#I love my rice cooker so much

[ittybittytoasty]

[hinamie]

"I'll show you every day that choosing to live was worth it"

some of my favourite scenes from @hijinks-n-lowjinks' fic things i would miss from the other side . this fic tore my heart out fr but like in a good way and i wanted to pay it homage the only way i know how <3

[entropys]

:-) things are getting better september truly is a month of new beginnings

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

I have so much cooking to do today that I've put off for two days already and ahhhhh I need to be motivated...

[famousblueraincoatmp3]

rice cooker best present I’ve ever gotten fr saves so much time and I actually love making rice now 😭❤️

[corkinavoid]

I just found this in my notes

Apparently, I woke up at 5:23 in the morning, wrote it down, and went straight back to sleep. Trust my hyperfixated ass to still be making content even as I'm unconscious.

Anyways, yes,

DPxDC Trust Me, I'm an Engineer

Danny is half-ghost, but he is also a child of two mad scientists who spent the better part of their lives elbow deep in building all kinds of stuff out of all kinds of junk. Imagine what their kid, who loves science and engineering as much as they do, if not more, can accomplish?

When he moves to Gotham, he decides to leave all the heroics behind, hanging up his cape. Surely, he will be fine - Gotham has, like, what, six? seven? ten? vigilantes of its own. They don't need any more, and, besides, Danny is fairly certain he doesn't work that great in teams.

But there's just... so much crime happening.

Danny doesn't want to get involved, not really. He's retired. But he wants to help somehow!

So, he starts building unconventional devices for self-defense. A rubber duck that shoots lasers out of its eyes? A fork that turns into a shocker? A rice cooker that defends your home in case of an attack? A pen that transforms into a gas mask? You name it, he can build it.

It escalates quickly. Someone asks him to upgrade a baby carriage to a full impenetrable robot that will protect the baby inside it, and Danny decides why not. It's for safety. He installs countless safety measures so nothing could be triggered by mistake, and even though by the end the carriage doesn't look that much different, it proves effective in the first serious accident. In fact, it is so effective that it saves a total of five hostages, including the baby inside it, who didn't even cry because there are soundproof shields inside and recordings of the baby mother's voice.

Danny builds more of those carriages. Then he switches to home defenses. Then someone asks him to make brass knuckles that turn into a gauntlet shield in case of attack. Danny does a thorough check to make sure it won't fall into the wrong hands, but he ends up making it.

It doesn't take too much time for him to start making full-on robotic suits for people. Bulletproof, running on clean energy - Gotham has plenty of residue ectoplasm - with built-in defense mechanisms and stuff.

It is at this point that the Bats start taking a closer look at his inventions. Before that, they thought it was just some Rogue in the making, and they kept an eye on Danny, but never once has he created anything with the purpose of offense instead of defence, so they let it slide. But then Tim gets his hands on one of the suits and comes back to Bruce, nearly salivating over it.

A few weeks later, Danny gets an internship at WE. A year later, he is invited to work with the JL.

And that's when it hits him.

M e c h a s.

He can do real, actual mecha-suits for heroes. He can make them fit those heroes perfectly, enhancing their strengths and negating the weaknesses.

No alien invasion fucks with Earth anymore, because when they do, the JL just grabs their Danny Fenton Suits and whatever evil aliens were aiming to take control are annihilated in no time.

Maybe Tucker joins him along the way. Maybe Danny has an arms race with Lex Luthor, maybe Cyborg bonds with him over the mechanical rambling. What I'm saying is, cool robots for everyone!

[edgybutnotveryedgy]

.

[izvmimi]

three for one - izuku x reader

cw: children mention. pregnancy mention. husband izuku, married female reader. reader wears a dress. a/n: a repost!

“I’ll be home in an hour. I can’t wait to see you.”

You smile ear to ear as you hang up, still savoring the sound of his voice, but in the immediate silence thereafter, the trepidation you’ve been feeling for the past month and a half resurfaces.

You let out a sigh as you set your cell phone onto the dinner table and return to the stove, turning pork cutlets that sizzle in oil and stirring a pot of soup. Rice steams in the cooker on the countertop, and the smell of Izuku’s favorite foods fill your home.

It smells heavenly, but you’re exhausted, and while the thought of the joy in his expression spurs you forth, you consider for a moment if you should have just aimed for takeout and an evening cuddling on the couch. The fact remains however that you haven’t seen your husband in two months and if you plan to give him life-changing news, you should probably do it over a home-cooked meal, even if he wouldn’t care either way. 

After all, you’ve been hiding the truth from him for months now, and you can’t possibly any longer.

Your belly turns a little, and you worry that you might throw up again before you see him. The table is set by now, and you clean up as much as you can of the kitchen, hoping that the sound of running water calms your nerves.

Before long, Izuku makes it home, right on time, and he’s a whirlwind of motion and joy - his bags go flying out of his hands, as he whisks you into his arm, nearly smothering you with an embrace.

“God, I missed you.”

He spins you as you reply the same, and you can’t help but laugh and squeeze silly tears from your eyes as you wrap your arms tighter around his neck. Your Izuku is back, safe, and you couldn’t be any more grateful. 

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” you say in a voice that’s thick with affection. Your lips meet quickly and don’t separate, engrossed in a dizzying kiss. Your hands run through his messy waves and once your lungs all scream for air, he buries his head into your neck, making a show of inhaling your scent.

“I missed you so much,” he repeats, kissing your cheek. “So much.”

More kisses pepper your skin, and you blink back a few tears, and nod somewhat embarrassed.  You’ve learned to be comfortable with his love language heavily reliant on touch. When he finally pulls back to look at you again, his smile is wide and innocent as usual, familiar and comforting.

Your Izuku, back for you. No scars, no injuries, you are thankful. 

Once he’s finally set you down completely, he begins to tell you excitedly about his adventure, but you don’t miss the gentle yet protective hold on your arms, and the careful once-over, where his eyes quickly scan your body for bruises and other injuries. It’s a habit he’s picked up over time that’s made it nearly impossible to hide your clumsiness from him (something that further reinforces the behavior). It makes you particularly nervous today however, given the circumstances.

Today you wear a baggy dress with an undershirt that covers your arms, the changes your body has undergone in his absence much less evident, but he can still see the anxiety that underlies the excitement in your eyes.

If he does notice, he doesn’t say anything immediately, opting again to kiss you on the forehead, and pet your hair gently.

“Were you good while I was gone?”

The warmth in your cheeks returns, and you nod but give him a playful punch on his shoulder anyway for the paternalistic remark. He grins, then changes the subject although he too is a bit nervous, your slightly muted behavior getting to him. His eyes glide over to the rest of your apartment finally, and then to the dinner table, lighting up immediately.

“Oh my God, that looks amazing.”

He moves over to the dinner table to peruse the wars; you follow him quickly, tension dissipating slightly with the discussion of food. 

“It better taste amazing too,” you joke, bumping himn on the hip. He takes the liberty to go one step forward and pat you on the ass before running off to the guest bathroom to wash his hands.

“Scrub beneath your fingernails!” you call after him, teasingly. You take the opportunity to wash your own hands in the kitchen sink again and consider what to do next.

How do you say this? Should  you wait and let him relax first? 

Surely it’s better if you say something before he puts two and two together? After all, the moment your clothes come off, he’ll notice.

Or perhaps he won’t. Perhaps he’ll just assume you’ve gained a few pounds and say nothing, kissing your belly softly as he’s prone to do. Perhaps it’ll be lovemaking as usual, and his usual sensitivity to your body and needs won’t be enough to notice.

But what if he does?

You were pregnant before he even left.

The days leading up to his trip had been hectic to say the least. Between the two of you preparing his departure, and the unnecessary safety precautions Izuku put in place for you for his absence, and your own work with the new Hero commission ramping up in urgency, you had barely registered that you’d missed one period and then another until you found yourself with a very positive pregnancy test.

What if it wasn’t the right time? Your marriage was still fresh, you’d just settled into the groove of being young professionals who lived together full time, and Izuku was so damn busy all the time-

“Come eat, love,” he calls from the other room. Your hand goes reflexively to your lower belly. 

You have to tell him now or you’ll agonize over it. Now is the time.

—

“Is it good?” you ask , smiling as you watch him eat with gusto. It’s a silly question because he’s nearly cleared his already overloaded plate.

“Incredible,” he says between ravenous bites. They say watching someone you love eat fills you up, and it’s true. Your cup is full of love.

“You’d say that even if it were awful,” you point out.

“Yes,” he admits, “but I haven’t had to,” he teases. You narrow your eyes at him playfully and he does an air kiss, cheesy enough to make you blow air out of your nose. You pick at your own dinner, but manage only to get a few bites in, which he notices.

It grows quiet for a moment as you think, and you wonder again if now is really the time, but he beats you to breaking the ice.

“Babe, is everything all right?”

Your heart starts to pound. You glance up from your plate towards him and he watches you curiously and patiently, a fleck of rice still stuck to his bottom lip. You consider deflecting, telling him something else that is not really a lie, because his gentle gaze and furrowed eyebrows betraying concern distress you. 

You don’t want to add more to his plate, figuratively.

And yet…

You swallow hard.

“Everything’s fine,” you start, and he nods, “but I have something to tell you.”

Izuku looks slightly surprised by the necessary warning shot. You don’t usually extend him that courtesy, so it’s clear that whatever you’ll say next is serious.

You breathe out slowly through your nose. Izuku watches you again carefully as you steel yourself.

“So you know how we haven’t been trying, but we’ve been a little less careful recently?”

Izuku’s eyes widen, and in the split second where the realization sets in, you can see his cheeks flush deeply and his mouth drop open in an ‘o’.

He immediately jumps to his feet.

“You’re pregnant?” he exclaims.

You nod slowly, and he seems to genuinely bloom with excitement.

“You… fuck, I-I can’t believe this! This is so exciting… babe!”

His hands rest on your shoulders then glide to your cheeks where he squishes them before kissing you again, barely able to contain himself.

Then immediately he starts to pace, the muttering beginning as he figures out what’s going to happen next.

“Why didn’t you tell me immediately? I can’t believe we’re gonna have a little girl or a boy-”

This is the hard part.

You slowly and deliberately raise three fingers and he freezes. A second then two passes, and you blink and then he blinks and the two of you watch each other in silence.

He mirrors the action, raising three fingers to meet yours.

“Do you mean… three…”

“Yes.”

The blood seems to drain out of his face.

“Oh. I need to sit down.”

He means it. As he settles back down into his seat, he genuinely looks dizzy and you make some sort of distressed sound between laughing and crying while he’s rubbing his temples, trying to make sense of the loop you’ve thrown him for.

“So… we’re having triplets.”

He looks up from the fixed point he was staring at on the table then at you, and you nod slowly. The both of you take a good look at each other again, and you sigh.

“I know this is so much all at once,” you start, “I’m sorry I-”

“Why are you apologizing for getting pregnant?” he interrupts with a chuckle. You give him a surprised look, then consider it. It’s true. Why are you apologizing for pregnancy?

He reaches over to grab your hand and squeezes it.

“We’ll be fine,” he says, pulling you towards him. You move over to him and he makes space for you to sit in his lap. Your head rests against his chest, and his heart, despite all the news you’ve just dumped on to him, now beats steadily despite yours that races.

Izuku thinks again, pulling your hand to his lips and kisses it softly. You can see the gears turn as you watch his profile, planning, strategizing. In this moment, you realized you were being silly. 

“We’ll be fine,” he repeats. “We can handle anything.”

He turns to you, green eyes twinkling. “Right?”

You smile, genuinely, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

“Right.”

Bonus:

“You would fucking have triplets after I have my second, wouldn’t you, asshole?!”

“Kacchan, this has nothing to do with you!”

“Like hell it doesn’t! How dare you compete with me?”

You and Bakugou’s wife give each other a look and both sip your tea in unison, in amusement.

[hyunjinsjeans]

He knows (Chan ver.)

Lee Know ver. | Changbin ver. | Hyunjin ver.

Masterlist

Synopsis: Chan is your husband and he knows you want to start a family, but how does he know? And what happens when he tells you he knows? This. This is what happens.

Type: Fluff 🧸, SFW 👍

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy

Word count: 1140

AN: this is my first piece of writing for anything K-pop-related on this site, please be kind! No proofreading, sorry!

You are married to this man. He defines himself by his job. He lived for it though, after working so hard to get to where he is he also enjoys it so much. So you can’t complain. But he does have one more thing he wants on his instagram bio. So far he is producer, singer, rapper and dancer. As of a year ago he is also husband. He knows the time is right. He knows you don’t want to pressure him but whenever you’re together he can sense the unspoken words flying around in the air between the two of you.

Oh yes, Chan knows. He knows how to read people, and you are top of the list of his favorite ones. He will read you like a book. He will understand even the things you don’t say, he will know the second you are ready. He will, however, wait for the right moment. Sometime when he knows he will have the energy, the free time and the emotional availability to do it.

He owes you his full attention if you are doing this together.

And once he seizes the opportunity he is going in for the kill. He proposes it in a serious tone. If it asn’t just the two of you, it would seem you were having a “family meeting”. He is straightforward about it.

“We should have a kid, Y/N. I think it’s time, I’m ready and you’re ready.”

And the words get caught in your throat because what the hell? You were incredibly ready. He knew this, you knew this. Your friends probably knew this.

From the way you cooed at any and every child under 5 whenever you spotted one, how little kids gravitated toward you at the park or at the movies and you always had a kind smile to offer them along with the helping hand finding their parents, to the way you seemed to constantly be handed strangers' babies at the grocery store or at airport lines.

It was no news. You always loved kids and after getting married and moving to your own home, you made it a point to have a guest room and an empty room. Chan had noticed. Why leave a room completely empty? “Just in case we need it someday” you had shrugged when he asked. But it was painfully obvious a few months into the move that you visited that room and stared at the empty walls with bright shiny eyes, with a smile that tugged at the corners of your lips in a way so subtle it was almost imperceptible, you always left the room with a sigh and a bowed head as if ashamed to have the plans you had for that room. Chan had witnessed it enough times to have you figured out. It brought a warmth to his heart, seeing how eager you were about the subject and yet you kept quiet because you didn't want to put any pressure on him, thinking he already had a lot to deal with as the leader of a very successful group.

So of course, the second he said those words you couldn’t help yourself. “Oh I was waiting for you to be ready!”

Chan lets out a joyful laugh, his eyes become tiny as his cheeks grow puffy with the glee in his reaction.

“I know!” He exhales, “but you didn’t say anything and I’m tired of it. When you want something -anything, please just tell me!” His expression softened "I'll always have time to listen to you, and there's nothing you can ask of me that I wouldn't give you."

He is leaning on the kitchen table while you’re sitting opposite him. You push yourself back on your chair and look at him with a side smile on your face, the rice cooker making its beeping sound to signal dinner is ready.

“How am I supposed to drop that one on you?!” You laugh as well, it’s clear you are not really arguing “Am I supposed to say “hey Chan, I want a baby” or what?”

“Well… yeah.” He scratches at his neck, “that’s okay, it’s a good way to start talking about it.”

You huff and look away, but ultimately you are pretty happy he brought it up. He knows this as well; there is no hiding your enthusiasm, you're practically buzzing.

“I do want to have a baby, Chan” you lean forward on the table, your elbows on the hard surface while you hide your smile behind your hands.

Chan sighs, stilling his laughter as he pulls the chair back to take a seat and stare at you. He poses his arms and hands the same as yours, mirroring your actions.

“I want that too”, he mumbles, shy but true.

“Can we have that?” You wonder, your eyes falling on his hands, soft yet strong.

Chan has held you many times, and supported you through different times. You know he can be a perfect constant to hold on to, but you wonder if his career can take this. If he can be there for you for this. Because if you are honest, your biggest fear is that he will put too much pressure on himself if he tries to be a leader and a good partner to a pregnant wife at the same time. You have always known him to be the kind of guy to step up without anyone asking him to. You have learned from him to be the same, to grow stronger for Chan to have someone to support him as well...but this time you have to be realistic, how much can you share the weight of things once you are also worried about the safety of a baby? How much stress can you take from him while getting ready to have a kid.

He drops his hands on the table, you have moved your gaze from his eyes to his hands to the table. You are doubtful, you are pulling away from him as you speak.

“We can.” He assures you, reaching out to pull your hands in his. “We can do this.”

Chan brings you back with his words, his tone is honest and bright. His eyes are full of joy and excitement.

You feel the warmth of his skin on your skin and look up with hope, your trust in him is so complete you nod, you don’t even think about it as you reply. You would die for your husband. You would take all the pain, all the responsibility, and hardships for him. And so would he for you. This is why doubting what you two can accomplish together is ridiculous, you shake your head from all those doubts and squeeze his hands between your own.

“Let’s do this.” You whisper.

--------

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[crestapex]

Yesss we love a foodie simon!

Mans will tear up some fried rice and then fuck up some rotisserie chickens 2 min later. Yall stupid if u think u can leave 2 big plates unattended with him. 3 slurps and its gone.

If hes dating and u cant finish ur food he gladly finish it for u. Gets lowkey offended when i pull the plate back and tell him u just ate off that plate/fork. Like wtf u mean i cant eat off ur plate/fork it doesnt matter bc I kiss u anyways SO LET ME FUCKIN EAT😫

Hes the type to eat from the pot/pan. Like as soon as u tell him the food is ready hes already digging in the pressure cooker with a spoon.💀

Yeah-no, ‘cause he’s definitely the type to look at you all confused when you don’t just give him your plate and instead try to shove your uneaten food on to his. He’s quirking his brow, looking at you like, ‘Hello? My tongue has literally been inside you.’ 🤨 And he just gently takes your plate and fork out of your hands while staring at you, nodding in disapproval.

Update: sort of part two.

And “3 slurps and it’s gone” PLEASE, I’M DONE. Also, I just couldn’t stop myself from writing a (semi) little blurb. 🤭 Now introducing big boy helping you cook!

You stand at the stove, wooden spoon in one hand, and switching from spice to spice with the other. Your eyes stay focused on the silver pot below, nearly filled to the brim with hot, simmering soup. It’s one of your own recipes, fresh and homemade from start to finish. The savory smell fills the kitchen, and having certainly flooded into the other rooms of your shared flat. As it appears you’re not the only one who favors this recipe, someone else clearly does as well.

You try your best not to acknowledge the beast of a man looming over you too much, instead letting him quietly watch as you work your magic. Simon’s hand rests on the counter beside the stove, his other hand opting to rest knuckle-first on his hip. Sure, he mostly chooses to remain silent, but he has no problem reaching for and handing you a utensil or spice—often times before you can, and even before you can ask him to do so.

Every now and again you’ll find yourself having to step away for a minute, and a minute is all he needs. All the time he needs to inch over to your spot and take a hold of the wooden spoon, gently stirring the soup. All the time he needs to lift the spoon and bring it to his lips, slurping up the smallest amount it could possibly take to drench his taste buds, no matter how steaming hot it is. And all the time he needs to lower the spoon back into the pot and swiftly move back into position, just as you begin to turn around and make your way back over to the stove.

And you pretend you don’t notice, you like to pretend you didn’t just catch Simon from out the corner of your eye sneak a bit into his system. Though you can’t help but silently laugh to yourself as he lightly pushes a spice in your direction with his thumb, his own, kind way of telling you it needs just a little bit more!

[nanamis-bigtie]

morning after

↬ nanami kento, higuruma hiromi, kusakabe atsuya & gender neutral reader ↬ jjk masterlist // ao3 version

a/n: debuting post for the monday afterhours, yay! i'm really excited to start, especially with the topic that's been at the back of my head for a while. i love casual intimacy and i love giving touch starved men the oh moment of their life cw: suggestive themes, implied bottom reader word count: 2.3k

nanami

Nanami is not used to noise and smells in the kitchen so early in the morning. Such disruption of his routine would bother his mood under other circumstances—but now, with the soft sound of your bare feet at the other side of his apartment, it feels only right. Familiar, he would even say, despite the atmosphere of a special occasion lingering in the air.

When was the last time he made breakfast from scratch, he wonders when the door of his bathroom closes behind you. Normally, he would be still asleep at this hour; his alarm would go off in thirty minutes, he would take a necessarily short and cool shower, check emails in case of an emergency, and then head to the 7/11 on the corner, to eat a humble meal of a pre-made sandwich and a cup of coffee from the machine, maybe an onigiri too, if he felt particularly greedy. Today, he barely slept and rose with a crack of the dawn—yet he felt the most relaxed since what seems to be ages to him. He still had the taste of you lingering on his tongue after the night, and decided to savor it until the flavor of cooking he had to test on the way would eventually wash it away. Scratched marks on his shoulders and back stung when he leaned to check what he had in the fridge. His hips, unlearned of moves he had been using on you since you had devoured the takeaway dinner together, ached as he tiptoed to reach the rice cooker, left dusty on one of the highest shelves. His eyes kept the afterimage of your blissed out face over the selection of vegetables and spices he chose for this meal.

When was the last time he was so peaceful?

Nanami finishes cutting the fresh cucumber and tsukemono, pours water into mugs with instant miso soup inside, and finally checks on the rice. It's warm and fluffy, just waiting to be put into the bowls he prepared—the cutest he had, with a long-tailed tit pattern. He brought them from Hokkaido and didn't use them even once, until he spotted them today and decided you would love them.

Rice has to wait; he can't let it grow cold like the sheets you two left behind are undeniably growing. First, he checks on the piece of salmon—a luxury that waited for a day when he could cook again—getting ready in the oven, then cracks a few eggs and beats them well with a pinch of salt and pepper. His stomach growls when they hiss on the red-hot pan—and he can't help but wonder if you're as hungry as him. Things you had in your mouth through the night couldn't feed you, as your corny, vulgar jokes suggested. Nanami rarely smiles but the memory of them and the startled look you gave him as you worried if you hadn't been too much for him has him grinning for a short moment.

When was the last time he felt strain in the corners of his lips?

The omelet is ready in no time. Nanami knows how you like your eggs, but he can't remember how and when he learned about it. He's sipped many details like this from your lips, through the whole year of waiting for the day you crossed the threshold of his bedroom. He was feeding on crumbs for so long... Being full out of the sudden fills his heart with content and anxiety at the same time. He wants to savor this moment, afraid to stomp on the thin shell of happiness too strong, but he knows he's already too addicted to stop. Whatever happens, happens.

And the food can wait only as long. He can't feed you a cold meal.

The hum of the shower ceases shortly after he takes the salmon out of the oven. Nanami listens to the commotion in the bathroom while he finishes the last cuts. Bowls are filled with steaming rice, plates and mugs find their right place on the table. He hasn't cleaned the kitchen—but even if he could do it quickly before you join him, he can't bring himself to disturb this disarray. It looks—it feels—so good to have his place messy at least once, at least today, at least for the first hour you spend together after the night of passionate lovemaking.

His hands still remember the shape of your hips, he realizes when you appear at the entrance, fresh yet still sleepy—and smiling bright at the sight of him by the table.

Nanami doesn't want to ever forget it.

higuruma

Out of the first mornings Higuruma experienced, this one is not the most...extraordinary. But he definitely would place it somewhere at the top of the list.

Seated on the edge of the bathtub, head leaned down, he still feels drowsy. The night was deliciously long and so worth the lingering fatigue in his muscles. He hasn't worked that hard in a while—well, physically at least—and he's undeniably going to pay the price with the top soreness of the last decade. He's more than okay with it...as long as you're not going to ask him for the repetition within the next few days. He's crazy for you—but he's not twenty anymore, and his job squeezes much more energy from him than he would have sacrificed, if he had any choice in this matter. 

Speaking of squeezing—he barely managed to find time to bring you home, for dinner and a movie you didn't even start watching, hungry for something else than a story. And he did so only by nipping time off somewhere else—and by paying the carrying charge now, in his bathroom, awaiting the blind judgment of your skill...or the lack of it, to be honest. He has no idea if you've ever done a haircut before.

But you seem at least familiar with it enough to know how to hold and turn the hair clipper around. Higuruma watches you from the corner of his eye: you're right behind him, scrunching your nose as you're studying the shape of the device and options the various buttons provided. Bare-chested, wearing your pajama shorts only, you secure the towel wrapped around your head with the other hand. It's on the verge of falling apart, some of your hair already got out. He feels an urge to get up and help you tuck it where it should stay but just thinking about feeling it pushes blood where he really doesn't want it, if he wants to leave for work on time. He had his share of touch a few hours ago, stroking and playing with your locks as you had your sweet lips wrapped around his cock.

He's ruined the position when trying to take a better look, so you gently nudge him to lean fully again, a brush of your warm palm enough to have hair on his forearms standing. He had your hands all over him for hours, pulling him close, securing him next to you when you both finally collapsed into well-deserved sleep, so he could swear he's learned your touch enough. 

But now...it's different.

You run fingers through the hair at the back of his head, testing the line you want to cut—and Higuruma is melting. He has to clench hands on the edge of the bathtub to stay collected; the last thing he wants is to get scolded and deprived of your digits slowly threading through his locks. You mumble something about being jealous of how thick they are and something about how badly he needs this cut—but all he can think of is how your voice is so raspy after moaning out his name over and over again. He wonders how your mewls would sound with this tone but thoughts evaporate from his head as soon as they've appeared, this time with the steady buzz of the clipper.

So the sound can be ticklish, such a weird sensation...

You're quick and as precise as only you can be at six in the morning, scrunched over his back in a rather tight space. You cut his hair just enough to keep him somewhat tidy for the few days before he can see an actual hair stylist; there's no time for more and Higuruma doesn't want to make it too much of a struggle for you. Even if it was his own request, he immediately regrets it when you're finished with brushing the cut dust off his neck and shoulders. It's such a pity you have to abandon him and rush with your own preparations. If only you had more time...

Right as he's straightening his back, you touch him with both hands, fingertips scratching lightly at the freshly shaved part of his head, right at the point where it meets his neck. Warmth explodes in his chest—and Higuruma lets out a low, needy growl. It's good, so good, oh gods, just touch him more, just do it one more time, he hasn't had anything like this for so long...

Humming, you move towards the longer strands, then down the sides of his face until you're cradling it between your palms. You tilt his head back and pull him close, until he rests it against your exposed, warm belly. Dry sob shakes his whole body and tears prick at the corners of his eyes—but Higuruma can't bring himself to close them or at least to look away. He's begging for your attention like starved and he's not ashamed.

All he wants is for you to never let go of him.

kusakabe

Holy shit.

Kusakabe didn't get a wink of sleep through the whole night—and the fact that he doesn't have anything to do for the day to come doesn't help the case. He always had problems with falling asleep after sex, but he thought the long break since the last time and, well, the overall busy period in his life would crumble this irritating habit by sheer force of exhaustion. He's as good at taking an accurate measure when it comes to love as he is with dozing off, it seems.

You're sprawled by his side, lying face down and on his arm, butt-naked with the exception of the blanket loosely wrapped around your leg and covering half of your ass. You've taken his share of sleep since you collapsed as soon as he rolled to his side and reached for wipes to clean you both, much to his amusement—and horror once he realized he was sentenced to his thoughts alone for the hours to come. Your smell, soft, twangy breathing, and warmth is just helping them race now. Your weight, pressed tight from his wrist to shoulder, keeps him in place too, cutting any attempt of shameful retreat short. It's nothing he wouldn't be able to move, he's carried you around not once and not twice and it meant nothing to his strength, but he dreads to wake you up.

You deserve that rest after taking his pent up tension over and over again. And he really has no idea what to say to sound appropriate.

Good morning? Good job? Did you sleep well? I love you?

Kusakabe groans and does another trip around the room with his eyes only. The more light sips through the loosely drawn curtains, the more details he could pick up, and shame already pricks at his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he cleaned around properly but even if he had it squeaky clean for the night, the area just screamed: a confirmed bachelor. Well, at least there's no trash lying on the floor or furniture, but he could easily pick up the smell of cigarettes and a badly aired room. None of it mattered when you tussled in darkness, sucking sloppy kisses from each other's lips and peeling clothes off your bodies. But once you wake up and take a look around—Nope, he doesn't want to think about it. That's a problem for Kusakabe from in-a-few-hours-future.

He rolls head to the other side, ashamed to even look at your sound asleep body, and stares right at his shirt, casually thrown over the bed stand. He doesn't have to look at it to know it definitely has its best days behind it. He could at least wear something presentable when seeing you for that unplanned job, hasn't he learned anything from his past relationships? Maybe he did, but it was so long ago he wasn't sure anymore if his sloppiness was ever addressed. His chain-smoking, however, is a different story.

Holy shit, he really needs to smoke.

Kusakabe knows there's a spare cigarette and a small pack of matches hidden in the little pocket of his shirt, this very shirt within his reach. Carefully, he scoots to the side and reaches for it, fingers already brushing the sleeve, just an inch more, just a little...

You mumble his name and shift, sheets rustling around your legs. Kusakabe freezes, sure he's finally done it and woke you up, but you just adjust your position, face turned to him, and continue with your softest snores. You're all messy and exhausted, in need of a shower even more than his room is in need of tidying. With amused relief pushing his worries out of his mind, he reaches out and gently strokes your hair.

You repeat his name, with a mewl dangerously close to what you screamed into his ear a few hours ago.

Out of the sudden, the thought of smoking by your side has him disgusted. You're going to wake up to this mess, to crumbled sheets and clothes all over the place and dying plants and papers lying on the floor in piles—and he wants to add smoke right into your eyes? You deserve better than that. You deserve him to be better than that.

Hell, he's been thinking about it for a while anyway. Maybe if he remembers your face from now, so calm and smiling through your dreams, it will be easier for him to finally quit.

thank you so much for reading ❤ i'll be really happy, if you reblog it and/or leave some feedback! you can read more of my jjk fics here.

tag list: @lale-txt @mirkaaaluv @ohnococo @clumsyraccoon @honey-deku

[bitchimasnake-sss]

hi! could i request some luffy fluff? i love how you write his dialogue, so maybe some pet names he would use? 🌸🦋

you have put an idea into my head that'll be very hard to get rid of @kingofthe-egirls hehe. the fic starts off as a crack!fic but i'll make it sweety-sweet towards the end!

the worst mistake ft. monkey d. luffy!

set-up: my headcanons based on what lovely @kingofthe-egirls asked! just our captain luffy and his absurd fucking nick-names.

warning: wholesome! more of a crack!fic (i dont know if its even remotely fluffy im sorry) than anything else. i do love me some good, self-indulgent stupid with my fav man on the sea :)

💗mistakes are a normal part of life. as bob ross said, "there are no mistakes, just happy accidents." well, he had clearly never made this catastrophic mistake. you had jokingly called luffy "bugaboo". emphasis on jokingly. 💗the sun was setting and you both were sitting on his bed, recalling the time zoro got lost and accidentally stumbled into a river-stream where local women were bathing. and afterwards how sanji wailed when he realized he wasn't there to witness it. your crew was weird, there was no doubt about it. but that wasn't the focus of the conversation. "heh" he snorted, "what did you call me?" "bugaboo?" you laughed, poking his cheek teasingly, "why?" he looked at you with his wide-eyed, honeyed gaze, "what does it mean? am i a bug?" with his wide eyes and stretchy smile, one might say so. but you didn't tell him that.

"its means... nothing?" you smiled softly, tracing your finger on the scar 'neath his eye, "it's just a nickname, baby. just something said out of affection." "out of affection?" he looked at your confused, "so anything can be a pet name?" you nodded in agreement, "pretty much, luff." worst fucking mistake of your life. 💗it was past dinner. and you and the captain were about to fall asleep to the noise of the crew chattering outside. "hey?" luffy hummed. and you hummed back in acknowledgement. "rice cooker." he mumbled into your chest, "you smell so nice~" you choked on your breath, spluttering, "lu-luff? did you just complement the rice cooker??" "no?" he looked up at you, bringing his finger to boop you on your nose, "i mean you. you, rice cooker. you smell so good, is it the soap sanji brought from that isla—" but you weren't listening to him. was he insulting you?? was he saying you were built like a rice cooker???? was he asking you to make him some rice, hence, you were the "rice cooker"?????? "luffy," you looked at him, concerned, "what do you mean rice cooker?!" "what?" he laughed, "it's a pet name. you said that a pet name can be anything?" when you stared at him, still concerned, he explained himself, "i mean like... i like you, i like rice cooker. cause it cooks rice—" "—go to sleep, luffy."

💗you had to clear it to him the next morning that nicknames cannot be that absurd. and when he asked you what qualifies as a nice pet-name, you tried really hard to think of some. "oooh, you like food right?" his eyes twinkled up at the mere mention of the topic. you grinned, satisfied, "so, like honey, sugar, pie, cherry. these are all examples of good pet names." he nodded at you with conviction in his eyes, as if he truly got you now. 💗it was lunch time now. and after beating up a marine ship, the entire crew was waiting for sanji to finish cooking so you could all stuff down some food. you were next to robin, sun-bathing and chatting ideally about a book she had lent you. she made a joke about how the character was dumb and you nodded and laughed along. in the midst of it, your boyfriend came and stood next to you, "hey?" both you and robin looked at the captain. you gave him a welcoming smile, "what's up, babe?" "so..." he looked over robin for a second before looking back at you. "i was just saying that i love you very much, my bombocado." his bombo- what? but before you could inquire him, he giggled and ran away. what??? and you resorted to look at robin, a bit confused. she replied back easily, "it's a brazilian dessert." is it now?

💗"what do you mean?" the captain looked at you confused when you told him bombocado wasn't a great pet name. "then, what else is a good nickname?" "i dunno." you sighed, "something normal like cherry or something." but that had opened yet another pandora's box. because now every time he saw you, he would refer to you as some fruit: "hey there, banana~" "i love you, my java plum." "should we go out on a date, pineapple?" "you look so pretty, my dragon fruit." a pause, "hey. my dad's name is dragon!!" you had given up on the idea of pet names. you would rather be addressed by your government given name than a pinecone. but now you were stuck with these absurd names. how wonderful. (but, i mean it was luffy who was saying them, so, you didn't exactly mind too much but when the entire crew caught on. boy the humiliation, the drama.). 💗but then one day, before drifting off to sleep, he slowly whispered, "i love you, cupcake." you almost jumped up in victory. almost. but instead, you chose to pet his hair softly and kiss him on his forehead, "good night, muffin." "—i love muffin." you kissed his forehead again as his hair tickled your skin, "ofcourse you do. goodnight, baby." "goodnight, honey nuts." just give up on ever having a normal nick name. i'm sorry. it won't happen.

💗jokes aside, here's my actual list of names that i think luffy would call you: 1. peach (cause you're sweet (in more ways than one) and because you once told him it meant ass and he laughed for 15 mins cause peach means ass) 2. mama (idk, sounds good to me? sounds like something he would just go along with) 3. lovebug (he once heard sanji say it and he thought it was so cute cause if hes a bug and you're a bug then you both together can be a bug-couple) 4. mi amor (heard sanji say it, thought it was pretty) 5. hot stuff (ussop convinced him that's what he calls kaya and kaya loves it) 6. sunshine (because you're his sunshine, what's not clicking??) 7. angel (because you're an angel, again, where's the confusion??) well, at the end of the day it doesn't matter what he called you. what mattered was that, you could come collapse in his arms. and he would squeeze his arms around you and tell you how he loved you. what were a few corny petnames to endure if you got all of his love in return?

a/n: i am convinced this is simultaneously the best and worst thing i've ever written. i hope it was atleast mildly satisfying @kingofthe-egirls <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: back to work but still hurting.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’re grateful only for the reprieve of Sy’s shower. He spends at least an hour in the bathroom but it’s not nearly enough time to figure this out. He’s not going anywhere and you have no way of changing that. And with how things are going, it won’t be long before you’re entirely trapped with him. 

The helplessness suffocates you. You slowly get up, needing to do something, anything to keep your thoughts from spiralling further. Or him. 

You go to the kitchen and pull out some chicken. Even with your recent shop, what you have won’t last. Not with two people. You marinate the tender breast as you pull out the jasmine rice and your mini rice cooker. Everything you have is built for one, it’s another reminder that he’s invaded your life. 

The bathroom door opens and you stay hidden in the kitchen. It’s only as he calls your name that you poke your head out. You don’t want him to think you’ve tried to escape again. Imagine that, escaping your own life. 

“Here,” you squeak and your mouth hangs open. He stands in only a towel. It’s low enough that the trail of hair along his stomach grows thicker just above the knot. Your lashes flick and you cough, “just starting dinner. Jerk chicken and... and rice.” 

“Sounds delicious,” he grins and runs his fingers through his beard. “Much better than field rations, eh, Aika?” 

He whistles at the dog and she perks her ears up. Sy sighs and drops his arms, smiling at you dreamily. Your eyes wander to the scars all over his body; a thick raised one along his ribs and smaller ones flecked along his shoulder and a line on his lower stomach. 

“I’ll get dressed,” he rubs his hands together, “can’t be eatin’ in my towel, huh?” 

“Sure, uh, I... I’ll be in here.” 

You go back into the kitchen and stare at the rice maker. You see the reflection of his scarred mind in his body. Again you can’t help the rent in your heart. That sympathy that underlines your fear. He’s a tortured soul but not one you can soothe. You don't know where to begin. 

You put the chicken in the oven and set the rice to cook. Next you look for a veggie. Broccoli. Standard. You’ll add a bit of seasoning. You’re not very hungry, even as the aromas rise in the air. 

“God, it’s hot in here,” Sy growls as he appears in the doorway that opens to the dining space.  

“It’s the oven,” you say as rinse the head of broccoli, “sorry.” 

“Ah, you know, it’s not half so bad as the desert,” he chuckles, “Aika knows. The way the sand gets all in your mouth and—and everywhere else.” 

“I can’t imagine,” you murmur, “wouldn’t be a day at the beach, I’m sure.” 

“Mm, no,” he agrees as he leans on the wall, “not a bad idea. I could take ya down for a beach day. We could get some good pictures. A few videos.” 

“Maybe, I don’t know,” you focus on your task. You put the broccoli on the cutting board and pull out a knife. 

“You want me to get that, sweetie? Don’t wanna cut yourself now,” he pushes away from the wall. 

“No, I got it,” you line up the knife and chop the head in half. He winces. 

“It’s dangerous, you got a smaller one?” 

“Really, Sy, I’m fine,” you insist as he looms closer, “let me just get dinner ready and you can sit--” you hiss as you pull your finger back at the sudden slip. 

“I told ya,” he accuses as he grabs your hand and examines it. His grip is iron and you don’t resist. There’s no blood. 

“It was just my nail,” you wiggle the top of your finger, “please--” 

“Let me do it,” he insists and reaches for your other hand, “give me the knife, sweetie.” 

You hesitate but hand it over. You’re not sure why he’s so nervous about it. Still, there’s no sense fighting over sharp objects. 

“We gotta work together, don’t we?” He says as he chops.  

“Sure,” you agree thinly. 

You turn to get a sheet pan for the broccoli. You’ll dress in oil and some spices, maybe a bit of lemon juice. As you lay parchment paper over it, he drops the knife in the sink. 

He remains, crowding you as he watches you work. You spread out the little branches and drizzle them over. You put them in beside the chicken and rinse off your hands. You dry off and glance over at Sy. He's watching you. 

“You really don’t have to stay out here,” you say. 

“I like being around you,” he grins, “still can’t believe it’s real.” 

Me neither, you think. 

“Well, all that’s left is the waiting,” you set a timer, “so...” 

“Ah, well, s’pose we can do that on the couch.” 

“Oh, well, I was gonna get the laundry together,” you say, the excuse popping up spontaneously. 

“Why don’t you wait ‘til tomorrow?” 

“Right, uh, I wanted to get it done. I need to get back to my commissions tomorrow.” 

“Mmm,” he hums flatly, “you work too hard.” 

You withhold a mean thought. He hasn’t mentioned work since he showed up. What about that desk he was talking about? You know better than to challenge him. You’ll keep the peace as long as you have to. Get through dinner then worry about the real test; bedtime. 

“Alright, let’s sit,” you relent and reach for his large hand.  

It’s not an affectionate gesture, merely appeasing. You can still hear his voice booming and the thump his skull made on the wall. Not to mention the state of his face and the dent in your wall. You can’t forget what he’s capable of. You can’t deny that you’re lucky he only hurt himself. 

He lets you guide him out of the kitchen and you try not to show your reticence. You won’t think of what happened on the couch last time. Besides, you can’t leave the food to burn. 

💗

You eat at the table. It’s an excuse for some space. As you waited for the timer to save you, you were trapped in his embrace. His constant touching and cooing. You should be flattered when someone tells you you’re pretty and perfect but he just makes you want to combust. 

You can hardly stay still. You clear the table and tidy up what mess is left in the kitchen. You can hear him prowling in the other room. You wipe down the table and peek up as he stops to watch you. 

“Almost done?” He asks. 

“Sure, uh, I’ll finish and get washed up for the night.” 

“Washed up?” He echoes. 

“Brush my teeth, wash my face, all that,” you explain. 

“Oh, yeah, makes sense.” 

“What about Aika? She need to go out?” 

He stops and looks at the dog, still laying at the door. 

“She should,” he intones grimly, “I’ll take her then.” 

He disappears into the bedroom as you let out a breath. It’s not much. You know you’re just putting off the inevitable. He reemerges with the jangle of keys and you see your phone case peeking out of a pocket in his cargo shorts. He might seem scattered but there’s something about him that assures you he’s just as calculated. 

“I’ll be back,” he assures and stops just by the door, “sure you don’t wanna come with us?” 

You rinse off the cloth and shake it out. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“You should come...” he mumbles. 

“Sy,” you go to the doorway parallel to the apartment door, “I promise, I won’t go anywhere.” 

You have nowhere to go. 

He stares at you. His looks pale and drawn. He cracks his neck as he tilts his head one way then the other. He lets out a long exhale as he sets his head straight and he steps closer. Aika stands, her paws scuffing on the hardwood. You gulp as he makes himself bigger and glares down at you. 

“I know you won’t,” he says quietly, “because you know I’ll follow you anywhere, don’t you, sweetie?” 

You bat your lashes and gulp. You nod, “yes, captain.” 

His lips curve and he reaches to grab you, cradling the back of your head as he pulls you close and kisses your forehead, “good girl. Get nice and fresh for me.” 

He lets you go with a growl and you stand frozen between the counters. Aika watches him with her doleful eyes as he steps into his boots. He opens the door and points her out, not bothering to take the leash with him. She looks at you, wiggling her nose, before she goes. 

The door snaps shut behind Sy and jolt you. You can’t shake the grit in his voice. The subliminal threats laced into his proclamation of devotion. He found you and he’ll find you again, so why bother trying to run? 

You shut off the kitchen light and flit into the bedroom. You gather up a set of pajamas. A white tee and short pairing with little sliced oranges stamped into the fabric. You lock yourself in the bathroom and face yourself in the mirror. You look just as afraid as you feel. 

You lay out the pajamas to one side of the sink and put on the fluffy headband that keeps your hair out of the way. You start your usual routine, the familiarity the only comfort you have left. Brushing flossing, exfoliating, moisturizing, and toning. It’s the little things you started to make yourself feel better but they just aren’t working this time. 

You hear him return as you button up the pajama top. You stare at the door with dread and gather up your shirt and skirt, along with your panties and bra. You teeter on the balls of your feet, trying to find whatever you might call courage. He gets there first. 

The knock makes you jump. You quickly go to the door and flip back the lock. He opens the door from the other side before you can. 

“Everything okay?” He asks. 

“Yes,” you answer dumbly as you hug your armful of clothes. 

“Oh, you look... nice. Refreshed.” 

“Um, yeah,” you say as you waver. There’s no room to get around him. 

He steps back and waves you out. You carry the clothing into the bedroom to dump in the hamper and turn to find him looming in the doorway. Great. 

“You smell good,” he purrs as he peels off his shirt. 

“Did you lock the door?” You ask. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that. You got me here to take care of ya,” he scoffs and hurls the shirt so it just barely clings to the side of the hamper. “Those are some cute jammies.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you look down and pinch the sides of the shorts. 

“Long day,” he stretches and drops his arms, unbuttoning his shorts shamelessly. 

“Yep,” you agree, “be nice to sleep.” 

You go to the edge of the bed and slip beneath the duvet. You tuck your chin down as you hug yourself beneath the fluffy cover and keep your back to him. He flips the light off and you nearly whimper. The bed dips behind you and cool air flows under the blanket as he climbs in behind you. 

You’re not surprised when he swathes you in his thick arm. He pulls you against him, his furry chest flush to you as he purrs. You grasp his forearm and squirm as his heat surrounds you. He nuzzles your hair and plumes hot breath over your scalp. 

“Ain’t this nice? I could spend every night like this,” he growls as he keeps you curled up in one arm as his other hand trails down your side. “Never slept much over in the s—over there.” 

You squeak and stare into the static darkness. You tremble and force out a yawn. Maybe he’ll get the hint. For once. 

“I’m tired too, sweetie,” he toys with the bottom button on your shirt, “I know I’ll sleep all nice and cozy with you.”  

His fingers tickle your lower stomach and crawl beneath the cotton. You go rigid as he creeps up your soft flesh and you latch onto him as you try to stop him. He presses his lips to your crown. 

“Don’t be bad,” he warns in a gristle. 

You let him go with a babble. He brings his hand to cover one side of your chest. He squeezes and lets out a raspy groan. He rolls his hips and you feel he’s in need again. You close your eyes and brace yourself. It’s worse than the couch. You’ve laid yourself down in his trap. 

“You’re so soft, sweetie,” he fondles you, swirling his rough fingertips around your nipple, “so warm...” he inhales your scent and snarls, “you got me hurtin’ so bad.” 

[daizymax]

wondrous | lmh (m)

summary: pregnancy is strange and uncomfortable and even kind of gross, but your loving husband is always willing to show you just how desirable and wonderful you are.

pairing: lee know x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 5.3k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: profanity; pregnancy; some body insecurities; binary gender talk; graphic sexual content; pregnant sex; dirty talk; lactation kink; creampie

author’s note: rewritten for stray kids and reuploaded from my old blog. hope you enjoy!

{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }

---

Slamming the car door with more force than necessary is childish, and if your husband were here, he would probably tell you so. Well, maybe not in such blatant terms. First, he would probably ask you to explain what led you to such pissy behavior, and your answer would be that you’re frustrated and out of patience.

You hate that your patience is in such short supply these days. You know you are going to need all of it and then some when the baby comes.

You rest one of your hands on the crest of your bulging stomach and sigh softly. “I’m sorry,” you say to the ever-growing baby within. “I guess you might need to be patient with me, too, if it’s not too much to ask.”

The tears well up unbidden. That happens often lately with your hormones on the fritz. Evidently something as mundane as a shopping trip to the mall is enough to upset you nowadays. Then your mind dwells on how you should be grateful to be in a position to buy the things you want and need whenever you want, and that only makes you sob harder.

You allow the silly little breakdown to run its course, knowing it will be better to sit and let it out now before you drive home.

After a few minutes, you sniffle and wipe your wet cheeks in shame. After a couple more minutes of deep breaths, when you are certain you are stable enough to drive, you start the engine.

The commute home gives you some time to decompress, and the sight of Minho’s car in the driveway lifts your spirits. He told you this morning that he might have to work late this evening — which was fine by you since it translated to having more money for the pending expenses of birthing and raising a child — but having him home is even better.

A loud clang and a muttered curse greet you as you enter the front door. It may not be a polite reaction, but you can’t help but smile at whatever your husband is struggling with in the kitchen. You sling your shopping bags onto the couch and go to rescue him.

Minho is bent over at the waist, rummaging through a bottom cabinet with his backside to you. You take a moment to ogle the fit of his jeans appreciatively before making your presence known.

“Hi honey, need some help?”

He flinches and whirls around. “Heyyy, doll! I didn’t hear you come in.” He hastily combs his fingers through his smooth brown hair as if to compose himself for you.

“That’s because you were busy tearing down the kitchen, from the sound of it,” you laugh.

He does not even dispute your joke. He just groans in frustration and kicks his foot out behind him to close the cabinet. “Where do we keep the rice cooker? I swear I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Did you look here?” You pull open the correct cabinet near your calves and squat down to retrieve it. He rushes to stop you.

“Hey, hey, let me get it.” He comes over and crouches with you only to put his hands on your hips and guide you back up with him. “You shouldn’t exert yourself. I have a bun in that oven, lady.”

You snort loudly. “Don’t I know it. My whole day was an over-exertion, though. I think I can handle stooping over to grab the rice cooker.”

“Oh?” His face becomes concerned, eyebrows wrinkling and pink lips pouting adorably. His hands begin sliding up and down along your sides. “What was wrong with your day?”

“Oh, I’ve just decided I hate shopping for maternity clothes now,” you say, sighing heavily. The statement is so frivolous it makes you cringe, but the rest of your unimportant complaints come flooding out anyway. “They’re all so unflattering, not to mention it’s so uncomfortable trying them on. Getting undressed and redressed is such a pain in the ass. It’s like a whole fucking workout now, I swear to god.”

“Ah, I bet. Poor thing,” Minho says without a trace of condescension to his tone, and you envy his patience. He pulls you in for a hug in his strong arms, and your swollen stomach bumps against his flat one.

Inspired by his understanding, you continue unburdening your rather meaningless worries into his shoulder. “It was so crowded, too. I hate how everyone stares at me all the time just because I’m pregnant. And I especially hate when other parents come up to me and give me advice or tell me stories about their own pregnancies, like I fucking asked.”

Minho laughs and massages his fingertips into the back of your head. “I think they’re just trying to be kind and helpful. They only mean well.”

“Yeah, well, it’s also super annoying.”

“Sorry. What can I do to help?”

You shake your head and step back from him. “Right now I just want to shower and change my clothes. I’m not kidding about that ‘workout.’ I’ve been sweating for hours and I feel disgusting right now. The boob sweat is strong under this sweater right now.”

“Well, we’ve got a towel right here.” He whips the dish towel off the handle of the stove with a flourish and holds it up with a cheeky grin. “Let me help you.”

You laugh. “You want to dry my boobs off with that?”

“It’s clean!”

“Don’t be silly.”

“You’ll be glad for my silliness when our baby comes,” he says, dropping the towel to start tickling you mercilessly.

Your stomach muscles heave with your fit of giggles, and the baby starts kicking to join in on the commotion.

“Ah! No t-tickling, damnit! The b-baby doesn’t like it.”

“No?” Minho stops his playful torment and cups your stomach on either side. It only takes a second for him to feel what you mean. “I think maybe she does.”

“Or he. The baby could be a boy, you know.”

The two of you have decided to keep the gender a surprise until the birth, but that does not stop your husband from speculating.

“Could be,” he says a bit dismissively. He kneels down on the tiled floor so his face is level with your belly-button, which has recently begun to protrude outwards like the rest of you.

He runs his fingers along the surface of your stretched sweater and says quietly, “I just have a hunch that it’s a girl. She’s feisty, like you.” He places a sweet kiss on the top of your belly, then speaks directly to it. “Sorry about the tickling, sweet baby girl. Daddy was just making Mommy laugh to help make her feel better. I have something else that might make her feel better, though.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

Minho interlocks his fingers with yours and leads you up the stairs — which have become quite the strain on your knees lately — and to the baby’s room.

The moment he pushes open the door, you see exactly what he means. The crib now resembles a crib and not a scattering of wooden pieces strewn around the floor the way they had been for weeks. The inside is lined with blankets and stuffed animals, and the mobile you chose is hanging above it. It could hardly be more picturesque.

With this, the nursery is complete. The painting had been finished a couple months ago, and the other pieces of necessary and decorative furniture have been set in their places for quite some time as well.

“Wow, you actually finished it?” you say. “How did you have time to do that after work today?”

“You were gone for longer than you realize,” he says, chuckling. “I took half the day off to come home and surprise you, but you weren’t here, so I decided to surprise you with this instead.”

“Consider me surprised,” you say with a smile. You squeeze his hand before letting go and walking over to the crib. You give the rail a little shake to test the sturdiness of your husband’s handiwork, and your eyebrows raise in satisfaction at the result.

“I only had to start all over again once,” Minho says proudly, sidling up beside you and gliding a hand along the small of your back to rest on your hip. His thumb traces little circles into it.

“You did a great job,” you say, turning in his hold to wrap your arms around his waist in return, albeit with a bit of difficulty due to your belly getting in the way.

“Glad you like it.” He leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead, then your nose, then down to your chin, then back up to your mouth. You smile and chase after his lips when he pulls away, and he laughs as he kisses you again. “Come on, let’s sit for a bit and get you off your feet. Dinner and a shower can wait a little while longer.” He moves over to the rocking chair in the corner and takes a seat, then pats his lap invitingly.

“Min, I’ll crush you,” you say with a shake of your head.

He shakes his head right back. “Oh, stop it. No you won’t. You’re not that heavy, and I’m not that fragile.”

He starts beckoning you by stretching his arms out and repeatedly opening and closing his hands. The action is irresistibly cute, so you relent. You toe off your shoes and go to sit on his proposed seat. You try not to rest too much weight on him as you sit on his knee, but he ruins your position by taking your hips and dragging you further up his muscular thigh.

“Put your legs up on me,” he says. “If it’s not too uncomfortable for you, I mean.”

You do as he says and turn sideways to hoist your legs over his other thigh. Minho holds onto your knee with one hand and wraps his other arm behind your back to keep you in place.

“There we go. Is this okay?” he asks.

You shift and wiggle until your back is relatively comfortable. “I think so. Are you okay?”

He smiles and squeezes you reassuringly. “I’ve got my beautiful wife on my lap... we’re sitting right where we’ll be rocking our baby when she — or he — is born... I’d say I’m pretty perfect.”

You take his word for it and sigh in content, leaning into him and resting your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek against your head and pushes his feet off the floor to begin gently rocking the chair as it was intended.

For a few moments, the two of you sit and rock in silence until Minho begins humming softly. Something mellow and baritone. The melody is one you recognize, but the lyrics to that particular song elude you. You’ll ask him about it later. Right now, the vibrations from his throat and the steady thrum of his heartbeat are lulling you peacefully. The faint scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body seep comfortably into your skin.

You tilt your face up to kiss his throat appreciatively for the comfort he is providing. He hums out of tune at your gentle touch, and you kiss him there again. This time you take a bit of his flesh into your mouth with a delicate suck, and he hisses in a short breath. His reaction spurs you to do it again, and then again, until the honey skin is left pink from the teasing.

“Mm, that feels really good, babe,” Minho murmurs. The pet name makes your heart flutter a bit; it was used so frequently at the start of your relationship, but over the years it has become a bit more rare. It makes you feel a little sexy, even in your sweaty, bloated, and achy state.

“Yeah? Should I keep going?” you ask. Your lips ghost over his neck, and your fingers begin trailing down the center of his chest.

“Please.” There is a slight rasp to the syllable that makes you feel proud considering you have barely even done anything to him.

Your fingers find the hems of his sweater and white t-shirt and begin tugging at them. “Do you mind if I take these off?”

“Not at all.” He shrugs out of his cardigan then lifts his arms so you can have the honor of pulling up his shirt to toss it aside. The taut muscles in his chest and abdomen twitch as your fingertips graze them. Before you get to the waistband of his jeans, Minho takes your wandering fingers and stops you.

“Wait,” he says. You look at him curiously. “You said you had a rough day. I should take care of you.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, I figured I could start by getting you out of your clothes, and then we can see where things lead.”

Sex with your husband has been infrequent over the course of your thirty-week pregnancy so far, but it has occurred. The doctor assured you there are no complication risks involved, even when this far along. Your pregnancy is perfectly healthy, and sex is not harmful to the baby, so you and Minho are free to continue your normal sex life.

The problem is you don’t always feel up for sex. Between your various aches and the increasing challenge of finding a comfortable position, you sometimes have to wonder if an orgasm is really worth the trouble. But it has been a while since your last release, and you trust Minho to be caring and attentive, so you nod in agreement.

He guides you to stand up from his lap, and you allow him to remove your shirt. The sheen of sweat that has been building for the greater part of the afternoon is made even more apparent when the open air meets it.

“Ugh, I still feel gross,” you mutter under your breath. The inkling of sexiness you felt just moments ago is already gone.

“You don’t look gross,” Minho says. He scans you from head to toe before settling his gaze on your chest. “Will you take your bra off for me, please?”

You hesitate a few seconds, then unhook the restrictive garment and shrug out of it to let it drop to the floor. The moment it is gone, Minho reaches out to grasp your hips and slide his hands up along the expanse of your stomach. His warm, tender touch sends a shiver through you, and the baby begins fidgeting again. Your husband must feel it, too, because he smiles up at you brightly.

“God, how did I get so lucky? You are so beautiful.” His tone carries real sincerity. “Especially with your body like this, carrying our child. You’re so fucking… wonderful.”

You automatically let out an unflattering snort of self-consciousness as you think of the new stretch marks striping your breasts, hips, and stomach. You can’t even bring yourself to look at them right now.

“I mean it. It’s true,” he insists. His eyes drop to your bare stomach to look at what you will not. “It’s amazing how you’re able to grow a baby inside of you, just because I came in you.”

There is laughter in your breathy exhale. “Gee, you make it sound so sexy, Min.”

“But it is sexy. You’re growing hands and feet and… eyes inside your womb right now, this very moment.”

You wrinkle your nose. “That doesn’t sound sexy at all. It sounds scientific.”

“Yeah, but it’s also kind of magical, isn’t it? And just think about it: you’ll be able to feed the baby with your body, too…” Minho folds his bottom lip between his teeth for a second as he studies your chest with great interest. “Just look at these perfect tits, getting all swollen with milk for our baby.”

He starts to squeeze, lift, and massage your breasts reverently, completely undeterred by the stickiness coated on the undersides of them from your sweat. A quiet moan rumbles up from your throat.

Even though he is being gentle, the stimulation is still enough to make your nipples begin discharging a thick fluid that is slightly yellow in color. The sight of it kind of embarrasses you, even though it is completely natural. Your doctor explained that it is the “pre milk” before your body begins producing normal breast milk after the birth.

“Min…” you fret with a nervous giggle. You peel his hands away and take a step back from him.

“It’s okay, babe,” he says. He stands up and rearranges your hands so that he is the one holding yours. “It’s just your body, don’t be ashamed. I told you, you’re beautiful. You’re wonderful. You’re amazing.”

He lifts the heavy mounds on your chest again and presses them together as if to get a better view of the wetness seeping from them. He swipes his thumbs over both of your wet nipples, then casually sticks one of his thumbs in his mouth as if he has done this many times before.

“Mm, tastes sweet,” he says.

“Does it?”

“Yeah. Can I… do you think I could...” He trails off in a puff that sounds like he is the one who’s embarrassed. Eventually, he blurts, “I want to try some more.”

“What, you want to actually… drink it?” you ask. The notion surprises you, and you want to make sure you are understanding him correctly.

“I’d like to try, if you’re comfortable with that. I just want to appreciate your body in every way.”

Minho rolls a sensitive pebble between his thumb and forefinger as he waits for your reply.

After another second, you nod your consent, and he flashes you a toothy smile before he latches his mouth directly onto your nipple. The touch of his soft lips coupled with the tip of his tongue makes you gasp in pleasure. Goosebumps break out over your skin as he suckles delicately. You have to admit the sensation of the fluid flowing from your nipple is oddly satisfying, and the wet suction sound Minho is creating is more than a little erotic. Heat starts to pool between your legs to dampen your panties.

“Is this okay?” he asks you again, peering up at your face as he switches to the other tit. When his tongue takes the nipple in between his lips, you notice it is coated with a milky sheen.

“Yeah, it… it actually feels really good,” you confess. Without consciously choosing to do it, your thighs press together to apply some pressure to your clit. Even with your stomach in the way, Minho’s smirk tells you he does not miss the action.

“Are you wet down there between your legs, too?”

“Yes.”

“Dripping?”

“Mm…”

“I want to feel.”

“Be my guest,” you invite. He goes to slip his hand past the waistband of your pants, but you quickly instruct, “Just take them off.”

He does not need to be told twice. He detaches from your breast and yanks your pants down to your ankles. You steady yourself on his shoulders as you pull your feet free.

“Panties, too,” you add, but his fingers are already hooking into them.

Once they are shed, Minho takes his time running his warm hands back up your calves to your inner thighs, spreading your legs just a little wider than hip-width apart. He wastes no more time in dipping the pads of three fingers along your slit. The slickness he finds there has both of you groaning lowly.

“You are wet. Is this all because I sucked a little milk from your tits?”

A slow smile grows across your face. “Maybe.”

“Should I suck some more?”

“I don’t think there’s much in there at a time yet, honestly,” you tell him rather seriously. “Not until after the baby is born.”

He hums in understanding. “That’s okay, babe. I’ll settle for eating your pussy, if that’s alright,” he says, sinking two knuckles inside you.

“J-Jesus, Min. Y-yeah. Please.”

He grins, drawing his fingers back a little just to shove them in forcefully. “Alright. Have a seat for me,” he says. He removes his fingers from you and slides them into his mouth for the taste of something else. He really does adore all parts of you.

The rocking chair tips backwards when you settle into it, which only improves the access Minho has to your pussy. He makes it even easier for himself, however, by kneeling down and hoisting your legs onto each of his shoulders.

“Is this good?” he asks. He brings his head between your thighs and dots soft kisses along one of them.

You scoot your butt to the very edge of the seat. “Yeah, for now. I’ll let you know if it starts to hurt.”

“Please do,” he agrees at once.

He leans forward and parts your sticky folds with two fingers before dragging his tongue from the bottom of your slit to the top in one slow, firm motion. Your breath hitches in your chest when he buries the pink muscle into your wet hole. He licks in a circle from one pulsing wall to the other and back again, then pulls back and licks his lips.

“Do you want my tongue in you and fingers on your clit, or my tongue on your clit and fingers in you?” he asks. He does not normally require such direct instructions, but he has been so concerned with you in your pregnant state. He wants to make sure he is giving you as much pleasure as possible, and he does not want any room for misunderstanding or disappointment.

“Fingers inside, please,” you say.

Minho fits one finger back inside your pussy, soon followed by a second, and your walls squeeze tightly around the digits to welcome and secure them. Then he flattens his tongue to press it back and forth, up and down over your clit. He builds a steady pace that renders your eyes closed and mouth unhinged to let flow a stream of pleasurable sighs and moans. Your pitch heightens considerably when his fingers hit pay dirt on that spot inside you that always makes your toes curl. When you rock against his face to get all the friction you can, the chair moves with you.

“Shit, this is so hot, babe,” your husband groans from below. “Should’ve eaten you out in a rocking chair a long time ago.”

You start to respond but your words pinch into a squeal from a particularly strong tap against your g-spot with his fingertips, and that seems to be all the answer he could want.

Minho becomes greedy for your unfiltered noises and closes his lips around your clit to suck it the way he sucked your nipples just moments earlier. A shiver tumbles down each rung of your spine, all the way to your clenched toes. Your muscles tense to cope with the sheer intensity of the pleasure being administered to that oh-so-sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. His fingers work tirelessly to undo you in tandem with his skillful tongue. The crest of your climax is drawing near so soon.

“Oh my god, Min,” you breathe with hardly any sound. “Fuck, you’ve got me so close already.”

He grunts his acknowledgement. “Is this how you want to come, doll? All over my fingers? All over my tongue?”

It is very tempting, but you still decline. “N-no. I want you inside me.”

“I’m already inside you.” He twists his fingers pointedly. “Can you be more specific?”

“You know what I mean,” you groan.

He has to get in a few more swipes of his tongue before he can say, “Yeah, but I want to hear you say it. You can have everything you want if you ask me.”

“I want your c-cock inside me. Now, please.”

Minho makes no move to cease his actions other than to briefly retract his tongue to speak again. “You sure you don’t want me to just keep going? You’re so close.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. Please, fuck me already.”

The moan he lets out when he pulls away from you and gets to his feet is positively carnal. He rushes to undo his jeans, then shoves both them and his underwear to the floor in one swoop. You tilt your head to take in the view of his erect cock; the bulbous head is nearly purple from engorgement, and there is a glistening wetness at the slit from a buildup of precum.

“How do you want me?” he asks.

“Let’s try the chair.”

“Do you want to bend over it and I’ll fuck you from behind? Or do you want me to sit down and have you ride me?”

“Sit down and I’ll try riding you.”

You rock yourself up and out of the chair, and Minho takes a firm hold of each of your hands to help tug you to your feet. He kisses you quick and sloppy, giving you a quick taste of your arousal, before switching places with you and taking a seat. His cock points upwards as the perfect target for you to sit on.

You face away from him and straddle his legs to get yourself in position. One of his hands steadies your lowering hips as the other lines his dick up for entry. The tip squeezes into your warm wetness with ease. Minho spreads his legs wider and thrusts up to fit a few more inches of himself. With another shove from him and a bit of wriggling on your part, he bottoms out.

“Fuck, you always feel so fucking good,” he rumbles from behind you. Both of his hands are clenched tightly on your hips now.

You moan in agreement. “So do you.”

Bracing yourself on the arms of the chair, you raise yourself up a couple inches, then sink back down swiftly. Minho plants his feet firmly to keep the chair steady and meet you blow for blow as you start up a rhythm. The two of you grunt and pant with every stroke; the sounds are out of sync, but your movements are not.

The friction feels good, but your looming orgasm from earlier is not quite building again as you had hoped it would. Furthermore, your arms are already beginning to tremble from your efforts.

“Shit,” you swear in frustration. “Maybe this won’t work after all.”

He brings up his earlier suggestion and says, “Want to try bending over?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s try that.”

His wet dick falls out of you to slap against his stomach when you stand up from his lap. Again, the two of you switch positions so you can lean down and prop your arms along the armrests of the chair. The seat tilts downward as you bend over and press your head against the back of it, and your breasts hang heavy below you. You vaguely notice they have begun to leak again.

Minho steps up behind you and returns his hands to your waist to lift your backside a little higher to expose yourself to him. The head of his cock briefly pokes over your asshole when he guides it into place at your pussy again. With a sigh of satisfaction, he pushes back inside and waits for an extended moment while you to readjust to the tight stretch of his girth.

When you tell him you’re ready, he recreates the rhythm you had started earlier, but at a slightly faster tempo now. Each smack of his tensed thighs against your buttocks makes your breasts bounce — another motion that does not go unnoticed by him.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he breathes. One of his hands reaches over to cup one swinging breast and then the other. His fingers toy at your wet nipples once more. “You’re already such a MILF.”

The term makes you burst into surprised laughter. “Oh my god, please do not call me that,” you say.

“Why not?” Minho laughs back. “It’s true. You’re so. Damn. Sexy.” He emphasizes each word with concise, gasp-inducing thrusts. “And motherhood is only going to enhance that.”

“Ungh, right now I just want to come,” you groan, not interested in continuing a conversation at the moment, no matter how flattering. Your body feels heavy, but the coil in you is getting close to snapping again. “Please, Min... please…”

“Oh, you will, doll. I want you to come just as badly.” He pinches your drippy nipple with one hand, maneuvers the other hand around your waist, under your stomach, between your legs to trap your throbbing clit between two fingers. “Want you to come all over this cock.”

“Keep going and I will,” you promise him.

He speeds his hips up until he is hitting your g-spot with every push. He rubs and plays with your clit just the way you like. The steady whapping sound of skin on skin fills the nursery, along with your breathless encouragements for your husband to keep groping, keep pounding, keep going.

“You’re dripping everywhere for me, aren’t you, baby?” he grunts, his breath hot and ragged. “Got your sticky little clit in one hand, and your tit is leaking in my other.”

He is not wrong. Everything is so wet, so hot, so sticky. You whimper and repeatedly push back against him to further increase the friction.

“So fucking filthy,” he goes on, nearly growling. “Makes me want to bust and fill you up with cum. There’s gonna be so fucking much of it.”

His words, combined with a few more sweeps of his fingers over your clit and stabs of his cockhead against the sweetest part of you, burst you straight through the roof of your climax. With a whiny, broken moan, your pussy clamps him tightly, and it is not more than four of five more strokes before he joins you in sheer bliss. He seizes and grunts deeply as his cum shoots out of his twitching cock to meet the resistance of your already-occupied womb. He was right — there is a lot of it. The viscous white fluid oozes out of you and down along your thighs before the spurts have even finished trickling out of him.

Both pairs of legs between the two of you are shaky as Minho pulls out of your swollen pussy with a slick squelch. He helps straighten your body and pulls you into an adoring hug as you both regain your lost breath. His sweaty chest is nearly as damp as yours as it heaves against your back. You can feel his heart racing.

“You alright, doll?” he checks while dotting sweet kisses along your shoulder. “Was that good?”

“Very good,” you pant with a blissed smile. You turn your head to the side and pucker your mouth for a kiss. Your lower belly is cramping from the intensity of your orgasm, and you massage it absently as Minho’s lips envelop yours. His fingers bump yours as he, too, goes to cradle your stomach.

“How’s our little princess?” he asks next.

“Fine,” you answer. You kiss him deeply and whisper against his mouth: “We’re both just fine, thanks to the daddy.”

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

copyright © 2024 by daizymax. all rights reserved. back to masterlist

[mxkyu--x9e]

hiiii!!!!!!!! could I request best friend chan who confesses his feelings for reader on live not realizing they're watching? Hopefully this makes sense lol

|:: The chat's view on love

Author's note: Hii!!!! Thank you for much for this request!! I hope I wrote this to your expectations!! Thank you so much,I'm sorry if it's not to your expectations because it definitely did not make me happy!! But I hope it's good enough.

Synopsis: With Bang Chan's live, Stays swarm in, asking questions and such..and one slip of his tongue revealed a big detail on his life...poor boy's crush.

Warnings: Idol! Bang Chan|| fem! Reader|| nothing really, sorry if it's pretty short.

"No, Berry is actually doing good!! She's with Hannah in Australia, what are you talking about???" Chan asked the live with confused laughter, as he continued to talk with Stays on his chat. Almost a good few millions, actually.

As he answered questions, laughing softly it wasn't too big on his thoughts to really think everything through and see if Stays psycho-analyze everything he said or did. As he read out questions for himself, while playing random videos of his own entertainment.

"Chocolate or cookies and cream? I'm sorry...I gotta say cookies and cream, it's too bitter for me to eat chocolate in ice-cream." he said, shaking his head as he laughed. "How is your best-friend doing??" he read, and god was he delighted to talk about you!

He also took the time to check your texts from earlier this day, telling him to eat something, as he felt butterflies in his stomach and warmth in his chest, it was just adorable at how much you cared for him.

It felt delightful to get your texts, he didn't know why, it gave him some sort of joy...sure it meant he loved you, you're his best-friend after all, since his trainee years , but this just felt different...

Different from last month...He had no idea when it began, was it when you broke up with your stupid situationship type of boyfriend? Or was it when you personally came to see him after his group won and treated them all to dinner that night...

Maybe it was the fact that you cared for him so deeply, you got along well with Hannah and Berry and his entire family, the fact you always got a good morning and good night text for him in a weird way, how you're always ready to comfort him or others, how you're always the first to support him...It came naturally for him to fall in love with you, how couldn't he??

"They're actually doing pretty great. They recently got me a brand new rice cooker after my old one broke and I was crying to them about it...And god, was it so sweet!! It has bears drawn on it." Chan told the viewers, most commenting about "how cute!" they visualized it to be, how they'd like him to "show it!", and others as he laughed and nodded,

"I will, I will...when I can...But yeah, they've been good. I was texting them today about the new beats I was making and they told me very gently and sweetly, "go eat, la!!" and it's so cute! They're so adorable!!" he said, laughing, as he pressed his lips together to stop the biggest, giddy smile reaching his lips...

"I seriously adore them, they're such an important person in my life and I don't think I ever want to...I don't think I ever want them to leave me..or be apart and I don't want us to drift apart..I might not be making sense, but it's tr-true." he said,

"I ADORE them..." he said, before his eyes glanced up to catch the camera, and he quickly added, "Like a friend, of-course" His heart skipping a beat, as he thought of you again..perfect in his eyes, almost perfect.

He might have not noticed, but Stays definitely did. Speaking from the heart, his irises slightly growing large as he thought of you, an uncontrollable smile on his lips, the one smile where his tiny dimples start showing up as he smiles... That's love...not just admiration for a friend...

And you definitely knew it was love as you stared at the live with bright eyes, feeling flustered already, your stomach cramping in as if on a roller-coaster, you couldn't control your own smile after hearing his honey-dipped words...

The Stays watching knew the warmth those words spread, even in them...Like blankets on a particularly hard day when you simply want to cry, like the warm soup after feeling bad about yourself in the past few days, like the productivity you feel proud of after not living up to your standards, like that one friend's text after you feel left out...

It was warm and it spread to Chan's veins as he glanced at his phone, smiling down, seeing it was yours as he opened, his eyes widening as he scanned the words...

Trying to hide his urge to scream in happiness...But he heard a ping, and he quickly turned back up at camera, eyes widening a bit more that he was still Live..as he reached and looked at his phone, before hurriedly smiling towards the live and Stays,

"I-uh-I gotta go, Stays, a little-...Uh. A littl-emergency, I'm late-late to practice!!" he said, hurriedly shutting off the camera and picking up his phone, his bag and running out to see you as he struggled to put on some shoes, rushing down his apartment...tripping over his own feet slightly as he ran, smiling down at your text.

"I love you too. More than a friend though :)"

© Mxkyu--e9e. I do not give permission to modify, translate, copy or repost ANY of my works. Reblogs are very much beloved!

[lowkeyrobin]

Headcanons for mcyt x reader doing a cooking/baking stream together??

I love your writing!!!

<3

ooooo okay okay!!! yes of course bro ; also thank you!! I appreciate it sm 🫶🫶🫶🫶

MCYT ; cooking/baking stream

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, quackity, & foolish gamers

warnings ; language, grease fires

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

you guys were making lasanga

Garfield jokes every five minutes

there's pasta sauce and cheese everywhere

he's constantly screaming to the viewers because you keep slapping him with the lasagna sheets, cooked or dry

"y/n! help! I'm being assaulted with lasagna sheets!"

he stained his shirt with pasta sauce 💀💀

almost set the house on fire bc he somehow left shit in the oven before preheating it

you turn on music halfway through and it turns into a karaoke stream

"CALIFORNIA GIRLS WERE UNFORGETTABLE-"

RANBOO

you were making soup because you found a good recipe you wanted to try

you accidently spilled the broth and covered your legs in it

he cut himself chopping up the celery (very minor cut dw)

"cooking stream? more like we injure ourselves for two hours stream"

"cooking stream? I hardly know her"

very chaotic but very good soup

during the intervals where you guys were just waiting for things to cook, you started a hashtag on Twitter to ask you guys stuff

and you answered them while keeping an eye on the food

afterwards you guys watch TV and eat your food while still streaming

"normalize eating on stream 2024!"

FREDDIE BADLINU

you were making breakfast for dinner on stream

you had to go use the bathroom while the bacon was cooking and left Freddie to tend to everything for less than a minute

and he started a grease fire.

after he got it extinguished he kinda just stood there waiting for you

meanwhile chat was exploding with panic and laughter

"Hey, y/n, I don't think we're having bacon tonight!"

"What the fuck happened???"

luckily no damage to anything other than the meat

the rest of it was really good though, and the stream had enough action for tonight 💀💀

NIKI NIHACHU

you guys were making cupcakes

you dropped like two eggs 💀💀💀 so while she was getting new ones you were cleaning up all the eggshell fragments and the insides

you got the camera to show stream your fucking mess and someone sent a dono saying "butterfingers ass"

the cackling after that 💀

you're able to get them into the oven though

and while you're waiting for them to cook, you watch dance moms and discuss everything wrong with it

commentary youtubers? I hardly know them

she begins making the icing while you pull the cupcakes out to let them cool

10/10 cupcakes they're amazing

you guys had a pride flag theme so lmao

ALEX QUACKITY

you were supposed to be making pancakes as a little challenge

his are literally raw and he put chocolate chips from the freezer straight in them

"that banana isn't gonna help anything"

"how do you know that??"

flour is everywhere. it looks like a war started

you put to much non-stick spray on the skillet and started a little fire

but Alex to the rescue dw

he couldn't even figure out how to use it and almost sprayed himself in the face!

goes on Twitter later to update that your kitchen was completely fine but the underneath of your microwave is a tiny bit melted

you blame him every time after that 💀💀

"my microwave melted a bit because you don't know how to use a fire extinguisher!"

"youre the one who used too much spray!"

chat always sides with you, too 😭😭

FOOLISH GAMERS

you thought making fried rice was a good idea? wrong

he literally has no idea what's happening

"can you make the scrambled eggs for me while I tend to the vegetables?"

"how many?"

"they're literally on the cabinet"

chat clipping every single funny moment too

"is the rice cooker even on? holy shit you left it on warm"

"I thought that meant it was on!"

"dude you've used this thing before, how long did it take for you to cook it?"

"like, forever"

"oh my god"

fried rice 10/10

he's complaining about the vegetables like he didn't have like two hours to say something about different veggies