headphone speakers. “You fuckin’-”

“But since you won’t accept the gesture,” Stolas interrupted calmly. “How about just doing me a special favor?”

“‘Special favor’?” Blitzø blinked. “What kinda -”

A sound not unlike a light bulb dinged in his thank full-no-longer-as-sore cranium.

Oh.

Oh okay.

He gave a resigned sigh. “Hooookay, look, tootsie hootsie, if you just wanted a quick shag in the back all you had to do was ask. But I gotta warn ya, the place I’ve fucked in was a public bathroom that probably wasn’t cleaned in the last year or two, so I’ll probably need to wipe down the goods with something. Baby wipes would be good if got’em -”

“NO!” A spluttered hoot brought his attention back to Stolas, whose heart-shaped features had turned an almost violent shade of crimson in the span of half a minute. “No! No, no! Not that kind of favor, no! I mean I need your mouth!”

Blitzø gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah, I got that much, relax.”

“No! No! I mean -” Stolas let out a shaky warble before planting his face into his hands while muttering to himself in fit of bashfulness.

Blitzø just sipped at his coffee, waiting for him to spit whatever he wanted to say out. To his credit, he didn’t stare, knowing from his own share of verbal vomiting moments that doing that would just make his embarrassment worse.

Even though he no clue what the fuck he was suddenly so damn worked up about.

I mean, fuck, if I had a sint for each time I said the “wrong” things, I’d be raking in more money more green than Mammon.

A deep breath. “Forgive me, I’m doing this all wrong. I’m trying to offer you a deal. Something, I hope, will mutually beneficial to the both of us.”

The incredulous look on Blitzø’s face was quickly addressed. “Nothing vulgar or dramatic involved, you needn’t worry. Nothing of the sort.” He took another deep breath. “I would like for to come in again, and try my cooking.”

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

“Say what now?”

Stolas made a small noise of exasperation. “As I said, I’m still relatively new to running a business dealing with dining and catering and the like. I’m often pushed into having to spontaneously expand my range of techniques and specialties depending on my success. I know I’m capable, but I know that I can’t just rely on my own opinion and preferences alone. Even more so when I’m attempting new dishes. As such, I need an outside opinion.”

The imp blinked. “And yooouuu think that’s me?”

Stolas nodded. “Very much so.”

“Some fucking rando off the street who broke into your private property, was wasted out of his mind and could just as easily rob you blind despite these so-called ‘measures’ you said you have?”

“Not as ‘so-called’ as you say, but yes.”

“Rrrright.” Blitzø rolled his eyes. “Don’tcha have, I dunno other foodie friends, you can ask? Or maybe just wait for some famous food blogger critic douchebag to to come in and give you a rating?”

“None that would trust to be fair or take seriously, or assume my want for approval is really a want for cheap compliments – that I’m desperate enough to give someone license to either be obnoxiously petty or to deliver the best shallow review that procures them a not so low-key invitation to my bedroom.”

Blitzø grunted. “Asshats.”

“You should see how quickly they recoil as soon as they learn of Via.”

“Fuckin’ asshats.”

“Quite.” Stolas affirmed. “And to answer your other question, yes, I do have others whose say I do value, but I’ve heard relying on the biased does not help one’s credibility. I do appreciate the precious few whom I’m fortunate enough to have as friends, but I need a healthy dose of honesty from outside sources to provoke me to experiment and expand myself.”

“And you think that guy is me?” Blitzø repeated, gesturing to himself crudely.

“Of course.”

“Bullshit.”

“Good gracious, and you call me stubborn.”

“It’s not -” He let out a small snarl.

Seriously? He was still keeping this up? Enough was enough.

“Look, I get you’re trying to be nice, I get that. But, trust me, I’m the last fucking guy you want to be nice to let alone have around. Seriously, ask fucking anyone in hearing distance – I’m a right bastard on a good day and a pushy dickhead on a bad one, I’ve fucked up more people than I’ve actually helped and you would have more sense to shoot me rather than invite me over again. I mean, you gotta kid to think about, and -”

Blitzø shook his head. “And you don’t want me messin’ with your business. The one I tried starting flopped before I even got my feet off the ground. Pretty sure that speaks a fuckton for how helpful I can be towards you.”

He could barely ignore the burning sting of truth in that statement.

Saying all the shit that was a constant boiling inside him all out loud sucked.

It sucked balls.

He knew it was better than letting it all rot and fester like he let everything else – But it still sucked.

Fuck what his therapist said about it being being cathartic. He should quit that bitch.

It’s not like he would be able to pay them for much longer anyway.

Blitzø knew he was not the kind of person to be asked to come back. Even the scraps of friends he had managed to hang on to could barely wait for him to leave as soon as he said hello.

Moxxie was the leading example of proving him right. Even when Blitzø actually adhered to his demands of privacy and properly asking for invites to visit, (That Blitzø still found completely anal of him although he bit his lip) Moxxie was adamant to get him out the door before he could even get two fucks in.

Even Millie, Moxxie’s blast and a half of a wife, who was far more accommodating than her whore-back husband, drew the line when it came to his company being longer than necessary.

That was to say fucking nothing about his own flesh and blood.

Barbie Wire, his twin sister, his other half, would sooner see him six feet under before seeing him again.

Cash Buckzo, his father, never asked for him, never wanted him, and made it a point of telling him so straight to his face more than once.

His mother, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . She sure as fuck would have been better off without him.

And his exes? Those who he didn’t remember or couldn’t care to remember, those he never took a chance on because of him being too much of a pussy to try?”

Verosika? It was pretty fucking clear on how that went.

Fizz?

He was never wanted.

He was never missed.

He was never asked to come back.

Not for a visit.

Not for a drink.

Never just to hang and shoot the shit.

He was always tossed away as soon as necessary.

He was always left behind, pushed aside, shoved into the background.

Forgotten.

Dead for all those concerned.

Dead, except in the way he wanted when he was at the lowest he could be.

No one ever missed him.

No one ever wanted him back.

Nobody.

“. . . . I fuck things up more often than I get them right. There’s a pretty good chance if you get involved with me, shit’s gonna go sideways for you too.”

He wasn’t sure if he had muttered that part aloud or not. Not that he gave a shit.

He halfway expected to be asked to repeat himself.

Or maybe Stolas would curse him under his breath for being such a dramatic bitch.

Maybe he would finally cut the bullshit and be real about what the fuck that he really wanted from him.

However, all Blitzø got in response, was a soft touch at his wrist, soft as silk and just as gentle.

Along with two sets of big cerise rose eyes that crinkled gently at the corners as they held his gaze with calmness and sympathy.

And maybe something else, but that could’ve been that whiny, fractured part of himself making up what wasn’t actually there.

“I’ve taken far riskier gambles than trusting a stranger out of the blue, Mister Blitzø.” Stolas spoke in such a comforting voice. “And I have yet to lose from any of them. Perhaps it’s rather cocky to say so, but since my winning streak has yet to be broken, I think you’re a rather good bet to take a chance on.”

The tender smile, that was nothing short of dazzling, he gave Blitzø at the end such a declaration was a damn good seller.

Satan forbid this man ever works for Vox – cause with that smile, he could sell gas station keys like they were the keys to gates of Eden itself. I mean, if his touch alone could send sparks up my arm like he was doing right now. . .

Fuck him if he knew.

The hand causing such a feeling than gave two soft pats to his wrist before lifting away to grab the coffee pot once more, refilling Blitzø’s mug with still steaming java and the exact number of sugars and creams he had diluted it with before.

“So, how does coming in twice, three times a week sound? I usually close the cafe’ around seven since I try to get Octavia in bed by eight thirty on weeknights. If you like to come by over the weekend, I close around six thirty to seven o’clock depending on how busy I get. Except any catering orders or special events, I’m not fussy over whenever you come over. All I ask is that you let me know when you’re coming by in advance so I can have something ready for you. A day or two ahead would be just fine.”

Blitzø, this time, could not find in him to groan loudly in protest to the blatant hardheaded dismissal of the what seemed like hours long argument. The argument he bitterly realized that he couldn’t fight against.

That did nothing to stop him from throwing his head back and scowling at the annoying as shit clean ceiling tiles above them.

“. . . . . . . You really aren’t gonna give this up, are you?” He said after a while.

“I suppose I’m about as bull-headed as you are.”

Blitzø gave a chuffing laugh at that.

Well, fuck.

What was he supposed to do with that?

What could he do with that?

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

Fuck it, if the worst happened, he could just disappear again, right?

Not likely Stolas would look for him just for a review, right?

. . . . Right.

“. . . . . . . . . . The peppers and onions were both sweet.”

Stolas blinked at him like the owl he was.

Heh. Cute.

“The omelet was good, but it was kinda over-sweetened; I don’t know what kinda onions you added but personally I would use a more subtle kind of onion to help round out the sweetness of the peppers.”

He let this sink in for a moment before continuing, “I remember seeing you add a green pepper so next time I would recommend using a shallot, maybe about half a tablespoon’s worth should be right. A regular tablespoon’s good too if you don’t use too much of the peppers.”

He sipped at his refreshed coffee. “I personally, like some spice in my eggs to help me wake up, so don’t be afraid to throw some in the mix in the future. Like oregano or basil. You don’t have to go crazy with the amount, though, - just about when you’re making the bowl and a few dashes of it on top when ya put it on the plate. It’ll pair well with the tomatoes and not distract you too much from the rest of the food.”

He took a breath. “Coffee’s good, strong enough to double as a chemical peel, everything any caffeine addict is looking for. The aftertaste doesn’t turn me off from drinking the rest and from how it feels going down I am a hundred and fifteen percent sure you’re a nit-pick bitch cuz I taste how finely you ground the beans without turning them to powder. It’s good ya didn’t because that shit’s only good foe about half hour before fighting to keep your eyes open by either shooting up some dope or knocking back enough 66-Hour-Energy drinks to give the Big B a heart attack.”

Shouldn’t he stop? Maybe he was saying too much. Stolas had asked for honesty and Blitzø was doing his best to deliver it with as little jackassery as possible.

Problem was, for Blitzø, jackassery was his default language, according to practically everyone and their fat mom’s. And, most of the time, he didn’t even realize how much he let slip out before he got a sharp crack across the face. Or a knee to the balls.

He chanced a look at Stolas. If he looked upset, he could take it all back. It wasn’t too late, he could still backtrack -

Tiny stars sparked in Stolas’s wide eyes. Small and bright and beautiful, looking every bit like the twinkling little lights his mom would tell stories to him and Barbie back in their childhood. After the circus ring was cleared of trash and the last Hellhorse was tucked in their stall. Back when, even thought hings weren’t easy, everything was okay.

Before everything suddenly wasn’t.

Stolas, upon noticing Blitzø looking at him, instantly grew more flustered in some odd cacophony of joy and mortification, his plumage fluffing up from the top of his crown to the little floof of feathers on his chest. His hands belated came up to smooth them back into place, unfortunately they did little to quell them along with the rosy blush that tinted his face plate into an eye-catching pink.

Damn, this bird was so cute it was unfair.

The anxious itch in his chest was put to ease right there and then.

This couldn’t actually work, could it?

. . . Could it?

. . . . . . Maybe. Just maybe.

Emboldened, Blitzø sent the owl a lazy smile that easily darkened the pink on his face, matching the warmth the imp felt on his own face. “The apple was like a fucking angel feather, so soft and tasty. You have got to show me how the ever-loving fuck you made it turning to to applesauce ‘cause that shit was better than fuckin’ crack.”

Stolas looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be elated or overwhelmed.

After an awkwardly long amount of time, he clearly had settled on elation. His upper set of eyes turned upward in little crescents as his beak returned the smile with a brightness that Blitzø felt proud of bring out.

“I’d be happy to, darling.”

To be continued . . .

ME: Hey all you sinners & saints! Who’s excited for HAZBIN HOTEL coming out this friday?!?!?!? (Or Thursday if you actually watch it at it’s appointed time) I know I am!

I am SO EXCITED AND DESPERATELY TRYING TO IGNORE THE FACT THIS STORY IS LITTERALLY GOING TO LOST IN HAZBIN HIGH THAT I KNOW IS COMING FOR THE PAST WEEK. AND THE WEEK AFTER THAT. And the week after that . . .

ANYWAYSO, here is the recipe for the Mega-Omelet, which let me tell, just reading the ingredients alone mad me feel full! Also, what do you do for your respective hangovers? Let me know in the comments!

I’ll have the next (& FINAL chapter of this installment) written and posted as soon as I can, so until then, eat hearty, everyone!

Oh, and enjoy your stay at the Hazbin Hotel . . .

#helluva boss #stolitz #helluva boss fanfiction #helluva boss fanfic #my fanfic #cafe' au #Based on Pink Lomito's original AU art #Cooking #Kid Octavia #Blitz & Via Bonding #Mega Omelet #Included recipe #Chef! Stolas #SOME angst #Hangovers and remedies #blitzø #blitzo #blitz helluva boss #stolas goetia #stolas #prince stolas #stolas helluva boss #octavia #octavia goetia #octavia helluva boss

[gffa]

GOD I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SCENE. THE WAY IT STARTS OUT WITH VADER’S CATWALK SASHAY TOWARDS THE SHIP YOU CAN SEE THE “WALK WALK MURDER BABY” ON FULL DISPLAY HE IS WORKING IT LOOK AT HIM BUT THEN! WHAT REALLY GETS ME ABOUT THIS SCENE IS THE SAME THING THAT RUNS THROUGHOUT THE EPISODE. I’VE SEEN DARTH VADER DO  A LOT OF SHIT YOUR PANTS LEVEL TERRIFYING THINGS, I’VE SEEN HIM MURDER CHILDREN IN THE MOVIES, I’VE SEEN HIM RIP APART A ROOM AND THROW THE WALLS AT PEOPLE IN JEDI: FALLEN ORDER, I’VE SEEN HIM SLICE THROUGH REBELS LIKE THEY’RE MERE SPEEDBUMPS IN ROGUE ONE, I’VE SEEN HIM CUT OFF INQUISITORS’ ARMS IN THE COMICS, I’VE SEEN HIS BITCHY REVENGE FANTASIES FOR OBI-WAN IN THE COMICS, I’VE SEEN DARTH VADER BE A TERRIBLE PERSON A LOT BUT SOMEHOW THIS SHOW ALWAYS MAKES IT MORE VISCERAL AND TERRIFYING PART OF IT IS SEEING IT IN 2022 LIVE ACTION BUT PART OF IT IS THAT THE ACTING IN THIS SERIES HAS REALLY KNOCKED IT OUT OF THE PARK EVEN WHEN YOU CAN’T SEE HIS FACE YOU CAN HEAR VADER’S STRAINING GROANS YOU CAN SEE HIS HAND TREMBLE YOU CAN FEEL HOW HE IS SO FULL OF FURY AND RAGE, THIS IS PERSONAL, THIS MATTERS TO HIM OBI-WAN KENOBI MATTERS SO MUCH TO HIM THAT HE’LL RIP THAT SHIP RIGHT OUT OF THE SKY AND THEN JUST SHRED IT TO PIECES THIS IS HOW POWERFUL ANAKIN SKYWALKER IS HE’S A GODDAMNED WALKING NIGHTMARE THAT I AM ALTERNATELY IMPRESSED BY AND TERRIFIED BY BUT IT’S ALSO HOW WEAK ANAKIN SKYWALKER IS BECAUSE HE’S SO BLINDED BY THAT RAGE HE CAN’T EVEN THINK STRAIGHT HE SO BADLY NEEDS TO WIN THIS FIGHT AGAINST OBI-WAN THAT IT SCRAMBLES HIS ASSHOLE CAT CHASING A LASER POINTER BRAIN AND HE MISSES WHAT’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM ALL THE WHILE BEING ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING VADER IS TERRIFYING BECAUSE THIS IS THE POWER PUT IN THE HANDS OF SOMEONE WHO OBSESSES OVER THE PEOPLE HE LOVES, WHO GIVES IN TO HIS FEARS, WHO IS STILL QUAKING IN FEAR SOMEWHERE IN THERE BECAUSE HE HASN’T LEARNED A GODDAMNED THING SINCE HE WAS A PADAWAN BECAUSE ALL THAT POWER IS IN THE HANDS OF SOMEONE WHO HAS NO CONTROL OVER HIMSELF HE CAN TEAR A STARSHIP RIGHT OUT OF THE SKY HE CAN RIP IT INTO PIECES WITH JUST A THOUGHT AND THE REAL NIGHTMARE IS THAT IT’S ALL CENTERED IN SOMEONE WHO CHOSE THIS INSTEAD OF BECOMING THE PERSON HE COULD HAVE BEEN BUT ALSO GODDAMN LOOK AT HIM JUST PULL THAT MASSIVE SHIP DOWN LIKE THAT’S NOT A SHUTTLE OR A STARFIGHTER THAT’S A FULL ON FUCKING TRANSPORT SHIP AND THEN STILL HAVE THE POWER TO TEAR IT OPEN LIKE IT’S TISSUE PAPER JESUS CHRIST ANAKIN REALLY IS JUST FUCKOFF POWERFUL

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi spoilers #anakin skywalker #meta #long post

[peterman-spideyparker]

A Punny Kind of Love (Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey lovelies! I wrote this in maybe a half hour back in October so I wouldn't be late posting it for Valentine's Day, and guess what I forgot to post for Valentine's Day🙃 Anyways, it's still within the Valentine's Day week, so it counts. Enjoy! :)

Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and you and Matt get one another similar gifts.

Warnings: Pure, sweet, domestic and adoring fluff, smut (alluded to, not written)

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 848

“Hey, Matt,” you smile as he walks into the apartment, folding his cane and taking off his glasses, placing both by the door.

“Hi, (Y/N),” he smirks, walking over and pulling me in for a sweet kiss. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Matty.” You reciprocate the message with a kiss, Matt pulling you closer as you try to break the kiss. You erupt into a fit of laughter as you pull away, Matt’s hands gently tracing over your body as he keeps pecking little kisses into your lips.

“I’ve got a lasagna in the oven, a fresh bottle of Macallan’s, oh! And the lovely bouquet of tulips you sent me,” you inform, pecking a kiss on the tip of his nose.

Matt smiles, arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close and kiss you more. “Surprised, sweetheart?”

“Yes and no,” you say against his lips. “But I love it all the same, Matt. They’re beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“What a line,” you giggle as he continues to kiss you. “Let’s go to the couch.”

“Oh?”

“I want to give you your gift.”

“Mm?”

“It’s not sex, you goober!” you cackle. “Well, it’s not sex yet.”

Wriggling out of his hold, you take his hand and guide him to the couch. Halfway there, he slips from your grip and goes to where he keeps his Devil suit, pulling out a red bag before he joins you on the couch. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he smiles as you exchange gifts. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Matt.” You give his knuckles a kiss and squeeze his hand. “Open yours first.”

Pulling his gift out of the bag, you see the confusion work across his face as he tries to figure it out. “It’s . . . A teddy bear,” Matt smiles as he runs his hands over the soft fur of the plushie.

You place your hand over one of his, moving it along the little outfit he’s in.

“Beardevil,” you correct as you guide him over the little helmet he wears. Matt chuckles as he feels over the bear with more attention.

“I knew you loved puns, but this is taking it to a new level,” he chuckles. 

“Is it, though?”

“Yes it is,” he continues to laugh, his wide smile making the corners of his eyes crinkle as he leans in for a kiss. 

“If you don’t appreciate the layered pun—.”

“No, no, I do. It’s just that you’ve rubbed off on me so much, I made the same pun. Well, almost.”

Leaning over, he picks up the red bag and puts it in my lap. Moving out the tissue paper, you pull out a brown duck plushie that appears to be wearing a miniature version of your favorite suit of Matt’s—the ensemble complete with red spectacles on.

“Let me guess,” you smile as you assess the duck, trying to think of the pun. “Matt Mur-duck?” Matt chuckles again as he nods his head. “The student has become the master, I see.”

“You like it?”

“I love it. Almost as much as his namesake,” you hum as you lean forward to give Matt a kiss. “Plus, I think these two fine fellows are good evidence to protect your identity. I mean, there’s no way a duck can turn into a bear.”

“Well, there’s also supposed to be no way that a blind man can behave like I do.”

“Wait, so what I’m hearing is that Matt Murduck’s pond was polluted with toxic waste and granted him the ability to transform into Beardevil to fight crime?”

“Your brain really does work at a million miles a minute, doesn’t it, angel?” he hums, his voice raspy as his fingers trace the skin on the back of my hand. 

“All that’s in there is circus music, babe. Full chaos, a million miles a minute, all the time.” 

“Well, let me see if I can do something about that.” Leaning forward, he presses his lips into yours, kissing you slowly as your body moves to a horizontal position on the couch. You gasp and moan as you feel him grind his hips into you, which only makes a smile grow on his stubbled chin.

“Matt,” you murmur against his lips. “Matt . . .”

“Tell me what you need, baby,” he husks, dragging his lips to the sweet spot of your neck.

“Not in front of the duck and bear.”

His kisses stop as his laugh reverberates in your skin. “That’ll be hard the way we have sex.”

“Virgin eyes.”

“They’ll see worse.”

“Please?”

It’s a low blow—you know Matt can’t resist you when you say that single word. With a sigh, he scoops you up in his arms and moves you to the bedroom. 

“We’ll be more comfortable here anyways,” he says, kicking the sliding door closed with his foot behind him. 

“They’ll hear us.”

“(Y/N).”

“Gotcha,” you smile, pulling him in for a deep, passionate kiss. “Do me, Matty.”

“How romantic,” he beams.

You giggle before you kiss him again. “I love you.”

“Love you more, angel. More than you’ll ever know.”

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop​ @itwasthereaminuteago​ @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore​​ @dpaccione​ @catnip987​

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil x fem!reader #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #daredevil netflix #daredevil disney+

[smoll-stace]

MORE PROMPTY RANDOM IDEAS

its 3am again and my brain is too loud for comfortable sleep so uhhh here we go again lol

A borrower stealing stuff from stockings

Borrower clinging for dear life onto mistletoe as they look down at their grinning friend (/lover)

Borrower who keeps unplugging the Christmas tree cause it shines light into their room while they're trying to sleep

borrower who takes off with bits of tissue paper for projects

Giants in a town square putting the star atop the tree

Giants helping decorate houses (possibly even treating them like little ginger bread houses. (Not eating them like that silly but like having full power decorating them however they want)

Giants building igloos so they can stay closer to human towns

Giants who hibernate like bears, there friend/lover coming to keep them company (really the human is just lonely)

Sizeshifters that hide (small) in the tree surrounded by lights only and tinsel to jump out resizing and spook their partner

Sizeshifters who find it much easier to scoop the snow from the driveway then use a snow shovel. (They then scoop up their friend/partner up along with the snow and the shovel.)

Sizeshifters that try to be sneaky and peak at presents. (They of course get caught)

That's about all I can think of but feel free to add to this or make a story out of this

Please credit if you do for of inspo (or just tag me lol,) (I really would like to see what you come up with!

#gt #giant tiny #giant #gianttiny #gt community #g/t #gt prompt #gt prompts #prompt #gt fluff #christmas 2023

[baronessblixen]

I used a prompt from this list today: 10. “It’s alright, I’m here now.”

Diana/IVF angst (with a soft ending): Scully is already upset about a colleague's pregnancy and then Diana shows up and makes things worse. (wc: 1,549)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 3: The Deepest Cut

Those damn hormones.

Scully wipes the tears from the corner of her eyes, careful not to smudge her carefully applied make-up. It’s one thing to break down in the sanctity of her home. It’s entirely different to have it happen at work. There was no way to prepare herself. One moment she and Mulder were getting lunch and the next, everyone was congratulating Agent Winman on her pregnancy.

She felt Mulder’s hand on her back in the aftermath, a steady reminder that he was there for her. She doesn’t remember what she said to the other agent, but she must have said something. And then there was Diana. Who – even though she hardly knew the other woman – was the loudest and the most cheerful. Who, upon declaring that there’s nothing better than babies, looked straight at Mulder and winked.

Scully excused herself, pressing her untouched lunch into Mulder’s hand. She heard him try to ask if she was okay, but she wasn’t, and she knew she couldn't stay and explain. Because of the hormones. There won’t be a baby growing inside her, but her body is as quick to catch up as her brain. Her doctor told her it would take a while for her hormones to return back to normal. Right now, she’s losing her patience. She shouldn’t have tried. She shouldn’t have hoped. How silly of her. But how could she not have tied, not have hoped? A boy – or girl – with Mulder’s smile and his pouty lips. With a thirst for knowledge, a tender heart, and a stubborn head.

She looks at herself in the mirror, her cheeks rosy and full. And for what? Her dream child disappears and all that’s left is her own face and the tears that threaten to fall again.

“Get a grip,” she says to her reflection, wiping under her eyes. She can’t face Mulder like this. One look at her and he’ll know she cried. And she doesn’t have the strength to explain it to him. To shoulder his grief, too.

The door to the bathroom opens and Scully startles, trying to hide the tissues and every piece of evidence of her breakdown.

“Oh, Agent Scully.” There’s disdain in Diana Fowley’s voice as she says her name. Of all of the people in the Hoover Building, it has to be her. Of all the bathrooms she could have chosen, she walks in here, with a smirk on her face.

“Fox was wondering where you’d gone.”

“Just needed the restroom,” Scully says, turning on the water.

“Hmm. Isn’t it just wonderful news, though?” Scully remains quiet. “Agent Winman,” Diana explains needlessly. She’s just standing here, gloating. She doesn’t need the restroom at all. She must have followed her here. Bile rises in Scully’s throat.

“Wonderful news,” she says, turning away from Diana to dry her hands on a bunch of paper towels.

“You know,” Diana says wistfully, “I never thought I’d want children, but now I’m reconsidering it. All you need is the right man.” Her laugh sounds like a Rottweiler’s bark. “And I think I know who’d be perfect.”

“That’s great,” Scully says, trying to sound disinterested. Don’t say his name, she pleads. Don’t say his name. Just as she lifts her head and her eyes meet Diana’s, the other woman opens her mouth.

“Fox will make a great father, don’t you think?”

Will. Not would. As if she’s sure of it. As if she’s sure that she and Mulder will have children. Scully grabs the countertop and holds on tight. If she doesn’t, she might faint. Her dream child, the one with her nose and Mulder’s mouth disappears and is replaced by another one. That boy has Mulder’s mouth and his smile. Just like she’d always dreamed it. But he has Diana’s eyes, her dark hair, and her nose.

“Agent Scully? Did I say something wrong? You look pale.” Her voice drips with satisfaction.

“No, I’m fine,” she says. “I’m just-”

“You’re sad you can’t give him children, hm?” Scully’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh yes, I know. Everyone knows.” Another laugh. This one cuts even deeper and tears Scully’s insides apart. How does she know? How could she have possibly found out about her and Mulder doing IVF? Unless. No, it can’t be. Mulder wouldn’t have told her. Not this. Not her.

“And you know what, Agent Scully?” Her face is so close that Scully can smell her perfume. The unsubtle, expensive scent tickles her nose and makes her sick. “I can. I can give him children. I can be a mother.” Just as she says this, the door to the bathroom opens and Mulder’s head pops inside.

“There you are. I had a pretty embarrassing run-in with Skinner’s secretary just now. Scully, are you-” for the second time that day, she doesn’t let him finish his question, and runs off. She doesn’t care where she’s going, and she can’t see well. She lets the tears fall freely, not caring anymore.

*

“Hey, don’t run again, okay?” Mulder’s voice is soft and his steps toward her as timid. He looks as if he were trying to catch a scared kitten.

“I won’t,” she promises, trying to keep the tears at bay. It’s no use. The closer Mulder comes, the fast her walls crumble. By the time he puts his arms around her, she’s full-on crying.

“It’s all right,” he whispers into her hair. “I’m here now.” His words and his tenderness make her cry harder. She thinks of that night, of the glimmer of hope in his eyes before she told him that it hadn’t worked. That there wouldn’t be a baby. He held her all night, whispering things to her, trying to share his hope and his beliefs with her. Trying to make her see that once again he wouldn’t give up. That he’d shoot for the moon, try and catch it for her, make that miracle come true after all.

“What happened there?” he asks gently, stroking her hair. And she lets him. They’re at work and anyone could walk in. Diana Fowley could see them like this and report them. The thought makes her shiver which in turn makes Mulder draw her closer, his arms tightening around her.

“Mulder, I can’t-” What Diana said to her returns with a vengeance and she frees herself of Mulder’s embrace. He lets her go, his arms slipping away and hanging by his side as if useless when not holding her. “How did Diana know?” she asks out loud, her thoughts going too fast for her.

“How did Diana know what?”

“That I did IVF. That I can’t have children.” The surprise on Mulder’s face is genuine. He’s taken aback by her question and Scully feels almost guilty that she even suspected he’d say something to her.

“I- I have no idea, Scully. I didn’t tell her.”

“You didn’t.” She has to make sure.

“I swear to you I didn’t. What did she say to you? That got you so worked up.” He comes closer again and she lets him in.

“It doesn’t- it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” he says, searching her face. “She said something that hurt you.”

“She said you’ll make a great father.” Mulder’s eyes narrow in confusion. “She, um, she wants to have children with you.” “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. She hates children. Maybe hate is a strong- no, she hates them. I remember her saying that once. She said she even hated children when she was a child herself.” Scully scoffs; she can see that.

“And hey.” She doesn’t dare look at him, but Mulder wouldn’t be Mulder if he didn’t try everything in his power. He tips up her chin. Her eyes are swimming with tears again – or still – but she sees the love in his eyes, in all of his face. They don’t need to exchange those three little words for her to know them, and to feel them deep inside.

“Even if she didn’t,” Mulder says. “Even if she loved children, even if she wanted a dozen of them… I don’t want any with her. That thought never even crossed my mind. I’ll talk to her and-”

“Don’t,” Scully says. “Please.”

“If that’s what you want.” She nods. “I’ll try to keep my mouth shut. You know how hard that is for me.” He gives her a sweet smile and she chokes out a laugh, too. Her sadness weighs heavily on her, but with Mulder here, it feels a bit lighter.

"I can't believe she'd say that to you. I'm sorry, Scully. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she says in a small voice knowing it's far from okay. She herself is far from okay. “I’m sorry that we-” He shakes his head, still smiling.

“Remember what I said?” As if she could ever forget it.

“Never give up on a miracle,” she repeats quietly, as if afraid to speak it out loud, to tempt fate once again.

“I won’t if you won’t.” He kisses her temple, letting his lips linger. Her eyes flutter close and she soaks in it all in. His words. His love for her. His unbending hope.

It doesn't matter what Diana says or does. She'll never have this. She'll never have Scully's Mulder.

#this one was fun to write #writing feels more like fun #at least it did yesterday and today #i better not jinx it #hope you guys like it too :) #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

[moodywyrm]

basketball!abby with bookworm!reader where at abby’s basketball game reader gives her flowers but not regular flowers ones made out of old book pages/newspaper and abby’s never been given t flowers before

-🧶

combining these two bc basketball! abby x chubby bookworm reader are my everything <3

just imagine learning like two months in advance that abby has a huge game coming up. n ur like? well obviously she's gonna I have to get her something great. n I imagine that u get her a gift or flowers after every single game, but the first time it happened (like two months before u even started dating) she absolutely cried. u got her a bouquet of gladiolus, hyacinths, tulips, trying to put into practice some stuff u had read about the language of flowers. now? that bouquet is dried and hanging above the reading nook, bc she never wanted to get rid of it <3

but back to this game! u wanted to get her something really special, considering how important this game was gonna be! there were gonna be scouts there! so ur wracking ur brain for like a week until it hits you! u two met over books! paper flowers! so u spend like two months making these paper flowers absolutely perfect, collecting books from the thrift store to make her roses n peonies n the like! u even add tissue paper to make poppies n extra lil details! u hide them at Ellie n Dina's apartment so abby doesn't find out and every time ur there working on them, Ellie and Dina are like ur so in love its both adorable and sickening.

and the day of the game rolls around! abby is ridiculously anxious but trying not to show it bc she's the captain! she has to be confident! and her nerves are calmed a lil bit by seeing u front n center at ur courtside seat bc her coach loves having u there, wearing one of Abby's jerseys thrown over her hoodie and her favorite of ur miniskirts. the paper bouquet is hidden behind ur seat and a couple of bags. the whole gym is buzzing with nervous, excited energy the entire game and in the final seconds. abby scores one more point, tipping it over and the gym fucking explodes.

everyone is up, out of their seats, stomping and cheering and abby is locked on you, having immediately sought you out when she heard the final buzzer. and there u are, standing all pretty at the sidelines, letting her team celebrate with her. and in your arms is the bouquet.

and abby is running at you when you hold it out to her. she registers what it is and the tears start flowing, falling into her gorgeous smile as she wraps one arm around ur waist and lifts, hauling u up as u wrap ur legs around her waist and kissing her silly while she hoists the bouquet up. when she sets u down and they hand her the trophy, she kisses the bouquet and hands it to u for safe keeping, keeping one arm around ur waist while the other holds the trophy up the same way she did for the bouquet. they're equally important to her and you don't think you've ever seen abby smile so broadly, her arm locked around u as she presses another kiss to ur lips, giddy with excitement and relief. u can hear the 'awwws' from people around u, but ur too caught up in your best girl to care.

later, when u both get back to the apartment, she walks to the reading book and sees another bouquet, real roses and all the flowers you could find that mean love and admiration made into the most beautiful arrangement you could pay for. she sets the paper bouquet in her favorite vase, one you bought her, and reaches for you, pressing her lips to yours, smiling through the kiss. her hands are planted so firmly on your waist, reassuring herself that you're both real and present and she just changed your guys' life.

"I love you so much baby. I did this for us. It's all for us." and she's crying and ur crying and the kiss is so sweet n a lil messy and so full of love. afterparties and whatever can fucking wait, she needs this time with the love of her life.

#🧶 anon #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x reader fluff

[127luvr]

SOOO i just reqd the jaemin smau AND i have thoughts (as a jaemin and sungchan ULT STAN GAY EUEUEUEUE)

so uhm everyone knows jaemin and yn will be tgt lile thats the fic BUT i have big inclination that shotaro will yes might be the reason chanyn will break up but i feel like shotaro wont go back to sungchan cause duh career hello SOOOO

can i request a sungchan x male reader story 🫶🫶 which could or could not be continuing this like later on after jaemyn is a thing so imagine regular new yn and he actually really liked sungchan ever since sungchan served him one time so he goes to the cafe hoping he sees him everytime so the one week he constantly see him gone yn asks jaemin's yn where he is and jaemin's yn basically become the bridge for sungchan's yn to be with sungchan

(so just imagine sungchan's yn that has a tissue paper ready with his socials and saying you're cute cause sungchan had given him too much change prior and he waited for the whole week and got impatient so he just gave it to jaemin's yn forgetting the tissue paper with the change so jaemin's yn give it to sungchan)

(you dont have to write this in the story im just brain farting but sungchan's yn being hopeful romantic that is also no boyfriend since birth and sungchan even though moving on and befriending his exes still is adamant in finding love is just UGHHH like i need sungchan to have a happy ending I NEED MY MAN TO HAVE A HAPPY ENDING IN EVERY AU </3)

love 119 ✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ

jung sungchan x male reader

in which y/n finds himself in the My Love Mine all Mine alternate universe, but he doesn't mind it.

it's been a month since you stepped into the luna cafe. a month since you sat at the first table you saw--closest to the service counter. a month since you held your head in your hands, elbows digging into hard surface below you--trying to dig into the wood and fall through it. a month since sungchan sat across from you with your favorite drink in his hands.

you ignore the way the liquid spills out from the bottom of the lid and onto the table. laser-focused on the man in front of you. you've never seen a face like his back home--with a deer-like charm. tall nose paired with full lips and brown hair that falls over his eyes like he's the boy-next-door. he sits across from you with a certain familiarity in his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips when the two of you make eye contact.

"i thought you were off today, y/n?" he throws his arms on the table casually, like he knows you. like he's comfortable with you but you pull yourself back, pressing your body as far as you could to your cushioned chair. sungchan gives you a puzzled look, his lips thinning into somewhat of a frown. "what's wrong?"

"do i know you?"

sungchan freezes, his hands placed flat against the table that separates you from him. and he finally notices your clothes. clothes that he knows his y/n doesn't own. he takes a second to get a good look, noticing the way your hair is parted differently. your lips a little asymmetrical--the mole that was on his y/n now on the opposite side of your face.

"i'm so sorry! i thought you were my friend for a minute. you guys look eerily similar." he takes one last look before he pulls himself off of the chair, dusting his apron off awkwardly before bowing his head in an apologetic manner. he leaves the drink with you, even pushing it towards your timid fingers as another apology. "what's your favorite dessert? it's on the house for any inconvenience."

it has been four mondays since your initial meeting with sungchan. four mondays in a row where you've stepped foot in the same cafe--at the same time on-the-dot as the first monday. so far, it's to no avail. it seems that the closer you try and get to sungchan, the further away he was.

your second visit to the cafe, you encountered this world's you. it wasn't like looking in the mirror. it was uncanny--uncomfortable--as you stared at your own face. heard your own voice. reacted to your own mannerisms. this y/n brushed it off, choosing to chalk it up to pure coincidence even with playful nudging that came from his coworkers.

although the two of you were the same, this y/n was far more extroverted. he was always surrounded by friendly coworkers at the cafe--always stealing glances at the white-haired man that sat at the booth with a clear view of the counter. he took his breaks with him, sitting with his head on his shoulder, (h/c) locks sprawled all over his shirt. the white haired man never looked away from him, always attentive even with his work sitting in front of him.

you learned his name on your third visit--jaemin. you never knew you could be so jealous of yourself. bitter at the way this (y/n)'s mouth couldn't help but form a smile every time he uttered jaemin's name. it was a foreign feeling. watching yourself be affectionate with another man.

you've lived your whole life without a significant other. you could continue living without one but experiencing unrequited love your whole life was grueling. all you wanted to do was hold hands with someone who liked you just as much as you liked him.

by your fourth visit, you grew tired of waiting for sungchan. tired of watching this (y/n) and his jaemin touch all over each other. you were determined to get into contact with sungchan again, preparing a piece of paper with your social media handles and phone number just in case he was more comfortable with either one of them.

"can you give this to sungchan, please?" you wipe your clammy hands on your blue jeans, handing this (y/n) your cash and your torn piece of paper. he gives you a crooked grin, paying more attention to the writing on the paper instead of your change. "i haven't seen him since that first meeting, but i can't get him out of my mind. i know it's stupid--"

"no! no! it's about time. you won't shut up about him and he won't shut up about you. it's just unlucky you always come in when he's not here." (y/n) folds the paper in front of you neatly, placing in his wallet carefully. "i'll protect this with my life."

"thanks, (y/n)."

sungchan doesn't wait long to text you, eager when he receives a picture of your number from (y/n).

you can't help but smile at the unknown number on your phone. you can hear his voice through the letters on the screen, his messages sounding just like his speech in real life.

hey, y/n!

(it's sungchan btw......)

do you have a nickname? i might confuse you and the other y/n.

so weird! you both look the same and have the same name, are you the evil doppelgänger?

no, maybe he is 🤔. haha!

#HI MY LOVE I AM SO SORRY #IM NOT SURE HOW LONG THIS HAS SAT IN MY DRAFTS COLLECTING DUST BUT IT IS FINALLY HERE #I TWEAKED IT JUST A LITTLE BIT #BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT #UM #A PART TWO IS NEEDED... i'm just not sure WHEN 😭 #i love you #jung sungchan #riize #sungchan x male reader #x male reader #riize x male reader #<3