#Pumpkin Spice Scrolls | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trulybetty · 7 months

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oct x 11 - pumpkin spice

Prompt: pumpkin spice Pairing: marcus pike x f!Reader Word Count: 3,366 Warnings: this is somewhat au? I don't know how to describe it - but honestly, outside the mentions of food, just introductions to our characters 💕 Summary: maplewood, a small town nestled in northern bc where people flock to see the changing blossom trees and celebrate the fall season. after losing your job you find yourself a part of the community which includes the towns baker who left a less than stellar impression on you. AO3: Linked

A/N: this is a departure for me, this is going to be all sickly sweet and sticky sweetness - made a teeny tiny dash of angst? This will be told in three parts through the month, no promise on when the next part will be posted - but keep an eye out. Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear it!

x. masterlist

Something Sweet, This Way Comes Part I | Pumpkin Spice

Maplewood was a small town nestled deep in the heart of British Columbia Canada, the crisp autumn air brought a sense of enchantment. The maple leaves painted the streets with vibrant shades of red and orange, and the town buzzed with anticipation for Halloween.

At the hub of it all was Maple Delights, a mainstay of the small town that had changed owners only three years ago. Before that Marcus Pike had left the FBI’s art division on the heels of lost love and disillusions for the career he once loved. Everyone always assumed he was a dab hand with creative pursuits when he would tell them he worked in the bureaus art department. And while he had studied art at college, it had been in art history. Truth was he couldn’t paint anything worth posting further than the front of the fridge, but baking on the other hand, was a hidden talent he’d always exceeded in.

So when a late night social media scroll after handing in his notice brought him to an article on the small town of Maplewood being a hidden gem in the Northern Canadian mountains. Over the following days he’d drifted back to the article several times before a Google search brought him to the small town’s website.

Then it wasn’t too much of a stretch to click on the link for the modest page of properties both for sale and rent, curiosity baiting him, only to find the town’s historic bakery up for sale.

Dashing any thoughts out of his head he’d closed his laptop with a shake of his head, it was an absurd idea. He was an early retiree of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, he had no business entertaining the idea of purchasing a bakery, let alone one in seemingly the middle of nowhere Canada.

But between the calls from friends and family checking in on him with the news of his departure from the job he once dearly loved and the end of the whirlwind romance that he’d thought was the one, he found himself late each night scrolling mindlessly, glass of wine in one hand, phone in the other, back looking at the town of Maplewood.

He did have a sizable nest egg, he owned his apartment which was now in what was considered a trendy part of town and worth a lot more than when he first purchased it.

He wasn’t entirely sure what possessed him two nights later to email the town's realtor, but within the month he was the proud owner of Maple Delights and all its contents and was packing up the contents of his modest apartment and heading north.

The previous owner had passed, with adult grandchildren who lived far away in various places across the country, and who had no interest in a historic bakery in the middle of nowhere; it had been left with no choice to go up for sale by the estate.

It had taken some modernization, not so easy a feat in the far north of BC where the local hardware store was a mom and pops situation and the nearest Home Depot was three hours away, but Marcus had made it work with help from a local contractor who’d enjoyed the challenge.

The facade had undergone a drastic change too, much to the chagrin of some locals. But when it was revealed to be a homage to its original exterior, when it was first opened, there had been actual tears at the results.

The front of the store was made up of a large window and wooden framing. In cursive the bakeries name was painted across the glass. At the front were planters at the wooden windowsill, filled with roses of various shades of pinks and whites. The climbing ivy had been stripped away to allow the brick underneath to stand out, making the white frames pop all the more.

It truly was a delight to see.

Surprisingly it didn’t take long after that for Marcus to win over the town. With his natural ability for baking and his charm, he won over any naysayers to the outsider in their town quite quickly and was soon a beloved member of the community.

Your journey to Maplewood however, was nearly not as charming.

It was a gloomy Tuesday morning when you received the email that would change the course of your life. As you sipped your coffee and stared at the screen, disbelief washed over you. The subject line was blunt and to the point: ‘Termination of Employment.’

You opened the email and read the cold, corporate language that informed you of the company's decision to downsize. Your position had been eliminated, effective immediately. There was no room for negotiation, no farewell party, just a stark message informing you that your services were no longer required.

You had worked at the job for who knows how long, because it felt like forever.

In the days that followed, you wrestled with the uncertainty of your future. You tried reaching out to your network, searching for new job opportunities in Toronto, but the job market was tough, and the competition was fierce. The bills kept piling up, and you felt the weight of financial insecurity pressing down on you.

It was one of those nights where you were texting with your friend Libby, a long time resident of Maplewood after she gave up the rat race to open a bookstore in the small town years ago. That she extended an offer that was too sweet to refuse. End your rental agreement and come up north and spend some time in the great outdoors and figure out what you want to do next.

With no other choices coming your way, you did just that.

That was three months ago.

As the days passed, you found yourself slowly adjusting to the laid-back lifestyle of Maplewood. Gone were the stresses of city life and the constant pressure to perform at your job. Instead, you spent your mornings sipping coffee in Libby's apartment above the bookstore and spent the rest of your day either helping out in the store or taking a stroll around town to take in all the unique sights that Maplewood had to offer.

Black Cat Books was wall to ceiling bookshelves and every manageable space was filled with books. It was a labyrinth, but Libby could stride through it like she was born into its midst. But ask Libby where any particular title resided? You'd find that she knew exactly how many steps it took to get there.

Libby placed another book on the shelf behind her, “He’s really not all that bad.”

You sneered, “I don’t know why this whole town is obsessed with him.”

“Says the woman who is watching him from across the street and has been for the last hour.” Libby remarked, punctuated by a disbelieving look over the top of her glasses.

“I can’t help if the bakery is straight across the street,” she raised an equally disbelieving eyebrow at you, she didn't believe a word you were saying “and it’s his bakery, of course he’d be there.” you finished, crossing your arms across your chest refusing to make eye contact.

“Sure,” she dragged out her response, “whatever you say.”

You had been in Maplewood for a week when you'd run into Marcus, quite literally run into him. Crossing the main square, you may not have been paying attention, focusing on refreshing your email for leads on work as he had been stepping up onto the sidewalk, his arms full of bakery boxes obscuring his view.

“Watch where you're going much?!” You'd exclaimed, hands on your hips and glaring at him.

He'd looked up from the ground, his hands filled with ruined boxes, eyes narrowed. “Me? How could you miss me?”

“Well if you had been watching where you were going.” You countered.

He was about to launch into another tirade when he glanced at his watch. Stifling a curse he ran a hand through his hair before speaking, his voice low and gruff. “I haven't got time for this.”

With that he quickly gathered the last of the boxes and stomped off in the direction of the bakery. Your first encounter with the town's beloved baker had left nothing but a sour taste in your mouth.

Since then, you'd avoided any and all interactions with the man and fought rolling your eyes when people would speak so highly of the American who had made Maplewood his home. After all, he was the one responsible for bringing more business to Maplewood through word-of-mouth of his creations.

“Look,” Libby pointed at the sandwich board propped outside the shop, “today’s special is pumpkin spice scones, how about you go get us some and a couple of coffees?” she suggested as she pulled some money from her purse she kept under the counter.

You rolled your eyes but still took the money, guy was questionable, but his scones were to die for. Not that you would admit it to anyone.

A quick look both ways you dashed across the street. It was the start of October, a busy month for the town. Tourists would flock in to see the changing colours of the cherry blossom trees that lined both sides of the main street that led up to the town's main square outside city hall.

The weather was getting colder, and even though it was literally steps from Black Cat Books, you'd wished you'd grabbed your toque and scarf. But before you could think more about it you were outside the bakery.

The window took up most of the front of the store, vintage lettering spelling out the bakery's name Maple Delights painted across the pane. The roses that usually filled the planter boxes outside were filled with an abundance of pumpkins of various colours and sizes. Halloween decorations filled the spaces between cake stands and trays of seasonal goods punctuated by decadent cakes decorated with tiny ghosts and ghouls.

The shop bell rang as you opened the door, the bakery was cozy and inviting with its high ceilings and hardwood floors. The smell of freshly baked bread and sugar, mingled with the spiciness of cinnamon and pumpkin spice – classic scents of fall that permeated the air making your mouth water.

A bright eyed Sarah, with a book open in front of her behind the counter called out your name, “Hey there! What can I get for you today?”

You smiled and made your way to the counter eyeing the vintage blackboard that took up most of the wall behind it. The chalk sketch confirmed that today's special was pumpkin scones, “I'll take two pumpkin spice scones and two lattes, extra hot please.”

Sarah nodded as she began preparing the order. She had been working at the bakery after school and the weekends since she turned sixteen at the start of the summer. You knew this because she got paid every Friday and would dart straight across to Black Cat Books to pick a new book bringing with her treats from the bakery.

“You should try the apple cider doughnuts!” she exclaimed as she boxed up two large scones.

“That so?” You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her recommendation.

“Uh huh,” Sarah replied with a grin, “Marcus dipped them in a cinnamon maple glaze this time,” she added with a little groan of appreciation, “they're so good, and there's only just a few left.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously as if she were tempting you.

You couldn't help but smile at her infectious enthusiasm. “Well, with that kind of endorsement, why not. Throw a couple in too.”

As you waited for your order and made small talk with Sarah, you took a moment to look around the store. It was late afternoon, and the warm, soft glow of the autumn sun streamed through the window, casting a gentle light on the displays. The shelves, while not as full as they might be in the morning, still held an array of intricate desserts. More decorations of fake cobwebs, pumpkins, and ghosts adorned the shelves and countertops, adding to the bakery's seasonal charm.

In the background, the back of the bakery was open to the kitchen out back. The stainless steel counters gleamed in the soft light, and the usual cacophony of mixers that lined the back wall was silent for the moment. It was a rare sight, given the bakery's reputation for bustling activity, especially in the weeks leading up to Halloween.

Just then, a door swung open at the back, and Marcus emerged, his presence commanding attention. He was dressed in a deep orange flannel shirt, which seemed to accentuate the rich colors of the fall season. His tousled curled hair always gave the impression that he had just woken up from a nap, yet it added an effortlessly charming quality to his appearance. His patchy facial hair, seemingly ever-present, only added to his rugged charm.

You couldn't help but curse silently under your breath. Despite having no time for the man, there was no denying he was just as attractive as the sweet treats he created. It seemed as though every time you crossed paths, he had a knack for appearing more alluring.

“Hey Sarah,” he greeted the teen, “I can finish this up for you, I don't want you to miss the committee meeting for the trick or treat parade.” he said, referencing the penultimate celebration of the town's October celebrations.

Sarah's face lit up as she started to untie her apron, “Thanks, Marcus. You're a lifesaver.”

As Marcus took over your order, Sarah excused herself, heading towards the exit. Her parting words were aimed at both you and Marcus. “See you later!”

With Sarah's departure, an awkward silence settled between you and Marcus. The air seemed to crackle with the unspoken tension that had been building for weeks.

“Looks like you're stuck with me for a while,” Marcus remarked, breaking the silence with a wry smile. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, an undercurrent of amusement at the situation.

You nodded in reluctant agreement, realizing that there was no escape from this moment. “Seems that way,” you replied.

Marcus busied himself with finishing up your order, his hands deftly manoeuvring around cups and saucers. He poured the lattes into to-go cups before adding the last dollop of whipped cream to a pumpkin spice latte. The warm, spicy scent filled the air, mixing with the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods.

As he reached out to pass you the tray of drinks and the bag filled with baked treats, your hands brushed against each other. Time seemed to slow, the atmosphere tingling with a spark that neither of you had felt before. It was a fleeting touch, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine, making you suddenly aware of the space between you.

Marcus cleared his throat. “I, uh, put a cranberry muffin in there. For Libby. I know they're her favourite.”

You blinked, a little thrown off by the unexpected kindness. “That's very thoughtful of you.” You reached for your purse, ready to pay for the order, “How much is it?” you asked, but Marcus waved you off.

Marcus shook his head, grinning slightly. “It's on the house. Consider it a thank-you to Libby for watching the store the other week.”

“Thank you,” you finally said, struggling to find the right words. “That's... that's very kind of you.”

Marcus shrugged, his gaze meeting yours for just a second longer than necessary. “It's what neighbours do, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I suppose it is.”

The bell above the door jingled, breaking the moment as more customers entered the bakery, kids trailing behind their parents, all excited for Halloween goodies. You picked up the tray and bag, suddenly aware that you had to leave, but not quite ready to break the newfound connection.

“I'll see you around?” Marcus asked, with maybe a note of hopeful uncertainty in his voice, you weren’t sure.

You smiled despite yourself, “Maybe,” you replied as you raised your now full hands in an attempt at a wave.

Marcus was about to answer when the bakery's new patrons diverted his attention and you took the opportunity to leave, your head suddenly full of conflicting feelings for the man.

Exiting out onto the street, you couldn't help but inhale deeply, letting the crisp, early October air fill your lungs in hope it would clear your head. The town's signature cherry blossom trees that lined each side of the street had traded their springtime pinks for shades of orange and yellow, a change of costume in tune with the season.

Libby looked up from the book she was reading when you stepped back into the store, “You were longer than I expected.”

You felt an unexpected heat spread up your chest to your cheeks, “Sarah was working,” you quickly threw out, “she was telling me about the book she got last week.”

Libby accepted the coffees and paper bag so you could shrug off your coat, “Ooo, cranberry muffin! My favourite!”

“Yeah, Marcus threw it in there for you.”

“So you spoke to Marcus?” she asked, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, an unmissable smirk on her face.

You narrowed your eyes in response, “Briefly.”

Libby took a bite of her scone, the noises she made boarded on the line of scandalous, “God, this is good.”

“Should I leave you and your scone alone?”

Libby grinned, crumbs of scone still clinging to the corners of her mouth. “If you leave me now, I'll name my first-born after this scone. It'll have a weird life, but at least it'll be delicious.”

You chuckled at her melodrama as you took your coffee out of its tray.

Libby grinned, “I swear to god, if I was remotely interested in men I'd be climbing him like a tree. Heck, I might just do it for the baked goods.”

You rolled your eyes, “Easy there tiger.”

“I really don't know how he's single, three years in this town and it's not like the women haven't been throwing themselves at him.”

“Well, maybe he is really too good to be true.” You countered, taking up your apparently one woman stance of your dislike of the man again as you took a sip of your coffee - biting your lip at your own groan at how a simple latte could taste so good.

Libby chuckled, “Or maybe you're too stubborn to see what's right in front of you.”

You sighed, unwilling to admit, even to Libby, that your stance on Marcus might be softening just a touch. “Let's agree to disagree, shall we?”

“Fine, fine,” Libby conceded, taking another heavenly bite of her scone. “But one day you'll see. Good things, and good people, might just come in unexpected packages.”

Your phone buzzed with a notification about a new job posting in Toronto. You glanced at it, suddenly feeling less of that earlier urgency to return to the hustle and bustle of city life. The idea of stepping back into the rat race seemed so detached from where you were now—surrounded by the rustic charm of Maplewood and its genuine, warm-hearted inhabitants.

You took another sip of your latte and stole one last look through the bookstore's window, back towards the bakery. Marcus was crouching down to hand a sugar cookie shaped like a pumpkin to one of the small kids in the bakery. The child's face lit up with joy, a mirror of the light that seemed to emanate from Marcus himself.

Maybe Libby had a point. Maybe good things did come in unexpected packages.

You put your phone down, screen facing the table, and looked back at Libby, who was now back engrossed in her book. But your thoughts weren't on job postings or the life you had in Toronto. They were here, on this little corner of Maplewood.

For the first time, in a long time, you weren’t thinking of ways to run back to your old life.

#october x 500 #autumnal offerings #something sweet this way comes #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader

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brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 6 months

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where the sidewalk ends | pablo gavi

🎃 synopsis: Sofie meets an ex-hookup during a Halloween party. The full moon is high in the sky, the Summer they shared is now only a memory, and there are weirder things to worry about. warnings: alcohol consumption, smut, spooky themes, social media, fluff (Wc: 3k)

(this is a sequel to ibiza night fever, but can be read as standalone)

|the playlist|

“But all the magic I have known I've had to make myself.” ― Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends

It’s finally October, every melancholic girl's favorite time of the year. After a breakup and a much-needed Hot Girl Summer, what Sofie needed was a Sad Girl Autumn, and she’s been taking advantage of the season.

She started doing yoga and has been reading a lot more; you can confirm that by checking her Insta feed – she’s been filling it with intellectual aesthetic pics.

Strolls through the park, loud sighs, pumpkin spice drinks—anything that makes her look like the protagonist of a pretentious European indie film.

Tonight, though, is a special night. Tonight Sofie is a sexy Barbie Cowgirl, and she’s accompanied by Black Swan, Sleeping Beauty, and Carrie. Or, Chiara, Luisa and Becca, as they are known the rest of the year.

It’s Luisa’s annual Halloween party. It’s been a hit since the first edition and the first time Sofie will be attending it as a single lady.

If the last few months have taught her anything, it is how to be casual, or at least how to appear casual. Sofie was focused on having fun, holding her phone in one hand and a gin tonic drink in another. She scrolled through social media while taking another sip. She wasn't trying to arrive already drunk at the party, only to loosen up a bit.

She and her friends have already posted their outfits; half of them were already at the party. Sofie took a deep breath, put away her phone and walked out of the door.

chiaraaraujo

liked by rebeccaamorim and 307 others

i am so stressed out #natalieportman

oliviaaraujo amen sister ⤷chiaraaraujo 🦢 ⤷sofiemartins 🦢🦢🦢

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rebeccaamorim

liked by pedri and 752 others

its halloweeen happy birthday stephen king

sofiemartins uhh so i just googled stephen king birthday and... uh... ⤷rebeccaamorim nah i got it right, shut up ⤷pedri 😂😂

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sofiemartins

liked by pablogavi and 326 others

🦄💗

luisafernandes girl marry me chiaraaraujo gatinha 🖤

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luisafernandes

liked by chiaraaraujo and 956 others

i'm your favorite disney princess 🩷

francisca.cgomes tão lindaa rebeccaamorim u the love of my life. fr.

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When Sofie walks into the party, she gasps with excitement. The decor was straight out of a Halloween movie. A fog machine was filling the room with mist, cobwebs were hanging all over the place. Jack-o'-lanterns grinned from every nook and cranny, their flickering faces casting playful shadows, giving the whole scene a spooky, dimly lit charm.

It was clear Luisa had gone all in to make this party amazing.

And the guests really brought their A-game in the costume department. Among the crowd, there was a wickedly realistic zombie, a time-traveling Doctor Who, a whimsical unicorn with a shimmering horn and even a comically oversized banana. The variety was as entertaining as it was impressive.

Music was thumping from the speakers, mixing old-school Halloween hits with some current jams, setting the mood for the night.

Sofie's eyes locked onto a familiar face in the sea of costumes – it was Pedri, dressed like a pirate and laughing at something Rebecca said. He looked a bit different since she last saw him, sporting a cool beard that suited him perfectly.

Sofie wasn’t surprised to see the two chatting; Becca and Pedri have been in a complicated long-distance situationship since they met in Ibiza, in the summer. But seeing the football player at the party gave Sofie goosebumps, as she tried to forget her own antics in the Spanish island.

She goes on to greet the couple.

“Cool beard, you really committed to the theme, didn't you?” Sofie jokes about his costume and Pedri laughs. “What are you doing in town, anyway?”

They were in Lisbon, far away from Barcelona, where he should be. Sofie half asks because she worries about her friend ending up heartbroken, but she’s mostly scared that his answer might get herself in trouble.

“We had a game here last night. Figured we could stay for the party.” Pedri winks.

We. There it was, what Sofie was scared of.

“We?” She asks, anyway, even though she knows the answer.

Pedri then tilts his head to the other side of the room, pointing at something. Or someone. When Sofie looks, she’s met with a figure standing by the door, somebody wearing a Ghostface costume. She rolls her eyes and looks back at Becca.

“I’m getting a drink, have fun you two!” Sofie says.

“Don’t get lost!” Becca yells and Sofie gives her a thumbs-up and a nod, but the moment she turns away, the music swallows her up. Luisa's mansion was like a maze. Sofie knew she was in for a tough time trying to do what Becca had asked.

The music was blaring, making it feel like she'd stepped into a nightclub. There were chill-out rooms with people sprawled on fancy couches, a glittering dance floor with a DJ dropping beats, and dimly-lit hallways that seemed to lead to who-knows-where.

Sofie's search for a drink brought her to a bustling room, where she was comforted by another known face, Chiara. She was dressed as Black Swan and deep into a lively, tipsy, philosophical convo with a small group of friends.

Sofie couldn't resist joining the shenanigans. "Hey, Chiara," she chimed in, with a wide grin, “what are you guys talking about?”

Chiara turned her swan-like gaze toward Sofie, her theatrical makeup adding extra drama to her expression. "Oh, you know, the meaning of life, the universe, and why we all wear costumes on Halloween," she replied, her words accompanied by giggles from her friends.

Sofie grabbed a chair and got cozy, all set to dive into the amusing and philosophical banter.

But the conversation didn’t last long; A muffled scream suddenly pierced through the party chatter, instantly grabbing their attention. Sofie and Chiara exchanged a concerned look.

"Did you hear that?" Sofie asked, her eyes darting around the room.

Chiara nodded, her curiosity piqued. "Yeah, that sounded pretty real. We should check it out."

They both rose from their seats, leaving their group of friends momentarily and headed in the direction of the mysterious scream.

Sofie and Chiara followed the sound down a dimly lit corridor. The place was spooky, and their nerves were on edge, so they just froze, waiting to see what would happen next.

They exchanged nervous glances, ears perked up, hoping to catch any hint of what had caused that scream. The whole scene felt like something out of a suspense movie, and they were bracing themselves for a sinister revelation.

“Hey,”

The girls screamed at the voice behind them, as they jumped in shock. With a hand on her chest, Sofie took a deep breath, looking back to the figure standing now in front of her. Ghostface.

He took off his mask in a hurry. It was Gavi, and he tried to show them there was no need to be scared.

“It’s just me…” Gavi says.

Sofie and Chiara breathed a collective sigh of relief. Sofie was particularly happy to see that it was Pablo, and for a moment, she considered giving him a hug. But that thought made her freeze in her tracks, and her mind drifted back to their time in Ibiza, and the nights they shared. They hadn't talked since then.

“Is everything okay?” Gavi asks, torn between wanting to laugh at their reaction and genuine concern.

“We just heard something weird,” Chiara begins to explain.

Then, out of nowhere, loud banging noises erupted from the same place they'd heard the scream. The sudden, unexpected noise sent a fresh wave of tension through the group.

Sofie, swallowing hard, spoke up. "So, we came here to check it out..."

Pablo, shaking his head with a sly grin, says, "I don't know, I'm not super into the idea of investigating 'bang' sounds." He shot Sofie a knowing look.

“Do you think that that's somebody having sex?” Sofie asks, almost relieved at the possibility, since she had not considered it.

Chiara doesn't buy the theory, it doesn't sound to her like somebody is having a good time. “But if it's something serious, we should at least make sure everyone's safe." She says.

Pablo relented with a sigh. "Alright, fine. Let's check it out. But stick close, and let's not turn this into a horror movie cliche, okay?" He jokes.

With cautious steps, they followed the sounds down the corridor until they reached a closed bedroom door. The weird rhythmic banging noises were definitely coming from inside, and a mix of curiosity and fear gripped them.

Gathering their courage, they exchanged one last glance before Gavi, the designated leader of the group, slowly turned the doorknob. The door creaked open, revealing the dark room on the other side.

When they pushed the door open, they were in for a surprise – a room filled with Roomba vacuum cleaners gone rogue. The little bots were spinning around, bumping into furniture, and beeping like they were part of some bizarre dance routine. It was like a small-scale robot rebellion.

Gavi burst into a loud laugh, "Seems like the robots have picked Halloween for their big uprising, huh?"

“That’s why I don't trust robots…” Sofie says, tip-toeing closer to Pablo, trying to avoid the bots.

“What about the scream?” Chiara couldn't help but bring up the initial reason for their investigation.

The group tenses up once again, remembering what brought them here in the first place.

"It was me," came a voice from the corner of the room. Luisa was sitting down, carefully wrapping a band-aid around her toes. "One of these things nearly took my toe out, and I don't even know how to turn them off."

With everything finally making sense, the group gathered their efforts to grab the rogue Roombas. After some trial and error, they successfully managed to turn off the little vacuum cleaners and carefully piled them up in a closet.

luisafernandes

liked by pedri and 873 others

thanks everybody who showed up. it was the best halloween party ever. my vacuum cleaners literally almost unalived me. i love all of my friends so so much. happy halloween!

rebeccaamorim what was that in the middle? ⤷sofiemartins don't even worry about it pablogavi 👻 chiaraaraujo maybe like. get a broom or something

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Pablo and Sofie stayed behind after hushing the girls back to the party. In the dimly lit bedroom, it was just the two of them. Pablo sat at the edge of the bed, and Sofie stood by the window. They both felt the urge to talk but weren't sure where to start or what to say. The unspoken tension loomed in the room.

Should they bring up Ibiza? Or should they pretend like nothing happened? They exchanged glances every now and then but mostly remained silent as they gathered their thoughts.

"It's pretty crowded out there..." Sofie says, her thoughts interrupted by the party noise.

Gavi cleared his throat, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I know... This is better. I prefer being alone."

Sofie couldn't help but giggle,"Well, you're not entirely alone. I'm right here, you know."

Pablo met her gaze and said, "When I'm with you, it doesn't feel like there's anybody else in the room." Gavi's face flushed like a tomato, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he realized what he had just let slip. "Do you... um, understand what I'm saying?" he mumbled, his words stumbling out as he anxiously awaited Sofie's response.

“I feel the same way.” Sofie says, her words escaping before she could even fully process what she was saying.

A palpable tension hung in the air as they locked eyes. It felt like an unspoken challenge to see who would look away first. It was like a silent game of vulnerability chicken, and neither of them was ready to blink.

In an instant, Gavi was right in front of her, his hand gently resting on her hips. His eyes pleaded for permission. Sofie, taken aback by his bold move, simply nodded, her eyes fixed on his lips.

He kissed her hungrily and passionately. Their minds immediately turned into a total mess, as they both desperately tried to savor the moment while also trying to let each other know just how much they'd missed this.

Sofie instinctively placed one hand on his chest, while running her fingers through his soft hair with the other. Pablo deepened the kiss, taking his time exploring her mouth and playfully licking her bottom lip.

He carefully guided her to the bed, lowering himself onto her. Their lips finally parted, leaving them breathless and flushed.

They stared into each other’s eyes intently. They couldn’t wait anymore. The desire between them was so strong, neither of them could speak. They both just wanted each other, no more holding back.

Sofie grabbed him tightly by the neck, pulling him closer. After gasping for air, Gavi brought his lips to her again, his hands moving down her sides and gripping her waist firmly.

She took off her shirt and Pablo gently pulled off her lacy pink bra.

“I missed them so much.” Gavi jokes, looking at her breasts. Sofie gives a playful slap on his arm.

“I missed you too.” She whispers in his ears. She can feel the goosebumps all over his body as she says that.

“Are we really doing this?” He asks, tenderly kissing her neck. He can’t seem to keep his mouth away from her body for too long. He knows they don’t have much time together, he’s going back to Barcelona in the morning.

“I want you so, so much.” Sofie answers in between whimpers, she’s already too lost in pleasure to consider the consequences of what she’s doing.

“But we have to be quiet.” Pablo looks at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “If somebody hears us moaning, they might get worried for our safety.” He whispers. Sofie has to bite her lip to hold back a giggle.

“I can be quiet.” She promises.

Pablo enters her slowly, taking his time to enjoy every second of their reunion. They get lost in each other and it feels like their first time all over again.

She wraps her legs around him and digs her nails into his back, demanding more of him. His body starts rocking, slowly thrusting harder and faster until he loses control completely.

Their bodies move together easely. Sofie has to put a hand on her mouth to stop herself from crying his name out loud.

The sigh of her desperation is enough to drive him off the edge. He reaches down and starts massaging her clit, just like he knows she likes it. Pablo speeds up his pace, when he senses they’re both close to orgasm.

He collapses in her arms and Sofie holds him close as they reach their peak together.

They have their eyes closed and for a while the only thing on their mind is each other's heartbeat.

But then, Sofie feels her anxiety creeping in, and it is enough to break the magic surrounding them. "We should probably head back to the party," she whispers. To their ears, her words seemed louder than the music outside.

"Right," Pablo mumbles, eyes still closed, lingering in the moment for a little longer.

They quietly slipped out of the bedroom, making their way back to the party without exchanging another word.

Even without speaking, as they get out of the bedroom, they share a sly, knowing look, hinting at the possibility of meeting again, without the need for words.

Sofie, without Gavi noticing, sneakily slipped a piece of paper with her phone number into his pocket.

#pablo gavi #gavi #football fanfic #pablo gavi fanfic #football fic #ibiza night fever #oc fanfiction #halloween fic #gavi fanfic #social media au #pablo gavi imagine #gavi smut

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mylevisdontfitanymore · 7 months

Note

Thinking about your spooky Feederism post but buckyyyyyyy

Hear me out Bucky’s daily nighttime fall attire is just some cute pumpkin pj pants that are pretty loose and fall low on his waist (bc he’s a slut) but I imagine he’s pretty toned not super muscular but not not muscular yk anyways he does his nightime routine shower pjs watch tv scroll on his phone and it happens by some freak coincidence he eats a pumpkin (or sweet potato) pie at 3 am on the first day of fall anyways from the midnight snacking at the witching hour triggers the seasonal expansion starting slowly when the moon waxing as just him feeling a tiny bit more hungry then it gets worse (better) I’m sure you can expand (get it ) on that idea 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Spooky belly kink

Okay okay okay okay this put an idea in my horny brain. SO. IMAGINE:

Buckle in fuckers, this got out of control. It's long. Warnings for unbeta'd stucky belly kink (Bucky centered, though), magical weight gain, magic, rapid weight gain, stuffing, immobility, etc.

It's early in October, so very early that it's still hot outside. Unfortunately. Seriously, like, Bucky just would like to sleep in his cozy and perfectly hideous Halloween themed pajamas and sip on a hot pumpkin spiced drink, but he can't. It's too damn hot. He will end up a festive puddle if he does.

So, his fuzzy, orange pj pants have gone from comfortably resting around his waist to sitting low on his hips for some ventilation, to... dammit, fine, as he's lounging around the house one early fall evening, waiting for it to cool down so he can sleep, Bucky pulls his fussy, festive pajama pants fully off. Leaving him just in an oversized pumpkin t-shirt and his underwear.

But it's still too fucking hot. He's still sweating. Fuck. This. This is not how fall is supposed to be!

Bucky grumbles and pads into the kitchen of his apartment so he can open the little window over his sink. He unlocks, opens, and then turns his back to it, blatantly ignoring the footsteps he can hear in the alley outside in favor of starting to return to his couch where he can lie (mostly) comfortably and grumble to himself about the heat. The footsteps are fine. People walk out there all the time. Whatever. He's fine, other than maybe melting to death.

As a result of the alley being relatively busy usually and Bucky's back being turned, Bucky doesn't notice the curling, semi-transparent tendril of purple, sparkling magic that reaches in through his now open window. It shivers and curls to the best of an ominous whistle. A whistle coming from someone's mouth outside - whoever is making those footsteps.

With his back turned, he doesn't notice its immediate lightning-like strike against his back, the tendrils wrapping around his sides and over his belly even as he continues to put distance between himself and the window.

By the time Bucky is flopping back down onto the couch, the unseen, unheard lightning is gone. It's absorbed into his lean, muscular frame. His back and sides and belly. His belly-

Now prone, Bucky scratches his tummy through his shirt, feeling a bit of an itch. It's nothing, though. Just the fabric of his shirt pulling against his body hair, probably. Whatever.

Whatever.

It's too fucking hot. It'd ruining his fall. That's all Bucky can think about.

Bucky intermittently complains to himself and scrolls on his phone until it's really time to get to bed. Just in his t-shirt and in his boxers with a light blanket over him, Bucky falls into an easy, blissful sleep, only waking up when...

At about 3 AM, according to the blinding light of his phone (when he takes it off the charger to check, rookie mistake), his belly is rumbling. Loud. Bucky rubs the sleep out of his eyes, frowning before he's even really awake.

God!

He feels hollow!

The moment he's done with his eyes, he blinks and glares down through the darkness at his gut. He had dinner! And he snacked before bed while melting his brain into goo on social media. Why is he so hungry?

So. Hungry.

Bucky just wants to go back to sleep. He tries to have a drink from his bedside water bottle - maybe he's just dehydrated? He rolls over to lay on his stomach. He...

Nope.

He's starving.

It feels like his stomach is trying to gnaw on his spine.

So, with a sigh, he has to push himself out of bed and wander through the darkness of his apartment, one hand on the wall and the other outstretched before him so as to not walk into anything, before eventually reaching the kitchen.

What can he have to settle his stomach before he goes back to sleep? Cereal? Nah. He's not in the mood. He's fresh out of granola bars, so not that either. He polished off the last few slices of leftover pizza for dinner. Maybe-?

Bucky opens the fridge, standing in the illuminated pool, feeling the chill wash over him, staring at the slim pickings aaaand -

Huh?

How-?

When did that get there?

Bucky is shameless with buying himself little treats to get through life, in general, but... he likes to think he would remember if he bought himself an entire fucking pumpkin pie and a canister of whipped cream to go with it. Before he can really investigate, Bucky's tummy growls again. A slice of pumpkin pie does sound really good right now. His mouth is flooded with saliva. With a glass of milk. Fuck. That would hit the spot.

Bucky doesn't really think about the fact that he ran out of milk two days ago and hasn't had time to go to the store yet. He feels dazed. Maybe this is a dream? Maybe he did fall asleep again after chugging water, satisfied enough to sleep but not satisfied enough to really fight the hunger off, so it's seeping into his dreams?

If it is a dream, what's the point of getting a plate and a cup? What's the point in real life anyway? He lives alone! Bucky's belly grumbles once more, this time in agreement with his sluggish thoughts. Suddenly, he can't wait. He can't even spare enough time to get himself a fork. It's just him. Just him and his belly and his dream.

Fuck it.

He digs in. Lifting the whole pie out of the tin and nibbling at the crust. It's mild and sweet. Mmm. He takes a deeper bite. The explosion of flavor takes over his tongue. That's it. Yeah. His eyes slide shut. The creamy pumpkin and dancing spices; the sweetness; the crumbly, delicious crust. Bucky takes bite after bite after bite, barely taking the time to swallow. He wants to fill his entire mouth with the taste and texture of the pie. He stuffs his face until his cheeks puff out like chipmunks.

Bucky swallows a few times to get all of the pie he's eaten down, feeling the chilly, smooth pie slide down his throat and drop into his empty belly. The pie tastes good in his mouth, but it feels even better. He already feels sleepier. He can feel his heartbeat slowing down in his chest. His breathing, too. His eyes are shut, but nevertheless, his eyelids feel heavier.

His belly feels heavier.

Apparently, while he was reveling in the pleasure of this mysterious pie, his body continued to eat. Stuffing his face.

Stuffing. his. face.

Bucky has both hands on the pie and so he can't reach down to explore his tummy. He doesn't even think to do that, though. He's dazed. He's in the process of eating. Eating messily with his hands. There is nothing else. Nothing but eating. He is biting and chewing and swallowing, and his belly is slowly but surely going from painfully empty to heavy. Full. He feels round. He can't touch himself, but he feels bloated. It's meditative.

Stuffing.

The entire pumpkin pie goes down so easily, so smoothly that Bucky doesn't really register that he's just put away an entire pie. He's living in the timeless, foggy, and nonsensical reality of what must be a dream. It's not his fault that he doesn't realize he's run out of food to shove into his hungry mouth until he finds no more filling or crust and instead just his dirty fingers.

Rather than panic over how much he's thoughtlessly consumed or be astonished about his sudden massive stomach capacity, Bucky simply licks his fingers clean with a satisfied, weighty sigh. His left hand, then his right. Then, Bucky licks his lips, too. He blinks slowly. He feels good.

He licks his lips again, savoring the taste of the pie. Moaning over the fact that he doesn't have anymore. Oh, wait-!

Bucky's eyes flick open urgently, his mouth makes a click sound, dry. Mindlessly, he sets the empty pie tin back onto the fridge shelf he found it on. He has whipped cream still! He has a gallon of milk still!

The little logical voice peaking through his dreamy haze and rich satisfaction clouding his midnight reality tells him he can have a taste, just a dollop. The amount that would be put onto a single slice of pie. Reasonable. Not too greedy.

But...

Then Bucky's swollen belly gurgles. It has other plans for him. So, even though Bucky's head tells him he's just going to have a little, his suddenly gluttonous belly overrides it. Big time.

The aerosolized sound of the whipped cream coming from the canister is hypnotizing from the moment he tips his head back, puts the nozzle into his mouth, and presses down, releasing the sweet, silky sugar and cream to the moment the canister squeals. Empty.

Bucky swallows.

Did he swallow at all when he was emptying the whipped cream into his mouth? Did it all pour directly into his gut?

Bucky sets the empty can next to the empty pie tin. The idea of investigating his throbbing, tight, overpacked belly enters his peripherals but... he gets distracted.

Bucky chugs an entire gallon of milk, moaning through it, feeling it flow right into his tummy and slosh around. The crust of the pie absorbs it, expanding. His belly gurgles and grumbles. Bubbles. Bloating. Oh.

Oh.

The whipped cream went in heavy and sweet, and the milk adds to it. It's not as sweet, but it is heavy.

Bucky knows without looking at the label that this is full fat milk. He never buys full fat milk anymore! He must've picked it up by mistake! Oh, well.

He's not going to return it.

He couldn't.

He's done with the gallon.

Oh.

Bucky burps, he hiccups - he sloshes.

Fuck.

The milk container isn't in his hands anymore. He's free to slap his hands down onto his struggling belly. Feeling the way it sloshes and swirls and vibrates with a few more hiccups.

The tightness of his belly is exhilarating. He feels like a drum. The weight of his belly is comforting, familiar but also new. Instinctually, he knows he's safe. Yet, he's never been so thoroughly gorged before. The heat coming from his taut, heavy gut is like his own personal heater soothing him into sleep. And the sounds coming from his globe-like tummy are like a white noise machine. Bucky is practically falling asleep on his feet. He can't open his eyes. He can't move.

He can't move.

"Oooh," Bucky moans, staggering back one step, then two. His hands are flat on his gut, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing away. His entire center of gravity has been thrown off with an entire pie, can of whipped cream, and gallon of milk.

He stands in place, wobbling. Waddling.

Bucky waddles back to bed, arms around his belly to try and keep the burps and hiccups and moans in. He doesn't want to be jostled too much. He might pop. He hardly remembers how he got back into bed, let alone if he closed the door to the fridge. It doesn't matter, though.

The moment Bucky is on his bed, he's out like a light. On his back, weighed down, hot and tight and good, and snoring softly. His hands never leave his belly. He's stuffed it, he's grown it, he's--

And as he's drifting off, he's wishing it was like this all the time. Not just in his dreams. Full. Taut. Swollen. Big.

The next time Bucky drifts into consciousness, it's much later. It's still ungodly early, but... later. There's a light from the full moon drifting into his room. It's not light enough to really wake him up, but enough that he realizes he's...

Heavier.

Bucky realizes, half-awake, that it's harder to breathe now than it was when he was last conscious. Huh? Why? Does he have an oncoming cold? Is he congested? He sniffs. No. So, what?

Bucky attempts to roll over. He doesn't make it, though. Instead, he just groans.

Yeah.

He's, uh, he's -

Heavier. Definitely heavier.

Rounder.

In the limited moonlight, Bucky can juuust make out the way his shirt has filled out with, with a solid, thick belly that's ungodly round.

A faint tickling of, oh, that's right, appears at the very back of his mind, but mostly Bucky is bewildered and awed. The pumpkin face on his shirt is illumated by the light of the full moon, and it's stretched and warped by his body. His belly.

His belly looks like a pumpkin. It would look like a pumpkin even without his festive shirt. It's that large. Heavy. And tight.

Holy shit.

How? What? When?

Bucky lies there, panting, sweating, feeling swollen and sleepy, with his hands on his gut, contemplating his existence for a while longer. What the fuck happened to me? Where did this gut come from?

He's on the cusp of the thought of did I have a midnight snack? And the following, was that dream(?) real? When -

Oh.

"Ohhhh," Bucky moans around his panting breathes, scrambling to lift himself higher on the bed and finding himself unable to do anything. He's too heavy. He's -

Is he growing?

It is harder to breathe.

Yeah.

He's, he's growing.

The face of the pumpkin is stretching, stretching, streeeetching. In the silence of the night, beyond his heavy breaths, the only sound is the complaints of his shirt fabric and the seams.

Under his hands, he's heavier and harder. Oof. He even feels fuller, the larger he grows. Bucky pokes his fingers into his gut, and out comes a deep, brassy belch despite the fact that his fingers don't sink into his belly at all. He's so fucking bloated. It's like he's shoved a basketball up under his shirt. Hard as, as a pumpkin!

And he's as roooooound as a pumpkin, too!

He watches the growth, the swelling, the bulging of his middle as he pants harder and harder. It's... it's... again, he slips into a hypnotic headspace without his knowing. The visual makes him feel sleepy. Hot. Heavy. Weighed down and comfortable. His eyelids droop. And, in no time, with his pumpkin tummy expanding out from his body, over top of him, Bucky is lulled to sleep. A soft, sleepy smile on his face.

Yet, his sleep is no longer dreamless. It's still blissful, but it's colored by visions of being a pumpkin. A huge pumpkin. Prize winning. The kind you see at a county fair being lifted by tractors from the beds of trucks to industrial scales. He's not on a scale in his dream, though. Which is good - he might break it! Instead, he's growing in a pumpkin patch, tethered to the ground by thick, feeding vines, but really, he's stuck in place by the massive weight of his pumpkin belly on top of him. Pinning him. Legs splayed out. Arms splayed out. Tummy growing and growing and growing. Rapidly. Impossibly. Crushing him.

Outside of his dreams, lying back and unconsciously in his bed, Bucky rubs and rubs his gut, obsessed with the taut, hard, spherical surface. He's practically vibrating with warmth. He is still smiling. He's snoring softly under the heft of his gut. His cock has worked itself to throbbing hardness in his underwear but even his physical arousal can't overpower the bliss of his dreams.

He can't shake himself out of the dream -

Growing. Swelling. Widening. Fattening.

Late the next morning, Bucky wakes up disappointingly thin and flat-bellied. He frowns down at himself. The only evidence left of his dreams is the sweat covering his body and the wet spot in his boxers. His shirt... he, his, his shirt might be a little looser than it was yesterday. Stretched. But. He must be misremembering. Also, his tummy, it must be his imagination, but it feels... tender.

As it turns out, Bucky isn't going to have a dreamless night in all of October. Not after that first night, his unconscious mind full of greed and gluttony. Stuffing. Stuffing. Stuffing. Growing. Growing. Growing. Heavier. Heavier. Heavier.

His dreams have him gorge himself, an unending tide of food and lust that can't be satisfied until he physically can no longer reach whatever food has appeared to him in his dream. Or, his dreams are full of nothing but unending growth until he drifts back into consciousness from his sunny, pleasant dish in the cool earth of the pumpkin patch. Rising above the rest of the pumpkins. He's big. He's huge. He's giant. He's impossibly massive. Much more pumpkin belly than man.

His starting size in his dreams climbs throughout the month until when he shuts his eyes, he's so huge that he can hardly move. Crushed by the fantastic, humongous blimp of his belly. He can not describe the way it feels to begin so large and only swell more.

More.

He didn't know their could be more! Bucky moans to himself, thinking about it. More. It's such a good word. How did he never know before? More.

How big could he possibly get?! Bucky craves to know so badly. He starts stealing naps in the middle of the afternoon. He starts hitting snooze more often. He puts candy bars that he's been trying to save for tricker-or-treaters on his nightstand to open and stuff into his waiting, salivating mouth the moment he's unfortunately pulled from his dreams. Big, big, bigger.

Yes.

Bucky won't complain about the shift of his dreams; not the content or the frequency; he can't complain! Especially not when on the Halloween night, with the moon perhaps the fullest he's ever seen it, round and fat and bright, his dreams take him to the fridge again.

He hasn't been back to the fridge since the first night.

Bucky licks his lips, and he rubs his chubby hands together even though it makes him giggle, it's such a cheesy gesture. But. He can't wait to tear into whatever is in his fridge. All of it. He's going to eat all of it. He fantasizes about destroying everything in there and in the pantry and cabinets and everything he has to eat. Every little morsel possible. It's all going down his throat and dropping into his fat, fat belly.

His firm, heavy enough to leave him sweating and gasping, heart thudding, waddle-inducing belly growls. Despite the overfed size of him, he feels starved.

With a jerk, Bucky opens the fridge and groans. He's brought to his knees. All that delicious food. Take-out containers galore. Each heavy and sticky - the sign of good, really good food. There's an entire three pizza boxes in there, too! Each box is full of with a complete, delectable pie. A gallon on chocolate milk. Full fat chocolate milk. Eggnog, too. Unseasonal, but... Bucky doesn't fucking care. It's going to be so thick and rich and good. He'll chug it straight after the milk. Further inspection reveals that in one of the drawers, there's an untouched pumpkin pie. Fuck, yeah. Fuck, yeah! Underneath the pie, there's a container stacked full, so full it almost can't shut, of fudgy brownies. Bucky finds cookies, too. The take-out includes Chinese food and Thai and Italian and -

"God," Bucky moans happily, stroking the parts of his heavy, gravity-defying gut that he can still reach. He hopes he won't be able to reach hardly any of it soon. All this food.

He's going to expand.

He's going to get so fucking fat.

Bucky empties the fridge. Then -

THEN

T H E N because Bucky is a true glutton now, by the end of his month of training, he goes on. He eats more. He finds the cabinets and the top of the fridge equally, fully stocked. The dream melts further from reality at that point, and lightning bolts, friendly, helpful lightning bolds of sparkling, neon purple begin to tangle around packages and bags and dump the contents into Bucky's mouth. All he has to do is stand there, which is a good thing because even the dream can't rescue him from the weight of all his gluttony. This feast has made him fatter than fat. He's engorged. He is massive. So fucking round. His knees shake. He moans and shivers around the candy bars being ripped open by sparkly purple magic to be shoved down his throat. Sticky. Sweet. He's eating them whole. With each bar, he feels the fat on his frame grow. Thicker. Rounder. Heavier. Abruptly, Bucky crashes back onto his monsterous, dimpled ass.

And he wakes up on the kitchen floor. Bathed in moonlight. There is no food in sight, although there is -

There's

All around him, littered are the remains of his feast. Wrappers. Crumbs. Empty containers.

It was real.

But

How?!

Bucky palms his flat, tender belly with a moan. He lets his head drop against the floor rather than craning down to stare at his disappointment of a belly. He wants it to be real so bad. That fat, hard, tight gut. His mouth waters and his appetite roars. Please.

Please!

His cries are heard.

It must be a dream! Right?! That's a thing? Isn't it? Waking up into another dream?

It must be a dream because it hits him all at once. The growth happens as footsteps start to echo through the alley outside Bucky's apartment building.

Step. Step. Step.

Bucky is trying to get himself back to bed to sleep off this weirdness (and maybe have time for another gluttonous dream before he has to go about his day), getting onto his elbows to stand up when BWOOOPH.

Bucky swells.

Sudden.

Hoooly shit.

Heavy and round and hard as the fattest pumpkin in the whole patch.

Bucky is knocked entirely onto his back with a heavy crash. The wooden floorboards creak under his massive frame. Ballooning. He's ballooning. He hasn't stopped yet. Bucky moans ungodly loudly. It's real. It's real! This is everything he wanted! The sensations. The heat. The pleasure. Christ. He wants to be a pumpkin forever.

He's awake! He has to be! It's never felt like this before. It's so real! Every detail is clear and fucking hot as shit. He can't reach his other arm to pinch himself, so he pinches the thick, firm fat of his expanding gut. He pinches as it grows. Bigger. Bigger. He whines with how hard he pinches his blubber. It hurts! He doesn't wake up!

It's real!

And it feels so fucking gooooood.

He's a fucking pumpkin. Ripe. Overripe. He's a whale. Blubbery. Too heavy to swim. He can't move. He's just -

Oh, fuck.

He moans out all the limited air he has in his lungs. Loud. Outrageously turned on. Pulsing and throbbing tightly, hotly. His cock but really his belly. It's pulsing, it's gurgling, moving, sloshing like he really did consume all of that fucking food and all those gallons of thick, fattening milk and Eggnog and juice and his poor tummy has no idea what to do with all the rich calories.

Laughter floats in from the alley outside. It's followed by a voice, deep but sweet, too, "I can make that happen, darling."

Bucky has no time to ask what? What will you make happen? He has no time to even think about thinking. The seductive tone of the voice feels like fingertips against his most sensitive flesh. All of him is sensitive now, plumped. Fattened. Ripened. He would shiver if he could move. If he wasn't so fat that he's immobile. He loves it.

Following the voice, eyes, blue eyes, appear outside his kitchen window.

Bucky should be afraid, but he's not. He's -

He's intrigued.

He's the child lured into the witch's house and fattened for eating. Too stupid and gluttonous to dream of putting up a fight.

"I can make you my fat pumpkin all year around, not just as a Halloween treat," the velvet voice purrs. A hand appears next to the stranger's attractive face. His fingers flick and -

Purple, shimmering magic bolts from his fingers to somehow cradle all, all of Bucky's heavy, massive body.

BWOOOPH

Bucky bloats, packing on at least another hundred pounds.

"Oh!" Bucky moans, fingers scrambling over his rolls, trying to touch himself. He wants to touch himself so badly! Frantically, he nods his head, feeling his chin double and triple, "pl-please! Please! I wanna be-" he groans. "I wanna be your pumpkin!"

"Good," the attractive witch purrs.

"Grow me! Please!" Bucky cries.

The witch does as he pleads, humoring him. "What do you wish to eat, my pumpkin?" he asks as he slithers in through the open window. Standing before him, his cold, electric-sparking hands against his sensitive, taut skin and the underlying blubber.

"Anything!" Bucky whines. "Anything! I just wanna, I wanna be bigger!"

"Ohh, what a greedy pumpkin I have." He slaps his gut, laughing. Bucky ripples like thick jello. Holy shit. His toes curl. "I can't wait to make you bigger." His fingers and sharp nails dig into his tight flesh. "You, pumpkin, can call me Steve."

"Steve," Bucky moans immediately, "g-grow me."

#ask #mylevisdontfitanymore #belly kink #text #stuffing #weight gain #rapid weight gain #magical weight gain #bucky barnes #steve rogers #chubby bucky #stucky #witch steve #human bucky #fat bucky #immobility #tight clothes #magic #plant transformation

47 notes · View notes

ghostiiess · 6 months

Text

[NSB HEADCANONS] - carving pumpkins with ryan

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

pov: it's almost halloween and ryan bought two pumpkins for you and him to carve together and do the best looking pumpkins ever :)

warnings: some swears here and there

type: fluff

member: ryan nguyen (azngami)

REBLOGS AND LIKES ARE VERY APPRECIATED!

taglist! (Open! Send an ask if you'd like to be in it!) : @nsb-rkive @kentisbaby @firebenderwolf @hyuneee0 @yawnzzznnn @ghostyycat7

Bold can't be tagged.

so.. ryan was bored on a sunday afternoon

he was scrolling through his phone to cure his boredoom and saw an instagram post saying "buy pumpkins for halloween" (sorry i didn't had much inspiration for the add caption 💀😭)

ryan smiled and decided to go to the closest supermarket and brought two medium pumpkins for you and him

(More under the cut!)

he's just really creative

while you were doing your own things, ryan came into your room and smiled proudly of his projects that he wanted to do with you

"want to carve pumpkins with me?"

ofc, you said yes <3

and it immediately made him super happy

nguyen would have decorated the apartment with halloween decorations (i know ryan do not own an appartment since he's moving houses to houses with the boys, but let's say he have one with you lol) and spooky stuff around the differents room

i know ryan is a SIMP for christmas, but i also know he kinda like halloween (but not like he do for xmas haha)

ANYWAYS-

he would have put tablecloths or paper journals that you guys don't really use or read on your table to avoid a mess

this man brought even the little knife to do it perfectly

like.. this boy wanted to do this activity with you so bad

"i bet my pumpkins can be cuter than yours"

"lol, you wish"

"ooh y/n have some talk back? mmh i love it"

he smiled while saying that

"if you really think your chances to do an aesthetic and beautiful pumpkins are much higher than mine, then let's do a contest on our ig stories so the stars can vote. the loser have to do the dishes for the rest of the week and have to buy the other, snacks and drinks they want"

ryan love so much the stars

so you would agree to that challenge

and ofc, it would make him super happy

"alright, bet. we have 30 minutes to take all the inside out and we'll have 45 minutes to carve it. i'll put the timer"

"that's a serious challenge.."

"well yeah! if i have to carve pumpkins against my girlfriend, i better take it seriously. i would love to see you doing all the dishes and making me food" he said while laughing

he would definitively (try to) put pumpkin flesh on your face and on your nose

"sorry, it was too tempting"

he would laugh so much and take a lot of pictures

he love taking pictures with you

he love being loved by you <3

he would try his best to make you loose

"oh shit, yours is looking pretty sick.. mind if i add my little spice to it?"

"mind your little spice for later, i don't want to lose!"

"it'll make you win! you know how creative i am, right?"

"right.."

he would def carve something he found on pinterest or in google

' easy and funky carving pumpkins ideas '

" damn, these aren't easy! fuck that shit "

" i thought you were creative.."

"hey you, you know what, shut up, y/n!! mind your pumpkin!" he would say obvs laughing to make you know he's kidding

after that curving, he would be super proud of his pumpkin, but then... he would look at yours and be a bit jealous (just a little bit)

"woah.. y/n, you're really talented! it look fucking good and sick!! i love it!"

he tried his best

like literally

he wanted to win so so bad, but he know how great as an artist you are.. like, you could do whatever you want and it would still look sick and awesome

though, he would still be proud of his, he knew he wouldn't be able to win with your masterpiece

he would post a picture of both of your pumpkin and would add an instagram sticker with the choices (a poll lol) and would pray to win

he love seeing you winning because he can see you smile and can see how excited you are, but he still love winning times to times

after 30 minutes, he would check the results and see how he lost-

listen, he always thought you were a born artist, but he didn't know that his pumpkin was THAT bad looking?

ryan's pumpkin would probably look sick and super good, but you know.. the stars have choosen >:)

he was a bit sad, but at the same time, not really, because your smile when he told you, you won, was so worth it like?? his heart was filled with joy and happiness and excitment? ARGH THIS BOY LOVE YOUR SMILE SO MUCH

"i told you baby that i'll win"

he smirked

"yeah, yeah.. i guess, you're the real artist between us"

"don't say that, ry'! maybe you weren't born an artist but you're still good at dancing, at singing, at videos games.. ok, maybe not at smash, but still.."

"thank you baby.. HEY DID YOU SAY I WAS BAD AT SMASH?!"

"maybe, i did"

"alright, bet, you'll regret that, i'll beat your ass like i do every time when we play. you're going to be beat very easily"

then it turned into a videos games contest and let's say that even if you were trying your hardest, you lost.. sorry, not sorry

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girlwithamissingpearl · 9 months

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Here we go again. The criticism of SH’s Sassanach Gin tour is as expected. Not everyone has to like what he does. That’s fair. But that continuing narrative that he takes advantage of his fans? Sorry, but that’s a hard no for me.

Personally I don’t know how the actual fuck he does it. Ten years in and he is still gracious and accommodating to all his fans, even those that cross every line. How is unsolicited groping ever acceptable? I think he is far too affable. But the he’s taking advantage of his fans continues. If all he wanted to do was was an Outlander pump and dump cash grab, not only is he doing it all wrong, he’s working far to hard. Rather than invest his own money and produce a craft product, he could have purchased a house brand equivalent of whisky and gin, and concentrate on labels. Imagine limited edition pumpkin spice, thanksgiving, Christmas, new year’s, Valentine’s Day, shirtless-you get the idea- SH limited edition bottles. I think he’s looking beyond that and trying to build a brand.

There’s also been a lot written about the individual appearances and signings. I would never camp out at midnight to get a place in line, but a 6-8 hour wait? There are a small group of gals that I follow and Dm with, that I would gladly grab a lawn chair and sunscreen and happily take my place in line with. Not sure if they would be as keen, but @khccbc1745, @kiaora45, @harriethattie, @caldineens, @collectido, @ maryofboston, @ Stargazer74 , @andorra97 and many more, who take the time to not only comment, but call me out when I get things wrong(which I have been known to do) you know who you are- I’d wait in line, with any of these women, in a heartbeat. Even though we range in age-40-80- I don’t think we would have a single second of silence. With a group, you take turns getting coffee, snacks, lunch…quick SH selfie, hotel nap, dinner and drinks. I think that’s the part people don’t get when they see the long lines. It’s not for everyone, but it’s also for most a once in a lifetime thing. Go ahead and laugh, a couple of years ago I was the first to make fun of people like me, but scrolling through the fandom has become one of my favourite things to do, and something I don’t have to share with other family and friends that will never understand the joy of all things Outlander and SH😊. The other thing that most people don’t get is that, and I think I can speak not only for myself but the other amazing women in the fandom, we really don’t take each other that seriously. This is fun, and for me definitely a guilty pleasure bc🥸I’m so happy that I have these like minded people I can commiserate with because I just watched the last mid season episode of season 7. How dare they say…to be continued next year. Next year? Ffs.

On a final note, a fun fact. If we didn’t have tickets for tennis, I definitely would have gone to the Scottish festival in Fergus Ontario to see our very own hometown boy CV, and RR and for once be able to post some original pics. Not far from home, I’ve been to the festival in the past- definitely have Scots in the family tree including a competitive bagpiper- and its always fun. I’ve really enjoyed CV as WR in the first part of season 7 and really looking forward to watching his story unfold. But having to wait until next year to watch the second half of season 7, and who knows how long before season 8 airs. Don’t even get me started about DG, and the timeline for the release of book 10. Seriously considering a class action lawsuit for the cruel and unusual punishment inflicted by DG when she said Jamie’s ghost story would be revealed in the last page of book 10. Why DG? Why? On the other hand, I can take my time scrolling, commenting and posting about season 7. If I was a patient person, which I’m not. So for now I’ll make due with the ongoing commentary of how people around the world refer to the “pineapple swim trunks” SH sports in an upcoming episode of MIK 2. Something budgies….🦜🏊‍♂️🩲…

#sam heughan #outlander #outlander season 7 #sam cait #sam heighan #Charles vaandervart #William #William Ransom #Sassanach

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bbinkus11 · 4 months

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@hotcheetohatredwastaken yes, I will be tagging you every chapter. No, you are not getting out of it.

Chapter two of my Hamilton x LU little writing thing I have going on! Featuring: Hyrule and Time talking about their pasts :)

This one is Hyrule centric :)👇

Hyrule strolled through the streets of downtown Castletown, scrolling on his phone with his right hand in his hoodie pocket. One of the best coffee cafes was down the road, and Hyrule had been dreaming of coffee for the last ten days. He’s been at rehearsal in and out, and he hadn’t had the chance to actually go somewhere and get a good coffee. Oh he loved coffee… the smell, the effect, the taste…

Soon he reached the cozy cafe, with a beaten wooden door and a handmade sign. The second he entered, the sweet smell of cinnamon and coffee grounds hit him. A young and accented voice came from behind the counter; “Welcome, dear! Take a good look at the menu and tell me when you're ready!”

Hyrule smiled and glanced up at the large menu above the counter filled with pastries. There were so many options. Yet, it was the blissful time of pumpkin spice, and nothing beats pumpkin spice. Soon after he decided, a bright head of red hair popped up from behind the wooden counters with a wide smile.

“What’ll it be, hun?”

With a small smile, Hyrule told her that he wanted a large pumpkin spice coffee. With an excited grin, the woman wrote down the order quicker than he could process.

“Hyrule? Is that you?”

Startled by hearing his name from the back, Hyrule poked up his head to peek behind the doors separating the front counter to the small room in the back. He saw a glimpse of spiky blonde hair, but didn’t get to see the rest.

“Time, hun, I told you to stop harassing the customers!” The woman scolded.

“Oh! Is Time back there? I didn’t know he worked here. I’ve always seen him at rehearsal.” Hyrule asked curiously.

“Oh my! Are you a part of that musi-“

“Yep! He’s Burr, hun.” Time came again, coming out with coffees on a platter, “Sorry. Malon always drags me along to the cafe. Nice seeing you, Hyrule.”

“And you too, Time. Is this your wife?”

“Yep, don’t tell Legend. He still thinks I’m not married.” Time handed Hyrule his coffee, chuckled, and sat down with him at a nearby table.

“Really? And I thought he was over with those dumb bets he always makes.” Hyrule frowned.

“Bah, who cares. It’s all for fun anyways.” Time waved him off, taking a sip of his own coffee. The place was relatively empty, most tables abandoned. There were wooden planks on the walls, painted with flowers and coffee beans. The counters were filled with all different types of pastries, from vegan strawberry toaster strudels to giant double chocolate muffins topped with chocolate chips. There were warmly lit lamps in every corner. And well, the only word that could describe this place was cozy.

“Do you and Mrs. Malon own this place? I love it.” Hyrule says in awe, smelling his warm coffee.

“Yeah, we bought it a couple years back. When we moved in here, we had nothing better to do, so we opened a little cafe.” Time smiles. “Then, I started doing Broadway again, and now we’re here. This is the first time I’ve been in the shop in ten days. I missed it.”

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask what got you into broadway. I’ve just graduated, so I needed something to do. I looked for something local, and I found it. What about you?”

“Well, I did theater in junior high and high school, back when. When I graduated, I took classes at a local community college. That’s where I met Malon. From there, I had been doing music lessons for kids. I was a genius, you could throw any instrument at me and I’d know everything about it.” Time laughed, “But now, I stopped doing lessons and got back into broadway. I think the music got me into it. I’ve always loved music, since I was younger than you.”

Hyrule stares at the table. “Yeah, since me and Legend basically grew up together, we bonded over music. That’s how we became so close, just bonding over the things we know best.”

“And I’m glad you did. I’m glad you didn’t bond over something stupid, like, like, cars or something.”

Both of them laughed that time, and Hyrule had the coffee he’d been dreaming of for the last ten days. They had been given break for this weekend, the cold of the winter starting to creep in as autumn started to fall behind. Rehearsals had been taking up most of their time. Some days, Hyrule wished he didn’t have to go due to the slow weather and traffic. But when he got there, he didn’t regret it. The friendship between him and the a actors and actresses accompanying him would grow more and more, No doubt.

He was going to love this musical.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #legend of zelda #lu wild #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu sky #lu time #lu four #lu wind #lu twilight #linked universe x hamilton #binkus writes

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turtlebros4u · 1 year

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Counterculture Terrapins (1/4)

I was thinking about doing something short but then I kept adding detail so here we are. Inspired by someone mentioning that Donnie does Raph's tattoos (I forgot when and who I saw that from or else I would link it cuz it was so cute). Also I have a rudimentary knowledge of how tattoos work I haven't gotten my first one yet so I've done my best to Google some things.

Also in case anyone is upset at the mention of needles, like me, I have avoided using that word when talking about tattooing.

Donnie

You're sitting next to Raph on the couch with one of his favorite soap operas on the TV. It's a bit boring, you know the cliché it's going for now. You look to the big guy but can barely see his invested glare over his massive delts. You gaze down in your boredom along his partial sleeve tattoo. It's so delicately done.

"Who does your tattoo?" You ask.

"Hm?" Raph says peeling himself from the drama as it hit a commercial break to look down at you over his shoulder, "Oh Donnie. He's got a real steady hand from making all those tiny 'lectronics and stuff. Why? Y' want one?"

"Uh well I was thinking about it..."

"I think you could rock one. You'd look even hotter." He drops that sentence so nonchalantly it makes you blush.

You don't say anything for a bit, letting Raph get back to the show after the commercials. You calm down as the Secret Twin trope gets revealed on screen. God it's such a cheesy show but maybe that's why he likes it.

You wait until the next break to ask, "How did you choose what to get?"

He thinks for a moment, "Uh, I wanted something that reminded me of the strength of my family and also looked cool as hell I guess."

Mikey sauntered into the room at this time whistling a tune.

"So a tattoo should be inspiring and cool?" You ask Big Red.

Mikey spins on his heels and lands his elbows onto the couch, "Angeeeelcaaaaakes! You thinking about getting a tattoo like Raph's?"

You laugh, "Ahh well not really. I'm not sure. I have been wanting one but I'm not sure what I even want yet. Do you think I should get a sleeve?"

"No one can tell you what you want except for you, sweet cheeks. Buuuut if you ask me I think you should get some bold text, like NO REGERTS or PIZZA TIME!"

He smiles widely, "Totally show me what you decide to get, pumpkin spice, Donnie's like a serious guru with that. You'd look so dope with a tat." And with that Mikey also left you blushing as he continued with whatever he was going to do.

The episode ended and Raph rambled a bit about how he wants to know who the real father of the baby was going to be and if it will be the secret twin of the dad or not. You smile softly, amused that he's invested in such goofy drama. Raph headed to his weight rack to do a couple of sets and left you scrolling on your phone on the sofa.

You sit there looking through tattoo ideas. The idea of asking Donnie is kind of growing on you. You weren't sure how to find a good artists anyways and talking to new people made you anxious.

How much would it hurt? Even if it did, to sit there under Donatello's gaze would counteract everything. You wonder how he would react to you asking.

"Hey Princess," Leo sashays towards you, a towel around his neck dabbing sweat. He must have just finished a training session with Splinter, "Mikey says you're going to ask Donnie for a tat."

"Uh well I really was just curious where Raph got his and I was looking for an artist I trusted anyways but I don't really know what I'm going to get yet." You say somewhat surprised that word is going around faster than pizza.

"Ah I see, Mikey was telling us about it while we sparred. He got very excited about tattoos and ended up going off about trying get a whole pizza pie tatted to his shell. Fun fact, you can't tattoo a carapace. Anyways, Splinter suggests doing something symbolic and simple. And if you want my opinion—"

"I do want your opinion, " you say knowing he was going to say it anyways.

Leo stuttered for a moment, thrown off his rhythm that you were actually asking for it this time. "W-well I'd say an elegant asymmetric pattern of some sort on your shoulder or thigh would suit your style well. Like a spider web or lighting or wrinkled plaid. "

"Wrinkled plaid? "

"Okay maybe not plaid, but something like that, I feel it suits you." He shrugs off the awkward suggestion and escapes towards the showers before putting more of his foot in his mouth.

You consider plaid for a moment longer and then shake your head of the silly suggestion. Leo often had great ideas but was very bad at explaining why or offering any useful context when it came to personalized things. He could make a life or death decision in a split second but he couldn't explain to you why he liked tile over rugs.

~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~

You've been mulling over it for a few days now. You have finally both decided what you want and also built up the courage to ask Donnie if he would do the honors.

You get to the lair and beeline for the lab. Leo and Mikey see that you hardly acknowledge their presence and they smirk at each other. They know you've finally decided.

You flip the plastic sheets away as you enter the lab.

"Donnie!" You say loud and proud.

Donnie perks up and spins on his stool to face you.

"What can I do for you, Sparkplug?" He asks setting down the tools in his hand and giving you his full undivided attention. A rarity.

"Would you be willing to give me a tattoo? I trust you and I want—"

"I thought you'd never ask." He says, a glint in his eye as he leaps up and goes to the industrial cabinet that holds all varieties of his tools and he opens the drawer for his tattoo work.

"Yesterday I finished prepping the attachment for human skin. I had initially made the pen for us, since we've got thicker skin—at least literally—than you. But this should work wonderfully. Are you ready for your consultation?"

"Yep, let's get started!" You say and plop down in another stool.

~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~

After a day of prepping the design, Donnie let's you know he's ready.

You had asked for him to design it based on some key words. You are excited to see what he came up with but even more hyped to lay down and let him work his magic.

You get to the lab and see that Donnie's set out some sort of MacGuyvered massage table? Or was it a dentist's chair? You took a seat anyways.

"So, Tattoo Guru," you joke to the purple banded terrapin, "where shall we put it?"

He scoots toward you on his rolling stool and slides just between your knees.

"May I?" He asks gesturing to you that he would like to look you over for the perfect location. He had decided he would design it first and pick a location later.

You nod and he begins. He mumbles to himself as he analyzes your body from top to bottom for the prime location. You try to fight the blush in your face when he runs his fingers across your thighs and down your calves. It's no use.

He gently lifts your shirt up to check your stomach and sides. Your shoulders and collarbone. His face is so close to yours. You can feel his warm breath on your neck.

"Are you nervous?" He asks, "Your heart rate is increasing and your breaths are shorter."

"N-no," you stutter somewhat embarrassed that he was noticing, "not about the tattoo. I trust you entirely. It's just you were studying me so intently I'm starting to wonder if you can see any flaws from this close."

His brows raised, "Flaws? What flaws?"

"Oh y'know. The blemishes and cellulite and the few gray hairs I've been trying to keep plucked but somehow elude me." You say trying to play it cool.

"Oh, you think those are flaws?" His voice rose in astonishment. You remember that he doesn't have hardly any clue about human beauty standards, and while he knows that humans are judgemental, it's on a totally different scale for him.

"Well yeah, people think they aren't very flattering." You admit, not proud to admit humans weren't all great.

"That's ridiculous. The whole point of being human is to be unique and live unique. And as you age you get little representations of the life you've lived. Like nature's tattoos. You can almost read my brothers' shells and find a mark from every year from some stunt we pulled. I find it quite fascinating to read all the little love notes that life leaves."

You face flushed with heat. If you had managed to hide it before you certainly couldn't now.

"I've decided your shoulder blade is the best." He said changing the subject very matter-of-factly. "Would you remove your shirt, here's a towel if you want to cover your frontwhen you lay down." He shifted the seat to be horizontal and scooted away. You take the towel remove your shirt and lay on your chest. The table was quite comfortable.

Donnie scoots back with his template, wipes down your shoulder blade and begins his work. While he preps the stencil his every touch makes you tingle. The air is cool on your back and his hands warm.

You definitely would not have had this experience with any other artist in New York. This was special.

"I'm ready to start inking. You ready, Sparkplug?" He asks gently. You confirm and brace for the sting.

It hits you but less painfully than you expected. It still takes a moment to adjust to the regular zing in your shoulder as he begins.

Through the corner of your eye you can see he is zoned into his work. His tongue sticking out a bit as he is apt to do when in deep focus.

Although somewhat munade, every time he wipes away your shoulder, it feels so intimate. You close your eyes and just soak it in. The buzz of the pen, the warm hands and trained eyes.

May this will be one of those little love letters Donnie was talking about. You are glad your face is buried somewhat, your heart skips a little just thinking about how oddly poetic Donnie was when he said that.

Maybe that's the way Donnie sees the world. Every line of code, every chemical equation, every physics constant, every biological mutation was just poetic to him.

You were glad to have the opportunity to be one of the few who knew the brothers. You went through a wash of emotions.

First pride for almost having them to yourself, but then followed sorrow, that the brothers were limited in who they could trust and show themselves to without insighting the worst humanity had to offer.

Again you were grateful that you could be one of the people that didn't make them feel like they didn't belong here. You felt a twinge of resentment towards the outside world, because it took you this long to find a family this accepting and kind and optimistic about everything, you had felt your fair share of human cruelty both from people you once considered close as well as the system itself that felt so predatory.

When you were in this little pocket of sewers, turned into a cozy abode, under the city, you felt like you could step away from the rat race for once. Like it didn't really matter as much as everyone made it seem.

Overall you felt content. You loved the turtles and their fatherly rat, each with their quirks, but always trying to be better and never abandoning those they considered family.

"Aaaaand 100% completion. You may have outdone yourself Donnie," he said to himself, "I could compete with a RedSail laser cutter and win." His pride was bubbling up in the most adorably nerdy way.

"Let me just get you cleaned up and wrapped, let's keep it covered for a few days and then you can see, how's that?" He asks laying down the protective plastic over the fresh tattoo.

You nod trying to recover from being hopelessly lost in thought just moments ago.

He allows you to cover yourself again and you thank him for his work on your way out.

You send a text to Mikey to let him know that he can join you in the lab in two days to see your brand new tattoo.

~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~

You show up a little early and Donnie is busy soldering away at something or another.

He hears you come in and looks up from his hunched position and smiles, "Early as usual."

You take a seat and pull off the button up blouse you were wearing. Underneath was a tank top that revealed your entire tattoo. You were honest and hadn't looked at it yet, avoiding the chance to peak at it through the mirror in your apartment.

Donnie washed up and rolled over to you in his signature wheeled stool. He peeled the plastic off and took a damp towel to wipe it down.

He just finished when Mikey flung open the plastic sheets to the entrance of the lab announcing in one of his many comical voices, "And here were have the perfect human specimen, recently upgraded and equipped with the finest work our generation has to offer!"

You look at him in confusion at who he is talking to and see Leo and Splinter walking in behind him.

"Splinter?" You ask in confusion.

"My child," he responds intentionally not answering your implied question of why he was there.

"Cmon Y/n, spin around so we can see it. Mikey's been hyping it ul for days and he doesn't even know what it looks like." Leo said obviously just as excited as Mikey but showing it differently.

Somewhat nervous with such a crowd you freeze for a moment.

"Here," Donnie hands you a small mirror and holds up another so you can see the back of your shoulder when you turn around.

The tattoo comes into your sight. It's amazing.

"Donnie that's perfect." Leo commends.

"Angelcakes! Whoooaaaa that's so rad! Omygosh Omygosh Raph's gotta see this!" Mikey makes a break to sprint down the tunnels hollering for Big Red.

Splinter nods, "You've managed to capture my impressive aura I see. Excellent work." You roll your eyes and chuckle at the vain rat's comment.

You can't stop looking at your shoulder in the reflection. It really is amazing. It had everything you wanted. A symbol of new York in the classic sewer cap, simple representations of the five people you cared most about with Splinter's silhouette donning the masks of his four sons on his tail, and bold inspiring text through the middle of the sewer plate that reads, "WE'RE NOT MONSTERS".

You couldn't have been more proud to reclaim one of Mikey's most impactful quotes. And he seemed ecstatic to see them worn proudly.

Raph thumped in, "Calm down little bro, I've seen tattoos before, I'm sure it's cool." He stalks up and inspects it closely and quietly for a minute.

Then a moment later Donnie is spinning out of control on his stool with Raph bellowing, "Who said ya could give someone else a cooler tattoo than what you gave me. I told you specifically to give me the most badass tattoo and obviously mine is second best now."

Leo and Mikey bust up laughing. Splinter chuckles heartily. You can't help but giggle as Donnie recovers, shaking his head of the dizziness and smiling like an idiot. He took Raph's reaction as a full blown compliment and it truly was.

You leap towards Donatello and wrap your arms around his neck. He catches you and pulls you close.

"Thank you," you mutter, "Raph is right this is the best tattoo. I'm so proud to have it. You guys aren't monsters, you are the best family I've ever had!"

~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~*🐢*~

Totally forgot my taglist on these 😅

@turtle-babe83 @thelaundrybitch @geeksauruse

#tmnt bayverse #bayverse tmnt #my tmnt art #bayverse donnie #my tmnt fic #Counterculture Terrapins

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itsaash · 6 months

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Pumpkin Spice

@noots-fic-fests thank you for including this prompt so I can take something that happened in my life and turn it into something decidedly better, ha. Enjoy some fluffy, domestic Jily! And I believe sweater weather Harry was born in March? So he'd be 8 months old the next October

Lily had just wanted to make something nice. Sure, sure, the days are long but the years are short. But when you’re in the thick of having a 8 month old people could just fuck right off with that advice. Because the never ending loop of naptime, nursing, introducing solid food, play time, diaper change, and repeat made some days interminably long. And James was an amazing partner and an even better dad, but the season had started up again, and Lily was not in the groove of solo parenting. She was skidding on one wheel on the edge of the groove threatening to fall over at any moment.

When she was nursing Harry, cuddling his warm body close, she’d sometimes scroll on her phone and cooking videos were some of her favourites. She’d be lulled by the perfectly aesthetic backdrops and clean kitchens. The process of turning a group of ingredients into something new and amazing. Her feed knew her well and alternated between plans and ideas for baby food, and delicious looking snacks and drinks. Being October, pumpkin everything saturated the videos. Bread, muffins, cookies, stew, coffees, all featuring pumpkin. She didn’t have much time or energy for more time in the kitchen after the essentials of baby food and basic meals. But maybe a pumpkin spice syrup was achievable?

So after forgetting to get canned pumpkin at the next two grocery store runs, Lily finally remembered and was excited to make something for herself. Harry went down for his afternoon nap, and after stepping carefully to sneak out of his room she went into the kitchen to make the syrup. The can opener, pumpkin, vanilla, and spices were lined up on the counter, and she measured the sugar into the water for a double batch. She stirred the sugar in with her little purple whisk and watched it dissolve. She checked the recipe again, ok, it needed to reduce for a while. She turned down the heat and went to the bathroom.

Then went to move the laundry into the dryer. Shit, that was a pile of clean laundry. The clothes got put away, and she tracked down the new box of trash bags for the garbage in the laundry room that she had emptied the lint trap into. May as well take out the other bathroom garbages while she was at it. Weird, this bathroom smelled bad. She looked around, had a diaper fallen behind the trash can or something? There wasn’t an obvious culprit so Lily finished emptying the bins and brought them all downstairs to the main garbage in the kitchen.

The kitchen was a haze of smoke.

“What in the ever loving pumpkin fuck of goddamn stupid pumpkin fucking shit…”

A string of incomprehensible curses continued as Lily dropped the trash bags and raced to the stove to turn off the burner. The water had long since evaporated and the sugar was beyond burned with her cute little whisk melted sadly to the side of the smoking pot. The smell hit her senses like a freight train as she put on an oven mitt and carried the pot outside and left it on the porch, slamming the door just a bit on the way back in. She turned the hood fan all the way up and went around opening every window she could get her hands on. Thank god it wasn’t too cold outside yet.

Lily hardly knew if she should laugh or cry. It smelled truly awful. How had she not realized that smell was a burning smell? How could she have forgotten this one thing she had wanted to do for herself so quickly? And how had the stupid fucking smoke detector not gone off?? Although now in hindsight, with no major harm done, and the smoke already dissipating, she supposed she was glad to not have a baby awoken from a nap by screeching added to this situation. She walked away from the blaring sound of the hood fan and sunk to the floor under an open window on the other side of the house. Which is where she was when James got home.

“Hey Lils love! I’m home — oh shit wow you’re right there! You scared me,” James said. He came in the door and was startled when he turned to take his shoes off and saw Lily sitting there. He set down his bag and walked over to her and slid his back down the wall. “Why are we sitting on the floor?” he asked softly, nudging her with his shoulder.

Lily waved her hand vaguely at the house, cheek resting on her bent up knees. “I ruined our house with this awful fucking smell. Can’t you smell it?”

“Well, yeah, but you don’t seem to be panicking, so I figured it’s not an emergency.” He scooched even closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders and Lily turned to tuck her face into the warmth of his shoulder. “Want to tell me what happened? You ok?”

Lily wasn’t crying, but her voice was thick and she was just so tired.

“I just wanted to make pumpkin spice syrup. But then I got distracted and immediately forgot about it and it’s such a stupid thing to have done and now it smells so bad.” Her breath hitched at the end and she heaved a breath in. “And my little whisk and the pot are totally ruined.”

James just tightened his grip on her shoulders and hugged her close, let her breathe and be still and cry.

“It doesn’t smell that bad,” he said, finally.

“Fuck off, yes it does.”

“Ok, yeah it does.” He took in a theatrical sniff and winced. “That’s what burned sugar smells like? It’s nuclear level.”

“It was even worse 20 minutes ago,” Lily muttered.

“Want to go cuddle on the furthest couch from the kitchen until Harry wakes up?”

Lily laughed but nodded, and then moved to the couch in the theater room, which was quite separate from the rest of the house and had a baby monitor in it. James laid on the couch and Lily cuddled into his side, making herself small. James ran his fingers through her hair over and over.

“You know it’s ok, right Lils? You’re fine, Harry’s fine, the house is fine. It’s ok.”

Lily hummed noncommittally.

“Ok, but can you tell Loops about it? So that I can tell Sirius how bad sugar can smell? Because, honestly, who would’ve thought.”

James smiled to himself when Lily let out a real laugh and reached for her phone. She texted him, a smile quirking on her face.

my house smells like sugar. And not the good kind like in cookies. Like the awful burned kind and it’s truly terrible.

I also need to test my smoke alarms.

These two things may be related.

Not one minute later her phone was ringing. James laughed and kept running his fingers through her hair as she talked to Remus. She told him the story, after reassuring him they were all fine, and her voice lost some of its tightness as they joked over the lengths they’d go to for a PSL and Remus threatening to come smell it for himself while the smell was “fresh”. She, laughing, said fuck off and good bye, hung up and turned to cuddle into James chest even closer. He smelled like the soap from the rink and like himself and when she breathed in deeply she didn’t smell the sugar at all.

“I’m sorry I made our house smell terrible.”

“I literally don’t care, Lils. I’m just sorry it didn’t work out how you wanted it to.”

She let his breathing soothe her as his chest rose up and down under her cheek.

“You can close your eyes if you want, flower. I’ll get Harry when he wakes up and I’ll go out with him and get a grocery store special for dinner.” Lily knew that meant a rotisserie chicken, a truly bizarre combination of the pre-made side dishes, and probably something sweet from the freezer aisle. But it was always perfect. She hugged him tighter and nodded. And she drifted off.

Lily woke later to the sounds of James and Harry coming into the house. James was keeping up a running conversation with Harry, talking to his son like he was much older than his 8 months. Lily stretched under the blanket that James must have laid over her, and the smell hit her nose. She cringed, but tried not to dwell and went to see her boys.

“Mommy’s awake, Harry, look!” Harry babbled happily and Lily took him from James, kissing all over his face.

“Did you two go on an adventure?” she said to Harry in an animated voice.

“We sure did,” James replied, picking up bags and heading to the kitchen. “To the wilds of Target. And we totally scored.”

Lily watched as he pulled groceries from the reusable bags like a magician pulling a never ending scarf from a sleeve. First came the expected rotisserie chicken, a container of spinach and artichoke dip, two options of chips, a pre-made spinach salad, and a few other grocery essentials.

“Wow, good choices, Harry!” Lily cooed. “I’ll be breaking into that dip immediately. Hopefully the terrible smell doesn’t ruin all this good food Daddy got us.”

“The power of spinach and artichoke dip can overcome anything,” James reassured her, and moved to take Harry from her. “Can you open up that bag, Lils?” he asked, pointing to one. Lily raised an eyebrow, but went to the bag and looked in. She paused for a long moment before reaching in and pulling out a wicker basket filled with all sorts of treasures.

“James! What is this?!” she exclaimed as she freed the basket from the bag.

“It’s a boo box!” James said happily. “You’ve been doing such a good job taking care of Harry when I’ve been on roadies, babe. And I love you so much, you do so much for us, so Harry and I wanted to do a little something for you.” He came over and leaned in to press a soft kiss below her ear and Harry pulled her hair happily.

“Thank you so much,” Lily said thickly.

“You're welcome,” James said easily. He turned and settled Harry in his high chair, and got some blueberries and a mini cucumber from one of the bags and washed them to pass to Harry for him to gum.

Lily looked through the basket. There was pumpkin spice syrup, of course there was. She huffed a laugh but was thankful for the easy version of the fall treat. Next she touched the new whisk, red this time, and sent James a small smile still tinged with sadness. There were also smaller bottles of brown sugar cinnamon, apple, and chai syrups. She set those aside and found three of the tubes that have all the ingredients you need for different soups, a foot mask, a lip mask, and finally underneath all of that she pulled out a crew neck sweater. It felt creamy and soft in her hands, with cute fall themed charms all over it. She hugged it to her chest and looked up at James. “James, baby. This is so nice.” James stepped close and took her into his arms, wrapping her in a hug from behind, his chin hooked on top of her head. He reached around her to point at some of the treasures.

“Lots of syrups to try is fun, right? I’m so going to try that apple one in something. And look how funny that lip mask is. Harry laughed so cutely when I held it over my mouth and pretended to talk with it. Let’s see the sweater on, isn’t it so soft?” he rambled.

Lily smiled with her eyes prickling as she pulled the sweater over her head. It was a bit oversized, the sleeves hung perfectly so she could scoop the cuff into her hands and feel the softness. James hugged her again, trailing his hands under the sweater to rub her back and feel the softness of the inside of the sweater.

“I love it James, thank you.”

“Love you, Lilyflower,” James said and leaned down to press a kiss to her lips. Lily turned and pressed a kiss to Harry’s head, thanking him too. He burbled happily back at her with purple fingers and mouth. James pulled out his phone to take a picture when the doorbell rang. He set his phone down on the counter.

“I’ll get it! But I’m so getting a picture of you in that sweater with Harry when I’m back.” He pointed finger guns at her as he walked a few steps backwards towards the front door.

Lily laughed and watched James’ back as he turned around and walked down the hall to open the front door. Her thoughtful, giving husband. The smell of burnt sugar still undeniably hung in the air, but it was fading. Her guilt was fading too, replaced with love for her family.

“Hey! Oh wow no way,” she heard James say from the door.

“Who is it?” she called as she started to put away the soups and syrups into the pantry.

James didn’t answer and she walked back to the side of the kitchen from where she could see the door.

“James? Oh!”

He surprised her, he was right there when she turned the corner, a big box in his hands.

“No one was at the door when I opened it. They must’ve just delivered the box and left.”

“What is it?” Lily asked.

James placed the soft cardboard box on the counter and opened the lid, revealing 6 of the most beautiful cookies Lily had ever seen. They were huge, fluffy and delicious looking. A chocolate chunk on, one that must be red velvet, one that looked like it might be peanut butter, and more that she could only guess at the flavours, but couldn’t wait to taste them and find out.

“Oh my god. They’re beautiful. Who are they from? Did you order these too?”

“Nope, not me, oh here’s the card,” James replied. “Awww, they’re from Loops, see.” He passed the card to Lily.

To Lily

I hope these drown out the burned smell!! Congrats getting through the day without a kitchen fire!

Lily laughed. “That little shit.”

“I’m surprised he went with cookies and not some sort of fire extinguishing blanket,” James laughed.

“Don’t suggest it, or at least 2 will be at our door as fast as he can get them shipped here.”

“Actually, I think that’s kind of genius? I’m going to order one. I’ll send them one too.” He broke off a piece of the chocolate chip cookie and popped it into his mouth as he opened up his phone. “No harm in being prepared.”

Lily could only nod along with that logic, and she reached out and broke an orange cookie apart, and yes, as the taste of pumpkin spice cookie filled her senses, the burned smell finally faded away.

#jily #baby harry #pumpkin spice #cw food #fic-o-ween 2023 #James/Lily #domestic fluff #yes #this is based off me smoking out my kitchen #it smelled bad for days #i did not however get a boo box

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rainisawriter · 7 months

Text

Lassie 🎃⚔️ Pumpkin Spice

Genre: Fluff, comedy, romance, halloween

Word Count: 4,264

Pairing: Reader x Lassie

Group: White Rascals

World: High&Low

A/N: This was written for my Highloween set back in October of 2022.

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Autumn has always been your favorite time of year and you often wonder how anyone could hate it. It’s not cold like winter or hot like summer and everyone is getting ready for the spooky season. Pumpkins are literally everywhere, the leaves change into beautiful shades of orange and red, and everything just feels less serious and stressful. During Autumn, it was quite difficult to put you in a bad mood because of how much you enjoyed the season and everything that came with it. More than anything, though, you loved the taste of pumpkin spice. There was nothing more enjoyable than a fresh batch of pumpkin spice cookies with chocolate chips!

When you first moved to Japan, you had to adjust to a lot of things because of how different it was from your home country, but the thing you missed most was the overabundance of pumpkin spice during the spooky season. It’s true that you could find a handful of products with said spice, but it was nothing compared to back home where nearly everything had a pumpkin spice variant. People go nuts for it and, honestly, they put it into things that it really has no business being part of. No matter how much you love it, you simply can’t support those weirdos that think pumpkin spice belongs on pizza!

It’s even become a meme online with thousands of images cropping up each year. As with anything, once something becomes overhyped and popular, it starts to gain a bad reputation but that didn’t really bother you. The spice spoke for itself, in your opinion.

You hummed softly as you relaxed on the couch sitting atop Oya Koukou’s roof, scrolling through your phone as you looked for the perfect recipe. The problem is that there are hundreds of recipes, each with only slight variations to them. How are you supposed to know which one is the best? It’s not like you can try them all.

“You seem to be in high spirits today.”

You glanced over at Tsukasa who sat at the other end of the couch. “I am because my package finally arrived this morning, right as I was leaving the apartment. I was starting to get worried that it wouldn’t even arrive until after Halloween… damn customs.”

Fujio glanced up from where he sat atop several wooden pallets, his hand holding several playing cards. “What’s in it?”

Jamuo sat across from him, gaze focused on his own cards as he tried to figure out which one to set down. “It must be important to have worked you up so much.”

“My friend back home sent me a bunch of pumpkin spice.”

“Oh.” Fujio’s brow furrowed as if he were disappointed, but he was actually just concentrating on his next move. “Is it true that people are really obsessed with that stuff where you’re from?”

“Hm, I wouldn’t say obsessed, really,” you mused, tilting your head back to look at the baby blue sky above. “It’s become part of meme culture, so it’s easy to think that and we really do push the limits of what we can add it to. It’s usually only around during Autumn, though. No one really mentions it or uses it any other time of the year.”

“What are you gonna make with it?” Jamuo wondered, setting down the last card in his hand before jumping up, his arms in the air. “I win!”

“What? How?” Fujio scowled, glancing from his hand to the table and back again. “I was so close… ugh!”

You chuckled as you watched the pair, shifting on the couch. “Pumpkin spice cookies with chocolate chips. It’s my favorite Autumn snack so I wanted to make some for Lassie. I’m a bit nervous, though… I’ve never made them from scratch before. They usually come pre-made or ready to bake.”

“Are you worried that you’ll mess them up?” Tsukasa wondered, quirking a brow at you. “Or are you worried that he won’t like them?”

“Both. The first time you try a new food can really impact how you view that food in the future. I don’t want to be the reason he comes to hate pumpkin spice when he might actually like it if it’s made correctly…” You frowned, picking at a loose thread on your clothes.

“And?” he prompted, making you sigh.

“You read me too well, Tsukasa. It’s annoying.”

“Right?” Fujio scowled at the blonde.

Jamuo sat back down, turning on the empty oil drum he sat on top of so he could face you. “What else is bothering you, Y/N-chan?”

“Well…” you hesitated, biting your lip. “How do I say this… Lassie is from the White Rascals and you know how they are. They’re obsessed with never hurting women. More than him not liking it, I’m worried that he’ll lie to me and say he loves it just to spare my feelings. That’s way worse than not liking it, in my opinion.”

Fujio hummed, folding his arms over his chest. “Most people would be happy with that, right? It means he loves you enough to lie.”

“But lies can hurt more than the truth,” Jamuo added with a frown. “It’s like they’re saying you’re too weak for the truth.”

“Exactly, Jamjam,” you sighed. “He always treats me like I’m some fragile creature that will break at the slightest jolt. He never tells me the truth if he thinks it might hurt my feelings, it’s so frustrating!”

“Have you told him this?” Tsukasa inquired, sending you a look. Your silence was the only answer he needed. “How is he supposed to know how you feel if you don’t tell him?”

“I… may be a bit insecure. Lassie is the type that wants to take care of his partner completely. If I challenge that… he might move on to someone who won’t.”

“Then it’s his loss!” Fujio smacked his hand on the table, sending cards scattering across the rooftop. “Who breaks up with someone over something like that anyway? You’re worrying for nothing, Y/N!”

“Maybe.”

Tsukasa scooted closer, putting his arm around you. “No matter what happens, you’ll always have us.”

You glanced around at the smiling faces of your three best friends and chuckled. “What a terrible fate that is.”

“Oi!”

“That’s mean, Y/N-chan!”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Don’t agree with her!” The two boys chorused, glaring at the blonde who only chuckled in reply.

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You fell onto the kitchen chair with a tired sigh, closing your eyes as the smell of pumpkin spice cookies filled the room. You had spent the past four hours trying out as many recipes as you could, hoping to make the perfect cookies to share with your boyfriend. There were many failures and the kitchen had been reduced to a baking warzone. Flour coated the counter and the wall, there was cinnamon stuck to your hair, sugar had made itself comfortable on the ceiling and your precious pumpkin spice had been knocked over, forming a small pile on the ground.

Several plates of cookies had been set out on the table and, while they looked almost identical, they varied in taste. Who knew a minor change in ingredients could change the flavor so drastically?

“Woah, what happened in here?”

You glanced to the side, seeing Fujio standing in the doorway with wide eyes. You grinned, giving him a thumbs up. “I won the war, Fuji.”

“You say that, but don’t you have to clean up the mess? Sounds like you lost to me.”

Your smile fell as you realized he was right. “Damn.”

He stepped farther into the kitchen, carefully stepping over an egg you had dropped. “You want me to taste them, right?”

“Only one from each plate.” You sent him a look, pointing your finger at him before approaching the oven to check on the last batch. “I want to choose the best tasting ones for Lassie. You can take the rest to Tsukasa and Jamjam.”

“I’ve never tried pumpkin spice before,” he hummed, picking up a cookie from plate one.

“Make sure you remember which cookie you’re eating!”

“Hai~” He took a large bite, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before his eyes suddenly widened. “So good!”

“Which one?”

“The first one!” He tossed the rest of the cookie into his mouth, dropping crumbs onto the dirty floor.

“Oi, don’t make the mess worse.” You scowled, setting the sixth and final plate onto the table before falling back onto the chair, stretching your body out. You rested your chin in your palm, watching as the black-haired male scarfed down cookie after cookie. You wondered if he was even able to taste them. Once all cookies had been tried, he sat down at the other end of the table, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest.

Several minutes passed by and you were just about to question him when his eyes finally opened.

“I’ve made my decision,” he told you, expression deadly serious.

You nodded, leaning forward. “Which one is it, Fujio? Tell me.”

He shot up, hands slamming on the table. “Number five…!”

Your gaze fell to plate number five before you reached out for it.

“Is the worst.”

“Eh~?” Your hand dropped to the table. “Oi, I told you to choose the best, not the worst!”

“You can’t have the best without the worst, Y/N-chan.” He wagged his finger at you with a grin. “That’s how they do it on those cooking competitions that my mom always watches.”

“I don’t care. Just tell me which one tastes the best before I kill you.”

“Fine, fine.” Fujio pointed at plate number three. “These taste the best, in my opinion, but all of them are really good.”

Your shoulders relaxed at the compliment and you smiled. “Thank you. I can always count on you.”

“Of course! That’s what friends are for, ne?” He grinned, grabbing a cookie from plate number six.

“I thought six is the worst.”

“It is.” He took a large bite, chewing thoughtfully before grinning again. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not good.”

“You’re so weird,” you chuckled, shaking your head at him as you got up to grab a plastic container for your boyfriend’s cookies. “Here, catch.” You tossed a plastic container at him and he caught it with ease. “Box up everything but plate three.”

“Hai~”

“And you better save some for Tsukasa and Jamjam or I’ll kill you!”

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You gripped the strap of your messenger bag tightly as you descended the stairs into club Heaven. You had never felt very comfortable because the club scene just wasn’t for you. You didn’t like the large crowd of sweaty bodies hitting against each other as they danced and you didn’t like the flashing lights that threatened to blind you. If you had your way, you’d never come here but this is where your boyfriend spent most of his time. It was basically his home.

Your eyes scanned the sea of people, searching for your brown-haired boyfriend. And there he was, sitting at the back of the room with two girls sitting on each side of him. He smiled at them politely as they showered him with compliments and praise, their hands touching any part of him that they could reach.

You frowned, turning around so you could sit at the bar and not have to look at such a scene. You knew deep down that those girls meant nothing to him on a personal level, he was just doing his job and trying to make some lonely women happy. Even so, how could it not bother you at least a little? You didn’t want to be the kind of partner that got all jealous and demanded that he not be with any other woman. Besides, you knew what you were in for when you started dating a White Rascal. You had no right to complain now.

“Good evening, Y/N-san.”

You glanced up at the bartender and smiled. His name is Naoki and he had a mess of hair that stuck up in all directions, defying gravity. It was split down the middle, the left side the color of a raven’s feather and the right side the color of fresh cream. Black eyeliner was thick around his eyes and he had various piercings in his ears and several tattoos that couldn’t be hidden from his open vest. Despite his appearance, he was one of the sweetest of the Rascals and seemed to always know when someone was feeling down.

“Hello, Naoki-san. How is work today?”

He hummed as he grabbed your favorite non-alcoholic beverage, setting it down in front of you. “Today seems to be dragging on for ages. I’m glad it’s almost over.”

“Don’t let Rocky hear you say that,” you chuckled, accepting the drink with a small thank you.

“Of course. I’m not a masochist, you know,” he grinned, leaning his arms across the counter. His eyes flickered over your shoulder to your boyfriend who had yet to notice your presence. “What brings you into the club today? Lassie didn’t say you were stopping by.”

“I didn’t tell him, though maybe I should have…” You frowned, rubbing the back of your neck. Usually, when he knows you’re stopping by, he does his best to avoid being surrounded by women though they always find him even when he avoids them. He’s one of the most popular males among the Rascals, second only to Rocky himself, so it made sense that there would always be women looking for him.

“Maybe so,” he replied softly before tapping the counter and straightening his back. “Ne, why don’t I escort you into the back? You can wait for him there. I know you don’t really like it out here.”

You nodded, giving him a grateful smile as you stood up. “Can I bring my drink?”

“Of course, Y/N-san.” He bowed, one arm across his chest and the other behind his back. With a smile, you picked up the glass, supporting it with your palm so you didn’t drop it as he led you through the crowd and into the back of the club. No one was supposed to be allowed back there except for the Rascals but you had become a bit of an exception. If Rocky or Koo found you, they would lightly scold you, telling you not to let it happen again, but they never made you leave or enforced it. For that, you were thankful.

Naoki led you to a small break room. “I’ll let Lassie know you’re here -“

“Don’t.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t want to bother him,” you smiled sheepishly. “Or take him away from his patrons… I’ll wait, I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” he questioned softly with a frown.

“Positive!” You forced a smile to put him at ease and he nodded.

“Very well, then. I’ll come check on you in a bit.”

“Sure.” You listened to the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall before you shut the door, glancing around the room.

Against the right wall was a comfortable, purple sofa that felt more like a cloud than a piece of furniture and there was an oak coffee table in front of it. Against the left wall and the wall beside the door was a line of vanity tables covered in makeup and hair products. The lights surrounding the mirrors were off since they weren’t being used and you could see your reflection in the glass. In the corner between the left and back wall was a TV sitting on a stand.

You carefully set your messenger bag on the coffee table, knowing that the container of cookies was inside before you settled down on the couch. You considered turning on the TV but decided against it, lying down on your back and tugging your phone from your pocket. You replied to unread messages from the trio, letting them know that you hadn’t given them to him yet but sparing the details as to why. Then you pulled up YouTube, watching videos to pass the time.

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You felt fingers brushing against your cheek and your eyes fluttered open, blinking away sleep. It took you a minute for your brain to recall that you were still at the club.

“Did you sleep well?”

You glanced over, seeing Lassie kneeling beside the couch, his fingers resting softly against your cheek. “I fell asleep,” you muttered, pushing yourself up and rubbing at your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” He pulled himself up so he could sit on the side of the couch, smiling warmly at you. “You’re so cute when you’re sleeping. You even mumbled my name~”

You sent him an embarrassed look. “Liar.”

“Am not! I’ll just have to film it next time~”

“Don’t you dare!” I scowled at him, making him chuckle. “What time is it?”

“It’s morning. The club closed about twenty minutes ago.”

You frowned. “I slept so long…”

He nodded, going quiet for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Eh?”

Lassie frowned at you, eyes meeting yours. “You always tell me when you’re coming to the club. Why didn’t you call me? And then you got here and still didn’t tell me. You sat back here alone for so long.”

“I wanted to surprise you and then I got here and saw you with…” You cleared your throat, glancing at your messenger bag. “I didn’t want to bother you while you were walking.”

“You could never bother me.” His hands gently cupped your face, bringing his forehead to rest against your own. “You’re the love of my life, Y/N. You are far more important than my job.”

“Rocky might kill you if he hears that,” you joked softly, unable to hold back your smile.

“Then I’ll die a happy man because I have you.”

“Idiot~” You smacked his shoulder. “You’re not allowed to die without me.”

“As you wish, my love.” Lassie pecked your lips but when he pulled away, you followed, tugging him closer by the front of his shirt. He obliged your silent request, pushing against your lips in a slow, sensual manner that had you feeling breathless.

“Lassie?” you whispered softly, lips brushing against his when you spoke.

“Yes?”

You glanced at your bag, biting your lip. Now that you were here in front of him, you weren’t sure you wanted to offer him the cookies. ‘No, I worked hard on them. I have to give them to him,’ you told yourself, shifting on the couch so that you could reach your bag. Lassie watched you curiously as you pulled a small plastic container from the bag, gripping it tightly.

“Will you promise me something?”

“Of course.”

You took a deep breath, turning to meet his gaze. “Promise me that when you try these cookies, you’ll be honest with me even if you hate them.”

His eyes widened at the request, gaze flickering to the container. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes. It hurts when you pretend to like something just to avoid upsetting me. I just want you to be honest.”

“Then I will be. From now on, I’ll be honest with you,” he smiled softly, resting his hand on your thigh.

“Good.” You nodded your head, holding the container out to him. “It’s my first time making these from scratch but I did my best.”

“You made these?” He took the container carefully, tugging the lid from it. The smell of cinnamon, sugar, and pumpkin spice filled the room, making his mouth water. “It smells amazing. Are these sugar cookies?”

“No. They’re pumpkin spice.”

“Pumpkin spice?” Lassie blinked, picking up one of the cookies to inspect it.

“I know you’ve never tried it before and it’s okay if you don’t like it. It’s my favorite Autumn treat, so I wanted to share it with you.”

“Itadakimasu,” he said softly before taking a bite of the cookie, holding his other hand beneath it to catch the crumbs. You watched his face closely as he chewed, taking note of his furrowed brow as he considered the flavor. He swallowed, paused a moment, then took another bite, humming thoughtfully.

“Be honest,” you reminded him and he nodded, leaning back against the couch with one leg crossed over the other.

“Honestly speaking, I don’t hate it. It’s a strange taste,” he mused, eating the last of the cookie. “An acquired taste, perhaps.”

“Maybe.”

“I guess I’ll just have to eat the whole container.”

“Eh?” You blinked at him as he picked up another. “You’re not even gonna share with me?”

“You made them for me,” he pouted but it quickly bloomed into a smile as he held the cookie out to you. “Well, you did put in a lot of work. You’ve earned one.”

“Just one?” you chuckled, accepting the cookie. It was like pure bliss from the first bite and you found yourself sighing in contentment, unaware of the loving look your boyfriend was giving you as he watched you. “I guess I can live with that.”

“Thank you, Y/N.” Lassie softly kissed your cheek, sliding his hand into yours. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

“That’s my line.”

“Now you have to promise me something.”

You looked at him curiously, meeting those beautiful brown eyes that you had come to love so much. “What’s that?”

“The next time you come to the club, let me know. Even if I’m with other guests. Promise?”

“I promise.”

Lassie leaned in to kiss you but paused when your phone started to ring from the table. He grabbed it for you, glancing at the caller ID. “It’s your dad.”

“He must’ve just gotten home.” You exchanged the cookie for your phone, pressing it to your ear. “Hello -“

“I’m going to kill you, brat! This kitchen is a mess! Did you have a fight, huh? Were you raised in a barn? I work all night and come home to an absolute mess! How dare you leave the kitchen in this state! No child of mine would be so irresponsible, so stupid! Ah, I know! Someone must have broken in and trashed the kitchen, ne? The trash bandits, ne? Ne, brat?!“

You swallowed hard as you slowly lowered your hand, the sound of your father ranting and raving filling the room. You had completely forgotten about the kitchen because you wanted to get the cookies to Lassie as soon as possible. You hadn’t planned on falling asleep, you had planned to get home before he did and clean up the mess.

“He sounds really angry,” Lassie spoke quietly so your dad wouldn’t hear, a frown on his lips. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice an octave higher. “I, uh… I might die today, though.”

“Hah? As if I’d let you. Here, let me talk to him.” Before you could react, he plucked the phone from your hand, pressing it to his ear. “Good morning, otou-san. Forgive me for interrupting, but may I ask what has you in such a foul mood?”

You leaned closer to try and hear what was being said, but your dad had started to speak at a normal volume as he often did when talking to anyone other than you so it was hard to make out the words.

“I see.” Lassie sent you a disappointed look. “I can explain, if you’ll allow me to. Y/N wanted to make cookies to thank you for working so hard, but the task proved to be a bit much. Such a mess would be hard to tackle alone, don’t you agree? I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t pick up my phone when Y/N called, so they came down to ask me for help. We were just about to return and clean up the mess when you called… hai, that’s right… We’ll be home soon, otou-san. The mess will be gone by the time you wake up, I assure you… hai. Sleep well.”

You blinked dumbly at your boyfriend as he hung up the phone, handing it back to you.

“Honestly, what were you thinking, leaving such a mess behind?”

“I wanted your cookies to be fresh,” you mumbled, staring at your phone. Your dad was often compared to an angry bear by Fujio, the only other person who had witnessed his true nature. He wasn’t quick to anger unless he was tired and his rage was hard to ease, so how the hell had your boyfriend talked his way out of disaster? It made no sense to you.

“Aw. You knew he would kill you but you still put me first!” He set the container on the table so he could turn toward you, cupping your face and bringing you into a passionate kiss. “What would I do without you?”

“Die, probably,” you joked, making him click his tongue.

“I’m pretty sure you just described yourself. Now, let’s get back to your apartment. We have a lot of cleaning to do.” He stood up and you jumped up after him, grabbing his hand.

“You don’t have to help, Lassie. It’s my mess and you worked all night at the club. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

“I’m never too tired to help you. That’s what being in a relationship means, right?”

You slid your hand into his with a smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I always am~” He winked playfully, giving your hand a squeeze.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lassie. I might have to hit you.”

“You wouldn’t dare~”

He was right, of course, but he didn’t need to know that.

━━━━━━༻🎃⚔️༺━━━━━━

-> High&Low/Rampage Taglist: @kiraaaeon, @simpforchuchu, @star2fishmeg, @thatpoindexterpixy @manhwabtch

-> General Taglist: @asterhaze, @mrskenpachizaraki

#highloween #halloween #high&low #white rascals #white rascals lassie #lassie #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction #jdrama #writeblr #rains ficography

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angelbaby-fics · 1 year

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please could you do picking out pumpkins to cave ag the pumpkin path with daddy stucky. maybe when they and there little get home they carve the pumpkins and drink hot chocolates with a halloween movie (hocus pocus it’s so good!) <3

they wake you up earlier than usual, wanting to get the freshest picks and avoid the crowds for the perfect photo opportunities. you're grumpy for most of the drive into town until daddy suddenly veers the car into the starbucks drive thru. your eyes perk up from the back seat, flicking back and forth between the two men in gleeful shock as steve orders an iced black coffee for bucky, an espresso for himself, and pumpkin spice frappuccino for you. you beam - its a rare occasion you managed to convince them to get you a treat like this, and today you didn't even ask. your bad mood is completely forgotten by the time you pull into the parking lot of the pumpkin patch.

you run through the rows of pumpkins, the morning dew still on the grass and making your socks damp. you run your hands over the pumpkins you pass stacked high upon hay bales. You see it in the distance then: the perfect pumpkin of your dreams. its like cinderella’s carriage without the wheels. its perfectly round, bright orange and ripe, the stem perfectly curved like a handle, with spiral vines sprouting out the top. you try to pick it up - ‘silly little one’ says baba. he scoops your pumpkin up in one arm and you in the other. he places the both of you in a wheelbarrow, weaving you through the aisles and grabbing up every gourd you point at and you’re practically buried in them. steve follows at a close distance, snapping candids until he decides its time to intervene helping you out of the wheelbarrow and onto his shoulders. you make sure bucky and steve pick pumpkins for themselves, and they know how important it is for you to have them participate in your interests with you.

the trunk of the car is completely full to the brim with your pumpkin haul, the ones that couldn’t fit sharing the back seat with you. your favorite precious pumpkin sits in your lap and you take this time on the drive home to plan out the face you’ll give him. the soft music on the radio is nearly drowned out by the heavy drops of midmorning autumn rain, and steve turns it up a bit, turning around to smile at you and pat your knee while he stops at a red light. when you’ve pulled into the driveway, bucky helps you out of your car seat over the mountain of squash and sets you down on the porch as he and steve start to unpack. you’re spoiled, and you know it, and steve and bucky know it, but really what’s the harm in buying you as much holiday cheer as you could stand when they can afford it? enough to fill the porch and cascade down the steps.

steve carries you into the house and bucky clears off the kitchen island. you get set down on the now spotless surface, your pumpkin and a marker appearing beside you. steve puts a record on and joins you and bucky drawing on your pumpkins with fervent concentration. a smiling face, a fearful grimace, a bat flying across the moon. you fill kitchen bowls with slime and seeds, some of which steve seasons and sticks in the oven to roast and he and bucky get carving. your daddies won’t let you use the knife on your own so you watch them with awe. when the carving is done, you arrange them on the porch amongst the rest of the decorative gourds and bucky places lit candles inside the pumpkins - his vibranium arm coming in handy not to get burnt.

its still raining and the sky is getting dark so you hurry back inside to the safety and warmth of the couch. bucky starts a fire and steve gathers the blankets, dimming the lights on his way back into the room. bucky’s joined you on the couch by now and has is scrolling through the movies; he understands all the modern technology a bit more than steve who’s now busying himself in the kitchen. witches fly over the forests of salem - bucky didn’t have to ask, you watched this movie every year.

‘daddy, you’re missing it!’

‘i know, i know’

steve enters with two steaming mugs, and one room temperature one piled high with mini marshmallows.

‘be careful, don’t spill!”

this safety is familiar and frequent but astounds you every time and it never gets old. everything’s okay, its really really okay.

#stucky x little!reader #little!reader #bucky x little!reader #steve x little! reader #daddy!stucky x little!reader #daddy!stucky #chloe's fic #chloe's halloween party

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vintagelacerosette · 5 months

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Tag game Tuesday/picrew catch up!

Oh how I've missed doing these! Thank you so much to these sweetpeas who tagged me to do these tag games/picrew. Lyle @milkovetti Michelle @michellemisfit Bri @y0itsbri Evie @energievie Julia @juliakayyy Georgia @iansw0rld Kat @mybrainismelted Nosho @creepkinginc Cross @crossmydna Willow @ian-galagher Lyds @ardent-fox Vey @look-i-love-u Molly @deathclassic Jay @surviving-maybe 💕

💟Name: Myn/Shermyn

#️⃣Age: 27

🗺️Location: Sydney

🧥Do you own a robe? Describe it. Yeah a pink silky with lace trim one my older sister gifted me as my maid of honour gift 🥰

☕️Do you have a favorite mug? Describe it. Why yes! It's one of my prized possessions! My Gallacrafts mug I made art with the darling & talented Ling @lingy910y

🧣Do you have a favorite blanket? Describe it. You know I don't think I do & that's tragic 😔

🍵Coffee or Tea? Tea

↳🔥🧊Hot or Cold? Cold it's been so damn humid & dry in Sydney rn 😓

🧦Fuzzy socks or Wool socks? Wool

🧤Gloves or Mittens? Gloves but the fingerless kind so I can scroll/read fics on my phone lol

🔥Fireplace or Campfire? Fireplace

🌞🌜Sun or Moon? Both baby! They work in tandem to give us life ☀️🌙

🍬Chocolate candy or Sugar candy? Sugar 🍭

🥐Sweet Pastry or Savory Pastry? Sweet

🎃Peppermint or Pumpkin Spice? Peppermint. I haven't had pumpkin spice before

🛏️Go to bed early or Wake up early? Wake up early but i don't sleep early to make the happen 🥲

🥣Cold cereal in milk or Hot oatmeal? Cold cereal in milk I especially love the sweet ones. American cereal certainly hit the spot with their cinnamon toast crunch or lucky charms 🤤

🍞Potatoes or Bread? 🥔

And Finally…

🚬 Gallagher or Milkovich? It'll have to be MIlkovich even tho objectively the are more terrible ones than good. But to be fair the great stole my fucking heart 💖

Picrew

Which character from any media would you like to have as a father?

I think Johnny Rose from Schitt's Creek would be a funny dad plus loaded 🤣

If money, laws, time, and effort were no object, what animal would you want to have?

I'd love an otter omfg they're so damn cute 😭

What is your Chinese takeout order?

Sweet & sour pork & spinch noodle with wild mushrooms.

What's your favorite emoji?

🥹 I'm particularly fond of this one bc it's the marvelling of beauty for me

Would you rather have a library, greenhouse, or home theater in your house?

I think greenhouse. I think would be so soothing & I feel like I need more plants in my life hahaha

What childhood tv show do you think of the most fondly?

Cardcaptor Sakura 🌸

What was your tumblr like when you first joined?

I joined 2012 it was so aesthetic & I wished be one of those vintage aesthetic blogs hence my tumblr name lmao. I kinda got confused & scared how to use it so i stopped for 2 years. So i missed out all the fun drama i guess lol. Then I started using it as like a scrapbook of things I liked hahah

What clothing style do you love but don't feel compelled to replicate yourself?

50s but I feel that would be such an effort to pull off

If you were plopped into a fictional world, which one would you know the layout of the best?

Pokemon but like in the switch games. I've been playing too much instead of sleeping lmao

What is your favourite piece of art?

Idk if I have a favourite but one that impacted me in high school was a piece called 'Atomic: full of love, full of wonder' by Nike Savvas. Funny thing is that I got to see it in person may 2 or 3 years after seeing it in a high school text book & having to do essays on it. It was by complete accident & I had no idea see was displaying her work in our national art gallery. It was magic to see a piece irl after studying it 🥰

Do you have a water bottle? what does it look like?

My bestie jusr got me this steel pink hello kitty tumblr that was a collab with a bubble tea shop! I love it I take it to work 💖

What fanfic trope is a quiet fave?

I think time travel with younger selves meeting their older selve & seeing how they fot their happy ending 🥰

Do you carry a daily bag? what does it look like? what's the weirdest thing in it?

Yeah a carry bag for work. It's this tote bag another bestie got me for my last birthday. It's really cute. It's pink & mint green with a cluster of cute things like teddy bear.

If you had to ship Mickey with another Gallagher, who would it be?

Respectfully no ❤️

What is a fanfic trope you didn't expect to like and then very much did?

I'd say mafia au especially bc of the amazing fic by Kay/Shamelessquestions, The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Ian Gallagher.

Do you think s11 Mickey can still carry s11 Ian?

He sure could! He's our swol lil man

Look at them guns!!

Who got custody of the killing bat when they sold the house?

I kind have this tie between Fiona getting it or it being passed to Liam & Franny to keep the legacy going

Not tagging any bc I'm late but if you see this & you want to go ahead starlight 🩷

#tag game #picrew

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zeldahime · 3 months

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Highway to Pail Day 8

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 8: I need a cup of coffee before I can espresso my feelings.

One of the upsides to being a demon was that, sin all you like, you couldn't get addicted. Didn't have the neuro-whatsits and thingies for it. It was kind of unfair to stick the humans with that, in Crowley's opinion, but nobody had ever asked him. Aziraphale would probably say something something overcoming the body through strength of will showed the triumph of the Almighty or whatever, but Crowley knew he didn't really believe that either, not after whatever happened while he was Downstairs in the 1800s. Last it came up, Aziraphale had said something about China, got a haunted look in his eyes, and changed the subject.

Anyway. Addiction. Just because a demon couldn't get physiologically addicted to substances and/or sins, apparently didn't mean he couldn't experience something like it.

When humans don't get their morning coffee, they're irritable and feel like shit and really long for something nice and hot to drink to help them focus. When Crowley skipped a morning coffee, he was irritable and felt like shit and wanted something hot to drink that'd help him focus. It's a good thing Crowley didn't know about the headaches or fatigue, or he'd probably get those too.

He'd been in Las Vegas for four and a half hours, all of them had sucked, and all the coffee shops in a mile radius were either Starbucks brand or used Starbucks products. The infernal inspiration job he'd done on Howard Schultz had gotten him a good thumbs-up from the line supervisor in charge of the Americas, but Crowley seriously regretted it now. Maybe if he'd at least handed it off to Aziraphale, the quality of the mass-produced omnipresent too-burnt coffee would be halfway decent. Then again, probably not; you couldn't teach taste, and Schultz didn't have any.

He was desperate enough to try his luck anyway. Maybe if they dumped enough sugar and milk on it, it'd be almost drinkable.

He stood in the interminable, echoey line at the MGM behind a pair of blonde teenage girls with the words "AMERICAN EAGLE" written across their faux-vintage t-shirts in bold—jingoism extended to even trendy rich kids, apparently, weird fucking country—scrolling through the contacts in his Sony Ericsson (custom matte black with red lettering on the keypad) to decide who it would be most annoying to be on the phone with while ordering.

"—and Sammy was like, what are you gonna get, and I was like, to be honest I don't really know because, like, I never tried it before? And he said the best thing for me would be a frappy-whatever, since they're sweet."

"Sammy's a freak, dude, they've got so many calories, oh my god. I could never."

"No, what? But he said it was like, mostly milk? I thought milk was good for you."

"Maybe like with cereal but my mom said the frappés here have like two thousand calories or whatever."

"No, oh my god!"

"Right? Oh my god. So I'm getting a 'PSL,' that's what Lauren, you know, Jessica's sister that goes to UNR, that's what she gets." Crowley could nearly hear her saying the quotation marks around "PSL." He perked up, just a bit. Almost anything teenagers thought uni students did was either sinful itself or could be twisted that way for work, and he did not have a great feeling about this temptation job.

"What the heck is a PSL? I don't see it on the menu?"

"Pumpkin spice latte, it's on the big sign in the middle."

"Oooohhh, that looks good, maybe I'll get that too."

Well, now Crowley had a new coffee order. Wouldn't freak the barista out as much as "six espressos in a big cup, nothing else" and then filling the rest of the cup with sugar and half-and-half to absolutely drown the shitty coffee, but a little recon was still work. Besides, how bad could it be?

The girls ordered their coffees without incident, he ordered his coffee while obnoxiously on the phone with nobody since Aziraphale was in New Delhi for a book thing and refused to buy a cell phone, and it took a hellishly long time for the shortstaffed baristas to make the coffee, but that was all alright. It would be fine. Crowley would get his caffeine fix and everything would be alright.

The coffee was bad. He'd expected it, but still managed to be disappointed. Burnt Arabica made lukewarm by the addition of cold milk was just a bad job, which meant he had done a good job on the Schultz thing, but was currently bad news for him.

But the coffee wasn't as bad as it could be.

Pumpkin spice, it turned out, was mixed pudding spice, cinnamon and nutmeg and allspice and cloves, no vegetables involved. It made the coffee smell wonderful, and putting it on actually good coffee was something he'd have to suggest to Aziraphale when he got home.

He'd have to put some a little creativity into twisting this into a sin, but his bosses would like it, always liked a bad job paying dividends in the future. Lying to people about vegetables to sell coffee was probably something. Greed, maybe, if you squinted? Could probably twist it into a virtue, too, Heaven liked it when Aziraphale could "thwart" one of his schemes. Maybe humility. Have some burnt coffee with nice spices to remind you that God made spices and humans made bad coffee, or something.

He'd figure it out after he found the guy he needed to convince to card-count and the lady he was supposed to convince to go into politics. He wasn't sure he remembered which was who's job, honestly, but the "PSL" thing was going to be a hit both Up and Down.

Author's note: This is a period piece. It's set in 2005ish.

I don't remember if there actually was a Starbucks inside the MGM in 2005 but there was one by 2007 so I'm going with it.

American Eagle is a clothing brand that was extremely trendy at the time; I desperately wanted to have one of those shirts, but I have never ever fit into skinny-mini model clothes, and so alas, I never did.

The Sony Ericsson was a high-end phone in Europe at the time and boy does this take me back. That's what my knock-off not-Nokia looked like! I used to be able to type so quickly on that thing under my desk, you have no idea.

UNR stands for University of Nevada, Reno. I don't know why Crowley knows what that is. Maybe one of the targets is a student there.

#my writing #do it with style events #highway to pail #crowley good omens

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