#He will never smell like not garlic again

[hotvintagepoll]

Hello! Do you have a favorite winter recipe? I'm looking to expand my repertoire, because I've only lived in a climate that snows for a couple years, and I don't have enough cozy, bone warming foods!

PS - I keep having to feed my cat pumpkin puree because he has some tummy troubles but he will only eat it if I gently hand feed him with a spoon. Just thought you might enjoy that.

YES HERE IS JOYOUS SOUP

(i have never actually called it joyous soup but it's what i feel everytime i make it and i feel like everyone should make it)

This soup does not have a proper recipe because uhh, my mom is bad with recipes but ALSO this soup truly adapts to whatever you have in your fridge, as long as you have 1) some kind of oil or butter to sautee things with and 2) potatoes. this is the sam gamgee make-it-on-the-side-of-a-mountain-winter soup.

Step 1. Take your potatoes—6 is the ideal but 4 works—and chop them up rough. "What kind of potatoes?" Whatever they have on the side of the mountain, Sam. You now have a bunch of 1" potato chunks or discs (I like discs). I assumed you washed them first but if you forgot you can wash them now.

Step 2. Get your oil or butter sizzling. I use about two tablespoons of butter to start and add more as I go if the potatoes don't look fully covered. I am probably cooking the butter on medium.

Step 3. You're putting the potatoes in the butter. You're pretending to fry them. Watch them get all buttery and golden and a little brown and crispy. You're thinking, man, I could eat these as they are right now. You could do that. Don't. Add garlic and onions if you have them. Add lots.

Step 4. Just as you're like oh MAN these potatoes and garlic and onions look really good fried just like this, you're going to swamp them in water. You're going to stare at what you've done and thought you made a mistake. You have not. The water should just be covering the potatoes and now you've turned the water up to high, staring at your weird sad soup pot, that smells deliciously of butter garlic onions and potatoes.

Step 5. In another saucepan, you are melting more butter (or oil, or what have you) and figuring out what else you have in your cupboard. Carrots? Those can go in. Parsnips could too. Spinach works nicely. Any onions or garlic you forgot can be added again now. Mushrooms are fucking fabulous. Leeks? Sublime. The only veg you should be avoiding are the ones that are secretly fruits (no watery tomatoes or squishy cucumbers) or the ones that you think are insipid (celery).

Step 6. You're chopping all of that up as much as you like and browning it up in the butter. You're also adding whatever spices strike your fancy. I love salt, so that's always going in, but I usually add black pepper and cayenne, and then I get fruity with it and start adding in paprikas and cumins and turmerics or corianders and thymes and basils and parsleys. It all depends on what smells right to you combined with the steams you're making, and how much spice you want kicking you later.

Step 7. How are your boiled potatoes looking? Are they soft yet? Good. Can you stick a fork in them yet, and has the water boiled down to almost nothing? Excellent. How are all your buttery brown vegetables looking? If you want to give up the whole experiment and eat them right out of the pan, it's time to make another mistake and add all your gorgeous browned vegetables to your disastrous wet potato pot.

Step 8. You now have a lot of delicious stuff looking wet and sad in your potato pot. Pour in a bit more water (or veg broth, or stock if you have it) and stir that all up. Let it stew together a bit and combine flavors. Turn it back down to medium so you don’t scorch any of your nice wet veg things. If you're fancy like my mom, you get out an immersion blender here. If you're broke and possess your grandmother's food processor, like me, you're pouring that all into the food processor with the biggest blade you have and turning it into a smoothie. If your concoction seems oddly chunky you need to add more water.

Step 9. Wet sad potato smoothie is not much to look at but now you're adding CREAM. and CHEESE. and MORE SPICES TO YOUR TASTE. If you don't have cream MILK WORKS FINE. If you don't have cheese THAT IS OKAY. If you like your soup with chunks LEAVE OUT SOME OF YOUR VEG NEXT TIME and ADD IT IN HERE. At this point, you have a gorgeous creamy soup that's soft and luscious (that's the potatoes), includes all your favorite veg (that's everything you got out of the fridge), and can go in any number of taste directions depending on what spices you put in (I've made this with Indian spices, English herb garden spices, Mexican spices, Hungarian spices—every time it's delicious and works a different way).

Step 10. I hope you have a lot of bread because you're going to be dipping it in your soup saying :) man this is a nice soup :) and knowing you can make it whenever you have weird leftovers, as long as you have potatoes and butter. and what else does a person need in life than potatoes and butter?

enjoy your joyous soup <3 i may have forgotten several steps but as long as you follow -brown some veg -add water -add spice -blend the shit out of it, you can never really go wrong <3

[redhallow]

my buddy got really hurt in a biking accident so I went to go make them soup for dinner in their apartment but whilst I was transporting an entire jar of garlic in my tote bag to add to the soup amongst other things all the liquid spilled and soaked into my palm sized mothman plush who is now rife with garlic scent and I don’t know how to fix this. Please how do I ungarlickify my son

[heavenbarnes]

need our simon to come home from deployment IMMEDIATELY 🫶🏼 | p1 p2 p3 p4

your older bf!simon comes home from deployment at dinner time on a tuesday.

herb alpert on the kitchen radio, knife tearing through a bunch of parsley, garlic and onion simmering on the stove behind you.

simon can hear it- smell it through the mail flap.

smells like home.

your ears prick at the sound of the door swinging open, the hinges alerting you to a secondary presence. back tensing for just a moment before you hear steps you could pick out in a lineup.

he sees your fluffy slippers first, then your little shorts, then his t-shirt. finally, he’s met with wide eyes and the kitchen light hits the curve of your face so nicely.

simon could cry.

you already were.

“oh my god, si”

he doesn’t really want to touch you with his outside clothes, tactical gear smelling like the back of a cargo plane and you’re so soft and lovely he’s afraid he might mess it all up.

but there’s nothing stopping the way you leap at him across the kitchen and swing your entire self around him and he’s forgetting what he’s wearing and he’s wrapping his arms around you like he knows you won’t break.

his tongue is immediately in your mouth and he’s taking one gasping breath and filling his nose with the scent that’s overwhelming him.

simon realises right then that the house smells like dinner but you smell like home. you are home. he’s home.

when he finally lets you let him go you’re telling him to leave all his gear by the washer and you’ll sort it all out tomorrow but right now he needs to sit down so you can feed him.

he’s back in the kitchen with a sweatshirt and shorts on and he’s never found his own clothes so comfortable. maybe it’s because he can smell you on the fabric.

you’d only been cooking enough for one but at this point, you’re so happy to have him home that you’re plating up the whole thing for him as he sits at the dining table.

his chair scrapes back along the floor and he’s patting his thigh, simon eats his tea with you curled up in his lap telling him everything he’d missed.

apparently, old-mate next door broke up with his missus and it was quite the scene.

apparently, they finally finished the roadworks on the junction at the end of your street and there was no longer a blur of orange cones on the drive to work.

apparently, there was going to be a barbecue at the house down the street and the two of you were invited. you might make a salad to take with.

you could’ve been reading him the phonebook and simon would be a happy man. his hand was holding under your thigh and your face was in the crook of his neck.

he was home.

dishes done (together) and tea steaming on the coffee table in front of him, simon isn’t sure this couch has ever been this plush. he could melt into it, as long as it was just like this.

bare feet up on the ottoman and one arm wrapped around your side as your head lay against his chest. you could hear his heartbeat and he could hear the football you’d recorded for him whilst he was away.

deployment was fucking rough, seen and done things he didn’t even want to think about. but this is what he comes home to.

you.

you who curls up in his lap and idly twirls the drawstring of his shorts round your finger.

you who offered up all of your food to him to fill the pit that’d been growing in his stomach over the weeks.

you who couldn’t give less of a fuck about the football on tv but watches in quiet contentment for the sake of being closer to him.

you who doesn’t ask once about what happened while he was away but will always listen without judgement if he needs to get something off his chest.

ideally, simon would like to give you the world in return. then again, he doesn’t think even that’d be enough.

instead, he takes you up to your shared bed and, miraculously, he doesn’t fall asleep as soon as his back touches the mattress.

he could, very easily, but instead he pulls you down on top of him and gets his lips back on yours. the kiss when he came through the door had been passionate but it’d been fleeting.

simon had kept it like that, knowing if he spent a second longer with your tongue on his then he’d have you over the kitchen bench and that wasn’t what he wanted.

really, he wanted this. the full weight of you on top of him and your hips rolling messily against his as his hands went up underneath your his shirt.

he wanted to run his fingertips along your bare back and feel skin so soft he almost couldn’t remember the things his hands had done just last week.

he wanted to map out every spot, every freckle, every ridge across your shoulders and commit it to memory so the next time he had to up and leave he could trace you like a constellation in the night sky.

truthfully, simon didn’t want to leave next time. he wanted to get the call from price and tell him that he was sorry but he couldn’t do it any longer. he now had something- someone to live for and he just couldn’t gamble odds like he used to.

he wasn’t entirely sure he’d still hold the sentiment on the other side of blowing a load so simon put those thoughts in the back of his head and decided he’d work them out on tomorrow morning’s run.

right now, simon felt the soft skin of the inside of your cheeks and your spit tastes like the nectar those gods harped on about and he’s pulling hard on your hips as he rolled something hard between them.

you were moaning, whimpering, whinging into his mouth while you ground yourself into the hard line of his cock. raging erection didn’t even cover it and his head was tipping back as a-

yawn, deep and all consuming broke from his throat.

simon was fucking knackered.

exactly what he didn’t want to happen was happening in front of him, you were sitting up and cooing at him so fucking sweetly.

“si, you’re exhausted- we’ll go to sleep”

strong grip around your waist was anchoring you to the spot so you couldn’t climb out of his lap like you were currently trying.

“sweet’art”

you could hear it in his voice, he couldn’t even lift his head off the pillow. you conceded, however, letting him rub soft little circles into your hips.

“jus’ gimme’ one and then we’ll sleep”

laying back down against his chest, you felt the air woosh out of him as you relaxed your body on his. face fitting into the crook of his neck like you were made for him (you were) with a hand running along his collarbone.

“we’ve got tomorrow”

you knew it was futile, he was already slipping your shorts to the side. head tilting just a little to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“and i need you tonight”

settled.

you felt one large hand lift you up as his other freed his cock out his shorts. just enough, just enough to get the job done because any extra effort was going to render him unconscious.

bringing a hand to his mouth, he spit in his palm quickly before rubbing it along the head of his cock. deep groan rumbled beneath you as you felt him pressing against your entrance.

“lift y’top up, sweet’art- wanna’ feel y’on me”

you did him one better, leaning up enough to slip the shirt over your head and onto the floor. forcing him to hold his arms up for just a second, you pulled his sweatshirt off and discarded it in the pile.

bare chest to chest, you could feel simon shudder beneath you. snaking one arm under his armpit and the other around his ribs, you snuggled in tight as you felt him slip right in.

that’s all he wanted.

weeks of photos, videos, imagination to go off of. this was all he ever wanted. you so close to him that it was entirely possible to imagine the two of you as one. that there was no version of reality without you together in it.

lazily rolling his hips up into you as you met him halfway, rolling yours back down to share half of the load. simon’s arms wrapped around your back, keeping you close and keeping you moving against him.

“sorry love, s’not gonna’ be a long one”

you could only respond with a whimper, gently nodding your head into his neck as your lips press soft little kisses into the skin. you didn’t need a long time, you just needed him.

unable to help yourself from noticing the couple new scratches he’d come home with, your fingers idly traced along them as he sucked in a breath at the feeling.

what you wouldn’t give to keep him home and keep him safe.

a thought for another day as you felt yourself constricting around his cock, grinding yourself into his lap as firm muscle rubbed against your front.

tiny little gasps flitted from your mouth and into his ear, you could feel his body tensing up beneath you. it wasn’t just with sheer tiredness, you knew this man like the back of your hand.

left hand coming out from under where you’d buried it behind his back, you ran the tips of your fingernails down simon’s chest. you stopped at his nipple, gently scraping along the peaked flesh until you heard him.

“need y’to cum right now f’me please”

slipping your other hand between the two of you, you let your fingers wander against yourself until you could feel the tide breaking in the pit of your stomach.

body clenching involuntarily, your mouth dropping open against his skin. no doubt drool pooling against his collarbone as you came with a pathetic whimper. hips bucking a little crazy in his lap as his hand ran the length of your back.

“god that’s it, sweet’art”

simon went rigid, gripping you tight like you might go somewhere as the dams broke and he filled you up. hot and sticky and dripping out of you and onto the waistband of his shorts.

he fell so still the only way you’d know he was still alive was the rise and fall of his chest beneath you. his arms were already starting to fall limp around you.

coming back from the bathroom, slipping off the rest of your clothes and adding them to the pile. simon wasn’t asleep, there were no snores, but he had been rendered totally immobile.

pulling the remainder of his clothes off for him and settling in beside, you pulled the sheets up over the both of you as his arm began drawing you in.

draped across him, you could feel his lips pressing against the crown of your head.

“m’gonna’ rock y’world in the morning”

you snorted a little laugh, nuzzling in closer as his breathing starts to even out. no use in replying, snorings about the only answer you’re going to get.

not that you’d mind.

he was home.

[starcandybby]

say don’t go | pjs

now playing: Say Don’t Go (Taylor’s Version) (From the Vault) by Taylor Swift

minors DNI - 18+ only

jay x reader, friends with benefits, angst, suggestive

summary: You want more, and Jay doesn't. It's as simple as that. Except, it's not so simple when your heart aches to be with him. When you decide to cut Jay off, he does not take kindly to your actions and a confrontation ensues.

warnings: mentions of sex, suggestive scenes, like they make out two times?!, reader is DOWN BAD, jay has commitment issues, swearing, they have an argument, jay is a dick. typos probably

wc: 3.7k

(a/n: jay’s part is here!! im pretty proud of this not gonna lie heheheh, reblog, likes and comments are always appreciated :p)

You always tell yourself that the last time will be the last time. Everytime Jay undos the undressing from a few hours before, disappointment weighs so heavy on your heart that it convinces you- it can never happen again.

But it always does.

One word, one call from him. And, you’re always saying yes. For some reason, the small flicker of hope in your chest never dies. It convinces you that one day, he will ask you to stay. That he’ll say, “Don’t go.”

You’re never surprised, but always disappointed.

Tonight is no different. Jay calls you up and asks if you can come over. You say, yes. You always do. Before you know it, you’ve left your apartment, enroute to Jay’s home. 

All you’ve brought with you is your phone, wallet, keys, and water; adorned on your body is your comfiest clothes. You and Jay are long past trying to impress each other. You never stay the night so the least you can do for yourself is dress comfortably. 

You’ve memorized the way to his house, from every time he’s called you over. You’ve never felt like a booty-call, not by the way he treats you after you knock on his front door. And, you never wondered why you don’t indulge each other in your own home. This is always how it’s been. 

You climb up the familiar steps and lift your fist to knock on his door. You never hesitate, not once in all your late night rendezvous. Your heart seems to forget all the heartbreak Jay’s caused you and all the disappointment that fills you when you walk out the same door hours later.

The door swings open, and there is your Jay, dressed in perfect domesticity. “Finally, you’re here.” He sighs in relief and gently pulls you into his home. But, not without a peck to your forehead. 

“You act like I kept you waiting for hours.” You roll your eyes playfully.

“Well it felt like hours.” Jay shot back, matching your energy.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” you quip. “It smells good in here.” Now that you’ve stepped into Jay’s home, you notice the aroma that fills the air- a mixture of seasonings- garlic and onion you’re sure. You smile to yourself. It’s one of the many things you admire about Jay, his love for cooking. And, he’s good at it. You’ve shared his meals countless times and they never disappoint. Excitement, mixed with hunger, brews in your stomach at the thought of eating some of Jay’s food. 

“Thanks doll. Felt like cooking up something before you came over.” Jay replies. Placing a hand on your lower back, he guides you to the kitchen, as if this is your first time at his place. You bet you’ve memorized the steps to his kitchen and bedroom by now. 

“What’d you make this time?” You question carries genuine curiosity, as Jay has cooked an array of dishes.

“Lemon pepper chicken with green beans and rice. I’ve been wanting to try this recipe for a while because I’ve never cooked with lemon pepper before and I thought why not…” Jay’s voice trails off. You don’t mean to tune Jay out- it only happened because you’re entirely focused on admiring Jay and how he floats around the kitchen so naturally, tending to the food on the stove. He owns the space; his confidence and naturalness only adds to your desire for him, to have him in every way. 

You stop yourself before you spiral into a mood of longingness. You’re determined to not bring down the mood tonight, not until you and Jay have your usual…routine. 

Once the food is ready, Jay prepares your plate for you, insisting it will taste better if he does it. Typical Jay, ever the gentleman. You chat through the meal, recapping your day and week, providing updates on your mutual friends, and everything in between. It feels so domestic, and right. It reminds you that you and Jay could have this. Home-cooked meals, the intimacy of sitting at the dining table, getting ready for bed together, and holding each other close when the day comes to a close. 

At least, that’s what you imagine life with Jay would be like. 

You help him clean the kitchen, dancing around each other in a perfect rhythm.

Once you finish drying the last dish, you turn around, only to find Jay had caged you between himself and the kitchen counter. 

“Oh! You scared me.” You giggle, from both surprise and nervousness at Jay’s proximity. 

He says nothing, only smirking and capturing your lips in a kiss. It stops time for you- whenever he kisses you, it always feels that way. It’s firm and slow- but that’s how Jay teases you. His patience is unmatched, opposing your urgency. Don’t misunderstand, Jay feels a similar urgency to have you, but he quite enjoys teasing you first.

You respond with such fervor, starting to feel desperate. Jay’s hands move from the counter to the waist and press you into him.

Right before you invite your tongue to tangle with Jay’s, he pulls back for a breath. He leans his forehead against yours and gasps for air. “Let’s move this to my room yeah?” He asks cooly, but you detect a hint of desperation in his voice. It makes you proud to know that he’s as desperate for you as you are for him. 

You nod quickly and follow him to his bedroom. You know where the night is headed and the sadness you’ll feel when you leave Jay’s embrace is guaranteed. But, even though you want Jay in every way, only one way is enough for now.

-

You still feel warm from your high an hour ago. But, Jay always makes you feel that way. Your afterglow remains long after whenever you’re with him. You’re in the perfect position to fall asleep, head on Jay’s chest while his fingers trailing rhythmically up and down your bare back, relaxing you. But, you know you can’t fall asleep. In a few minutes, when Jay feels it’s socially acceptable to kick you out, you will get dressed and leave. You savor these moments while they’re here.

Time passes and you’re still here. Hope blooms in your chest; he’s never let you stay this long. It must be way past midnight at this point, usually you’re home by now. This hope encourages you to open your godforsaken mouth and rehash a conversation with Jay that you’ve had over and over.

A part of you knows that even if you bring up the topic again, nothing will change. But, damnnit, there’s hope!

You sit up and reach for your discarded shirt on the floor. Covering one part of your vulnerability will help unveil another. 

Jay gives you a look that questions why you moved from such a comfortable position. 

“Hey, Jay.” Your voice shakes ever so slightly, but you’re blaming it on your exertion from before, not on your nervousness.

The boy only hums in response, however it’s encouragement enough for you to continue. 

“I was wondering if you thought any more about what I said all those months ago? About us? I just…I want more for us and I think we would be really good together. I really really like you. I want everything- all of it- with youl.” You spit out your words like they’re fire, rambling through your thoughts. You don’t even look Jay in the eye, too embarrassed that you’re clinging to the impossible.

There’s a moment of silence which allows you to bask in your humiliation. Then, a sigh from Jay. 

“Do we really have to talk about this again? My answer is the same. I just can’t commit like that right now.” His voice is soft, but firm- as if he knows your fragility but needs to make his words heard.

Your frown deepens, and Jay unfortunately notices. 

“Come here,” He pulls you back to him, “You know it’s not because of you, right? I really really like you too. But, I know you deserve more than I can give you right now.”

You nod, despite not understanding. You try to make sense of Jay’s words but they weren’t adding up at all. 

You don’t understand- if he really really liked you, why couldn’t he commit? Why wouldn’t he take you out on a proper date? If he liked you, didn’t he want the same things you did?

Him making dinner, being obsessively caring during your intimate moments, and offering the best aftercare, it was all twisting the knife he had dug into your back. 

Okay, maybe it wasn’t in your back, because you knew where this was going, or you should’ve known. This was no betrayal. It was all inevitable.

It doesn’t make the pain of him leaving you in the dark bleeding, hurt any less. 

It’s time for you to go. You pushed his limits and now tension mixes with the smell of sex in the room. Despite Jay holding you close, you feel so far from him. So, you need to go before you say something stupid. 

You sit up and try to muster up your most sheepish smile, trying to not give away any disappointment in Jay’s answer. You’ve shown enough vulnerability for one night. 

“I think I’m going to go home for the night- I’ve got, you know, an early morning.” You lie through your teeth. It’s a Saturday night (or early Sunday morning at this point). 

Jay nods slowly, as if he knows you’re lying (he does). He follows your movements, sitting up and searching the room for his disregarded clothes. 

“I’ll walk you out.”

You only nod in response. Your voice seemed to die along with your hope. You lead yourself and Jay to his front door. Opening it, you turn to bid him goodbye. 

You’re almost caught off guard by the look in Jay’s eyes. He looks disappointed- in who, you’re not sure. His eyes hold a hint of sadness too.

He leans forward, but you panic. Thinking on your feet, you go for the awkward side hug. You swear you can almost hear Jay grimace. 

“Text me when you get home.”

“Sure, yeah. Goodnight Jay.” 

With that, you walk out the door.

-

By the time you’re home, you have made a major decision. 

Well, it feels major to you. 

You decide you’re gonna distance yourself from Jay for a while. And this time, you’re serious about it. You need some time away from him. From the home-cooked meals. From the fluid conversation. From the softness. 

You need to get your heart in order before you see him again. You predict you will either lose feelings for Jay, and continue your affair, or you’ll learn to live without him. 

You’re not looking forward to either outcome, but it needs to happen. You can’t anticipate the same heartbreak every time you see him. The longing, the desperation, the hope. You can’t do it anymore. 

-

Four days have passed since you saw Jay. Not seeing him in person over the week wasn’t out of the ordinary. You both have full-time jobs, so it’s normal to not see him until the weekend. 

What was unusual was the lack of communication entirely. You and Jay wouldn’t go a day or two without texting each other, or having a quick phone call. 

You were honestly proud of yourself for not contacting him. However, you feel a bit disappointed that he hasn't contacted you at all. You sound hypocritical- the way you want him to simultaneously let you be and pine after you. Feelings are confusing. 

The first weekend without Jay is the worst. You take extra measures to avoid Jay- seeing him, confronting him, even thinking about him. Your phone is turned off and placed across the room where you can’t reach. Your best girlfriends come over for a movie night, providing some much needed girl time. By the time they leave, you have completely forgotten where your weekend usually leads you. 

So, you busy yourself by cleaning the kitchen from earlier in the evening, disposing of popcorn bags and leftover candies. 

For a second, your memory betrays you. You imagine a few months ago when Jay invited you over for a ‘movie’ night. Popcorn and snacks were prepared, but soon forgotten. You two didn’t even make it half through the movie before you were on top of each other. Jay had pulled you onto his lap as you started to make out, each kiss intensifying. Your bodies begin to move against each other on their own and before you know it-

You shake your head from the daydream. Jay does not deserve to take up that kind of space in your mind. You won’t allow him. 

You continue to straighten up your apartment, before you retire to your bed. It’s almost like your body doesn’t know what to do with itself when you’re not in Jay’s apartment on a Saturday night. It’s sad, and it’s precisely why you need space from him. Your heart is growing too dependent on him. 

Picking up your phone, you see a particular notification(s) that makes your sore heart stutter. 

One missed call and four messages from Jay. 

Jay <3: I called to see what you’re up to tonight. You can come over if you’re free.

Jay <3: I made kimchi jjigae. I think I finally got the recipe down.

Jay <3: Just realized it’s been a minute since we talked. 

Jay <3: Missing you right now.

The last message was sent only 30 minutes ago. You glance at the clock, it’s only 11:30- not even that late. Jay is probably still up, and if you leave your apartment now you could probably make it before-

The better part of you stops yourself before you can impulsively see the one person you’re trying to avoid. That’s Jay though- so addicting it makes you go against your better judgment. 

You sigh and turn your phone off. The determination for space is strong, motivated by the ache in your heart.

-

Jay feels like he’s going crazy. His 7 text messages and two missed calls have gone unanswered by you.

Why the hell were you ignoring him? Were you okay? If Jay hadn’t seen your activity on your socials, he would’ve thought you were dead. He’s not trying to be dramatic, he swears. But, during the months and months that you’ve known each other, you’ve never ghosted him. 

Jay racks his brain for the reason you’re ignoring him right now. 

It surely can’t be because of your last conversation right? You both have had that talk multiple times and it never resulted in completely ceased communication. So, Jay concludes that’s not it. 

What if you met someone new? Surely you would have told Jay about them. And, why would you confess your feelings and then find someone new days later? Were you sick? Depressed? Maybe, you were out of town and forgot to mention. 

Jay continues to spiral over throughout the week. He decides that, if by the weekend, you still haven’t responded, he’s going to take matters into his own hands. 

-

You got through a second week without talking to Jay. It gets easier every day you think. Your heart still hurts to ignore his messages and calls- your feelings for him haven’t just disappeared. But, you have to cut him off completely or the heartache you feel will continue to crush you. 

The weekend has come again, but this time you find yourself alone in your apartment. You hadn’t realized how much you needed a weekend to yourself. Spending time with yourself is a skill you’re learning to cultivate, especially now that you don’t have a weekend partner to rendezvous with anymore.

That doesn’t mean you don’t think about him. You think about Jay all the time, and it hurts that you won’t get the intimacy of his bedroom, cooking meals, and the domesticity with him anymore. But, it is still easier to cope without that than it was. 

You’ve settled in the comfiest spot in your living room, book in hand and lights dimmed. A warm cup of tea close by, you’re looking forward to a peaceful night. 

Not even two chapters in your book, you hear a knock at the door. You freeze for a moment, certainly startled as you weren’t expecting anyone tonight. 

You don’t move, praying that whoever is at your door will just go away. It’s 10pm for god sake. 

A knock echoes through your home again, but this time it’s followed by a voice you know all too well. 

“Y/N! Please open the door.” Jay’s voice resonates through your apartment walls and through your heart. You try to keep your cool but your racing heart betrays you. It takes your entire willpower to stop your hands from shaking. You cannot let him see how much his mere presence affects you.

With a deep breath, you open the door and plaster on your most nonchalant expression.

“Oh hey! What’s up?”

Jay huffs and has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Oh good, you’re alive.”

His sarcasm is not lost on you as he pushes his way into your apartment, as if it’s his own. You can count on one hand how many times he’s invaded your space. 

“What’s that supposed to-”

“Why haven’t you answered my texts, or called me back?” Jay cuts you off. 

Adjusting to the shock of his arrival and looking at the man clearly now, you can see how upset he is. You’ve become an expert on his body language- furrowed eyebrows, tense shoulders, confused and pained look in his eyes- you could see it all. 

“I don’t know, I guess I’ve been busy and I don’t know, I just…” You ramblings weren’t helping your case. In fact, you were sure they were only making things worse. You weren’t used to Jay being so straightforward. Usually, you felt like you were always the confrontational one in your dynamic. 

“You were busy? Really?” Jay knew you too well to know your bullshit answer when he hears it. 

“Yeah, well you know, life gets busy.”

Jay scoffs at your attitude. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t even send me a quick text to let me know what’s going on?”

You shake your head, “It must’ve slipped my mind.”

“This is such bullshit. You can’t just ghost me and then tell me it’s because you’re busy.”

“Actually I can.” You weren’t about to let Jay tell you what you can and can’t do. Especially when he continued to break your heart over the past few months. Though the past two weeks were hard, you believe the distance gave you a backbone of some sort. 

“Grow up, I thought you were more mature than this. My god.” Jay snaps. 

He didn’t mean to, but god he was so frustrated at the moment. His mind is clouded, failing to allow him to think clearly. Jay had never snapped at you that way before, ever.

This newfound behavior from the man dulled your senses for a moment. 

Then, you found yourself growing angry. Angry at him, his hypocrisy, and the entire situation.

“I need to grow up? Seriously? You’re the one who needs to grow up. You’re the one who can’t commit. You’re the one who keeps leading me on.”

Jay’s bewildered expression makes you think your feelings are completely news to him. 

“How am I leading you on? I’ve told you over and over again that I don’t want a relationship- I just want to fuck you!”

Jay’s crudeness was an absolute shock to you. Though you’ve never had such a heated confrontation with him before, you never imagined the thoughtful, deliberate man could say such a thing. 

His words anger you even more. How could he not see how his actions were saying something completely different? He may have said he didn’t want a relationship, but all the moments he shared with you had you holding your breath just a little longer, waiting for him. You can’t believe you were so naive. 

“That’s not fair. You did more than just fuck me. You cooked me dinners; we had movie nights; you text me and call me all the time. That’s the basics to being in a relationship, Jay. It twists the knife to do all those things with you and not be able to be with you.” Your monologue began at a raised voice and, to your dismay, ended with a whimper as you trailed off. 

You tried to be strong, determined not to cry in front of Jay. But, the reality of the situation was setting in for you. 

“It’s not my fault you took it the wrong way. I was trying to be nice. I would do it for any friend.” Jay snaps.

You try to look at Jay, but your tears cloud your vision. You don’t even know who the man standing in front of you is. How could he be so cruel? Why was he being so defensive? Though your vision was blurry, it became clear to you that Jay’s comments were intended to hurt you. Whether it was spur of the moment or out of rage, it did not matter. It hurts you either way.

“Get out.” Your stern, level voice sounded through your apartment.

“What?” 

When Jay decided to confront you tonight, he never once thought it would end with him being kicked out of your apartment.

“Jay. Please leave.” You repeat, much softer than before. One could mistake it for a plea if they listen closely enough. 

Jay’s shoulders drop. Gone is the anger in his body language, replaced by a defeated posture. He’s hesitant to leave; he knows you both should hash it out some more. Nothing was solved. 

Nevertheless, he heads toward your front door. It’s a wonder he manages to make it through the thick tension in the air. 

Jay looks back at you once more before opening your front door and stepping out of it. You don’t meet his gaze- you can’t. You’ll break and ask him to stay, to let him please you one last time. It would be the last time.

You were even holding out hope for Jay to turn around and ask you to let him stay, to not go. 

But he didn’t. 

There was no resounding knock on your front door. No Jay asking you to open the door. No confessions and pleads to stay. Just silence.

disclaimer: This is purely fiction- nothing in these works reflect real of these people. Additionally, I don't own any of the inspired songs.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Fishy Business

Word count: 1.4k

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: you are Lando Norris' girlfriend, determined to get him to try fish despite his stubborn refusal

______________________________________________________________

Lando Norris, your boyfriend and an undeniable force on the Formula 1 circuit, was also the most stubborn eater you’d ever encountered. For all his daring maneuvers on the track, he approached food with the caution of someone facing a life-threatening situation. His diet was the carefully curated mix of nutrients and proteins that a professional athlete needed to stay in peak condition, but there was one thing you couldn’t get him to eat: fish.

It wasn’t that he was allergic or that he’d had a bad experience with it in the past—Lando simply detested the idea of eating fish. The mere mention of it had him crinkling his nose in distaste. You’d tried multiple times to introduce it into his meals, always to be met with that same stubborn resistance. It was the one challenge he refused to take on, no matter how much you teased or coaxed him.

But tonight, you were determined to change that.

You had carefully planned the meal, choosing a recipe that would be impossible for anyone, even Lando, to resist. The centerpiece was a perfectly seared salmon fillet, seasoned with lemon, garlic, and herbs—flavors you knew he loved in other dishes. You’d paired it with his favorite roasted vegetables and a light, refreshing salad, hoping that the overall appeal of the meal might disguise the fact that the main course was, in fact, fish.

As you set the table, the delicious aroma filled the kitchen, making your mouth water. You knew Lando would be home soon, fresh from a day at the simulator, and you were eager to see how he’d react. Would he recognize the scent immediately, or would he only realize what was on his plate once he sat down?

The door creaked open, and you heard the familiar sound of Lando’s keys hitting the table in the hallway. He called out for you, his voice light and filled with the warmth that never failed to make your heart flutter.

“Hey, love, where are you?”

“In the kitchen!” you replied, trying to keep your voice casual, as if you weren’t plotting to get him to finally eat something he’d spent his whole life avoiding.

Lando appeared in the doorway, still in his workout gear, looking adorably disheveled with a few strands of hair falling into his eyes. He grinned when he saw you, walking over to wrap his arms around your waist and press a kiss to your forehead.

“Something smells amazing,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a mix of hunger and affection.

You turned in his arms to face him, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. “I made dinner. I think you’re going to love it.”

He gave you a skeptical look, his nose twitching slightly as he sniffed the air again. “What is it?”

“Why don’t you sit down and find out?” you teased, gently pushing him toward the dining table.

Lando raised an eyebrow but complied, taking his seat and looking at the beautifully arranged plate in front of him. The roasted vegetables and salad caught his attention first, but then his gaze landed on the salmon, and you saw the exact moment he realized what it was.

“Is this… fish?” he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and mild horror.

You nodded, doing your best to keep your expression innocent. “It’s salmon. It’s really good for you, Lando. High in protein, rich in omega-3s—all the stuff you need to stay fit and healthy.”

He looked at you like you’d just suggested he eat a plate of raw liver. “You know I don’t eat fish,” he said, pushing the plate slightly away as if it might bite him.

You placed a hand on his, your touch gentle and persuasive. “You’ve never even tried it, babe. How do you know you don’t like it?”

“I just… know,” he replied, his voice lacking the usual confidence he had when making decisions. “The smell, the texture… it’s just not for me.”

You tilted your head, giving him a look that you knew he had a hard time resisting. “But you trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Lando said immediately, his brow furrowing slightly as he tried to figure out where this was going.

“Then trust me when I say you’ll like this,” you said, your voice dropping to a soft, almost seductive tone. “Just one bite. For me?”

He hesitated, clearly torn between his aversion to fish and his desire to please you. You could see the internal battle playing out on his face, and you decided it was time to up the ante. Slowly, you stood up and walked around the table, stopping behind him. You leaned down, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you whispered, “If you try it, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Lando shivered under your touch, his breath hitching slightly. You could feel the tension in his shoulders as he considered your offer. He was being stubborn, as usual, but you knew you were close to winning him over.

With a dramatic sigh, he finally picked up the fork, speared a small piece of the salmon, and lifted it to his mouth. You watched as he hesitated one last time before taking the bite, his eyes closing as if bracing himself for the worst.

He chewed slowly, his expression shifting from one of grim determination to mild surprise. After a moment, he swallowed and set the fork down, looking up at you with a mix of resignation and amusement.

“It’s… not as bad as I thought,” he admitted reluctantly, his voice laced with a hint of defeat.

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He chuckled, leaning back into your embrace. “Okay, you win. But I’m still not eating another bite.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, your lips grazing his earlobe again. “Just one more bite? For me?”

Lando sighed, but you could tell he was starting to relent. “You really don’t play fair, do you?”

“Never,” you whispered, your voice low and suggestive. “But you like it when I don’t.”

His hands found their way to your hips, pulling you around to sit on his lap. You let out a soft laugh as you straddled him, your hands resting on his chest as you gazed down at him. “I knew you’d be stubborn about this,” you said, your voice teasing.

“I’m not stubborn,” he replied, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer. “I just know what I like.”

“And you like me, right?” you asked, leaning in so your lips were just inches from his.

“More than anything,” Lando murmured, his eyes darkening with desire as he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a slow, heated kiss.

You responded eagerly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of warmth and sweetness that made your head spin. Lando’s hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer as the kiss grew more passionate, more demanding.

When you finally pulled back for air, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads pressed together as you tried to regain some semblance of control. But the hunger in Lando’s eyes told you that any attempt at restraint was futile.

“I tried the fish,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “Now, about that reward…”

You grinned, trailing your fingers down his chest, feeling the way his breath hitched under your touch. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” you replied, your voice filled with promise. “But first, you have to finish your dinner.”

Lando groaned, dropping his head back against the chair in exasperation. “You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you said, your tone playful but firm. “But just think about how good the reward will be when you do.”

He sighed dramatically but picked up the fork again, spearing another small piece of salmon and bringing it to his mouth. You watched with satisfaction as he chewed and swallowed, his expression less pained than before.

“See? It’s not so bad,” you teased, leaning in to kiss him again, this time softer, more lingering.

Lando hummed against your lips, his free hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m only doing this for you,” he murmured between kisses. “You know that, right?”

You smiled, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “I know. And that’s why I love you.”

His expression softened at your words, a warm, adoring smile spreading across his face. “I love you too,”

[thefunkfactory]

Biker Breath

Zane was riding home from work on his bicycle when he passed a pile of stuff sitting on the curb with a sign attached saying “For Free”. Zane stopped to inspect what all was left out on the street and saw a super nice looking biker helmet, carefully picking it up he noticed some scratches and dings on the helmet but besides that it was still in perfect working condition. While he was examining it Zane noticed the rancid scent emanating out of the helmet. Holding his nose, Zane began to put the helmet back onto the curb when he heard a voice in his head that wasn’t his, it was a deeper, more masculine voice demanding him to put the helmet on. Wanting to resist, Zane set the helmet down and turned his back to it and the other stuff on the curb when the voice again demanded “Put on the helmet”, Zane was overcome with the need to put the helmet on. As he lifted the helmet up over his head Zane pleaded with the voice “Please…No…It reeks”. Feeling the voice command him to lower the helmet on his head, Zane’s mind and body obediently obeyed as he lost control of both. Upon lowering the helmet onto his head Zane could smell the reeking stench of the helmet. It reeked of sweat and B.O., the previous owner had obviously never even attempted to clean it.

Regaining consciousness and control of his body, Zane tried to take the helmet off, but quickly he heard the voice command “Breath in deep wimp” Zane once again obediently followed orders and took in a deep whiff of the helmet’s noxious stench. Zane would have normally been disgusted but he wasn’t, in fact he loved the rancid stench of sweat trapped in the helmet. Zane heard another command echo through his head, “Get on your puny bike loser”. Zane sat on his metal bicycle and began to pedal away. With every pedal, he bike became more akin to what a real man would ride. It slowly transformed into a fast and slick motorcycle.

Zane revved the bike instinctually and he felt his dick shoot to life at the same time, it was weird, Zane never was interested in motorcycles but his body was aching for more. Zane’s puny body was sitting atop a nice expensive motorcycle now but his body and face were still that of a wimpy nerd. That was soon to change, the voice started describing what a biker boy should be like. “Biker boys are unhygienic beasts who never wear deodorant, shower once a week, and never brush their teeth, all of that is for weak pussies” Zane could suddenly remember why the helmet smelled so bad, it was HIS stench that was infused into the helmet. Zane breathed in another deep whiff of the stink HE cultivated and let out a pleasurable sigh, breathing out a torrent of funky smelling breath, Zane added to the stench and made himself more loopy. Feeling his weak body get light and tingly Zane kept riding his newly minted motorcycle, he stopped at a red light and looked over at the car next to him, “Had I always had such big muscles?” Zane thought to himself as he saw his reflection in the car’s window. “No…can’t be I…” he took a breath in and inhaled more of his noxious B.O. and bad breath, “…I have always been this buff duhhh” Zane pulled off and sped home away from the stop light. Arriving home his brother was getting out of his car in the driveway, pulling up was surprised when he saw the man on the motorcycle, he looked like a stranger to him. “Hey man I think you got the wrong address” Zane’s brother told the now insanely ripped Zane, “Whatchu mean bro this my crashpad!” Zane said loudly. “Nah my brother lives here with me and my dad not you” Zanes brother remarked. Zane got off his bike and walked up to his little bro, “Heeeeeeeeeeey man chillax…no need to get your pantiessssss in a bunch” Zane drew out certain syllables on words so that he could breathe out his nasty breath that smelled like he had just eaten garlic, and fish, and hadn’t brushed his teeth in weeks. Zane’s brother’s eyes glazed over upon smelling his older brother’s stale and stinky breath, “Oh hey bro welcome home” Zane reached an arm around his brother’s shoulder and they walked to the house together. “Yeaaaaaaahhh you love your big bro’s stinking breath dont cha lil man” Zane laughed and purposely let out a blast of his funky breath into his brother’s face, “Yea…bro I- I love how…stinky…your breath i- is…I wish I was m-more like you”His brother said mindlessly as if in a trance. “Well in that case lil bro I wanna take you on a ride tonight okay? You can wear my helmet I jusssssst got it” Zane breathed out more of his rank breath while he spoke. “Yea…uhh like…totally bro…” His lil bro responded not knowing that the ride would seal his fate just how his brother’s was.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

lover, you should've come over - m. schmidt

a/n: you guys should have seen this one coming! as always i appreciate any likes and reblogs and hope you enjoy :) warnings: suggestive themes, big angst, lots of talk about tattoos and pain and needles, mike having horrible anxiety and commitment issues, reader is mostly gender neutral except for one thing ! tattoo aftercare, hurt/comfort, kissing word count: 3.6k summary: you get a tattoo, and it terrifies mike. mostly because he realizes how much you love him. pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader now playing: lover, you should've come over - jeff buckley "my body turns and yearns/for a sleep that won't ever come/it's never over/my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder."

Penny has done almost all of your tattoos, save for the stick and poke star you gave yourself while you were way too high to be handling that sort of equipment, and a few flash designs you’ve gotten for holidays. And usually, you keep it simple and easy, pitching a design idea and getting a finished stencil a few hours later.

But this time, you go into the shop a few months before you plan to get the tattoo and describe to her what you want. She’s shocked that you want a half sleeve—It’s a big step, she tells you, and it’ll mean sitting for a few hours while she does her work. It’ll be painful, and the design will take a few weeks to get made, because she wants to give you the best possible design.

She does good work. When you visit again in about three weeks, you put down a deposit and make an official date to get it done. October 9th.

You go home that night to your small, but warm home to find your boyfriend trying to make chicken parm. His goal all year has been to learn how to cook, not just to make things out of a box. You know a bit better how to cook, but you let him improve his skills, always providing helpful, gentle critiques.

Abby is worse at being gentle.

She’s brutal with her brother’s cooking, and even though Mike loves your gentle words, he appreciates Abby’s feedback, and just wants her to eat a full plate of food before bed each night.

Tonight, his food smells good. You mentioned about a month ago how you missed your mom’s chicken parm, and since then, he’s been reading and researching different recipes at work. Ever since he quit working at Freddy’s, he’s put down the book of dreams and has picked up cookbooks, working his way up slowly.

You tell him he’ll be making Thanksgiving Dinner in no time. You kiss his jaw when you say that, and later, he returns the favor by placing a kiss to your shoulder.

You go to him, standing in the kitchen, as he squints at the recipe book in front of him. He wears washed blue jeans, an old Foo Fighters tee shirt and a pair of blue fuzzy socks. A towel hangs over his shoulder as he mutters to himself, as he gets ready to put some garlic bread in the oven.

You’re still in your work clothes, though, it’s not as if you’re wearing anything fancy. Just a different pair of jeans, and a tee shirt with your shop’s logo on it. Your hair is messy, and you smell vaguely of dirt. The smell has become comforting to him in his time knowing you.

You step closer to him, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. He relaxes at your touch.

“Hey, Mike.” You say softly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, how was your day?”

“Not too bad. The food smells pretty good.”

“You think so?” His voice is hopeful, especially since he’s trying to live up to your memories of the dish as a kid. It’s his way of thanking you for being so good to him while he’s gotten his shit together.

“Mhm. I’m gonna go wash up and have Abby help me set the table.” You tell him. You kiss his jaw quickly before heading off to the bathroom to scrub the dirt from beneath your fingernails. You wash your face and arms too and begin to realize how domestic this all is.

You never saw yourself having kids, and never thought of yourself dating someone who did.

And you still never think about having kids, but you did find yourself treating Abby as if she is your own. This has nothing to do with how much you adore her brother. Abby is just easy to love. You wonder if anyone’s ever told her that.

When your work boots find themselves at the end of your bed, you change into a muscle tee. You’re awfully fond of them. You find a pair of Mike’s fuzzy socks and slip them on too. You take a moment to stare at your shoulder in the mirror, imagining how it’ll look when ink covers it. Most of your tattoos are on your legs, and for a long time, this arm has been bare of any ink. You’ve been saving it for this project for years.

You go to Abby’s room and knock gently before entering. You find her painting at this aisle you got for her birthday. She’s been working on this painting for a few days now, and it’s turning out quite nice.

“Hey, Abs.” You say softly, and she puts her paintbrush down to give you this big, toothy grin. “Go wash up and help me set the table?” You ask.

“Sure.” She hums and starts to skip along to the bathroom, but you stop her at the door.

“And remember, even if Mike’s food is bad, what do we say?”

“Mm, this food is so good and not horrible at all!”

“Abby.”

She sighs.

“This is unlike anything you’ve made before, and I appreciate the effort?”

“That’s it.” You let her go wash up, and then go to set the table.

When Mike eventually serves dinner, you’re starved. You don’t care if it’s bad, or if it’s burnt, you know you’ll like it because you weren’t able to take a lunch break that day. But it genuinely looks good.

He cuts up Abby’s food and puts the plate in front of her before sitting down and looking to you two for a reaction. You take a bite, and you have to pause.

Did Mike really cook something not just edible, but… good?

Not fine, not decent, really good.

“Mike, this is—”

“Amazing!” Abby gasps, going in for another bite. His cheeks flush.

“You guys don’t have to pretend, it’s alright—”

“No, Mike, we’re not pretending, it’s really good!” You defend, going in for a second bite yourself. “Try it!”

He does, and he even looks shocked at the quality of the food he’s produced. And it sets the mood for the whole dinner, until you eventually blurt out,

“I booked a tattoo appointment for next week.”

“What are you getting?” Mike can’t ever admit this to you, but he adores your tattoos. He thinks the placement of them are all wonderful, even if they’re smaller. He likes to kiss them, to trace his fingers over them, to just admire them in the summer.

“It’s a surprise.” You tell him. Owning your own shop and being your own boss has its perks. You have no worries about people judging you for your half sleeve, deciding that you can just ban them from your shop.

Your conversation drifts off and you focus on other things. When you’re done, you and Mike begin to clean up with him, letting some of the pan soak in the sink. You sit on the counter, drying some of the plates as Mike rinses.

“Thank you for dinner.” You tell him.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Comfortable silence fills the room. “You’re really not gonna tell me what you’re getting?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise.” You smile softly. He dries his hand and steps between your legs. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in.

“Tease.” He mumbled, leaning forward, and kissing your shoulder. A hand goes to his hair, your fingers tangling in his locks.

“I’m not teasing, I’m just being a little secretive.” You tell him, playing with his hair. You’re a fan of the scruff he’s been growing out lately.

“Isn’t it gonna hurt?”

“Yeah, but I’ll take breaks and remember to eat.” You tell him. “This isn’t my first tattoo, Mike.”

“I know, baby.” He says softly, “I just get worried—”

“You get worried about me? And yet, when I’m worried about you, you ignore me but—” He cuts you off with a kiss, and your hands land on his jaw, the scruff tickling your face.

• • •

The ink swirls around your shoulder, a moth wrapping around your shoulder and reaching to the top of your arm. Vines wrap around the moth, as flowers bloom in different places. Your birth flower is one of them, as well as your mother’s. You also place Abby and Mike’s around the moth, maybe protecting it. Thorns poke out of some of the vines, and the ink covers your shoulder, and down to just above your elbow.

You got it done on a Saturday afternoon, leaving late enough so Mike could sleep in without having to deal with Abby, but being able to give them some time to relax together.

It takes a few hours, and by the end of it, you’re exhausted. As with all your other tattoos, you’re sore, but this is a new type of sore. You ache for Mike’s hands on you, to hold you and kiss your shoulders, even though he can’t kiss your left shoulder for a few days.

The second skin will remain on your arm for a day or two, and then you’ll have to go through the process of moisturizing your tattoo.

You have Penny take lots of photos of it before you head home, Mike and Abby both waiting in anticipation for you to come home and show them your new ink. You’re excited to show them, since there’s a connection to them in the art. 

When you open the door, Abby runs to you and immediately starts to look for the ink in question. She gasps when she sees it, all wrapped up on your arm.

“It’s a moth,” You tell her, “With my favorite plants.” You crouch down to point out different plans in the works. “These are my mom’s birth flowers, they’re carnations.” You tell her, “Do you know what these are?” You point to another flower.

Abby shakes her head, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the fresh, raw flesh of the person she considers to be her caregiver.

“They’re lily of the valley flowers. They’re your birth flower.” You reach out and tuck hair behind her ear. Then, you point to the third flower. “And these? They’re honey suckles. They’re Mike’s birth flower.”

Mike watches your interaction, listening to your explanation of the tattoo. Suddenly, this anxiety pools in his chest. You’ve been living together for a few months, but somehow a symbol of him and Abby being engraved on your skin makes things all too real.

He could cry.

“Did you get the flowers because you’re a flower person?” You grin, knowing she doesn’t remember the title of your job.

“Botanist, you mean? Sort of, but you two mean a lot to me, and I wanted to tribute something to you guys.” You confess.

She grins and turns to look at Mike.

“I wanna be a tattoo artist when I’m older.” Mike is pale with anxiety.

He wants to tell you it looks good, that it’s brilliantly done, but he doesn’t find it in himself. He wants to run, to abandon this relationship at the door, to never speak to you again to avoid the fact that he wants you desperately and thinks he might marry you one day.

He walks off to the bathroom, and he’s unsure if it’s to throw up or to cry.

You’re disappointed, because you wanted him to like it desperately, since this tattoo is now on you forever, and you wanted it to be a tribute to him. It almost hurts you that he doesn’t love it. Or at least pretend to. Instead, his disdain is visible on his face, and you do your best to turn your attention back to Abby.

“Wanna help me make dinner?” You smile softly, and she nods.

“Did your tattoo hurt?” She acts gently.

“Yeah, but with a good artist it goes quickly, and they don’t aim to torture you.” You explain, as you begin to make mac and cheese.

As she sets the table, you turn back to her and ask, “Can you go get Mike for dinner?” She nods and skips along to your bedroom, where Mike sits on the bed, frustrated with himself.

“Mike?” She asks gently. “We’re making mac and cheese.”

“I’m not hungry.” He says softly, and Abby can just tell something isn’t right.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well..”

“Oh…” she suspects this is a lie.

“I’m sorry. Tell them I said sorry.” Tears prick Mike’s eyes. He’s unsure why he’s like this, and why he can’t just admire your tattoo and love you and tell you how much you mean to him. But he can’t. He gets the words out. He wants to love you so badly but something in him demands to not let him be happy.

He lays on the bed and tries to stay quiet as he cries.

• • •

Hours later, you sit at the table anxiously, your hands tapping on the wood, a cold bowl of Mac and Cheese on the table. You decide to get up to clean up dinner, and just as you do, soft steps creep out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area.

Mike stands and stares at the cold dinner that he feels bad for rejecting. He should just tell you what’s bothering him. Instead, his gaze turns and looks at you, doing the dishes.

“You didn’t have to make dinner.”

“You didn’t seem well, and Abby needed to eat.”

This comment sparks a much larger fire in Mike, and he isn’t sure why he’s angered by how much you care about his sister, his world.

“You aren’t her mom, you don’t have any reason to make her dinner or put her to bed—”

“Yeah, Mike, well, You’re not really her dad.” You glare. “I’ve taken care of her for months, fed her, made sure she’s taken care of, I’ve picked her up from school, and now suddenly, you’ve decided I have no right to just care about her? Fuck you, if you don’t love me anymore, then don’t take it out on your sister, talk to me like a god damn grown up and stop acting like a child.” You spit, angrily turning back around to keep doing your dishes so that Mike doesn’t see your red face or your tears.

With your back turned, he can see the moth on your shoulder blade, and he aches to trace the lines of your tattoos, kissing the skin around it. But cotton fills his mouth every time he tries to sew the gap between you two.

And your words strike him. He knows why you might think he doesn’t love you anymore, but he does. He loves you deeply and finds himself enamored with you, and yet he can’t even compliment this tattoo that you have obviously put a ton of time, effort and money into.

“I’m sorry—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“I think we should give each other some space.” The words hit you like a ton of brick, and you’re ready to get on your hands and knees and beg him, beg him to not leave, beg him to forgive you (for what, you don’t know), beg him to touch you, beg him to want you.

“What..?”

“I just think I need some space.” He said softly, leaning against the kitchen doorway. You want to ask if he’s hungry, to kiss away all the sadness in the worry lines of his face.

You nod, bite your tongue. He wants to hold you and tell you he doesn’t mean it.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” You mumble, sighing softly. You also plan to leave early before Mike gets up.

Mike steps towards you, maybe to apologize. You step past him to go get pajamas from your dresser, not letting him grasp onto you. You don’t want him to apologize now. You want him to sit in his regret and you want to sit in your anger.

As you attempt to fall asleep that night, you pray Abby didn’t hear your conversation with him.

Both of you try to drift to sleep and salt streams from your eyes and into your ears.

• • •

A few days pass. Your tattoo starts to heal, and you take the second skin off your shoulder and arm and begin the process of aftercare.

You and Mike exchanged a total of about thirty words over the next few days. Abby noticed your angst towards each other and tried to get the two of you to make up. She figured that Mike was being an idiot, and just needed to apologize.

She was right, but he didn’t want to admit that to his kid sister.

It’s hell. You have to pretend that you don’t want to beg for his forgiveness, but you know that neither of you are blameless. Your pride tells you not to be the first one to cave. His anxiety tells him that you hate him.

When he gets home one afternoon from work, you’re napping in bed. He knows the couch isn’t that comfortable and he’s sure you’re home because you’d mentioned to Abby that you weren’t feeling well. You probably didn’t expect to still be asleep when he got home.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts. He kisses your head and leaves a glass of water and cold medicine on the nightstand, before going to make himself busy somewhere else, as if not to disrupt your rest.

He takes one last glance at you before he leaves.

One night, he comes home from work late. You take it as an opportunity to take a hot shower after putting Abby to bed and taking a few minutes to sit in the bedroom that you missed while sleeping on the couch.

Besides, your bones ached from that uncomfortable couch while you were spoiled, used to Mike’s warm bed.

You barely hear the front door open as you continue your nightly routine. You need to apply lotion to your tattoo, to keep it moisturized as it heals. But you find yourself struggling to reach your shoulder.

Mike watches you from the doorway of the bedroom, biting his lip. The bags around his eyes have grown darker since your fight.

He takes off his boots first, and then strips his top down to an undershirt, then takes off his jeans. If you weren’t so busy, you’d acknowledge how handsome he looked in just his boxers and a gray tee shirt.

The bed dips behind you, as he sits behind you. You stop what you’re doing.

“Give me the lotion.” He says softly, and with a sigh of defeat, maybe even a bit of relief, you hand him the lotion. He squirts some lotion on his hands, then begins to rub it into your skin. You shudder at the contact, and he feels tears in his eyes again. He missed you. “I’m sorry I didn’t say I liked your tattoo. I love it.”

“I’m sorry I said you didn’t love me, and I’m sorry I said you weren’t Abby’s dad.”

“But I’m not—”

“But you are her parent.”

“So are you.”

A silence fills the room.

“What happened on Saturday?”

“I got anxious when I saw Abby and I’s birth flowers on you. Like how much I loved you was just engraved in your skin, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t mean to push you away, I was just terrified. Terrified that you’re going to leave. Terrified that I won’t be able to protect you.” His voice cracks at the end, and he leans his head against your shoulder that isn’t inked.

Your head turns to kiss his head.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know..” he says softly, but a part of him doesn’t believe it. You and Abby, you’re the only ones who have stayed, the only ones he’s been able to save. He doesn’t know who he is without the two of you. “I’m sorry, I was such a dick.”

“Yeah, but so was I.” You tell him.

“I love your tattoo. I love all of your tattoos. All of them. I love kissing them. I’m desperate for this one to heal so I can kiss this shoulder again.”

“Thank you for helping me with it. It itches like a son of a bitch.” You tell him, a weak smile on your face. Tears stain your shirt.

“Can we go back to normal now? I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you so much.” You turn and wrap your arms around him, the warmth radiating from his body as he holds you close. You wonder if either of you will ever be able to let yourselves be loved.

You hope to let each other try.

You kiss him, salty tears mixing, as you hold him close. He’s careful of your tattoo, not wanting to scratch or hurt you. He’s gentle in a way that betrays him. He desires you in this way that transcends want or need, something that is vital, as if it were breathing.

Yet his hands remain respectful. Gentle. You’re the one that adjusts your position to be over him, as you gently push him back against the bed, kissing him deeper.

He decides he will marry you someday. That maybe the idea of being with you for the rest of his life isn’t scary.

Not when you kiss him like that.

[illusivelle]

just right

pairing: carmen 'carmy' berzatto x reader rating: t (for now) length: 1,699 words content: mild cursing summary: you go to the market every week like clockwork, normally one of the first ones there. but you don't expect to see a familiar face standing at one your favourite vendors. a/n: did someone say brain rot? hope you all enjoy this one. i just can't get enough of a neighbour trope apparently. not proofread although not exactly a middle of the night dump - more like middle of the day. read part one link to ao3 here!

You'd gone from never seeing your neighbour, Carmen — no, Carmy — to seeing him every so often. In the halls mid afternoon, when you'd just come home and were ready to settle in and it looked like he was heading out to start his evening. Sometimes out in front of the building while you exchanged your goods with your elderly neighbour, fresh bread for flowers and greens, Carmy strolling into the apartment with his own bag in tow. And now, well before most of the city had even had their first coffee, at the farmer's market.

At first, you thought you were imagining it. The silhouette of your neighbour that started to haunt your dreams at night. Floppy soft curls, stark blue eyes, tattoos littered over the carved muscles of his arms and hands. But as you slowed your pace to a near stop and focused, you knew it wasn't just your eyes playing tricks on you. There was Carmy standing underneath the tent of one of your favourite growers, a tattooed hand covering his mouth as he grazed his knuckles along his lips. Those blue eyes bright even this far away, darting between the offerings on the table and the familiar face behind the counter who was eagerly smiling and chatting him up.

And again, you were rendered frozen. He hadn't even looked your way and yet your feet felt cemented to the ground in your indecision.

Go to pick out your produce like any other day, or turn around and run?

The latter made your brows pinch together because why was that even an option? Carmy didn't own the market, and he sure as shit wasn't going to be the reason you leave the market fruitless (literally). But there was a churning low inside your belly, a wash of nerves as you started to close the distance between the two of you. Or rather, between you and the stall. The vendor — the real reason you were approaching now, and it had nothing to do with the undeniably attractive man standing there, too.

You didn't look at him. Instead, you busied yourself with the incredibly interesting purple cauliflower, flipping it in your hand a couple of times before you heard the soft grumble of somebody clearing their throat.

But still, you didn't look up from staring at the vegetable, like it was the single most fascinating thing in the world. And truly, it was, because you had no idea that cauliflower could even be another colour other than white, nevermind the fact that these stalks were larger than usual with its long leaves cradling them on every side.

Maybe that was your first mistake, going blindly for the first and nearest thing you saw instead of picking up something you were used to. God, why didn't you pick up the onion or garlic or tomato? Or maybe, just maybe, it was an unconscious choice to try to break through the hypothetical wall between you and your neighbour.

"Hi."

The look of shock on your face wasn't exactly fake. Carmy did surprise you. Partly because you weren't expecting him to say anything to you at all, but mostly because when you tipped your head to acknowledge him, he was suddenly so incredibly close. Close enough for you to catch the lingering smell of smoke, a hint of coffee, and fresh soap. A strange blend but on him, it oddly worked — and made you want to lean in closer.

"Hi."

"It's sweet."

"What?"

"A little nutty."

"I don't—"

"The cauliflower." A shy smile split Carmy's lips as he stared pointedly at the bunch of purple florets in your hand before he locked his gaze with yours. "Mostly sweet, though."

Right, the cauliflower. "Too sweet, you think?" Your attention faltered for a second and landed on his lips at the same time he decided to roll his tongue along the bottom one.

"Mm, just right, I'd say."

"Just right."

What was it about Carmy's presence that made you want to sit with it a moment longer? Your conversations with him have mostly been in passing save for the time you handed him his package, but even that was short, only a few words exchanged between the two of you. It didn't matter how little he said, you hung onto the words. Not quite grasping for more but appreciating that he wasn't the type to speak just to fill the air. Appreciating that there seemed to be more under the surface he wasn't voicing, but was clear if you just had enough courage to look into his eyes a little bit longer.

And today, you found that courage. Flicking your gaze up to him and holding his stare, a slow smile unfurled from one corner of your mouth to the other, shocked to see it mirrored in Carmy's face.

"Have you ever tried it before?"

"No, never."

"You'll have to let me know how you like it."

"Oh?"

"Roasted is usually a pretty safe option," he continued, picking up some sage and handing it to you, "but turning it into a soup with some crispy sage on top is better."

You glanced down at how easily Carmy placed the herb in your palm, smiling to yourself before nodding. "So you like to cook?"

"Uh," he chuckled, knuckles lifting to graze his mouth again as if he wanted to hide that smile, the indent on his cheek peeking out from behind his wrist, "something like that, yeah."

"A chef?"

"I, uh, yeah. I cook. I'm a chef. Of sorts."

"Of sorts."

"I used to— um. Used to cook fancy things, now I cook other things."

"Right," you drawled, and although your brows were bunched together, amusement lined every other inch of your features, "so, used to cook in your basement and now you cook…?"

"In a kitchen."

"Real food this time, though."

"Mostly edible."

A loud laugh escaped you, almost embarrassingly so. The banter between you two was quick, easy, fun even as you caught the way his chin dipped into his chest on a wider smile. His dimple was very much showing itself now and you were glad that your hands were full because they itched to touch him.

And that would be absolutely no fucking good, would it?

You barely knew Carmy — Carmen. He was just your neighbour, nothing else.

As your laughter dwindled down to nothing but soft smiles, the vendor came around to greet you. In his hand were some of the other fruits and veg you normally liked to keep, a handful of fresh lemons in a basket and extra radishes and red onion.

"D'you—?"

"Do I?"

"Come here often?"

"I mean, as often as I can given it only happens once a week." You teased.

Carmy redirected his attention to the man behind the small counter, and they did a similar exchange. Cash for produce that went right into the large bag you hadn't noticed was tucked behind his back. "Are you, uh, you gonna walk around a bit more—"

But a sharp ringtone sounded from his pocket and Carmy was already groaning, fishing for the phone and giving you an apologetic look. "Sorry, I gotta—"

"Of course."

With his back turned to you and his voice lowered, speaking in hushed tones, you moved to the side in an effort to give him his privacy. But you couldn't help your curiosity, peering over your shoulder to watch the way he tangled his hand through his hair and paced back and forth.

Who was he talking to? What was it about? Why was there a divot in his brow and why did you so badly want to soothe it with your fingers?

You shook your head in a shallow attempt to shake the thought, the thought that had no business forming in your mind. Carmy stared at his phone for a moment before he pocketed it again, turning to you with an uncertainty flashing in his eyes, like a cloud rolling through the sky. "Hey, I, uh, I gotta go, but… woulda been nice to have some company today."

"A chef's company, no less." You kept your tone light and easy, fingers wrapping around the straps of the bag you hitched higher on your shoulder.

But his tone was far less playful, laced with intention as he spoke. "Or just a person with a curious mind."

And there it was again, another moment that hung on a thin thread in the small space between you two, a ghost of a smile that made his dimple peek through the stubble on his cheek.

"See you around?" He asked quietly, his head slanted to level with your gaze.

Was there any other answer? "Yeah."

"Okay." Carmy nodded, wiping his fingers over his mouth before giving a nod to the vendor and turning back to you. "Okay."

"Okay."

A few seconds passed where you thought maybe the rest of the world stopped. Just the endless swirls of the blue in his eyes, like the sky meeting the sea and each blink, a tide calling to you. A few seconds, a few blinks, before Carmy was nodding and walking past you, throwing you a tiny smile over his shoulder that you would've missed if you hadn't been staring so blatantly at him.

Carmen Berzatto, your next door neighbour that was clearly reeling you in whether he knew it or not. And for fuck's sake, you should really get a grip sooner rather than later, scolding yourself silently as you belatedly realized you'd been ogling him as he left.

When you went home less than an hour later, your elderly neighbour gave you the fresh bread and asked you what she was supposed to do with the purple cauliflower you handed to her. "Heard it was best roasted," you shrugged, but hung onto the vegetable, "do you want me to make you something with it instead?" This thrilled her, clear in the wide grin crossing her face as she shoved the bundle back into your bag, letting you know how excited she was and thanking you.

"Thank Carmy." You said without thinking.

And almost too quickly, she smirked. "Oh, why am I not surprised?"

[star-sim]

say it back! ☆ jay park

☆ non-idol! bf! jay x fem! reader ☆ summary: jay thinks you're really cute, especially when you're mad. ☆ genre: fluff!! implied college! au / young adult! au , super domestic and cutesy ☆ warning(s)? nope! ☆ word count: 1.1k ☆ after supermassive blackhole i realized just how many jay stans followed me, so eat up guys 😛

It was a Friday evening. The sun was beginning to set, casting a vibrant peach-orange glow over Jay’s apartment.

With a navy-blue apron hanging loosely from his neck, Jay took in the scent of garlic chives and caramelized onions marinating in the pan. With a spatula, he popped in a lump of gochujang, stirring in the hot, red paste.

If Jay had to be honest, he spent most of his time just touching you, his girlfriend. Not in a sexual way. Any physical touch with you was more than enough. Whether it be cuddling on the couch or you clinging onto him while he did things, the intimacy of having skin-on-skin contact was everything.

On days like this, Jay was the one cooking dinner. Not-so-surprising, you were an absolute mess in the kitchen, so he took on that responsibility. You should be home soon. You had taken up an internship a weeks ago, so you had to stay just a tad later than usual.

As Jay immersed himself in the gorgeous aromas of his craft, he thought of what he should do with you later.

He could watch a movie with you, but knowing you, you would probably be all over him. He never expected you to be the clingy, needy type, doing whatever you could to snuggle up against his warm body. Jay’s lips parted before spreading into a gummy grin. He could imagine your voice:

“Baaabe,” you would whine, plopping yourself in between his legs. You would tangle your arms with his, or maybe you'd place his hands in your hair and make him play with it.

If his eyes were glued to the TV for long enough, you would pout, before peppering soft kisses against his neck. Jay would pretend to ignore you, making you whine again. 

“Give me attention,” you would murmur against his ear. 

Oh man, Jay felt giddy and warm inside just thinking about it. 

What he wouldn’t do just to have you come home already—

The door clicked open.

“I’m home!”

Speak of the devil and you will appear.

Jay heard a few footsteps and a giggle before feeling arms slither around his torso. 

“Hi,” you mumbled against his back. 

Jay grinned. “Hi, Angel.”

You peeked over his shoulder, taking in the scent of his cooking. “Smells good.”

“Go wash up, baby,” Jay said. “I’m almost done.”

“Okayyy,” you squeezed his waist. You gave Jay a small peck on the cheek. You drawled, “I love youuuu!”

Jay hummed. 

He heard you huff. 

“I love you,” you repeated.

“Mhm.”

There’s a pulse of silence before you pulled away, leaving him alone.

When you left, he couldn’t help but smile so stupidly. 

You were going to drive him crazy. 

You were so cute, and adorable, and pretty, and beautiful, and gorgeous, and precious, and everything that he loved. He wanted to hold you in his arms forever and kiss you forever and be with you forever and-

How many kids should you and him have? He’d always wanted two boys and a girl, but he wouldn’t mind having more. Later down the line, when you and him got older, he’d buy you a pretty diamond ring— in fact, he’d buy you everything that you’ve ever wanted. And then you and him will get married and buy a house. Would you take his last name? [Name] Park didn’t sound too bad. People would call you Mrs. Park, and instead of calling you by your first name, Jay would refer to you as “my wife,” and—

He was feeling dizzy just thinking about it. Was he getting ahead of himself?

“Are you mad at me?” your voice suddenly said.

Jay jumped. He whipped his head around to see you with your arms crossed and a big, sulky frown.

Were you standing there the whole time?

“B-Babe, I thought you went to the bathroom…”

You shook your head. 

“Are you mad at me?” you repeated. Taking a few steps forward, you turned him around, pressing him up against the kitchen counter while holding his hands together.

“Wait, what?” Jay’s brows knitted together. “Baby, where is this coming from?”

“You…” you began, averting your gaze. “You didn’t say it back.”

Jay cocked his head. “Say what back?”

You huffed. “I said I love you, and you didn’t say it back.”

You tilted your head so that he couldn’t see your pouty face, playing with his fingers. You murmured something under your breath, something that he couldn’t quite hear.

Jay stared at you for a few seconds, processing everything. And then, he threw his head back, loud bouts of laughter emitting from his lips. Every time that he would calm down and look at you, your sulky face would make him burst back into his fit of giggles.

“It’s not funny!” you slapped his shoulder, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment. When he wouldn’t stop laughing, you turned away, punching him on the arm, “You’re a jerk, Jay.”

At that, Jay immediately stopped laughing.

“Wait, I’m sorry!” Jay clasped your hands in his, pulling you close to him so that you were flushed against his chest. 

You frowned. 

“It's too late to apologize,” you mumbled.

Jay almost chuckled at your grumpiness, but stopped himself before you’d be even more upset with him.

You stayed like that for a few moments: Jay holding you close against the kitchen counter, fingers loosely intertwined.

Finally, Jay poked your cheek.

“Hey!”

“Don’t be mad at me, Angel.”

Your frown deepened.

Jay sighed.

Bringing a large hand up, he gently grabbed your face, bringing it closer.

“What are you-”

Jay began littering chaste kisses all across your face– he started at your cheek, moved up to your forehead, down your nose, to your other cheek, and lastly to your chin, where he teased you by kissing just close enough to your lips. He exaggerated by making loud kissy noises to further rile you up.

“Stoooooppp,” you whined, but made no attempt to resist him.

Jay let out a low chuckle. He cupped your cheeks. He ghosted his lips over yours, reveling in the way that you automatically closed your eyes and wet your lips in anticipation. He contemplated whether or not he should pull away to tease you, but decided against it. 

Who was he to deny you?

When your lips met, you let out an excited squeal, squeezing his bicep. When you guys pulled away, Jay breathed against your lips, “I love you.”

“Baby...” you mewled, sliding your hands up his chest to hook around his neck.

“I love you,” he repeated himself, leaning in to give your lips a peck. “I love you so fucking much.”

You giggled softly, your breath brushing against his cheek. “I love you, too.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The speaker drones lowly, your playlist cycling through your most listened. You fall into your routine. You always liked cooking. It was always comforting. Your grandmother taught you all her favourite recipes whenever you came around. The familiar aromas bring back what can never truly be. 

You split the squash with a large knife, the thunk jarring you. You might not be the safest person in the kitchen but you’ve yet to do worse than a few nicks. You gut the seeds from inside and scoop in a heap of butter and brown sugar, then drizzle the rest with maple syrup. You’ll bake that while you work on the roast. 

The back door clatters and makes you flinch. Somehow, you almost forgot. That needling presence never really fades completely but you felt somewhat normal. 

You listen as Bucky lingers at the back door. He appears in the kitchen door as you look over. His grey jacket is streaked in dirt and his hands are similarly filthy. You give him a curious squint. 

“Got rid of that dead stump. Rot’s not good to keep around,” he explains. 

“Oh, right, you... wait? How did you do that? I was supposed to borrow Ian’s axe--” 

“Don’t need an axe,” he wiggles his vibranium fingers at you. “Gonna wash up. Anything I can help out with in here?” 

“Think I’m good,” you assure him, “I’m almost done.” 

“Mm, smells good,” he glances the pan of squash. 

“Hope so,” you reply. 

He watches you a moment before he turns away. His footsteps echo after him and fade into the soft music. You carry on, putting quartered onions and garlic cloves round the cut of meat. You baste and season, then put it all in the stove. 

You gather up the peels and seeds into your hands and head down the hall to toss it all in the compost. You get to the back door and clamour through, dumping it all into the barrel. You dust your hands off before you head inside. 

You didn’t notice the open door before. You’re slightly embarrassed as you glance over and catch Bucky lathering up his hands in the sink. You quickly flit away without another look. Oops. 

Cramped quarters are bound to get awkward but you hadn’t expected that sight. Bucky, shirtless, focused on his hands as he scrubbed away the dirt. You can see it vividly as you try not to think of it.  

The tortured flesh around his left shoulder, trimming the dark metal of his prosthetic, his other arm as hard as the other, firm and rounded with muscle. His chest full and just as taut, though his middle was softer. The little bit that stuck out over his pants and the extra layer of padding up his stomach filled him out, though there was strength woven into his entire body. 

You shake your head and swallow. You wipe down the counter and rinse off the used dishes and cutlery. You busy yourself and do your best to forget. 

You open the fridge and take out a bottle of sparkling water. You close it and nearly cry out as Bucky stands behind the door. He reaches up to grip the top of the fridge. He wears a fresh ribbed tank top, his arm flexing as he looms over you. 

“Mind grabbing me a beer, please and thanks.” 

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” you open the door again and take out a bottle of beer.  

“Sorry?” He echoes as the fridge closes with a nudge of your elbow, “for what?” 

“Um, nothing, just, didn’t hear you, I guess.” 

“Ah, so it’s not that Canadian thing you do?” 

“Canadian thing?” 

“You apologised for tripping earlier.” He shrugs as he accepts the beer. 

“Oh? Habit, maybe. I didn’t notice.” 

He chortles, “you know, I served with some Canadians. Good soldiers. They always show up.” 

“Wow, I... makes sense... my great grandfather served. Came back and drove a truck after,” you say. “My grandmother talked about him a lot but I was too young to remember him before he passed.” 

“Sorry,” he says, “ha, there I go, huh? Or is it eh?” You give him a look. He uncaps his beer and arches a brow. “What’s that for?” 

“What?” You wonder. 

“That look? Sam did say you could be a bit... never mind.” 

“He said I could be a bit what?” You twist of the plastic lid of your flavoured water. 

“Nothing, he always says shit, you know? Tells everybody I’m a grumpy old man. I’m old and I’m tired, not grumpy,” he insists as he leans on the counter and drinks his beer. As he does, he lifts his vibranium hand and picks at his thumb with the index. “Mm,” he pulls his lips off the neck, “you got a cuticle stick or something? This damn thing collects dirt like a broom.” 

“I might have something. Got Q-Tips,” you offer. 

“Whatever you got. I should probably clean this thing before dinner,” he says. 

“Sure, let me just go look.” 

You put your water down and squeeze past him. He doesn’t shy away, crowding you as you pass him. You don’t know if he’s just not paying attention or what.  

You go down to the bathroom and pull out the drawer. You wince as something rolls against the front. Shit. You really hope he wasn’t looking around already. You reach inside and take out the suction toy you shove it up your sleeve. Would he know what the silicon rose was? 

You search around and find a nail kit. You bought it thinking you were going to go camping but that never happened. Maybe next year. 

You dip into your room and tuck the silicon toy on the bookshelf then head back to the kitchen. You hand him the small case. “Brand new. You can keep it.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” he accepts it, wiggling it between his fingers, “I’ll just go... take care of this.” 

He drinks again from his beer and sidles through the doorway next to you. You slip through and retreat to the stove as warmth blooms around it. Is it the cooking that’s making you sweat or something else? 

[valkyriexo]

Trust Issues

ᑉ³pairing; Bf! Hyunjin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Smut

ᑉ³warnings; SMUT MDNI, oral ( f recieving), sensory play, Temperature play, blindfold (reader), Use of "Good girl", Smut. SMUTTT minors do NOT interact

ᑉ³Authors Note; Happy kinktober day 6 “Blindfold” :)

Part of the kinktober collab with @dandelions-143 Kinktober masterlist

The kitchen smelled like fresh herbs and garlic, the air warm with the heat from the stove, but the atmosphere between you and Hyunjin was far from cozy. You were both standing by the counter, ingredients spread out around you. It had been your idea to cook together—something fun, something relaxing after a stressful week—but it was anything but that.

“Careful with the onions, you’ll make them uneven,” you said, quickly reaching out and taking the knife from Hyunjin’s hand before he could protest.

He sighed, stepping back as you took over. Again.

You barely noticed the way his jaw clenched or the way his fingers twitched by his side. You were focused, too absorbed in making sure everything was perfect.

“I’ll handle the garlic,” you added, not even glancing at him as you chopped away.

Hyunjin stood silently next to you, hands now empty, watching you take control of yet another task. His eyes flickered to the pile of vegetables in front of him, the things you had given him to “prep” but hadn’t let him finish.

“Do you need me to—” he started, but you interrupted him.

“I’ve got it,” you said quickly, moving to the next step. “Just… set the table, okay?”

Hyunjin’s hands dropped to his sides, a sharp sigh escaping his lips. He didn’t move to set the table. Instead, he just stood there, tension radiating off him in waves. It had been like this all week. You always taking over, always making decisions without asking, never letting him help. He’d tried to let it go—brushed it off as you being overly stressed—but now, as you ignored him again, it was too much.

“Seriously?” His voice cut through the quiet kitchen like a blade.

You froze, hand stilling over the cutting board. “What?”

Hyunjin’s face was tight, his eyes hard and frustrated. “Are you going to let me do anything? Or are you just going to handle everything like I don’t exist?”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden sharpness in his tone. “Hyun, it’s just cooking—”

“No,” he interrupted, taking a step toward you. “It’s not just cooking. It’s everything this week. You won’t let me do anything. You act like I can’t be trusted to handle the simplest stuff, like I’m going to mess everything up.”

Your eyes widened at his outburst, not sure how to respond. “That’s not what I meant…”

“But that’s how it feels!” he snapped, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You won’t let me in. You won’t let me help. You won’t let me do anything without hovering over me like I’m going to fail. Do you know how exhausting that is? To feel like you don’t trust me with anything?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. You hadn’t realized it had been bothering him this much, but now, standing there, you could see how tightly wound he was, the hurt behind the frustration.

“I just… I just want to help,” Hyunjin continued, his voice breaking slightly as his anger ebbed into something sadder, more vulnerable. “But you don’t let me. You don’t trust me. It’s like you think I’m incapable of handling anything, and it’s driving me crazy.”

The guilt hit you like a punch to the gut, and you looked down at the knife still in your hand. Slowly, you set it down on the counter, trying to gather your thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” you said softly. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Then what were you trying to do?” Hyunjin asked, his voice quieter now but still filled with hurt. “Because all week, it’s been like this. I try to do something, and you stop me. I offer to help, and you brush me off. I want to feel like I’m part of this, like I’m part of us, but you’re not letting me.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the weight of your actions over the past few days. He was right. You had taken over, not just in the kitchen but in everything. Every time he tried to step in, you had stepped up and pushed him aside, without realizing what message that had been sending him.

“I… I didn’t mean to make you feel like you couldn’t help,” you admitted, your voice small. “I just… I get anxious when things aren’t in control, and I thought I was making it easier, but I didn’t realize I was shutting you out.”

Hyunjin’s expression softened slightly, but his arms were still crossed over his chest, a barrier between the two of you. “I get that you like things done a certain way, but… I’m trying, too. I’m not useless, you know? I want to be there for you. I want to do things with you, not just stand back and watch while you do everything.”

You bit your lip, the guilt settling deeper in your chest. “You’re not useless,” you said quickly. “I know you’re not. I’ve just been too caught up in my own head.”

Hyunjin sighed, his posture loosening slightly as the tension drained out of him. “I just want you to trust me. I need you to let me help, even if it’s not perfect. Let me do things my way sometimes.”

You felt a tightness in your chest at his words, the frustration and hurt in his voice cutting deeper than you expected. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him—you did. But somewhere along the line, you’d let your own anxieties take over, controlling everything out of a need to make sure it all went right.

"I do trust you,” you said softly, turning to face him fully. Your voice was quiet, but you hoped he could hear the sincerity in it.

His eyes lingered on you, searching, and after a moment, he stepped closer, brushing his fingers against your cheek. “Show me you trust me, then,” he said softly, a new edge in his voice.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it wasn’t playful—it was more of a challenge, and it sent a shiver through you. He glanced around the kitchen, then reached for the clean kitchen towel sitting on the counter, his fingers toying with it. Your pulse quickened as realization dawned.

“Hyunjin, what are you—"

“Shh,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I want you to let go. No second-guessing me, no controlling things. Just trust me.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as he raised the towel. The soft fabric brushed against your arm, and for a moment, you hesitated. Could you really do this? Could you let go of the control you clung to so tightly?

Hyunjin’s eyes met yours, filled with a tenderness that calmed your nerves. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Just trust me for tonight.”

His words coaxed you in, and before you could second-guess yourself, you nodded slowly. “Okay.”

A soft smile spread across his lips. “Good,” he whispered. “But first…”

Hyunjin took your hand, his fingers warm and steady against your skin. “Let’s turn this off first,” he said, gesturing toward the stove. Once everything was safely off and the kitchen was in order, Hyunjin gave your hand a gentle tug.

“Come with me,” he whispered, leading you toward the living room.

You followed him quietly, the soft thud of your footsteps on the floor the only sound in the space between you. When you reached the living room, Hyunjin turned to face you, still holding the towel in his hand.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now.

You took a deep breath and nodded. “I trust you, Hyun.”

That seemed to be all he needed. He raised the towel, brushing your hair out of your face before carefully placing the soft fabric over your eyes. “Close your eyes,” he murmured, his voice as gentle as his touch.

The world went dark as you felt the towel secure around your head. You were blindfolded now, left with nothing but the feel of Hyunjin’s presence beside you and the sound of his breath close to your ear.

“How does it feel?” he asked softly.

Your breath hitched as you tried to ground yourself in the unfamiliar sensation. “It’s… different,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “But I’m okay.”

“Good,” Hyunjin whispered, his hands brushing lightly against your arms. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

The softness in his voice helped you relax a little, and you felt his hands slide down to your waist, guiding you slowly toward the couch. “Sit down,” he said, his voice a little more commanding now, but still warm. You did as he asked, feeling the plush cushions beneath you as he settled you onto the sofa.

He moved around you carefully, and you could hear the rustling of fabric and the quiet thud of him sitting beside you. The world was still dark, but somehow, you felt more connected to him in this moment than ever before.

“I’m going to take care of everything now,” he said softly, his voice close to your ear again. “No more worrying, no more trying to control things. Just let me lead.”

Hyunjin’s fingers gently brushed over your hand, intertwining with yours, and with that simple touch, you felt a wave of calm wash over you. You were nervous, sure, but it was clear he wasn’t going to push you too far. This was about trust, about letting go. And somehow, in the quiet of your shared living room, with Hyunjin beside you, it didn’t feel so scary after all.

“Now, just follow my lead,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “And remember, you don’t have to be in control all the time.”

And in that moment, blindfolded and vulnerable, you allowed yourself to trust him completely.

Hyunjin's hands began to wander, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You could feel the heat of his body, the weight of his chest as he leaned over you.

His hands moved to the buttons of your shirt, slowly undoing them one by one. He slipped the shirt off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. His hands moved to your bra, unclipping it with ease. He slipped it off, letting it join your shirt on the floor.

You felt a chill as the cool air of the room hit your bare skin.

You felt exposed, vulnerable, but also felt a thrill run through you. You couldn't see what Hyunjin was doing, but you could feel every touch, every caress.

You let out a soft gaspas you felt his lips make contact with you your nipple.

He licked and sucked on the sensitive bud, teasing it with his teeth. His hand reached up to cup your other breast, his thumb gently circling the tip.

Hyunjin moved to the other breast, giving it the same attention.

"Mmm, so perfect," he whispered, his voice low and husky.

He trailed his lips down your body, kissing his way across your chest and down your stomach. His hands followed suit, gliding over your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

His fingers brushed the waistband of your pants, pausing for a moment.  Slipping a hand under the waistband of your pants and panties, he pulled them down, leaving you in nothing. Just Bare before him.

He continued his kisses, trailing them down your leg and his hands carrassed your body.

You moaned as his tongue licked along your inner thigh, stopping just shy of where you needed him most. He repeated the motion, again, and again, driving you crazy.

"Please," you begged, arching your hips towards him.

"You're trusting me, remember?" He said, his voice low and muffled. His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Y-yes," you replied quietly.

And then you felt his hands disappear.

"Hyune?" You say into the open air.

"Shh," he whispered. He sounded like he was a little further away.

"Where'd you go" you say as you extend your hands out.

"Just relax," He said. You could hear his footsteps getting closer toy you once again.

"I'm trying to but its a little hard when I don- OH" you say.

The sensation of ice sliding across your skin is sharp and startling, but mixed with warmth as hyunjin holds the ice in his mouth. At first contact, the cold bites into your flesh, causing a quick, involuntary gasp. The ice leaves a trail of intense coolness in its wake, as if your skin is being woken up with a sudden jolt.

Your muscles tighten in response, almost instinctively pulling away from the cold, but there's also something strangely soothing about it.

As the ice glides over you, its wet, slick surface leaves behind tiny droplets of water that feel both refreshing and chilling at the same time. The sensation is smooth but slightly numbing, as the cold spreads deeper into your skin, leaving a tingling trail that lingers long after the ice has moved on.

It heightens your awareness of every inch it touches—making the areas around it feel warmer in contrast. There's a sense of alertness, of being hyper-aware of your body as the coolness seeps into your skin, causing goosebumps to rise along your arms and a shiver to dance down your spine.

The ice trails over your shoulder, down your chest, around your nipples. They harden under its touch, standing at attention, and the coldness makes them ache with need. You let out a small moan as the ice moves closer and closer to them, and when it finally reaches its target, you gasp, arching your back as the coldness hits it.

The feeling is intense, almost overwhelming, and you can't help but squirm under the intensity of it.

"You're doing so well," Hyunjin whispers, his voice low and encouraging.

You whimper in response, the sound caught in your throat.

"Good girl," he murmurs. He pauses, as you presume he is grabbing more ice, and the ice travels down your stomach. You can feel his eyes on you, watching every reaction, drinking in every expression that flits across your face.

He trails the ice down your body, slowly, methodically, taking his time as he explores every inch of you. You can feel his breath on your skin, hot and ragged, as he takes in the sight of you. It's intoxicating, the feeling of his gaze raking over your body.

You can feel his breath on your skin, hot and ragged, as he takes in the sight of you. It's intoxicating, the feeling of his gaze raking over your body.

The ice continues its journey downwards, leaving a cool, wet trail in its wake. It teases at the sensitive skin just above your core, and you can't help but arch your hips, desperate for more.

He chuckles softly, a low rumble in his chest. "So eager," he says, his voice a delicious purr.

"Please," you breathe, unable to hold back any longer.

You gasp as you feel it touch your clit. It’s so cold, but it feels so good. The ice slowly circles your clit, and then moves lower, teasing at your entrance.Your breathing is heavy now, coming in short, shallow breaths. Your mind is clouded with desire, your thoughts consumed by the sensations washing over you.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you say, your voice breathy and needy.

You can hear the smirk in his voice as he replies.

"That's the plan."

"Do you trust me?" he asks, his voice a low, seductive whisper.

You nod, swallowing thickly.

"Say it."

"I trust you," you manage, the words coming out in a whisper.

"Good girl."

You shiver at his words, a thrill running through you. You can feel it melting, leaving a trail of wetness behind.

He places the last of the ice between his teeth and then slowly begins to lick it off, his tongue tracing a cool, wet path across your skin. You moan as he flicks his tongue across your clit.

The sensation is incredible, and you can't help but cry out.

"Oh, god," you whimper, bucking your hips, desperate for more. Your hands reach out, looking to grab his hair.

He groans, the sound muffled against your skin, as his tongue moves lower, tasting every inch of you. He starts to suck on your clit, his tongue flicking against it.

The pressure is intense, almost unbearable, and you feel like you're about to come apart. His fingers press into your thighs, holding you in place, as his tongue laps at you.

You're moaning and writhing beneath him, lost in the pleasure.

"Oh fuck, Hyunjin," you gasp. "I'm gonna come."

He doesn't let up, his tongue moving faster and faster. You grip his hair, holding him in place as you ride the waves of pleasure that are building inside you.

"I'm close," you breathe, your body trembling with the effort of holding back. And then, as if he knows, he sucks harder, his tongue moving faster.

"Oh g-god, I'm gonna come!"

He doesn't stop, pushing you over the edge.

"Fuck," you scream, your whole body shaking as the orgasm hits you. It's intense, almost too much to bear, and you grip his hair tighter, holding him against you.

You throw your head back, panting.

"Holy shit," you say, laughing a little. You feel as the blindfold is removed from your eyes.

The sight before you is incredible. Hyunjin is on his knees, with doe eyes looking up at you. Your cum on his face and chest. He grins up at you.

Hyunjin sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"What do you think? Did I earn your trust?"

You can't help but smile down at him. "I think you did," you reply, a slight blush creeping into your cheeks.

"Good," he says as he pulls you towards him. "Now come trust me again."

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[solitaryearthperson]

They’re okay

Summary: Instead of being greeted by the reader, Daryl is only greeted with silence.

(The reader is 18+ and uses they/them pronouns. The ethnicity/race is preferably black.)

“(Y/N),” Daryl yelled your name, as he came through the door. Shit, he thought, feeling a corner of the crossbow digging into his back. He quickly deposited it onto the floor then closed the door behind him.

Walking into the foyer he looked around and frowned at the silence of the house, not having been used to it in a long time.

“(Y/N)!” he yelled again, waiting to hear the scurry of your feet hurrying to greet him with a hug and a kiss, but was sadly disappointed again.

The hell are they, he wondered, walking into the kitchen. He was about to open a cabinet and fix him a plate of food, when he noticed the mess on top of the counter and stopped, what he saw almost making his heart stop. A cutting board with chopped bell peppers, garlic, and almost finished chopped onions was sitting on the counter and next to it was a knife. He knew his (Y/N), and he knew they were a bit of a neat freak and would never leave a mess like this on the counter, usually scolding him for doing something similar. Taking a small step closer to the counter, he squinted his eyes at the blade of the knife, hoping that what he was seeing wasn't there, that he was mistaken, but he was indeed right. On the knife was blood.

“No,” he muttered to himself, feeling his chest beginning to tighten at the possibility of what that blood meant. They could be alright, he mentally told himself, placing his hand on his chest, rubbing where his heart was, hoping the action would comfort him. There's nothing wrong with them. I just have to find them. Against his control, images of lost lives began flashing through his mind. Carol’s daughter, Sofia, as a walker. Merle as a walker. Beth’s dead body. The images kept appearing behind his eyes like a projector and he could feel the tightening in his chest getting worse with each one.

“(Y/N),” he yelled again. Still no answer. He then thought of someone else, someone who he knew would answer him without hesitation. “Dog!” Surprisingly there was no answer to that either.

“Shit, shit, shit!” he mumbled, hurrying out of the kitchen and going to the front door, picking up his crossbow from the floor. He was slinging it back on his back and ready to open the door, when he heard something that made the tightening in his chest loosen instantly.

“Daryl!”

“(Y/N),” he yelled back, throwing the crossbow back on the floor, before hurrying to where he heard their voice. “(Y/N)! Dog!”

A loud bark answered him back, and he followed the sound, quickening his pace to find them both in the backyard, the backdoor slightly ajar.

“Daryl, hey! When’d you get back,” (Y/N) asked. “Me and Dog didn’t hear you.”

Dog quickly greeted him with a wide smile and wagging tail, jumping on him with glee. Catching him, Daryl scratched the excited dog behind his ears and rubbed down his back, happy to feel its fur beneath his fingers and see the animal happy and healthy.

They’re okay, he told himself, looking at (Y/N). He didn’t see any serious injuries on their body, no limping, and no wincing. Running his eyes down their body, his eyes caught the sight of a bandage wrapped around their right hand, with a little blood seeping through.

“Yer hand,” Daryl nodded towards it.

"Oh," they looked down, noticing their blood through the bandage. "The smell of the onions were so strong that my eyes were starting to water and I accidentally cut my hand."

"Why were ya out here?" He let go of Dog and walked over to them, gently taking their hand in his.

"The smell was so strong," (Y/N) repeated, "I went outside to get away from it."

They're okay, he repeated, feeling a weight being lifted off of his chest. The bloody images of fallen friends and family were no longer appearing to him. The only thing he saw now was his love and his dog both safe and sound.

"Daryl-"

Daryl cut them off pulling them to his body and wrapping his arms tightly around their body, nestling his head into the side of their neck, breathing in their scent.

"Daryl, are you okay?" (Y/N) asked, their voice muffled by his shoulder.

They’re okay. Everybody's alive. Everybody's okay. He breathed in their scent one more time before answering, "I'm fine." His mind at ease once more in the arms of his love.

[pimosworld]

Secret Springs Resort

Pairing-Joel Miller x f!plus size reader

CW-18+, MDNI, Angst,hurt/comfort, mentions of body insecurity, mentions of food insecurity, mentions of smut, Joel being so supportive, reader hiding her feelings at first but we always end with fluffiness. Dream vacation Joel vibes.

WC-1.2k

A/N- I decided to go with a different direction for this weeks theme at the Resort for the Secret springs challenge by our mayor @secretelephanttattoo. I love this idea, it was so fun to write despite the angst, it’s just in my nature to make you feel a little.

[Series Masterlist][Joel Miller Masterlist]

Not beta read

Indulgence

If you thought he didn’t notice the first night then you had seriously underestimated the man that was Joel Miller. 

  The man that had turned your world upside down the moment he stepped foot into your kitchen that he would soon remodel. The kitchen that you got to enjoy for just shy of a year after it was completed before selling your home and moving in with him. The newly remodeled kitchen being the major selling point. The smug look on his face when you got well over the asking price. The look that you so often indulged in wiping off his face when you had him writhing beneath you. This burly, breadth of a man that made you believe in love again. 

  He most certainly noticed on the first night of your vacation. The one you had both worked so hard for. 

  Secret Springs Resort

  An all inclusive beach resort vacation that he had meticulously planned down to the minute. Even the daily naps were planned because he knew how you could get bratty when you were tired. 

  It pained him the way you picked at your food and shuffled it around the plate as if he wouldn’t notice. 

  The way you squint your eyes in fake pleasure to signal that you enjoyed the bite. 

  The look he so often noticed at home during a meal or out to dinner but he so foolishly thought you would be care free while in this oceanic oasis.  

  The second night. 

  When you blamed the sun burn and your headache as to why you couldn’t eat much more than a few bites. The way your eyes watered when he moaned eating his steak and you stared longingly at the buttery garlic noodles that you wanted to dive headfirst into.  

  You said you were too full for dessert and yet Joel knew you better than that. A small sliver of hope when he let you feed him some ice cream, but his hopes quickly squashed when you had one bite and pushed it away. 

  The third day was your day to relax. No excursions planned and the weather far too hot to lay on the beach. Joel opted to lay among the sheets with you for most of the morning. His head resting between your plush thighs as you played with his thick curls. 

  The way it always started out so innocent and yet he could have you falling apart beneath him in minutes. 

  It’s the most relaxed he’s seen you this entire trip, and even if he dies for lack of oxygen he’ll never come up for air if it means seeing you like this. 

  It’s why he opts to spend the entire day taking full advantage of the luxury suite. Finding different ways to bend you over every surface of this room…the balcony, the couch, the bathroom sink. The shower steams until the mirror fogs over. Fucking and laughing until he thinks he may have pulled a muscle. The way you call him an old man in jest because he knows he could outlast you any day. 

  It’s why as he watches you sleep, your soft curves peeking out beneath the rumpled covers as the sun sets over the water he decides you’ll just complete the day inside. A quick call to room service and the woman on the other line doesn’t balk when he nearly orders everything on the menu. All your favorites so there’s no room for argument. In the safety of your private room, away from prying eyes so he can finally put a stop to whatever is holding you back. 

  It’s the smell that first wakes you first. In the quiet comfort of the sheets you get the hint of the savory aroma of fresh baked pizza and garlic bread. Your stomach growling and heart warming at the familiar smells that fill the air. You blink sleepily as your gaze falls on Joel, shirtless with his jeans hung low on his hips as he bustles around the room. Plates and silverware clinking as he sets up a small table on the balcony. 

  He turns with a gentle smile as he hears you rustling in the sheets. “Hey there, sleepyhead. I hope you’re hungry.”  

  Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of the spread. A large pizza with all your favorite toppings. One half with pineapple because Joel thought it was blasphemy. A steaming bowl of pasta with Parmesan cheese and marinara sauce. Golden slices of garlic bread arranged neatly on the side. 

  Your throat constricts with the unexpected sensation of gratitude and anxiety. 

  “You…you didn’t have to do all this.” You murmur, feeling a rush of vulnerability. 

  Joel strides over to you on the bed, draping the silky resort robe around your shoulders. “I know.” He says softly as he places a kiss on your forehead. “But I wanted to darlin’. Ya deserve to enjoy all your favorites without feeling self conscious.” 

  Tears well up in your eyes as you look up at him. Overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness, at the way he surprised you everyday. “Thank you.” You whisper, with a slight tremble. “It means a lot to me.” 

  He didn’t expect you to bend so easily, yet he’s relieved all the same. A sense of pride blooming in his chest as you sit together on the balcony sharing bites of pizza and stories about your past. Things you want for your future, some things he’s heard and some things he’ll pocket for later. 

  He can tell as the meal goes on and you relax that you want to say it. To tell him why you’re this way, but he already knows it’s him. The reason he had to break down so many walls. The man whose name is rarely mentioned in your home because anytime it is Joel wants to find a way to make him a missing person. 

  When he looks at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars as he twirls the pasta on the plate and holds it out for you, like an olive branch to open up. 

  You start tentatively to explain your past insecurities. How your ex made you feel ashamed for enjoying food. How he always made sure you knew to eat less than him. 

  “I always felt like I had to justify why I ate.” You say quietly as you sip your water. “But you…you make me feel comfortable just being myself.” 

  Joel reached across the table to take your hand, placing a kiss to your palm. “You don’t ever have to justify anything with me baby.” He says earnestly. “I want you to be happy and feel good about yourself. You should cuz you’re fuckin perfect.” 

  You smiled gratefully as he wiped a stray tear from your cheek. You knew with Joel beside you, you could let go of old hurts and embrace moments like this. Where kindness, understanding and a simple meal could say so much more than words could express. 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

[berberriescorner]

How would rio and y/n react if marcus brings a girl home?

Okay, so my imagination ran wild with this one. It's a bit lengthy, but hopefully you’ll enjoy it nonetheless. I’m glad to finally have gotten a bit of a creative spark. Hopefully, I’m not rusty. Please excuse any grammatical errors. This isn't heavily edited and I went with the flow. It would be greatly appreciated if you all love, comment, and reblog. Please understand (I know some get tired of hearing it but it’s important) that writing fanfiction takes time and dedication. Then there is the fact that it’s free. Tapping the love button is cool, but it’s the reblogs that help writers. Try to keep that in mind 💓.

Word Count: 3,500+

Warnings: A bit of fluff, laughter, and a little *cough, a hefty piece of* spice.

The aroma of garlic wafted through your newly renovated kitchen. It had been an early Mother's Day present from Rio and the babies. Your husband swaggered into the kitchen fresh out of the shower. He watched you stir the pasta and smiled as you made a mental note aloud to add more cream cheese. The deep timbre of your husband's voice startled you.

“Stay put mama. I'll grab some for you,” he rasped, lips brushing the side of your neck. His hand left a gentle squeeze on your hip.

“Damn it, Chris. Baby, I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that. I should've known your stealthy, fine ass was nearby. The scent of your cologne and body wash should've given you away.”

He stepped back over to the stove adding cheese. You shivered as his fingers danced up your spine, curling around to the front of you. You hummed as his hand lightly cupped your throat. As if your body knew exactly what he wanted, you tilted your head, angling it so he could gain access. Rio’s lips trailed light kisses up your neck, across the jawline.

“Food smells good, darling. When we eatin’?”

You chuckled, slapping at his hand as his finger dipped into the alfredo sauce.

“Boy! Get your fingers out of my pan.”

“Damn, ma! I can't get a little taste. Come on, mama. Daddy’s hungry,” he groaned.

“That's on you. Shouldn't have skipped lunch.”

Rio kissed his teeth, swatting your bottom playfully.

“You know I was handling business, sweetheart. Don't start,” he teased.

“Let that have been me not eating. You would've jumped in my shit.”

His head shook in disagreement, “Mm no. I would've just brought you some food and insisted you eat.”

“Last time I brought you lunch it turned into an argument.”

“Cause you don't listen. You know you weren't supposed to be anywhere near that warehouse. It was a matter of safety. Where that's concerned, you'll always come first, mama.”

You couldn't help but smile and roll your eyes at the sweet sentiment.

“Whatever, bossy ass. We’ll eat once the oldest baby boy gets here.”

“That's right it's our weekend,” he perked up.

Though there were times Rio wished he could see his son every day. He knew that Marcus was both his and Rhea’s pride and joy. Rio was thankful that they had a healthy co-parenting relationship. Joint custody had always been smooth with Rhea. She'd never dream of ever keeping their son away from his father. He was grateful that they both managed to move on. They both found love again, remarried, and everyone seemed to get along just fine. Rio loved that you and Rhea found friendship in one another. Your kids adored Rhea just as much as Marcus did you.

“Oh, you thought I was making this fire-ass pasta for you? Nope, Zaddy this for my oldest baby boy,” you teased Rio playfully.

“That’s fine! So long as I get to choose my dessert,” he rasped, his eyes scanning over your body.

Your eyes met, both nibbling at your bottom lip. Just as you were about to dive deeper into the topic, Alexa announced someone was at the front door. You tapped your phone screen, turning on the ring doorbell’s mic.

“Rhea, stop acting like you don’t have a key. Bring your beautiful self into this house.”

You smiled as she giggled her way through the front door.

“We’re in the kitchen,” Rio called out.

“Boy! Stop all that yelling. You wake that baby up and it’s your ass.”

Your husband kissed his teeth, “last I checked this was our house,” he mumbled, walking over to Marcus and pulling him into a bear hug. “What’s up, man?”

Marcus answered his question, immediately following with, “Can I go check on the baby? Where’s everybody else?”

“Rudeness. Are you forgetting something,” Rhea questioned her eager teenager.

She chuckled as he looked at her in confusion as she continued, “Your bonus mama is burning in this kitchen. Probably for you. Did you say hello? Or maybe thank you? Where is her loving,” Rhea jokingly scolded her son.

“Sorry, ma. He replied shyly, hugging you tightly and kissing your cheek. “Thank you for cooking my favorite food.”

“It’s cool handsome,” you started, pinching his cheek. “The kids are in the theater room and the baby is down for the night, but go on up and steal a little sugar.”

Just as he was about to excuse himself, Rhea interrupted him, “Not so fast young man. You’re not slick. Don’t you want to share the news?”

“Mami,” Marcus whined.

“That’s okay, I'll tell them. Go on, scaredy cat.”

Marcus made his escape as Rhea turned back to you and Rio. She bypassed him, linking her arm with yours.

“Come, chica. I’ve got some chisme for you.”

Your husband, the big baby he is, groaned, “Nice to see you too, Rhea. Why am I not included?”

“Are you not in the room? You are included, fool,” Rhea teased.

“Chris, baby. I love you, but hush. I'm trying to see some.”

Both women laughed at him as he rolled his eyes and went silent.

“ Marcus sat down with us sometime last week. Said he wanted to invite his lady friend over for dinner. Our baby has a girlfriend, sis.”

The two of you stared at one another, several seconds passed. As if he was expecting it, Rio sighed, running his hand down his face as the two of you started squealing like school girls.”

“Mama, Rhea, the baby,” he reminded the both of you.

You both clapped a hand over your mouths, silently giggling.

“What's her name? Have you met her? The parents?”

“Baby, chill,” Rio chuckled.

You looked at him, studying him for a moment. Head tilted, you questioned, “You already knew. Didn't you?”

He smirked, “You already know the answer to that, mama. You know I stay ten steps ahead.”

“He told you first,” Rhea questioned.

“Listen, he asked for advice on girls a while back. I suspected then he had his eye on somebody. I played it cool. If you ask too many questions, he’ll shut down. We had the talk. About a week after that. Marcus told me he was talking to someone.”

“The talk,” you and Rhea said in unison. “Should we be worried about where this is going?”

“Ladies relax. It's better to have it early. Just to be on the safe side.”

“You gave him condoms. Didn't you,” Rhea snarked.

“Are you ready to be a grandmother? I mean I’d be the coldest abuelo out here, but let's try to prevent that from happening.”

“He brought her home for dinner the other day. She's so sweet and shy. Her name is Isabella, but she goes by Isa. He's got his papi’s taste. She's Afrolatina, a beautiful young lady!”

“Okay! I see my boy! He found him a woman who embodies two of the most important women in his life,” Rio praised with pride.

“The mom seems to be well-rounded. Surely we don't have anything to worry about,” Rhea insisted.

“The both of you were sweet and shy when I first met you. Need I say more? Then there's those stories your mom told me about your teenage years,” he smirked toward you.

“Sneak one damn boy through your window and you never live it down. Kiss my ass, Christoper,” you cackled, flipping him the bird.

Rio puckered his lips, bending down, laughing as you mugged his forehead.

“Sis! Your ass was hot back in the day, huh?”

“Chill on my wife. Tell me, how old were you when we had Marcus?”

Rhea kissed her teeth, “He got a response for everything, huh,” she asked you. “Anyway! He wants you all to meet her. Can he invite her over for dinner tomorrow?”

Rio smiled at you bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“I take it our answer is yes, mama?”

After a stressful Saturday afternoon, Rio stepped into the foyer of his home. His eyes drifted shut for a moment as he welcomed the delicious smell of lemon herbs, and the smell of your perfume wafted through the air. Sandals tapped across the wooden floor, Rio’s lashes fluttered open, dancing at the sight of you meeting him at the front door.

“Hey Papa,” you started, smile faltering. You could sense the heaviness of his day. “Long day, baby,” you questioned.

His head tilted to the side, an appreciative smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Rio’s hands cupped your side pulling you into a tight hug as he buried his head in your neck. Breathing you in again, his lips tickled the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Shit was hectic, but I’m sure some kisses would make me feel better,” he whispered in a sultry tone.

Your hands brushed against his chest, as you tip-toed to reach his lips. He chuckled at your struggle to reach his lips, meeting you the rest of the way. Your lips danced together in soft, slow strokes. The sound of footsteps speeding down the steps interrupted the lip lock.

“Ma! Pops! You’re not going to be doing all that in front of Isa, are you? Why’s it so quiet around here?”

You giggled as Rio reared his head back. “I’m sorry son, I didn’t know you paid bills around here. Y’all be forgetting this my house…our house,” he corrected when you lightly cleared your throat.

“Your siblings can be a lot. We wanted to have time to focus on getting to know your girlfriend. I managed to arrange a night with Nana. They’ll be back tomorrow. She can meet everybody next time we have her over. Don’t worry, baby. Papi and I promise to be on our best behavior,” you teased Marcus.

“I ain’t promising nothin’. Listen, I’ll kiss my wife all I want, bro. Don’t be mad I’m the only one getting kisses around here,” he joked, giving Marcus a playful shove.”

“Pops, chill on me. Who said I ain’t got it like that?”

Rio cackled, dapping Marcus up. The laughter between the two stopped abruptly when they saw you standing straight-faced, head tilted, and arms crossed.

“I’m pretty sure I can speak for your mother when I say this. You better be acting accordingly with that young lady. Nothing short of being respectful is acceptable. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Your eyes landed on Rio, “Then I got you over here gassing him up.”

“My bad, mama. We’ll tighten up.”

“That’s what I thought,” you finished sauntering off to the kitchen.

 Rio turned back to Marcus and they both dapped each other up silently.

“It’s like that, son?”

“I learned from the best,” Marcus responded.

“My boy. Seriously though, not too much. Take things slowly. You have a lot of life to live. Don’t let thinking you're grown get you in trouble. You bring a baby home, and that’s ya ass. Papi can’t save you from the mama squad. If you can’t wait, do at least three things for me. Wrap it up, don’t do it in mine or your mom’s house, and don’t play with her feelings. You better plan on sticking around. Don’t be that guy, son. We’ve raised you better than that.”

“Yessir, I give you my word, pops.”

Rio embraced Marcus and gave his shoulders a firm squeeze as they pulled apart.

“You nervous,” Rio asked as the doorbell sounded.

“Just promise me you won’t let Ma pull out the photo albums.”

“Listen, I’m a man of many talents, but telling that woman not to do something almost always has the opposite effect. Ma listens when it counts,” he smirked, biting his lip.

“That’s information I honestly didn’t need to know, Dad.”

The first twenty minutes had been hilarious. You, Isa, and her mother all silently laughed at the way Isa’s father stumbled over his words while making introductions with Rio.

Apparently Marcus nor his girlfriend had taken the liberty of giving the poor man a heads up. He had suspected that he was going to assert himself as an overprotective father. One look at Marcus’ father and his bravado and puffed-out chest had deflated. Christopher wasn’t about to be checked by anyone and little did they know, neither were you. 

Dinner had gone by smoothly. The two of you succeeded in not embarrassing your son, as did her parents. Isa was a sweet, shy, and intelligent girl. You both loved her for Marcus. The teens had asked permission to have a movie night in the family theatre room. All parents agreed that it would be okay so long as it wasn’t unattended. You had even offered for Isa’s parents to join. Her father needed to finish up some work at home, and Rio along with Marcus, offered to drop her home in a few hours. 

As the parents you opted, to sit in the back row of home theatre seats to give them some sort of privacy. You didn’t want to crowd them too much. That and you knew with certainty that Rio was going to get handsy as soon as the lights dimmed. Twenty minutes of screen time had barely passed before his hand started a soft, tingling trail up your thigh. You allowed his fingers to make it inches away from the place he desired before swatting at him. His heated gaze met yours and the left corner of his mouth tilted up as he mouthed the word, “Why?”

Your head cocked to the side as you looked at him as if he were crazy. You sucked your teeth, pointing a finger in the direction of the kids. Rio wrapped his arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to whisper in your ear, “Oh you really thought I was cold. You know why I pulled this blanket out, mama.” He laughed as you rolled your eyes, shoving him away from you. 

“Do that again and I’m sitting in my own lounger,” you sassed.

“All this space and you want to sit by yourself. Don’t be like that, mama.”

You had glanced in the direction of the children to see if they had overheard, but froze as you saw their hands inching closer to one another. Your hand tapped the top of Rio’s repetitively to get him to look. The two of you shared a smile at the innocence of the situation. Marcus looked back as the two of you tried to focus your attention elsewhere. The teen shook his head as his hand shifted away some. The two of you kissed your teeth and the sound echoed off the theatre walls as Marcus shook his head and Isa giggled.

It felt as if you had ruined the moment, and Rio attempted to correct the situation. Clearing his throat he asked the room, “Anybody want chips? Popcorn? Something to drink?”

You caught on and joined in, “I could go for some ice water and we can share a snack babe. Let’s go round up some refreshments.”

The kids had started to decline, but the two of you left in a hurry.

Rio propped himself against the kitchen island with his hands clasped. You crept towards your husband smirking. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you asked, “How much time should we give them to be unsupervised?”

“That depends, mama. Are you trying to be a responsible parent or a laid-back one? Responsible would be in the realm of maybe five or ten minutes. Laidback–about twenty or so.”

Rio’s hands traveled the length of your back, down to your plush backside. With a gentle squeeze, he continued, “I’m leaning towards laidback, mama,” he rasped. “Maybe we can take that time alone to–connect ourselves.”

“You truly have a one-track mind. We are not about to do anything with a guest in the house. Do you know what teenagers can do in twenty or so minutes?”

“Mama, what’s the most that could happen?”

“Our last child happened in twenty minutes, Rio.”

“We were pressed for time, and I was down bad for you that night, mama.”

“You’re always down bad for me. Even at this moment, you are.”

“No lies told. If you know that, stop playing. C’mere, mama.”

Rio nibbled at your neck, even as you continued to protest, “Rio, seriously. We should head back soon.”

“C’mon, mama. Let that boy cook for a few minutes. I told him to take things slow and to never do anything like that under his mom’s or our roof.”

“Oh, and you think that’s gon’ stop him?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“This is coming from the man, that was giving me backshots under his grandmother’s roof last Christmas.”

“We’re married with a ton of children. Trust and believe, she knows you’re getting handed pipe left and right, mama.”

“You get on my damn nerves. Always got a response–.”

The sentence came to a halt as Rio’s hand slipped into the opening of your dress, tugging a nipple through the silk material of your bra.

“F-fuck, Rio, don’t.”

His lips hovered over yours. The minty freshness of his breath fanning across your bottom lip. He nipped at it before asking, “You really want me to stop, mama?”

“Pantry, now.”

With those two words, Rio picked you up, legs wrapping around his waist, as he carried you to the destination. The door softly clicked closed, as he pressed you against some of the shelving. Your lips collided, tongues stroking one another, battling for dominance. The hem of your dress shifted upward, bunching at your waist. Rio groaned as his tented dark wash jeans ground against your damp panties. A moan slipped from your lips and he shushed you.

“Gotta keep quiet baby,” he whispered as his lips moved to suck at your throat.

His lips continued to nip and suck at your flesh. His long muscular fingers tugged your panties to the side as two fingers massaged your folds before gliding in to slowly stretch you out. The delicious feeling turned you into a whimpering mess as your hips began to rock against his movements.

“Yeah, just like that, mama. Are you gonna be my good girl and come all over my fingers? Yeah, you are. Aren’t you?”

He leaned in, tucking into the side of your neck, and whispered, “Bite down on my shoulder if you need to, darling.”

One of your hands slipped under his shirt as your nails scratched at his skin. You leaned back and pleaded, “Choke me, Daddy. Keep me quiet.”

The minute his hand wrapped around your throat, Rio added a third finger, thrusting in quick, deep strokes. His lips pecked your lips as he groaned, “Come for me, mama. Make a mess all over my fingers.”

All you needed was one last stroke to send you over the edge, but everything came to a halt as you both heard footsteps coming toward the kitchen. The two of you broke apart, fixing your clothes at the speed of lightning. The moment the knob to the pantry door turned, Rio snatched it open, pulling it closed with a bag of chips and a case of soda under his arm.

Marcus eyed his father suspiciously before speaking, “Isa got thirsty and you two were taking forever. So I came to get her some fruit snacks and a soda.”

Rio handed him a soda and explained, “We were coming back. Your pops negotiated a little alone time for ya. Did anything interesting happen?”

Marcus blushed a bit and responded, “Pops, can’t we talk about this later? I don’t want to keep Isa waiting.”

“You right man. Here take this soda and I’ll bring the fruit snacks and the rest of the stuff. Ma and I will be right in. She had to take care of something right quick.”

“Alright, Pops. Thanks.”

Marcus made it a few steps out of the kitchen before ducking his head back around the corner. Rio had started to turn back toward the pantry as he spoke up, “Pops? Tell Ma she can come out of the pantry now. Next time aim for a place that doesn’t house the food we eat.”

“Yeah, okay, wiseass. You’ll understand when you get older and have your own meddlesome ass kids. Take your lady her beverage and mind your business. You just couldn’t let your daddy cook in peace. Could you son?”

You were mortified and could barely look your bonus son in the eye for days.

Tagging some of my lovelies:

@darqchilddaydreamz @4everbrookemarie @starrynite7114

@amorestevens @bisexuallyattractivebitch @1andonlytashae

@rio-reid-whoreee @lovedlover @astoldbychae @percosim

@ravennaortiz @sunshine-flower @novaniskye @alertyoulikeitsamber @realhotgurlshit @abcdestinyyyy @jannavaire

[ragequeen94]

imagine cooking/having dinner with the Papas

sfw... kissing? lots of wine.

fanon understanding that Terzo is very bad at speaking English.

Primo

It had been a nice surprise when the Papa Emeritus the First had invited you to his quarters for dinner, you hadn't assumed it would be... just you and him though. You both had been dancing around each other gently for a while now. He was older, and so where you, did that mean that romance was not something you could dream of? He opened the door to his private quarters, the smell of fresh basil and faintly nicotine rolled out passed him as he stood over you, a grin spreading over his face. "Ciao Bella...."

"Papa." You bowed you head, the air around you intoxicating. "I brought wine, Papa." You stepped into the rooms, this was when you realized it would be just you and him. You stepped further into the room, he closed the heavy doors behind you as you took in his personal space. You'd never been here before, you assumed few had. dried garlic and sun dried tomatoes hung from the windows, spices and dried herbs on the shelves, the surfaces all covered in flour from what ever he had been cooking. But it smelled amazing. "Papa...-"

"In here you may, call be Primo, it is my name." He walked passed you, jumping to turn the heat down on a boiling pot, he lifted the lid and the smelled of spiced tomatoes mixxed in the air. He reached into a drawer and without really looking at you handed you a bottle opener. you stared at it, almost confused, like the metal spiral was foreign technology. "For the wine, Bella."

"OH!" you accepted it from him and went to work uncorking the bottle, a little panicked you didn't know where the glasses were kept. You placed the popped cork on the counter top, the screw still buried inside. "Papa.... er... Primo... do you have glasses."

"Si.." He turned back to you, turning off all the stove burner. What ever he had made was done. He walked straight to you, he was close, so very close. His long fingers slowly wrapping around the neck of the bottle and and taking it from you. Instead he brought it to his lips and sipped straight from the bottle. "Very good. Red wine is best of all, is it not?"

He reached over your head, his body pressing against yours as he brought down two wine classes from a cupboard you hadn't noticed before. He put them on the counter behind you, the glasses clinking lightly on the tiles, he still held the bottle, bringing it to his lips again for another sip. Both of you were flush against the other, staring into the other eyes. The smell of wine on his breath made you brave. You tilted your head, getting closer, there was no way he didn't know what you wanted. "Primo... let me taste it then..."

He leaned his head down and his lips met yours. He tasted of the wine, but of dinner. He had been sampling as he cooked. Your stomach growled. But you both stayed still, you still stealing little kisses from him, he let you doat on him a little. "We should eat, Bella. Then, plenty of wine and plenty of this. All the time in the world."

Secondo

Dinner had been fun, you enjoyed your time as a senior member of the church. You had worked hard, been dedicated, given up everything... you had happily done so in the name of the One Below, but there were parts of you that were... sad. That felt like you had missed out of parts of what life was meant to offer. Odd, considering you were a sister of sin and there was no vice in life you were not almost duty bound to sample. It wasn't until now, now that you sat at the same table to those who always seemed so far from you, so superior, and now you were equal. You sat back, swirling the rest of your wine, your third glass, as the espresso was brought out. You sat at the table with the head clergy, with Papa and his inner circle, with his family. And his family was loud, and very Italian. You felt eyes on you, eyes that had been on your all night.

Sat besides his older brother Papa Secondo smirked at you he sipped his coffee. There was an added bonus to your newly found power and position. The attention of Papa Emeritus the Second, he grinned wide at you, his gaze sliding away from you as his rowdy younger brother stood, telling a tale with wild hand movements, the quiet cardinal sat besides him was splattered with wine from the glass Terzo had apparently forgotten he was holding. Secondo barked a laugh, his eyes sliding back to your seat, only to find you gone. He quickly sat up in his seat, trying to find you in the mostly empty canteen. His family always sat at the dinner table for hours, it was the way things were done. Usually not headed to bed until Papa Nihil had fallen asleep in his chair.

He saw you slip into the kitchens. Secondo got up to follow, not bothering to excuse himself or offer explanation to his family as they called after him. You were searching through wine fridges that lined the underside of the kitchen counters. There always had to be enough wine on hand. "Cucciola... you could not be searching for more wine..." He teased as he strolled straight for you.

"Papa..." you murmured. "Jus' making up for lost time." You grinned. He was very aware of your sudden head first dive into hedonism, and he longed to be the one to lead you to your deepest desires.

"Cucciola... perhaps it is late in the night to open a new bottle of wine." He got close to you, his hand reaching up and running a thumb over your lip, it was stained dark red already. "Are you not sated?"

"Never, Papa." You smiled, drunkenly, reaching for him, grabbing him by the front of his button up shirt. "Papa... I'm still hungry... still thirsty..." You inched close. If you had been sober you would never have been so brave. But a lot could be said for the magic found wine and fresh bread. Secondo grinned like a predator, his sharp canine teeth gleaming passed his lips. He leaned down the rest of the way and pressed a kiss to your lips, quickly pushing you up against one of the cold stainless steel fridges, what ever was inside rattled. You didn't care as you gripped onto his shoulders and let his devour you.

"Papa... Papa..."

"Quiet Cucciola, be good for Papa... I will show teach you to live deliciously."

Terzo

You were nervous. It had gotten into your head to invite Papa Terzo over for dinner. You'd been getting to know one another, had gone out, slept together a few times; it hadn't gotten much deeper than that, and you couldn't really tell if he was interested in more than your company in his bed.

You looked at the meal you had prepared proud for only a moment. you were the best cook, you often got carried away with ingredients and ended up going rogue when it came to following recipes. When you had picked out what you wanted to cook your first instinct had been to go for Italian food. Terzo was Italian, so you hoped at least he would like what you pulled together. Then you remembered... he was Italian, and had probably grown up eating the best authentic Italian food on the planet. With home made spaghetti and everything! Suddenly you wanted to throw it all in the garbage... he was going to be so disappointed.

He knocked on your door, a little late but that had only given you time to clean up the kitchen and get the table set how you liked it. You hadn't really noticed his tardiness, only that he yelled it in your face when you opened the door.

"Cioccolatino! I am late! I am much sorry's!" He pranced into your dormitory apartment, flowers in his hand and two bottles of wine. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a kiss before he made a show of breathing deep. "Smells so good in here!"

He walked into your home like he belonged there, instantly pulling down a vase from a top cabinet and popping the flowers into some water before putting them on the dinner table. you dug through the kitchen utensils looking for a bottle opener (you didn't want him to know most of your wine came from a box). "they are beautiful, Papa..."

"Terzo, you knows this. I been telling you, when it me and you, it can just be Terzo." He leaned in and kissed you again. "I like how it sounds when you say it, your accent so cute."

You raised a brow, smiling at the thought that to him you were the one with the funny accent. God knows how it sounded to him when you had tried to say thing in his native language. "Then sit down, Terzo, or you'll have a cold dinner."

He pulled out your chair before opening the wine and pouring you a very full glass. "I am very hunger, I am excited to be invited for dinner." He chirped, dropping himself in his chair and you both served yourselves, though you watched closely. staring at him as he put the first bite in his mouth.

"Do you like... it?" You worried your lip watching his face as he chewed. "I know its probably not what your used to but i tried..."

"It is very good! Molto saporito! were is from? We shall order again some time!" He nodded excitedly. Your mouth dropped a little. Not really sure how to correct him, or if he was joking.

"Oh... well i made it myself." You muttered. A little shy about it for some reason. Terzo looked down at his plate and at the food still on the serving pans.

"You make for me?" Terzo reached out and grabbed his hand. "I am much sorry i not understand this earlier! What is called this dish? No one make as good as you, surely." Terzo started to shovel his dinner into his mouth, so interested in his food he hadn't even touched his wine.

"Oh... its not really anything... just kinda, a bunch of italian flavors put together. I think i was trying to make cacciatore but got a little carried away with sides and... yeah..." You smiled and sipped your wine. He obviously was very impressed and it stroked your ego to see him do so. "Just like back home, hu?"

it had meant to be a joke, nothing more but he looked a little sad and a little confused at the idea. "Back home food is not always so good, i have never had this before. Abbey kitchen cooks are not always so talented... Primo not a good cook like a mama when we are young" he put another very full fork full into his mouth, trying to laugh at the same time. "If i have this every day i'd be a round Papa."

You reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it, he leaned down and kissed your knuckles (neither caring he got sauce from his lips on your hand). He smiled at you gently, pausing his gluttony to stare at your face. he looked like he wanted to say something more, some thought danced around on his tongue but didn't make it passed his lips. he signed and seemed content to just enjoy looking at you. before he realized what he was doing.

"Sorrys i... um... lost my thinking." He let go of your hand. "i thanks you, cara. This is most best meal i shall eat."

Copia

You sat at the small kitchenette in Papa Emeritus the Fourths private quarters. You'd been officially dating for a little over a month at this point, and he had been so very sweet. Sweeter than any man you'd ever been with up to this point, being with him was kind of like being in... puppy love. He was a little awkward, a little nervous, and very unsure. He apologized a lot and stumbled over his words, when he held your hand it was always clammy and his grip a little too tight. You had guessed his awkwardness had been because of social anxiety, which he was in no short supply of. It had been your idea to have dinner in, to cook together and enjoy a meal.

Copia had had other plans, he always wanted to treat you like a princess, was determined to do so to a fault. Sometimes you didnt mind being treated like a whore. He would figure that out eventually. You hoped. You'd kissed and cuddled and there had been some more heated movements between the two of you but he had failed to make an assertive move on you. The plan was to get enough wine in him tonight to help him shed any anxiety he had.

You watched as he cursed and shook his hand, he had burned it on the hot saucepan some how. It had been like this for a while. You sat at the made table, the candles not yet lit, a once very full glass of wine now... not so full sitting by you hand. There was bread that had been taken from the kitchens (you had insisted he not try cooking and baking in the same day) with very room temp butter waiting. He had apparently had to restart everything when the pasta he had boiled had boiled for too long without his attention and had turned into a glutenous blob. Now he was trying gnocchi. You'd eat dino nuggets at this point you were so hungry.

but you waited.

and waited.

"Copia... my love. My sun and moon, stars in my sky." You stood from your spot, you ass sticking to the chair in places, you'd been in one place for so long. He was sweating, dark brown hair sticking to the back of his neck, sleaves rolled up to his elbows, flour he had no real reason to even have out was covering him in small splotches, there was a burn on the inside of his wrist you noted was getting red and angry. "Let me help you..."

"Im sorry." He muttered. He looked defeated. "Im just no good at this kind of thing. Cooking... looked easy in the movies." He grunted. He had been trying to slice up zucchini for some other dish. Looking over the pantry of ingredients he had dragged out onto the counter top you tried to make head or tails of what he had been trying to accomplish but it was a mess. You knew there was chicken in the oven, you were sure he had poured as much seasonings onto it as possible without knowing what they even were. There were raw potatoes on the counter, for some reason a bag of frozen fish he seemed to have forgotten about. all kinds of vegetables half chopped and ignored, the only thing actually cooking were the gnocchi and some very chunky pasta sauce he had made by putting a dozen tomatoes in a blender with half a bottle of wine and some garlic.

"I want to help. I get to be close to you." You kissed his cheek, he leaned into your touch. You started to clear the counter tops to try and declutter what you really needed and help his stress. "I don't need anything fancy my love. A pizza and your company is enough-"

Copia frowned and looked a little angry. He stayed silent to a while then rather aggressively threw open the oven to check the chicken. It actually looked pretty good and smelled nice. He slammed shut the oven door and crossed his arms over his chest. "I want to do this nice thing for you, vita mia. I want to be a good boyfriend and be able to make risotto. Not burn pasta."

You looked around, trying to spot any trace of risotto. He gestured to the trash can. You smiled and walked over to him. Leaning up to kiss him, gabbing is belt to pull him close to you. "You are the best boyfriend with or with out risotto."

He nodded still upset but obviously defeated.

The gnocchi caught fire,

After the fire alarms had been turned off and the destruction cleared you couldn't help but giggle. You lead him to the living room, after having moved the setting from the kitchen table to the coffee table. And with two large glasses of wine you both sat and watched a horror movie picking at a whole chicken, still in the baking pan, with your fingers.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Just Friends?

Eddie is your older, sexy next door neighbour. You're instantly smitten with him but with the countless women that you see leave his trailer dreamy eyed and lovestruck, you don't have a chance with him? You're just his friend right?

Warnings; Older Eddie, minors shoo, fluff, jealous Eddie. Friends to lovers, Comfort, Pet loss (anon who sent me the request to write about this, I'm sending you all the hugs and positive vibes in the world ❤️)

💌🎀❤️

Eddie Munson is your older, gorgeous neighbour and you're pretty sure he could never be interested in you. He dated beautiful women all the time, you saw when they left his trailer dreamy eyed and already hooked on him.

You'd hear the giggles and their moans every night while you sat on your patio and tried to ignore the noises, ignoring the tightness coiling in your gut and the envy you felt.

How you wished that it was you that held Eddie's attention. The two of you did talk a lot and you had been over to his for a beer quite a few times but he wasn't interested in you romantically.

He had been such a good friend to you since the two of you met. When you first moved here, about six months into your stay your sweet kitty had passed away.

She had hidden herself away in a corner of the room, wouldn't come out no matter how much you tried and it devastated you.

Eddie had seen you in tears one day and you had poured your heart out to him about Missy, he was kind and so sweet with you. For a little bit he just listened as you cried, then he pulled you into a big hug and told you everything would be okay.

"It will be okay sweetheart, I promise you. Every day the hurt will get a little bit better. You'll still miss her but she's here with you always, in your heart and in your memories" you managed to nod through tears and the words had given you hope.

Eddie helped locate Missy who had sadly passed, he was there for you as you through every step, from taking Missy to the vet, to receiving her ashes in a little wooden box that you kept on your nightstand with a picture of your sweet kitty.

Every day Eddie helped you smile even if it was just for a little while, gave you hugs when you needed them and had even drawn a portrait of Missy from one of your photos of her. Something you could remember her by.

The drawing was beside Missy's picture and her ashes and you treasured it. One small act of kindness but it had helped you heal a little bit of your heartache.

Through all of that it was then you realised you had fallen for Eddie.

Eddie who only saw you as a friend.

Eddie who pops his head around your door as you cook some dinner that night, he smiles warmly at you and it flusters you.

"Something smells good princess, can I join you?"

Fuck, he was sexy. His hair was in a bun, he just came home from work and he's in his overalls, there's a smudge of grease on his cheek that you'd love to wipe off.

You fight the urge and heap the pasta into a bowl for him, add the homemade garlic bread and some salad. He lets out a small contented sigh as he settles down and begins to eat.

"I picked a movie when I was coming home from work, want to watch it with me sweetheart?" he suggests to you and you nod. He always picked the best movies.

Once food is consumed you follow Eddie into his trailer and wonder if he had a date tonight? Wouldn't he rather be with them then hanging with you?

Then again he wouldn't have invited you if he thought that. "Don't you have a date Eddie?" You ask curiously and hope you're not prying too much.

"Nah, thought I'd rather hang out with you princess, see some friends" you nod. Of course, friends. That's all the two of you were. At least you definitely know where he stands now.

Maybe it was time for you to have some fun. You deserved to have some fun and it's not like Eddie was ever without attention from women. Maybe he would be protective if you dated someone as a friend.

You watch as Eddie laughs at a certain part of the movie, his dimples on show and his eyes lighting up. He was so perfect it hurt but if he only saw you as a friend then you'd be the best friend he ever had.

💌🎀

Due to your decision you find yourself going to a party that your friends invited you to. It wasn't often that you left the comfort of your home to go to a party nowadays but you figured if anything would help you get over Eddie it would be getting yourself out there.

You're dressed up for the first time in ages and feel really good. Eddie is relaxing with a beer and talking to his friends when you head out of your home.

He chokes on his beer a bit and it flustered you, "Do I look okay?" You ask anxiously and Eddie's big brown eyes are wide as he takes in your appearance.

"Okay" he chokes out and Steve rolls his eyes and smiles at you. "You look beautiful honey" thanking Steve you wave goodbye to Eddie and you're pretty sure his eyes are on you all the way.

💌💞

You wake in the morning with a slight hangover and the hot guy from last night just leaving the shower. His name was Jerry and he was exactly what you needed at the time, just one night where you didn't think of your god of a neighbour and who he was with.

Jerry doesn't stick around and to be honest you don't want him to. Last night was fun but you weren't looking for a repeat performance. You follow Jerry to the door, saying goodbye but startle when you see Eddie outside your door and looking pissed.

His eyes narrow as he looks at Jerry, his big brown eyes flash with something you can't place. You can't help noticing how unbelievably gorgeous he looks but then he opens his mouth and ruins everything.

"You know I couldn't sleep last night because of you and the lover boy here" you frown confused and your heart skips a beat. Was he jealous?

"Um..." You don't get to say much more because Jerry hastily makes an exit and Eddie's vicious gaze follows him.

"Pussy" he mutters and you scowl. What was wrong with him? He speaks again before you can question him and it sends annoyance pulsing through you, once you hear what he has to say.

"All night I heard you and that idiot all over each other, people do have work and shit you know" you reel back from Eddie stunned. The two of you had never traded cross words and now he was giving you shit for doing something he did most nights?

No fucking way.

"Are you serious Eddie? I hear countless women and their moans and giggles all through the night and I've never said shit about that...yet you have the gall to bitch to me when I bring a guy home?"

His pissed looks melts away just a tiny bit and you walk towards him seriously annoyed at this point, "Let me be clear Eddie. You don't get to give me shit when you've driven me nuts for weeks" he blinks startled then grins. He actually grins.

"You're beautiful when you're angry you know, I mean you're always beautiful but I like seeing you all fiery" this disarms you for a second but you soon wave it off.

"Don't you try and charm your way out of this Munson, your pretty eyes and sweet talk don't work on me" well the pretty eyes did but you wouldn't tell him that.

"I was telling the truth" he replies seriously and you hide your smile. Damn him.

"The only woman I've ever wanted to notice me was you princess" he finishes that sentence and then tugs you to him and kisses you deeply. Your brain short circuits for a few seconds before you kiss him back.

Then you pull away and shake your head. Nope, no way were you being some notch on his bedpost.

"I'm not doing this Eddie. I'm not being another woman that you just conveniently forget about after you get what you want" he looks exasperated and gently tilts your head up to look at him.

"You aren't listening to me sweetheart. I'm totally fucking crazy about you. I don't want anyone else, just you" oh.

Despite the joy you feel you can't help but be a bit frustrated. "You have a funny way of showing it Eddie" he nods and his eyes soften as he squeezes your hand.

"Didn't think you felt the same. I should have asked I know, I'm an idiot". Fuck, you thought that Eddie didn't feel the same about you. Both of you were idiots.

"Well, maybe you can make it up to me later? Your famous Mac and cheese and maybe..." You trail off and find the courage to kiss him this time. He responds eagerly, pulls away to kiss your forehead and beams.

"It's a date princess"

💞

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