#Motherfucker had pancakes and eggs

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

Just so y'all know, it's always okay to make fun of bootlicker imitation yeehaw.

If some lifted truck in the city only thing country about them is the country club all hat no cattle motherfucker wearing clean boots who can't handle anything spicier than a saltine with social circle with an much diversity as a pack of printer paper and a hard on for police intervention starts talking about living in the country, you do what I do:

Give them weathering tips for their LARPing gear and point them in the direction of some acting lessons, because they're not convincing anyone.

Every time the southern US comes up, 90% of the insults are just making fun of the poor and the disenfranchised as if the people hunting squirrel in trailer parks while leaving the expensive private school vanity ranch estate folks completely untouched.

Now go on, do your duty for Queen (the band) and country (Dolly Parton) and heckle those fuckers like you're Statler and Waldorf from the god damn Muppet show because that's the amount of respect they deserve.

[strang3lov3]

Phone a Friend

Joel Miller x fem Reader

Summary: A story involving two sexually frustrated assholes and how they resolved the tension. (Alternatively, Joel is sick of you keeping him up late at night with your hand between your thighs)

Warnings: Smut, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, PIV, the softest of soft dom joel, masturbation, spanking, slight perv!joel, sleazy!joel, implied age gap probably, enemies? with benefits?? Idiots in luuuurrve

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Was thinking of doing an enemies to lovers story and then thought, fuck it. Enemies AND lovers. Thank you @speckledemerald for proofreading!

please please please comment/reblog if you enjoy, i love reading the sweet things you say <3

It was amusing at first.

The first time it happened Joel was in bed reading a nice book Ellie picked out for him. He was just about to doze off, the words on the page illuminated by the warm light of his lamp began to blend together. 

“Oh,” 

It caught Joel off guard. And then a few more, quicker and breathier. 

“Oh, fuck,”

Frustrated moans spilling from your lips, right in the next room. They continued for an hour and Joel listened with an amused smile curling his lips as he palmed his bulge. He followed along with your moans, using your sweet noises to work himself up. He removed his cock from the confines of his plaid pajamas and stroked himself, every breathy moan of yours pushing him further and further to the edge. Joel had no issue coming in a timely matter, but you? You let out noises of frustration for what seemed like hours before finishing with a frustrated groan. And then silence.

Thin walls, what can you do?

The next morning Joel said nothing, just quietly sipped his coffee while you were slamming doors and cabinets and stomping around the kitchen. You had yelled out a perfectly crafted string of curse words, something like “Motherfucking piece of shit can’t toast one goddamn slice of bread without having a fucking aneurysm!” followed by “Cocksucking bastard of a toaster!” before you slammed your fist on the countertop.

Joel just smiled to himself in his coffee mug, knowing exactly why you were in such a charmingly pleasant mood. 

You had broken your dominant hand’s wrist a few weeks ago, and it was still healing. You couldn’t do much of anything with it, not write with a pencil or flip a pancake or butter a piece of bread. You had started trying to use your nondominant hand for more, but that had proved to be futile with mundane daily tasks. 

Apparently it wasn’t working very well in between your thighs either, Joel had deduced.

Joel just got up from his seat at the table, silently futzed with the toaster, then placed two slices of bread in for you. “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked in amusement.

You didn’t bother replying, too frustrated in the early hours of the morning to entertain him. 

The routine happened nightly for weeks. 

Joel would be in bed, sleeping or reading. Your frustrated moans would wake him up, and he’d be rock hard at the dead of night. He’d jerk himself off tiredly, and then still spent hours listening to you continue to play with yourself. He’d be exhausted the next morning, sick of you inadvertently getting him all hot and bothered, and you’d be seeing red as you stomped around and slammed cabinets in maddening frustration.

It was amusing at first. Really. 

But it got old quickly.

Once, at breakfast, the situation was addressed. After a particularly long night of listening to your moans, Joel was practically falling asleep in his over-easy eggs and toast. “Morning, sunshine!” you said. He had said something rude and off handed to you in response, to which you replied “Aren’t you a fucking peach this morning?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Whatever,”

“I said, shut up,” Joel was the picture of exhaustion. Heavy bags under his eyes, a distant look in his pupils. One of his hands pinched the bridge of his nose as he furrowed his brows.  

“What’s your deal?”

“You,” he responded, not missing a beat. He decided the night before enough was enough, and you and he were going to share a conversation about noise levels.

Your brows knit together in confusion. Before you could ask, Joel interrupted. “Thin walls, darlin’,”

“What are you-”

“Fuckin’ playing with yourself all night. I hear you, you know,” He removed his hand from his face and stared at you with an irritated expression, his eyes boring into your own.

Your face heated up in embarrassment. “Jesus, Joel,”

“S’okay, hon. We all do it. But some of us like to do so with a bit more consideration for others, hmm?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,”

“You’re too loud,” Joel stated plainly. “And you take for-fuckin’-ever. Might as well make you come myself. Lord knows I do it better than you.” 

You glared at him, beside yourself that he was bringing that up. It’s not enough to embarrass you for masturbating, apparently.

You and Joel had a tricky relationship, to say the least.

He was simultaneously the person you trusted most in the world, and the biggest piece of shit you knew. He was arrogant, brash, and rude. He thought you were annoying and naive, and yet, you still slept with each other.

It was a night of drinking gone too far. One thing led to another, and then another. Before you knew it you were naked and tangled in each other's limbs, whimpering and moaning praises into his skin. You told him the next morning that it was a mistake and that it would never happen again. 

And then you’d do it again, of course. And again, and again.

Fucking Joel left you feeling full of all sorts of complicated things. You were sleeping with your enemy, and it was fucking incredible. He learned to play with your body perfectly, knowing exactly how to touch you to get you to fall to pieces for him. He could make you come embarrassingly quickly, melting for him in mere moments with the most feather-light and gentle touches. But he still drove you absolutely mad.

After each time, you told him the same thing: it would never happen again. But like clockwork, it would. After a bad date or another night of drinking too much, you’d be back where you started. Under him, on top of him. It didn’t matter. 

At this point, you and Joel hadn’t had sex in a few months. Your longest spell yet. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of it a few times, wishing for his skilled fingers instead of yours. But this time, this time would be different. You were determined to quit your addiction, even if the withdrawals were miserable. 

“My god, you’re an asshole,” you stood up from your seat angrily and put your plate into the kitchen sink. It fell with a loud clatter.

“I know you’d like it,” he said with a bite of food in his mouth. Gross, you thought. For a man who’s always on Ellie’s ass about manners, he sure didn’t have much of his own.

“You wish, dickhead,” you scolded, putting on your boots and lacing them up. “Fuck you. You try getting off with a broken wrist,”

“Wouldn’t have to. I’d just phone a friend, sweetheart. You should try it,” God, his smirk. His fucking shit-eating grin. You could slap it right off his excruciatingly handsome face. 

You rolled your eyes and put on a jacket, leaving Joel without saying goodbye. 

That night, while in bed, you decided to fuck with him for being such an asshole to you that morning.

With your hand between your thighs, you moaned loudly. Right into the wall. High pitched and unrealistically. Annoyingly. It was the middle of the night, surely waking Joel up.

Joel pounded on the wall with his fist. “Oh, that’s very mature,” he yelled, his voice muffled by the barrier. “Knock it off.”

You just moaned louder, more obnoxiously. Joel slammed on the wall. You were dicks to each other the next day, constantly at each other’s throats. 

You did this dance for a while. Was it ridiculous and completely unreasonable? Yes. But so was Joel. And you, for that matter. Fuck being the bigger person, this was Joel Miller you were dealing with.

Tonight, Joel was supposed to go to the bar with Tommy, but he had canceled. Stomach flu, said Tommy. So instead, Joel had a quiet night in. After dinner, he got into bed and picked up his book from his nightstand. 

He was about half an hour into reading when he heard you moan. And then you did it again. 

“Very funny” he grumbled to himself, tapping on his wall lightly. He was tired and didn’t have the energy to do another silly moaning/wall pounding argument. 

You didn’t stop. Truthfully, you didn’t hear him. You thought he was out with Tommy, nobody had let you know that plans were changed. 

Your moans were different tonight, Joel noticed. Not obnoxiously loud to piss him off. Just genuine, regular moans of pleasure. He decided to give you a break, let you let off some steam without him giving you shit for it. 

But then he heard it. 

Joel. 

Clear as day. His name, whimpered from your lips. He missed it dearly, how sweet his name sounded rolling off your tongue. Memories of his arms wrapped around you tightly while you’d whisper his name like a prayer into his neck. 

And that’s when he gets an idea.

He tiptoes out of bed, straight to your room. He twists the handle of your door, thanking god the lock is broken. Joel’s quiet, silent as he tiptoes to your bed. There’s a dim light illuminating your face, your eyes are scrunched tightly shut as you work sloppy circles into your clit, still moaning Joel’s name. 

He’s right next to you now, and taking a seat on your bed. “Moanin’ f’me and I ain’t even touchin’ you,” he whispers as he puts a hand on your bare leg. 

Your eyes fly open and you jump, nearly kicking him. “Joel!” you gasp. “What the fuck are you-”

“Thin walls,” he reminds you, though it’s not really an answer to your question. “Was that my name I heard you whispering?”

You shake your leg from his touch and sit up, covering yourself. “Jesus, Joel. No,” you spit, shooting daggers at him. “Get the fuck out.”

“Right,” he says, blatantly refusing to acknowledge your request. “Coulda’ told me you were missin’ my cock.” Joel’s hand returns to your leg, dragging his fingers up and down the soft skin. You kick his hand away again. Presumptuous piece of shit.

Heat is rising to your cheeks and you continue to glare at him with pure hatred. “You wish. I don’t miss any part of you,” you hiss. 

“Oh, how you wound me, sweetheart,” Joel clutches a hand to his heart sarcastically. 

“I am not doing this with you. Get out. Now,” you demand. You’re not entertaining this asshole and his flagrant violation of your privacy. 

Joel chuckles. “No. I’m not leavin’ yet,”

“Why?”

“Because you keep me up night after fuckin’ night. I’m not leavin’ until I know you’re finished,”

You don’t have the time or energy for this bullshit. “Joel, move,” you warn, kicking into his thigh with your foot. But he doesn’t budge. 

You think for a second, taking in the situation. Joel’s watched you come a million times before. And he looks fucking sexy tonight, his plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips, giving you a perfect view of his happy trail. He’s not wearing a shirt, his salt and pepper hair is a curly bed-headed mess. His eyes are darkened with lust, sparkling in the dim light. His hand has returned to your ankle, rubbing slow circles with his thumb. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have some eye candy as you pleasure yourself.

“Fine,” you concede. “I come, you leave me alone, and we both go to sleep after.”

He shoots you a sly smile. “That’s my girl,” he whispers, pulling you closer and separating your thighs. His touch on your skin is electric and sends desire shooting through your veins, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you feel good again. If he wants to torture you, you’ll do it right back to him.

“You’re not touching me,” you say flatly, wrapping your fingers around his wrists and pushing him away from your thighs. “I’m doing this myself.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Joel replies. He figured you’d say that, seeing as how stubborn you can be. “You just come for me and I’ll be on my merry way.”

“I’m coming for me. Not you, Joel,”

“Hmm, s’that right?”

“Yup,”

You’re silent then, unsure of the logistics of this sexual endeavor. Joel’s seen you in so many vulnerable positions, tasted your most intimate places and heard your most desperate moans. Still, you’re shy. Masturbating for someone else is vastly different than being an active participant in sex.

And his eyes, good fucking lord. Staring at you intensely like you’re artwork. Or rather, an artist. Desperately waiting to see the way you paint circles on your clit.

Fuck it. With a deep breath in and then a deep breath out, you rip the bandaid off and begin. You close your eyes, unable to look into Joel’s piercing gaze any longer. Your fingers begin trailing under your shirt, pinching and twisting at your nipples gently. You lean into your touch, your hand slides further down the soft skin of your tummy and then your tuft of coarse hair, finally settling at your cunt. 

You’re not quite wet yet, you realize as your fingers grace your entrance to gather your arousal. Rather hurriedly, you bring your fingers to your lips and cover them in saliva before returning to your center. You adjust slightly, spreading your legs wider. And then you begin. 

You start with slow circles orbiting your clit, somehow over sensitive and yet not feeling enough. You quicken your pace, then slow down again. And then speed up. All the while, letting out frustrated grunts and moans. 

“Need some help, sweetheart?” Joel’s voice interrupts.

You let out an exhausted groan at the way he breaks your concentration, as if you were close at all. “No, just shut the fuck up,” you hiss, not opening your eyes to meet his gaze. You wonder if you offended him, but you don’t really care. Joel can go scratch for all you give a shit.

You continue your actions, circling your clit with your fingers. And it just doesn’t feel right. It’s fumbling, awkward. You wish you had your other hand between your thighs. Really, you’re dying for Joel to touch you. It’s his skilled fingers you want tracing circles into your clit. But you remain firm in your protest of his pleasure. 

“Doin’ it wrong,” his voice interrupts. He says it flatly, like it’s so glaringly obvious. Like he would fucking know, you think. Except, deep down you know that he does know. 

He reaches forward and adjusts your fingers to better suit your needs, and you gasp when his fingers touch your skin. “Try that,” he whispers. 

And so, without changing the placement of your fingers, you continue. It’s…better. Much better, actually. But you’re still struggling to get even a hair closer. 

“Look at you,” Joel whispers tauntingly. “No wonder you can’t come. You don’t know what you’re doin’ with all this. Need me to take care of this pretty pussy.”

“I most certainly do not,” you huff, irritated with his pompous and smug attitude. You gasp as you feel one of his fingers tease your entrance, slowly pushing inside. 

“Really?” Joel teases with a tantalizing tone. He curls his finger inside you, finding that spot that makes your head spin as you continue your circles. Your hips jut upward in search of more, more, more. “Don’t you want me to make it all better for you?”

“N-no,” you stutter in response, still bucking him. 

“That’s fine,” he mumbles, removing his finger. You whine at the loss, reaching your hand to grasp at his and put it back at your center.  

“No, no, don’t stop,” you whine, voice wrecked and desperate.

“Can you ask nicely?”

Oh, fuck him. “Please,” you rasp out, opening your eyes to meet his. He looks so fucking cocky, wearing a smug grin as he pushes two of his thick fingers in you with ease this time. You’re much, much wetter than you were before. 

He pushes upward inside you repeatedly, fingers dancing in your wet heat. It’s deplorable, loathsome, the way you melt under his touch. 

“Wanna know what your problem is, honey?” His voice is soft and syrupy sweet, and you hate that stupid charming affectation he puts on.

“No,” you breathe. “Just make me-”

“I’ll tell you what your problem is,” he interrupts. Dickhead. “You ain’t gentle with yourself. Need to be more patient,”

“Joel, for the love of god,” your voice is strained as he continues teasing you, his touch feels infinitely better than your own but he’s holding back, not yet giving you what he knows you need so desperately. 

“Pretty pussy like this needs love, sweetheart,”

You ignore him and buck your hips into his hand, needing more than what he’s giving you. “Joel, shut up and make me come,”

He swats your ass. “You ask me nice, now,” he instructs. 

You roll your eyes as far back as they can go, and comply with his unreasonable request. “Please,”

“Please what?”

“Please shut up and make me come,” you snap.

“God, you’re a fuckin’ delight,” he says sarcastically, irritated. “You wanna try that again?” He begins pulling his hand away, threatening to leave you high and dry. He knows he’s your only way of finishing tonight. 

“Fuck, please. I just wanna come,” you sigh, defeated and exhausted. It’s been an eternity since you had a proper orgasm, and you just want to come. If only the man getting you off wasn’t such a tool. “Please.”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” Joel taunts, smiling. He pulls you close, pushing your shirt up to play with your plump breasts. He grabs a handful, and begins kissing your inner thighs, kissing down, down…

You gasp when you feel him press a kiss to your sex, his fingers now twisting and teasing your nipples as his tongue explores every inch of your slick folds. Not that he needs to experiment at all, he has your body memorized. Every fucking inch of you. 

He fucks you with his fingers as he kisses your pussy, tonguing your slick folds and licking up every last drop of your sweet arousal. 

“Fuck, yes Joel. Just like that,” you breathe, pushing your hips into his face. His nose and mouth are hidden by your body, his eyes are intense and teasing when he raises his brows in amusement. Honestly, he thought you’d take longer to crack. But here you are, whimpering his name with every flick of his tongue and his fingers on your sensitive nipples, twisting and teasing them just so. 

He takes a moment to just taste you, get his fill of you before finishing you off. He flattens his tongue against you, then points it into your clit. He spends moments alternating between the actions, savoring every inch of you. The way you moan, the way your insides flutter around his fingers. The wet noises of your pussy are downright pornographic as he devours you and you can feel his devious smirk against your pussy.

When he’s satisfied, Joel wraps his plump lips around your sensitive bud gently, still flicking his tongue against you. You fall to pieces instantaneously, your thighs tremble and shake as your orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” is about all you remember how to say when you come on his tongue. He has this effect on you, making you forget how to speak. It’s even worse now. 

You’re a mess of heaving breaths and whimpers as you ride out your long-awaited orgasm on his tongue. All you can do is cry his name as he overstimulates your pussy before he finally slows, kissing up your body and neck. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips and you taste yourself on his tongue, suddenly feeling bashful.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear. He pulls away then and leaves your room, just as he promised. 

His footsteps fade out as he returns to his own room, his cock painfully hard and leaking precum. You’re still in bed, not yet fully satiated. 

You know what you need. As if you haven’t been a needy mess for him enough already. You’re an addict, completely powerless against your addiction. You wince as you get out of bed, following his footsteps as you contemplate the kind of sickening satisfaction you’re about to give him. 

Joel looks surprised when you enter his room, but you say nothing as you walk up to him. He’s tall and imposing above you, staring you down with an eyebrow cocked in interest, wondering if you’re about to do what he thinks you’re about to do.

You shove a hand down his pants, his cock is achingly stiff. You palm him, pushing him back towards the bed as your other hand tries to push down his pajama bottoms. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” he stops you, grabbing ahold of your hand on his dick. “Thought you said you didn’t miss my cock,”

“I don’t,” you reply firmly. 

“Then what’s your hand doin’ down my pants?”

You mumble incoherently, babbling something about just needing to fuck him. He stops you, “You can just ask, baby. I don’t mind givin’ you a little extra lovin’ if that’s what you need,”

You nod, unable to form a coherent thought. 

“Words, my love,” he reminds you. 

“Please,” 

“Please what?”

“I need you,” 

“Why?”

You groan angrily, tired of his boorish act. You push him on the bed and kneel between his legs. “I don’t know,” 

“Because like it or not, I make you feel good. Right?” Joel taps your cheek, encouraging you to look into his eyes. “I take good care of your pussy, don’t I?”

“You do,” you mumble under your breath. 

“Couldn’t hear ya, need ya to speak up f’me. Got bad ears, sweetheart,”

“You do,” you say a little clearer this time. 

“One more time. Who takes care of you?”

Oh, you could kill him. He must think this is so funny, watching you squirm and try to spell it all out. But then you remember, with his aching cock in your hand, you don’t have to listen to this. You have the power to shut him up. 

You pull his cock out of his pants quickly and part your lips over the blushed tip, tasting his salty precum on your tongue. He loses himself, gasping at the feeling of your tongue circling his tip and tracing thick veins as you lower your head down his cock. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this. 

“Ffff-” he hisses, one of his strong hands tangling in your hair. You’re using your mouth just how he likes, sucking him and swirling your tongue on his shaft. He’s breathing deeply, his soft tummy hitting your forehead with every deep breath he takes. 

You relish in the feeling of him falling apart for you, but more importantly the silence. The sexiest thing about Joel is when he shuts the fuck up. 

Your nose brushes the tuft of hair surrounding him, pushing yourself deeper and deeper, as deep as you can go. You hollow your cheeks, using your soft and wet mouth to massage him. You feel him twitch in your mouth, and he yanks you up by your arms, spit dribbling down your chin. 

Both of you are silent, save for your panting breaths and moans. No words need to be spoken, both of you know exactly what you’re needing. You’ve done this dance a million times before and have memorized a routine.

You straddle Joel’s thighs, centering yourself over his cock. You reach down to grab it and line yourself up, but something changes in Joel. In a swift motion, Joel flips you over on your tummy and presses down on your head with his big hand, using the other to pull your ass up to his cock. You gasp in surprise.

“Stay like that,” he instructs you. “Don’t move.”

You feel so exposed like this, on display and waiting for him to fuck you. Joel shimmies off his pajamas and kneels behind you, dragging the tip of his cock through your slick folds to gather your arousal. Despite the way your cunt drips for him, it’s not enough. 

Roughly, he pulls you up by your neck and shoves a palm under your mouth. “Spit,” he commands. 

And so you spit into his palm, feeling blood rush to your tummy in nervousness. He’s never been this way with you before.

“We’re doin’ things my way,” you hear him growl as he smears your saliva over his cock. “Been listening to you play with yourself for too damn long.”

“Joel,” you whine, arching your back and pushing into his hips. He swats your ass just enough to sting slightly, not hurting you too bad. 

“Shut up,” he says, pushing his tip into your center and dragging it through your folds. “I think,” he starts, notching his tip in your entrance. “I think when you come from now on, it’s gonna be ‘cause I let you.”

You can only mumble in response, head going fuzzy at his words. All you can think about his how much you need to be fucked. 

“Think you need to learn some self control,” he begins pushing in at an absolutely achingly slow pace. Millimeter by millimeter.

“Joel, move,” you demand with a groan, ignoring his words and pushing your hips back. He holds your hips  tightly, not allowing you to move further. You’re so needy, so ready to just be fucked hard, the way you picture him each night. Pounding into you mercilessly.  

“See, now that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about,” he chides you. “No patience.”

Joel continues pushing into you at a slow pace, letting you feel every inch of his member. He stretches your hole deliciously, allowing you to feel completely full. “Remember what I said? Gotta be gentle, like you love it,”

You’re breathing deeply, waiting for more. Joel pulls out, then slides back in with ease. He’s still going slow, but with enough force that you grunt when he bottoms out inside you. 

“That’s it,” he purrs. He watches his cock disappear inside you, then pulls out again. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

He begins fucking you at a steadier pace, somehow finding a happy medium between gentle and rough. “Feelin’ good?”

You’re at a loss for words. You feel all of him, every stroke so fluid yet firm. It’s nearly perfect. “Yes, Joel. Need more, please,”

“Oh, listen to that. Askin’ me nicely,” he says as he picks up his pace. “See what happens when you’re good to me?”

“Mhm,” you choke out. The way he fucks you is brutally delicious, just how you need it. He knows your body like the back of his hand.

“I promise I only wanna help, sweetheart. I know what’s best for you, don’t I?”

You abandon every ounce of protest in your body. Normally you’d bite back to his audaciousness with some quippy remark. But sweet fuck, he does feel good. He knows exactly how to make you dance under his touch, and you relish in the feeling. You almost feel guilty, denying your body this pleasure for so long. “Please, Joel,” is all you can say. And you don’t even know what you’re asking for, you just need Joel and Joel alone. 

“I like you like this, beggin’ for me. So much nicer when I fuck you,” 

The wet squelching sounds of your pussy fill the room, along with both yours and Joel’s heaving breaths. You feel his balls slapping up against your clit with each and every thrust he delivers onto you. 

“Joel, need you,” 

“I’ve got you, baby. What do you need?”

You can barely form words, so you let your body do the talking instead. You pull off of his cock and lay down beneath him, your eyes wide and your legs spread. You pull him down to you, kissing and nipping at his hot skin. Your moans are breathy and you buck your hips up to his, telling him what you need. 

Joel picks up what you’re putting down. He pulls away from you, lining himself up and pushing into you, as if just picking back up where he started. His arms are bracketed on either side of you as he fucks you, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside. It’s too much, you turn your head to the side and bite into his wrist to keep yourself from screaming his name. 

Your pussy squeezes him, walls fluttering and pulsing with every thrust of his cock. His once precise movements are beginning to falter, and he reaches down between your bodies to find your clit. 

“Not gonna last if you keep doin’ that t’me,” he warns. “I want you to come with me, okay baby?”

You nod, spreading your legs wider and wrapping them around his torso, the heels of your feet digging into his asscheeks. Your hands are holding onto his thick forearms for dear life, you watch the way his veins twitch and flex under your fingers. 

Just like each time he’s fucked you before, it’s almost pathetic the way you come undone for him with such ease. He’s rubbing your clit in steady circles for merely a moment before you come for him, sobbing in pleasure into his skin. When you come, it’s a mixture between explosive and slow. It’s simultaneously fireworks and a pot bubbling over, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. It’s nearly too intense, your eyes screwed shut as you cry his name like a prayer.

It’s all Joel needed to come. His name on your lips, your cunt gushing and squeezing him. He can’t help but spill inside you, shooting hot ropes of his seed inside you as he helps you ride out your orgasm. He collapses on top of you for a moment, pressing sloppy wet kisses into your skin. You hold him close, savoring the way his body feels so comforting on yours. He’s such a fucking dick, but he’s your person. Your home. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” he whispers. 

You smile mischievously. You know Joel cares deeply for you, maybe even loves you, but it’s amusing to hear him vocalize that. “You missed me?” 

“Ugh, no,” he lies. 

“Good,” you say. “I didn’t either.”

Joel leaves then to clean you up, then he gets back into bed pulls you into his side, your head resting on his chest. You fall asleep like that, holding each other sweetly in the early hours of the morning. 

Neither you nor Joel never did get much sleep, but at least you were kinder to one another in the morning. No doors or cabinets were slammed in anger, and innocent toasters were free of your verbal abuse.

@swiftispunk @rosaliedepp @pedrotonin @kittenlittle24 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @brittmb115 @bigboiseason123 @laysmt @venusdemonroe @guiltgoreglory @aubreysylvain @leeeesahhh @oliveg95 @ifall4dilfs @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @harriedandharassed @vickie5546 @louisxosblog @southernbe @ravenouswild @luvrking @r02eg0ld @amythenortherner @walkintheprk @zpandaqueen @silkiers@angel-with-a-heart @kdogreads @boofy1998 @theoremrobin @ihatespoilers @2valentines @happy--birthday--kiddo @elissaaa @paleidiot @brie-annwyl @str84pedro @sesigsss @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @palomaluvsdilfs @kyloispunk @tiredbuthappy @yuk-for-president @jazzy-music-cat @anoverhwhelmingdin @dontatmethebeasts @venus122idkpleaze @nopealoupe @blackvelveteen1339 @monboudoir @darleneslane @bbyanarchist @spideysimpossiblegirl @speckledemerald

[boowritess]

bonus part 2

simon can't cook-

okay no he CAN. okay? but it's very much- chop up whatever the fuck is in the fridge throw it in a pot, add as much meat he can find. then he's sorted. creating some sort of stew. but if not that. he thrives off 2 minute noodles.

listen, he's a working man. he can't be fucked thinking about what to make.

and if he needs to eat while not deployed and wants something, he'll get takeaways so he doesn't have to think about it.

and if ya'll are together - whatever you make... motherfucker eats that shit up like he's in a 5-star fucking reasturant.

you made scrambled eggs with bacon??? he's astounded. absolutely in love. has never been more satisfied in his life.

but oh lord. when he retires..

retired!simon fucking riley finds his fucking calling in cooking.

you no longer have to worry about cooking. nah-uh. not with this man who has all the time in the world to hone in on this new culinary world.

idk i just think it's so cute to think about simon going from beans on toast for breakfast to fluffy buttermilk pancakes or french toast with bacon a berry compote.

then for dinner; it's suddenly a whole line of sushi with all your favourites, dumplings to follow and a beef udon recipe dish. or maybe it's a simple roast - however, a perfectly seasoned meat has been sitting for a while in the oven for so long that when you cut into it, it's juicy and tender. and simon fucking beams at the faces you make.

dessert is a whole other game that simon fucking mastered. seriously. because he's placing down a skillet brownie, topped with ice cream and cream. And when you put a spoon into it, it fucking drips with chocolate ya'll.

just rahhhh retired!simon that turns into chef!simon. who just spoils you day and night with food. who gains the ability to make whatever dish you want, whenever you want. 3am and you want a grilled cheese? he can whip it up in seconds and it'll taste like the most gourmet grilled cheese you have EVER had.

btw, i'm torn between making him a gordon ramsay in the kitchen or him being the complete opposite and being so sweet and patient with you when you want to help him.

WAIT- speaks like gordon ramsay but treats you softly. like, you're not cutting with the knife correctly you fucking donkey. but instead of taking it off you, he presses up behind you, gently cups your hands with his and shows you how to do it safely. and he's speaking so sweetly and softly. a stark contrast to when he called you a fucking donkey - but hey you'll get your bite back. ;)

a/n: i can't fucking breathe this was so funny to write. i'm sorry idk why he called u a donkey. i'm fucking hungry if it wasn't obvious with this post.

[halfsizehellboy]

listen. listen to me. yeah sure the shredded abs are hot but they aren't a healthy body fat amount. but! i had a fucked up thought. does worst wolverine look like he was letting himself eat. motherfucker. look me in the eyes. post movie era where he gets back to 2000s wolvie beefcake (thicker than fucking bricks) because he's actually remembering/allowing himself/being forced to eat regularly (you can't tell me after 200 fucking years of his endurance of bullshit that he knows exactly how little he can eat and be functional)(wade is a shit cook other than breakfast food and those can be fattier and higher in calories and protein, esp what im thinking wade likes to make: pancakes and waffles and eggs and bacon, that's a good value meal right there)

[m1dnyt3-w0lf]

Chapter 2: Settling In

Word count: 3,350

Ch 1

   I awaken to sunlight in my eyes, making the back of my eyelids burn red. I blink my eyes open, squinting against the bright sunlight peeking through the white blinds on the window. I take in a long, deep breath as I sit up in bed. I rub my eyes and look around. The room I was in was completely bare, save for the bed I laid on, the pillow and blanket I was using, and my duffle bag that lay on the floor by the bed. Was this my room? When did I walk into the apartment?

   How the hell did I get here? I think as I start to slip off the bed. I feel the cold wood floor against my socks and shiver. At least I was still in last night's clothes. The cold floor was something I needed to get used to, though. I quickly start to dig into my bag, grab my chanclas, and slip them on.

   Better. I sigh in relief and go to take the first step when there's a knock at my door. I let out a yell and jumped backward, almost falling back onto my bed in the process.

   "I didn't mean to scare you, I was checking to see if you were awake." Miguel's voice came, muffled and soft by the door. I take a moment to calm my beating heart before walking over and opening the door. How tall was he?!

   Motherfucker is taller than the damn doorway! I saw his jaw twitch but thought nothing of it.

   "Uh, no, it's fine. How…how did I get to bed last night? I don't remember." I ask him, looking back towards my tousled bed.

   "I carried you up."

   "You…what?"

   "I carried you up. You were sleeping, and I didn't want to wake you." He said simply, moving away from the door and down the hall. "Breakfast is ready if you're hungry."

   I hurried after him, closing my room door after me. Not that it mattered much right now, anyway. It's not like I had things to hide from him.

   "Wait, what? Hold on, backtrack there, sir." This made him halt and look at me with a small hint of surprise on his face. I halted as well, not even realizing the term I had used. "What do you mean you carried me? You could have woken me up, surely, I must've weighed too much."

   Ah, there it is, the insecurity. Will I ever be free from you? I think bitterly. I made sure my emotions stayed clear from my face, however. I watched Miguel's gaze soften for a moment.

   Maybe a trick of the light?

   "Of course you don't. You weighed like nothing." He said, reassurance in his tone. I gave him a skeptical look.

   "You're lying to me." I knew he had to be lying. He raised an eyebrow, unamused. Seemed to be his signature look, didn't it?

    "Are you really doubting me? You said it yourself last night, I look like a gym rat." Damn bastard, throwing that in my face.

   "Well…looking like one and being one are two different things."

   "That so?"

   "Y-yeah." Miguel was nothing but a flash in my eyes. I screamed as he swiftly scooped me off my feet and carried me with no falter in his step to the kitchen. He then sat me on a chair and set a plate of eggs, bacon, and sausage links in front of me with a smaller plate of pancakes. I blink, dumbfounded and overwhelmed by the act and the smell of food.

   "Eat." He commanded, and I had no choice but to pick up the fork he handed me and slowly eat away at the food in front of me. My eyes watched him as he moved back to the stove and started to serve himself, piling a lot on his plate. He sat and started eating as well. His breathing never once labored or faltered. It was silent for a few clicks until I swallowed my bite and spoke.

   "Do I weigh anything to you?" I asked quietly, embarrassment coloring my cheeks. Miguel simply smirked and shrugged.

   "Not a thing." I pressed my lips together and went back to eating in silence. It was…weird. I've never been carried by anyone other than my dad when I was younger. Then, here comes Miguel, carrying me like I weigh nothing more than a kitten. I tried not to delve into how that made me feel.

   I take my phone out of my pocket and pull up Google. I needed to start my job search. I pulled up a map of the area, taking note of the nearby stores. I distractedly shove food into my mouth, eyes glued to my phone as I planned my route for the day.

    I can start with that sandwich shop two blocks from here. Then I can move to the convenience store across the street, and it looks like there's a gas station two blocks away from those. Maybe I can stop by that antique shop and-oh, is that a bakery?

   "Okay," Miguel started, irritation deeply set into his voice. I froze and looked at him, my egg-filled fork halted mid-air as my mouth hung open to take the bite.

   "We should probably set ground rules and other things." Miguel said, glaring at me. I set my fork down and met his eye.

   "Uh, okay?"

   "We'll take turns on setting a rule, and we'll discuss it. If we both agree on the rule, we'll set it in."

   "Sounds fair. Care to go first since it was your idea?" I nod to him, setting my phone down and giving him my full attention. He seemed to sit up straighter when my eyes went from my phone to him. Weird.

   "First of all, no electronics during meals." I knew I looked offended.

   "No electronics?"

   "Yes, no electronics."

   "Why?"

   "In today's day and age, we stare at screens all day. A meal should be enjoyed without a distraction." He said simply. I cross my arms and lean back in my chair.

   "That's a load of bs. I don't agree with that rule."

   "Why not?"

   "Because it's ridiculous! It's just a phone!" I tried to reason.

   "If it's just a phone, then you shouldn't be so bothered by the rule." He sassed. I narrowed my eyes on him.

   "What's next, you're going to say no food in the room?"

   "Not a bad rule."

   "No!" He chuckled softly at my state. I huffed, rubbing my eyes with a groan.

   "Okay, okay, fine. No electronics during meals." I glare at him in defeat. He looked back with a hint of pride. Oh, how I wanted to wipe that look off his face.

   "What's your suggestion?" He asked. I took a moment to think.

   “No set chores. We see something that needs to be done, and we'll do it. No taking turns, no ‘this chore is mine, this chore is yours.’” I told him. It was a method I remembered a friend and her roommate used, and she had told me it worked well. Miguel leaned back and raised an eyebrow.

   “That so?” He asked. I nodded, doubling down.

   “Indeed.” Miguel only shrugged.

   “Very well.”

   And we continued like that. We took turns setting rules and agreeing or disagreeing with said rules. Some we trashed, others we compromised, most we agreed on. Though, I had to admit, it felt like some of the rules were stupid. Miguel got his ‘no food in the rooms’ rule, but in return, I had my ‘no guests without approval’ rule. I could tell in his eyes that he thought my rule was idiotic, but I found it necessary. The last thing I wanted was to exit my room in pajamas just to walk into a kitchen with a stranger.

   He had added an ‘always knock’ rule and a ‘dim lighting’ rule. Now the knocking I agreed to, but the dim lighting was very weird and was definitely in call for an explanation.

   “Dim lighting? What do you mean?” I asked, pushing my now empty plate aside. Miguel peered at me over his nearly empty glass of milk. Somehow, this simple act of drinking milk reminded me a lot of my dad. He did like to drink a tall glass of milk no matter what time of day it was. I tried to gulp down the lump in my throat caused by the sudden hit of homesickness.

   Miguel seemed to be turning over my words. His dark eyes bore into my own blue ones. The hand holding his glass gently swirled the milk in it. I could see the wheels turning in his head as his face remained expressionless. Anxiety began to build up in my gut and make me squirm. I began to twist my fingers together and direct my eyes away from his stare. As soon as I did, I noticed him move in my peripheral and quickly looked back at him. I was shocked to see him moving with my gaze.

   What is his deal? I wondered as nerves and anxiety ate me from the inside-out. I gulped and cleared my throat before speaking.

   “Miguel, you don-”

   “I have sensitive eyes.” He interrupted. I blinked, shocked to have received an answer. He waited for a few moments before speaking again.

   “Bright lights hurt my eyes, which is why you'll find the lights on the lowest setting and blackout curtains on every window save your room.” He started with a lazy wave of his glass. My eyes flicked at the movement, then back up at him. I let his words roll around my mind. Sensitive eyes were nothing new to me. Hell, my own dad had sensitive eyes as well. He wore sunglasses whenever he was out during the day.

   “That makes sense. I'll be sure to grab some blackout curtains for my room as well.” He seemed to be taken aback by that.

   “You don't have to.”

   “Oh but I want to. Besides, I like my darkness.” I say with a shrug. What I thought to be a look of gratitude washed over Miguel's features.

   “Thank you.” He lifted his glass to me slightly before downing the rest of his milk. I couldn't help but chuckle.

   “No problem, really.” I gave him a smile, one that he returned with a light tilt of the corner of his mouth. I opened my mouth to speak when, suddenly, a Ding! noise filled the room. Miguel's face hardened immediately as his eyebrows furrowed and he looked at his…what the fuck is that? The band of what I assumed was a watch was nothing but a solid metal band wrapping around his wrist with that singular square screen that glowed and blinked a neon orange color.

   I couldn't help but stare as Miguel tapped the orange LED screen to stop the noise and blinking light. Miguel got up and placed his dishes in the sink, giving them a quick rinse before moving out of the kitchen.

   “I'll wash those when I get back, work calls for me.”

   “Oh, okay.” I say absent-mindedly. I was still trying to wrap my head around the watch. Miguel paused at the kitchen entrance and turned to look at me.

   “Do you need a ride anywhere?” He asked. This caused my brain to finally jumpstart and get those wheels turning.

   “Oh! Uh, no, thank you. I'll be fine. Besides, I need to learn my way around these streets.” Miguel didn't look convinced.

   “This is New York, not your Beverly Hills red carpet.” I scoffed.

   “What makes you think I lived in Beverly Hills?” Miguel gave me a once over before raising a brow. I gave him an offended look. Miguel started to walk away.

   “Wait here.” He said. I start to rise from my chair.

   “What? Hey, wait a minute you can't just-”

   “I said, ‘Wait. Here.’” He commanded, appearing back from around the corner and pointing at the floor. I immediately sat back down at his command, shocking myself in doing so. He watched for a moment before nodding his head and stalking off. His footsteps softly echoed down the hallway, leaving me to my bewilderment.

   What the hell just happened? I thought, slowly blinking as I looked at the spot Miguel had left. My cheeks begin to flush with embarrassment as the realization of what happened hit me. Ugh, he probably thinks I'm some kind of weirdo now. I groan and place my head in my hands. How could I react like that? Why did I react like that? Why was I so quick to follow his order? I groaned and placed my head in my hands. This was embarrassing! Within the first twenty-four hours, we had an argument and an awkward interaction.

   That bastard probably meant for that to happen. An impulsive thought threw into the pile of many others. I froze as I processed the thought. A scowl began to chase the flush from my cheeks as I whipped my head up and glared where he stood. How dare he?! I cross my arms and begin to tap my fingers on my arm, grumpy as this thought melted into my system.

   “Oh, sure, make fun of me just because you think I come from some bougie family, why don't you?! The fucking nerve!” I huff, mumbling under my breath. Eventually I hear Miguel's footsteps and I wait expectantly. He walks back into view, eyes moving from his weird watch to me.

   “I've asked a friend to drive you around where you need to go. Her name's Jessica.” He tells me, basically leaving no room for argument. I scoff.

   “I don't need a ride, I'm perfectly capable of walking.” Miguel raised a brow.

   “Really?” He rumbled lowly, lips barely moving as he spoke. I gulp, feeling my heart take a few extra beats upon hearing his voice.

   “Yes.” I say in an unconvincing voice that cracked and made me sound like I squeaked. I cleared my throat but didn't try to convince Miguel any further.

   “Fine, I'll drive around with Jessica.” I huff out, looking away.

   “Good.” Miguel said with a satisfactory tone. I sigh and look at him again, eyes immediately meeting his again. What's with this guy and eye contact?

   “How long until she's here?”

   “Five minutes. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be getting ready.” He nodded his head and left before I could say a word.

   “Alright.” I called out to him, picking up my phone and checking the stores I planned to visit. I chewed my lip. I didn't want to bother someone by making them drive me around when I could easily walk. Maybe just three stores? Or four? No, that would be pushing my luck, surely. I should go for the ones further away, right? I mean, it only makes sense if she's driving me. Then, maybe after she drops me off, I can walk to the closer ones. Miguel wouldn't know the difference. I smile at the plan I made.

    I'll show him for thinking I need to be babysat. I can take care of myself. I think triumphantly, bookmarking the places I want to be taken to.

   A knock sounds at the door after some time. I called out to Miguel that I had the door as I walked up to it. I open it and smile at the woman standing there. God's, she was gorgeous! She had smooth, richly dark skin; soft, brown eyes; and an afro held back with a red headband. She wore a red and black biker's outfit and sunglasses with bright yellow lenses.

   And very much pregnant, oh my gods. I blink in surprise but give her a warm smile. The woman gives me a once over and offers her own warm smile.

   “You must be Miguel's new roommate.” She said her voice was strong and confident. She sounded like she was speaking in a soft melody meant to lull someone to sleep. “I'm Jessica.”

  “Oh, hi, I'm Ashley.” I say, moving aside to let her in. “Come in!”

   “Thank you.” She walks in and picks a comfortable armchair to sit in, letting out a soft, relieved groan.

   “Would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee?” I ask immediately.

   “No, no, I'm fine, thank you.” She says with a playful tone and dismissive wave. “I just love this armchair.”

   “Okay, well, I'll let Miguel know you're here.”

   “Oh, I'm sure he already knows.” Jessica says with a chuckle. I only nod and head down the hallway leading to my room and where I assume his room was as well. I suppose we did talk pretty loudly, but I felt the need to tell him anyway. As I walked down the hall, I looked at the few paintings that lined either wall. They were…odd to say the least. To be fair, I was no renowned artist, but these pieces reeked of chaos and nonsense. I couldn't even call it abstract; they were otherworldly.

   I walked up to my room and paused. I looked at the remaining doors down the hall. It occurred to me I was never told where his room was. My eyes went from one closed door to the next as I tried to decide on what to do. There were three more doors, so really, I could be wrong twice. I scowled at the thought. Ugh, imagine being wrong twice? How embarrassing would that be?! He wouldn't let me live it down if his current behavior was any indication. I could already hear the teasing lilt of his annoyingly hot voice.

   Whoa, where did that come from? I shake my head to rid myself of the thought. He's my roommate. I shouldn't think of him like that. I quickly changed the course of my train of thought to my current dilemma.

   Do I call out his name and hope he hears me? I hesitated. Did I really want to risk Jessica hearing me sound like a doofus? Imagine not knowing your own apartment! Luckily, I only had to debate for a moment more when the decision was made for me. Miguel walked out of the last door down the hall wearing a deep blue, three-piece suit.

   Right. Go figure.

   However, I barely process the location of his room as I'm floored by just how utterly handsome he is in that suit. The dark color of the fabric brightened the dull brown of his skin and gave him a more lively look. His hair was brushed back, causing his wild curls to be hidden from sight. He looked so different from the way I saw him last night and during breakfast. Curls haywire from bedhead, loose-fitted shirt and pajama bottoms, tired but attentive eyes-

   Focus, damn it! Stop staring! And, as if sensing me, Miguel's eyes immediately met mine. A surprised blush colors my cheeks as my eyes widen.

   “O-oh, uh, haha, J-J-J-” I start to stutter out. I stop myself and take a deep breath, closing my eyes and turning my head away from Miguel. Gods, I hate this stutter.

   “Jessica,” I pronounce slowly before speaking at my usual pace, “is here.” I informed him before looking at him again. Miguel is silent for a beat. Then two. Then three. His expression seemed unreadable, but I swore I saw something processing in that brain of his. Maybe a trick of the light?

   Finally, he nods. “Thank you. You should start getting ready.”

   I look down at myself, still wearing the clothes I had left California in. Gross.

   “Yeah, I'll just be a few.” I tell him, turning to head to my room.

   “And Ashley?” He calls out, his deep voice holding that authoritative tone. I pause and look back at him.

   “Yeah?”

   “No funny business. Jessica will take you where you need to go.” He said pointedly. How…how did he know? I quickly school my features to a small smile and roll my eyes.

   “I know, I know. Thanks, dad.” I say the last part sarcastically and enter my room without another word.

Translation

Ch 3

If you'd like to be tagged/untagged, let me know!

Tags: @crocs-blogs @madschiavelique @arithestrawberry @eveandtheturtles @theshrikeandcanary @obi-mom-kenobi @thelaundrybitch @symmetricalkazekage

[paisholotus]

Ch.8

Lucious Pov

I shifted awake and looked down seeing Peaches laying on my chest. I tried getting up and moving her over, because I honestly didn't want to over step boundaries by staying in the same bed.

She whined clutching on my shirt, "No, don't go." She said, with sleep in her voice.

I got back on the bed and pulled her back onto my chest. I ain't never cuddled no one before so I was nervous sleeping in the same bed as her. She smelled so good, and she looked good as fuck wearing my clothes. I fought the urge to grip her ass.

I honestly would sleep in the guest room, because I wouldn't want her to think I don't respect her space. Siya was pure hearted, I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable in anyway.

She wrapped her legs around me and snuggled into my neck, humming in content. She was pretty much bear hugging me, but I liked the feeling of her thick thighs being wrapped around me. Not in a sexual way, she felt warm and it made me happy she felt safe with me like this.

I got comfortable and closed my eyes drifting off into peace.

-Time Skip-

I woke up and my body felt stiff as fuck. I yawned and stretched checking the time which read 8:30. My eye's widened and I quickly turned to look at the side of my bed empty. "shit." Siya stayed over here the whole night, Tisha gonna be talking shit man. Plus her parents probably gonna be mad, and not trust her with me anymore.

"Damn-." What the hell smelling so good? Unc don't be cooking me no breakfast.

I jumped out of bed and opened my door, and the smelled hit me in the face. It smelled good as hell in here, shit was making my stomach growl. Peaches had to still be here, I know Unc ain't cooking this good.

I walked downstairs hearing music softly playing, I looked around the corner and saw my Uncle and Peaches making breakfast laughing. It looked like she was making pancakes, and Unc was cooking bacon or sausage.

I walked over to them seeing them laughing they ass off, not even noticing I was in here. The way that this girl was in here cooking breakfast with my Uncle like they was family made me happy. My Uncle ain't never liked the girls I had, so for him to chopping it up in the kitchen wit her, there was sum special about this girl.

I pulled out the chair and sat at the kitchen island, smiling at the two. She turn around and she smiled softly at me, putting the bowl in the sink. "Hey, how you sleep?" She asked, me.

"I slept good. Best sleep I've had in awhile." She nodded, smiling biting her lip. She placed a plate in front of me that had pancakes, bacon, eggs, and sausage, and toast.

"Damn, this alot." I said, chuckling. Unc came and sat beside me putting his plate down, gulping down some orange juice. "I wanted to make y'all breakfast. And Lucious you don't have to worry about my parents, I called them when I woke up." I nodded and smiled thanking her for the breakfast.

Unc bit into his pancakes and Hummed, "Damn, this good. You gon come cook for me, girl. Because this nappy headed negro can't cook for shit." I smacked my teeth, flipping him off.

Lil mama held a hand over her mouth and snorted. I glared at both of them. Putting a piece of bacon in my mouth, "I can cook. I just don't do it often." I said.

Unc looked at me dead in my face and laughed saying, "Yo mother fucking ass would burn water. Shit you barely cook noodles right. Almost burned down our fucking house, cuz you forgot to put water in the damn bowl." He said.

Peaches busted out laughing leaning back in her chair, holding her mouth trying to stop herself from crying.

Oh so motherfuckers wanna clown on me early this morning. I frowned at both of them drinking my orange juice. "Man, Fuck Y'all."

Unc looked at me with a 'who you talking to' face. I rolled my eyes aand looked at Peaches who was smirking at me, and leaned over the island. "Wouldn't you like to." She said, and gave me a quick peck on the lips. Quickly running to the back laughing.

I finished my food and placed my dishes in the sink with Unc yelling down the hall, "Y'all quit that nasty shit in my house." And went back to reading his paper.

I walked upstairs to my room to see lil mama getting stuff ready to take a shower. She looked so damn sexy in my clothes. I won't trying to be a pervert, but every little thing she did turned me on.

It could be her smile, her laugh, but it was mostly her ass. Like GodDayum I ain't never seen an ass like hers. She knocked her towel on the floor and bended down to pick it up, and fuck that thang was poking.

I licked my lips and cleared my throat making my presence known. She smirked at me and took her two fingers making an 'Come here' motion. I bit my lip and walked towards her, she gave me lil fuck me eyes and chuckled running into the bathroom closing and locking the door. And laughed loudly behind the door.

Oh so she wanted to play? Ight, let's play then. I knocked on the door and said, "keep on playing wit me baby." And walked away from the door.

-Time Skip-

Nalae's Pov

I walked out the bathroom with my clothes on I had on yesterday, I was thankful Rodney stuck them in the dryer. I looked for Lucious but I didn't see him. I went to sit down on the couch with Rodney and he said he had a date tonight, I was happy for him for him. Been telling him that he needs to finds himself a date.

I loved the relationship him and I had. He was like my actual Uncle, he gave good advice, he made sure I was straight when I came over. Him and my parents got along nicely.

He told me Lucious went to get something for him. We sat on the couch watching Martin laughing, Cole and Tommy had to be my favorite characters.

Unc sat back down on the couch and handed me a sandwich and chips. We ate and continued to watch TV. Lucious walked through the door and sat down beside me but didn't acknowledge me. I frowned and tried to get his attention, but he continued to ignore me. I lifted my eyebrow and smirked nodding, so that's what he wanna do? OK cool.

I sat my plate and drink and coffee and grabbed his arm but he jerked it away from me. I looked at Unc who looked at me laughing then we looked back at Lucious. He glared at us and got ready to get up but I grabbed him around his waist smiling at him. "Awe you mad, bubba?" I teased grabbing his chin making him look at me.

Us teasing him even more must have made him more irritated, because he snatched my hand away from his face. Unc smacked his teeth and said, "damn, nephew, don't be like that."

I cackled and grabbed his chin again. I got on his lap and kissed all over his face making him crack a smile. And he softly chuckled with me. He pecked my lips two more times. "You mad at your, Peaches?" I asked, him. He shook his head, kissing my forehead. "Nah, I was just playing." I nodded, and playfully pointed my finger in his face telling him not do that no more.

Unc pointed out that Lucious should probably take me home. I nodded and we got up and I went to his room to grab my bag, and walked back to the front.

I hugged Unc bye and walked out the house walking to the car. Lucious opened the car door for me and helped me get in. He got in the car and we drove off. On my way home we listened to his music some more, and I've told Lucious that I can see him definitely being a big Artist one day.

He was so talented. He had asked me a couple of times to be on a track with him, and I was very hesitant. Because don't get me wrong I know I can blow, I got some pipes. But actually being on a song with him made me nervous.

I smiled to myself feeling Lucious squeeze my hand, while the other held onto the wheel. His focus stayed on the road, as he continued to rap his lyrics with a big smile on his face.

We began to rap the chorus part and he turned to look at me for a second giving me a genuine smile, before turning back to look at the road. We pulled up to my house and I rapped the last bit of the song before it went off. I turned to look at Lucious who was staring me in the eyes, with a blank expression.

"Well, I had a good time. Despite the circumstances." I chuckled. He cracked a small smile but didn't say anything. "You gon call me later?" I asked, him. But he continued to stare at me with a smile on his face, not saying anything.

I frowned a little and rubbed his cheek trying to get him to say something, but he wouldn't. He tend to do that often when he was with me. He would just stare at me and smile, not saying anything. I wouldn't say it made me uncomfortable, just....I ain't never had someone stare at me with such Love? I don't know maybe that's not the right word, but that's what it feels like.

Does Lucious love me? We've only been talking for 4 months. Is that too early to be falling in love with somebody?

I was so in my head I didn't fully notice that his hand had lifted my chin, and his nose was pressed against mine. He brushed his lips against mine and kissed me. But this wasn't like any of the kisses we've had before. It was soft and slow. His hands cupped my cheek and the side of my neck. I moaned into the kiss and wrapped my arms around his neck pulling him closer to me. He groaned with his had traveling down my side, gripping my hip.

He let go of the kiss and peck my lips a couple more times before looking into my eyes with a smile on his face. Lucious had the prettiest eyes and the most attractive smile I've ever seen. I pulled away a little bit feeling those butterflies again.

He chuckled reaching over to fix my necklace, and looked back at me. But his face went back to blank and he took a deep breath as if what he wanted to ask me weighed on him.

"Peaches i-i" He cut himself off and looked at me. I gave him a encouraging smile grabbing his hand.

"I want you to be mine." He said, slowly.

My heart felt like it picked up a little bit. But I held no expression on my face. "Really? Don't play wit me, Lucious? I said. Looking at him for sincerity.

He gave me a big smile placing his forehead against mine and kissed my lips again. But this time he slipped his tongue into my mouth, cupping my cheeks. He claimed my mouth and I let him, I moaned into the bliss of the kiss and gripped the back of his neck. He pulled away and pecked my lips again, my mind was clouded and I was flustered. I slowly opened my eyes and he was staring straight into mine.

"I was serious when I gave you that chain, I was serious about you when I took you out on them dates, and I was serious about you when I told you last night that I got you. Forever and always." He said, smiling at me.

This happy bubbly feeling popped up in my chest as I tried hard not to start cheesing. But I failed miserably. I gave him the biggest smile leaning back over kissing him. He chuckled into the kiss wrapping his arms around my waist. We pulled away and smiled at each other.

"Yeah, I'll be your girl." I said, pecking his lips again.

He looked at me with a serious face and pressed his forehead against mine and said, "I promise I ain't gon hurt you, Peaches. Imma do right by you." I smiled softly at him, and lifted up my pinky. He laughed and rolled his eyes grabbing my pinky wrapping his around mine and kissed my lips again.

We pulled away and decided it was time for me to go in the house. He got out and walked over to my side to help me out the car. He walked me to my door and told me he wanted to take me on a date tomorrow, which I told him was fine.

I opened my door and kissed him one more time before walking in, and watching him get back in the car and leaving. I closed the door and smiled to myself.

"I got boyfriend. I got a boyfriend." I sang lowly chuckling happily to myself.

[moneyholder]

Gin rummy x Sweet Black girl reader!

So. This is my first time EVER writing on tumblr. I’m excited!

I haven’t seen ANY tumblr’s of Gin Rummy and I LOVE him. Idk why. But this may be bad. But tell me some things and I promise I’ll get better!

TW: Gunshot, guns, foul language, mention of death, gunshot wound, and children being traumatized.

Not smut, but definitely not fluff.

Gin rummy, your boyfriend. One of the best boyfriends you could ask for, he acts all hard in front of people but he is such a softie for you and only you. Whenever your in his presence he melts, and he’s a lot nicer. He listens to you, like a dog.

"Mornin’ Rummy. You woke up a bit late so I’m cooking breakfast today. Anything specific you want?" You asked him will putting the bacon in the oven.

"Mmm.. Pancakes." He said in his groggy voice that gave you butterflies. "Uh-uh. No pancakes, you always put way too much Suva’ and you end up all over the place. How about sausage instead?"

"Mm." Was all he said as he sunk back into your neck and taking in your sweet natural smell.

Knock! Knock!

"You get that Rummy?" He nodded his head and rubbed his eyes to wake himself up before opening the door.

"Oh snap! Ed Wuncler the third." Ed? The hell is he doing here?

"My man, Gin Rummy. What’s good baby?"

"It’s all good man, just about to eat breakfast. Come on in."

"I know dat smell from a mile of damn way! Y/n yo ass in here!?" Sometimes Ed annoyed you but most of the time he was cool.

"What’s good Ed." You sapped him up. "Kids..? Since when did you have children?" You asked tilting your head to look at a boy with an Afro and another boy with cornrows."

"Man do I look like I got kids!? These little motherfuckers need some help finding a killer or sum shit." You nodded your head as Ed walked away to talk to Rummy. You decided to talk to them.

"Hey boys, what’s your names?" You got down to their level and gave them a small smile.

"Huey."

"Riley, AKA young reezy."

"Nice to meet you Huey, and young Reezy. Would you boy like some breakfast? It’s Eggs, Bacon, and sausage. And if not theirs English muffins and some peach jelly."

The boys shook their head no at the same. You were so nice to them and your smile was so bright and filled with nothing but care just from seeing two boys you didn’t even know.

You set up plates for Ed and Rummy as the boys and Ed were talking.

"Look, we have exactly 4 hours and 45 minutes to find the X-Bic killer. Can you help us do it?" You heard Huey say as you sit a plate of food down in front of Ed.

"I’ll be dead on his ass Like Spenser: For rucking Hire. I’ll hunt him down and feed him his own testicles, and, I’ll do it in a jiffy. And I don’t care if his momma there his grandmama, innocent bystanders, Lilly kids, babysitters, bill collectors, whatever. I’ll leave his whole block filled with hot brass if I have to. And you know why? Because I just don’t t give a fuck!"

You sighed and looked at him "Try not to get so upset. Eat your food so you don’t go out on an empty stomach, ok?" You have another one of those sweet passion filled smiles to him that made his stomach do front lips and somersaults.

"Yeah- I’m just- sorry." You smiled and gave an apologetic look to the boys. So decent for someone like him.

In the car.

You sat in between Huey and Riley while you watched Rummy load his gun.

"So y’all was in Iraq together?" Riley asked rummy.

"Yeah, we was in Iraq." Rummy said back.

"What did y’all do?"

"We was looking for weapons of mass destruction."

"…Did you ever find ‘em?"

"You know god damn well we ain’t find ‘em!" He yelled at Riley. You need to keep him in check.

"Rummy, chill. He’s a kid ok. Remember what we talked about. Kids ask questions."

He sighed and shut his mouth. "I was looking for butches but they had carpet shut all over ‘em, and I couldn’t see what they looked like. All that was really exposed was their eyes and that wasn’t enough for me. Cuz you know, I’m looking at they eyes and they eyes be pretty and I take their carpet off and then I get a whole tragedy." Ed said.

And then rummy spoke again. "Well no, we didn’t fine ‘em but I always say "The absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence."

"What?" Huey said.

You sighed and tried explaining yourself. "What he means is, simply because you don’t have evidence that something does exist doesnt mean you have evidence something doesn’t exist."

"What?" Riley said

"What country you from?" Rummy spoke.

“What?" Riley said the same thing, again.

"What ain’t no country I heard of, they speak English in what?"

"What?"

"English motherfucker do you speak it!?" Rummy screamed in the kids face.

"Yeah.."

"So do you understand the words I’m saying to you!?"

"Y-yeah."

"Rummy please, you’re scaring him." You chimed in ad you put your hand on Riley’s shoulder.

"You ok Riley?” You said to him and he just looked at you.

"… What?"

You sighed.

At the store.

"Aye! Slow your role G! You guys have to pay first!" The cashier said as you looked in your purse for your wallet.

“Damn! Chill out Aladdin Hussein! You know I’m good for it!"

Rummy put his hand your arm to stop you from getting your wallet out of your purse. You looked up at him, confused. He might pay for it.

….

"Look! He got a weapon!" Ed yelled when he saw the cop.

"Hold on! Wait a minute put the gun down!" You saw Rummy play along.

You stepped back from them and up to the children standing in front of them. You obviously weren’t their mother but it was instinct.

After yelling from across the room you heard Huey from behind you. "There is no weapon! They’re robbing the store!" You did t say anything, you didn’t want rummy to go to prison but you also did t wanna get in trouble so you did t say anything.

You watched them all scream at each other as you made sure those kids stayed tight behind you and you closed your eyes as they all argued.

Untill you heard gunshots. You moved as quick as lightning picking up Huey and Riley and setting them behind an isle in the gas station making them stay down.

You loooked past the isle and saw rummy getting blown across the counter and Ed running around. "Rummy! Both of you stay here!" You ran out from the isle to get to your boyfridnyou were so close.

You fell on your stomach. "… God, it’s so warm, like… water on my stomach. It’s so warm… and gooey… and red… and red. It’s fucking red. I just got fucking shot!

Soon the warmth stopped as you held your stomach while screaming in pain.

“Shit shit shit! Cmon- we gotta- we gotta call the ambulance!" You heard rummy yell to ed as you layed on the floor untill feeling him scoop you up and bring you behind a counter.

"Man is you crazy!? We cal the ambulance we gon’ be in trouble too!" Ed yelled back to him.

"You’ll- you’ll be fine- God- fuck! He put his hand on your stomach and pressed on it as you breathed heavily. Everything went black.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

You woke up in the hospital to hear light snoring on your lap and you saw rummy, Huey, and Riley all asleep on your hospital bed. Ed was on the couch.

You ran your hands on Rummy’s hair. And he slowly woke up. “You’re awake.” He said to you. “I can see that.” You said back smiling. “How the hell are you still smiling? You just got shot baby. And you’re smiling?"he asked as he held your hand. "Just because I’m smiling doesn’t mean I’m happy about what happened. I’m just happy we all got out alive and no one died.” He sighed and put his head back on your lap.

“Were the boys ok?” You asked you wondere how Huey and Riley felt. Their just kids seeing all of this. “Huey was giving me a whole lecture about it like he a teacher and Riley thought you were gonna die.” He said looking at them.

“Good thing you didn’t, right?”

“Right.”

[aceontheline]

Love is in Bloom (Mass x Florida: Pt 5)

C//W: Stalking, Kidnapping

The morning after Caitlin and Darren's shenanigans was rather pleasant. Florida woke up first and decided to do something nice for Mass: Freshly squeezed Orange Juice & some breakfast. For the latter, he enlisted some help from New York (who was already awake). Pancakes, eggs and OJ for Florida's weary lover. Soon after the pancakes were done, Mass stumbled out of bed. He wore sweatpants & a short sleeve shirt, a look at made him seem like he just came from the Gym. Mass walked up to Florida and smiled softly, hugging him from behind. Mass inquired what Florida was making.

"Pancakes, eggs and some OJ for you and I. Go sit at the table!" Florida said, turning to hug Mass back.

"Okay, I'll leave my Sunshine up to it" Mass replied tiredly, kissing Florida’s cheek.

His... Sunshine? Florida giggled as he let that nickname play in his head over and over again. Eventually, the two sat down and had a proper breakfast. They chatted about Florida's "situation" that happened the other day with Caitlin.

Florida's eyes rolled at hearing her name. He mentioned that he'd probably have to testify against her in Court. She was violating a restraining order that he had in place, so that was a major issue. All of a sudden, during their meal, there was a knock at the front door. Well, really, it was loud and forceful banging. Mass had a protective instinct sort of feeling so he insisted that he answered the door. He charged up to it and... Yep. Darren.

Motherfucking Darren.

Mass bore his fangs upon seeing the familiar man that broke his heart.

"What the fuck do YOU want?" Mass said with a low growl, canines presenting.

"You and I technically never broke up. You just left me. You have two options here. Get back together with me where you rightfully belong, or I can report everyone here to the Police for kidnapping. Since you used to live with ME" Darren said matter of factly.

Mass's blood ran cold. He knew that he was in some deep shit now. Whatever Darren wanted, he was usually good at following through. He leaned up against the front door frame, thinking for a moment. He sighed heavily, looking into Darren's eyes. They were the same as ever: Cold, empty, calculating.

"Look, I'm sorry. But you lost your chance years ago. I'm with someone who makes me happy now. Maybe you should do the same. Goodbye" Mass said coolly.

He shut the door in Darren's face. Mass saw him storm off to his car parked in the front yard. Florida sauntered over to Mass, wondering who that man was. Mass groaned and said that Florida had better be prepared to hear some twisted stuff. "Can't be any worse than me and Caitlin" Florida said, sitting on the couch & across from Mass.

Mass proceeded to list off personal stories about dealing with the hell that was his ex, Darren.

That man kept Mass on edge. Darren barely replied to messages, basically making it a point to keep Mass second-guessing.

Darren put Mass on a pedestal, only to kick it out from underneath him if Mass ever screwed up. Insults and all.

Darren was also quite the gaslighter. However, he'd do it to convince Mass that he wasn't cheating. Although, at one point or another, he was.

Darren proposed an "Open Relationship" to Mass, only to get mad once Mass showed interest in someone else. And shut it all down.

Darren had hit Mass before. They hurt each other, really, but Darren was more powerful than Mass.

Florida listened to Mass listing these things off effortlessly & immediately grew worried over the power Darren could actually hold. Florida asked him what they were talking about at the front door. Mass scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Said he'd report yous for kidnapping, since I used to live with him at his place" he replied, looking down at his feet.

"Even though you came to us at will. And were living with us prior to you moving in with Darren" Florida stated.

"And all my mail, bank statements and other junk being delivered to THIS address consistently for about a year even as I moved out" Mass replied.

The two managed to come up with a plan, just in case. New York had agreed to lend Mass a bat so he could place it near his bed just in case. And turns out, he would need it.

Mass was already on edge & it just worsened at night. He heard creaking in the middle of the night and went into the hallway with the bat, only to see it was Pennsylvania getting up to get some water. Mass apologized frantically then just muttered "Darren". PA nodded, as he knew of the crazy bullshit the man put Mass through. PA got Mass some water and a gave him a nice, firm pat on the back. "Just give the word if ya need us" Pennsylvania said before walking away.

Mass sat down on the couch for a little while, distracting himself with some T.V time. After a little while, Mass felt something creeping up on him. It was someone's touch... It felt all too familiar. But then he felt nothing. Shit, he blacked out.

He woke up a few hours later in a daze & confused. He looked all around the seemingly empty room & immediately called out to the others... Only to discover his mouth had been covered with tape. A familiar, overshadowing figure came in and loomed over him. Darren! The psycho actually went and kidnapped Mass. Mass struggled for a moment and tried screaming for help, only to make Darren laugh in response. He only took the tape off of Mass's mouth and looked at him.

"What the FUCK, Darren?!" Mass angrily growled, once again bearing his sharp teeth. Darren was a bit intimidated, but he had to act cool.

"I know kidnapping you wasn't in my itinerary, but... I had a thought. If I'm not allowed to have you, no one should. I'm gonna keep you in here for as long as I can" Darren said, kissing Mass's forehead.

Mass panicked once more, only for Darren to put the tape back on his mouth & to walk out of the room. Darren had but a few moments to act. He called Florida using Mass's phone. Florida immediately seeing that the call was seemingly from Mass, and at this late, answered the phone.

Florida's face dropped and turned a pale white, upon hearing it was Darren. He made a threat to Florida, saying that if he comes near the property, then he wouldn't hesitate to shoot on sight. Florida immediately thought of a plan, involving all the Northeastern states. He passed Darren off as if he were nothing & hung up.

Darren laughed, insinuating that Mass should move on from Florida, as he didn't seem to care about Mass anymore.

A few hours go by, and that sentiment was immediately proven wrong. New Jersey, Connecticut, Rhode Island and Vermont all went in and kicked the shit out of Darren & restrained him, after the man put up an impressive fight against them all.

Florida and New York went into the house and found Mass tied up. Mass screamed for the two to free him. Florida untied Mass from the chair and New York ripped the tape off his mouth.

"And I thought Caitlin was crazy, holy shit... Mass, are you okay?! He didn't hurt you, did he?" Florida asked frantically.

"Other than the bruise or bump I have on my head from him knocking me out, no. I'm fine" Mass said, hugging Florida briefly.

They took hands and ran out of the place as quickly as possible. The Northeastern states called the Police, so Mass was talking to the cops about what happened. With the bruises everyone had sustained from the whole endeavor, there was no doubt that this was a kidnapping attempt.

Darren was cuffed and thrown into the Police car that night.

Florida cuddled with Mass for the whole night, basically refusing to let go of him. Mass, oddly enough, appreciated the gesture. He cuddled up to Florida too, apologizing for Darren's abhorrent behavior. Florida insisted that Mass didn't owe anyone any apologies. If anything, that was Darren. But he'd be going to Jail now anyway. Not after a lengthy trial though, of course.

But for now, Florida and Mass just enjoyed each other's embrace as they barely got much sleep that night. Gov wanted to speak with them, but heard everything that happened and refrained from having them present. He just wished them both a speedy physical recovery, as he knew the mental part would take a lot longer. Florida and Mass spent the day at each other's side, refusing to leave the other's sight for even a mere moment.

Previous: ( Here ) ; Next ( Here )

Masterpost: ( Here )

[midnightjojo]

Sunday, Fucking Sucked

I should have just stayed in the house because I got slapped by FWB/My ex boyfriend and I got yelled at by my sisters and my mutual friend aka bitch ass motherfucker. So I went to her apartment this morning because she had my pepsi and I wanted it and I told her I would make pancakes and eggs for the two of us and she says our mutual friend is there. I go down there and he lets me in then asks if…

[tealquacks]

They Share a Kitchen 4: Breakfast in Bed

Originally posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317644/chapters/69731439

It’s been many months, I know, but I hope you all like this chapter! 

Remus knew he should get out of bed. 

Out of bed, down the stairs. 

Down the stairs and into the kitchen.

He owed Janus rabbit, and he wanted to talk to Logan.

Logan…

It had been a few days since they’d gathered ingredients, and they’d talked almost every single day since. They met in the kitchen. Talked at night. Sought one another out. But it would never last. Logan would say something about the light sides and then scurry away, or get all quiet if he thought he heard footsteps. It never felt like it did when they were alone, truly alone. 

He rolled over in bed, curled in on himself. 

Come on. Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen, make something with rabbit, then find another reason to talk to Logan. Maybe they could find a good paella recipe. And that would get Logan to come into the kitchen and talk to him. He could talk to Janus, too, and cook as he did so.

Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen.

Remus stared at the wall. 

Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen. It was 7:30 am. Janus would be in the kitchen soon. And if he wasn’t in the kitchen before he left, he’d get that look from Janus, one of those looks that said ‘are you okay?’ And made him feel all queasy and miserable.

The long and short of his situation was that the bed was nice and soft, and he didn’t see a point in getting out of bed. Even though there was food to be made and conversations to be had. Remus sat up, but didn’t get out from under the covers.

He got like this sometimes. When was the last time? Remus looked down at his hands. Maybe he could paint his nails. In bed. Then he’d get up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen. What had he been—

—yes, when was that last time he couldn’t— right after Thomas decided to skip the fucking callback. He’d spent most of the wedding laying in bed, marinating in a horrid, heavy feeling that he couldn’t quite identify. It was like trying to pin a still flapping butterfly to a board. Remus flopped back onto bed.

Now it was 9:00 am. Where did that time go? He must’ve fallen back asleep, or zoned out. He sighed. At least he had a reason to feel heavy then. Now he was just being stupid.

“No, you feel heavy because he abandoned you,” a deep voice echoed, “like all the others.”

“Shut the fuck up, Orange,” Remus grumbled, “I’m tryna fucking sleep.”

“No you’re not.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Orange laid his hand on Remus’ head. It was freezing cold against his skin. He gently ran his fingers through the brown strands. They stayed like that for a few minutes, in a cold, uncomfortable silence.

“Green, you know they’ll never apologize to you,” Orange whispered, “they’ll never accept you. They’ll never stay by you. It’s a fact of life, it’s alright-”

The words drifted away as Remus shut his eyes, mind wandering far, far away. It left the room entirely- bed, stairs, kitchen, Logan- and found itself back at that night on the dock, Logan’s pale skin under bright moonlight. He’d offered him a castle, a cottage. He gave him a pearl. Had he kept that pearl? Or did he throw it away? 

Orange chuckled darkly, hand still in his hair. He pet him slowly, as if consoling a dying animal.

“You poor little creature.”

“I’ll kill you,” Remus growled.

“You can’t even get out of bed.”

“I’ll still kill you.”

It had been several days— four, maybe— since Logan and him dove into the cool black of the ocean. He returned to the dock just yesterday. Slow waves lapped against the shore, illuminating the night in a bright blue bioluminescence. If Logan had asked, he would’ve made him a cottage on the beach. He would’ve turned the black sand to glass. He would’ve destroyed it all. 

“You’ve let yourself change too much. Remember, Green,” Orange mumbled, playing with Remus’ hair, “you are nothing but one part to a whole, a scrap, a husk. You’re empty and hated, hated by Red, by Purple, by Indigo—“

Remus moved without thinking, hands wrapping fast around Orange’s throat, squeezing with whatever might he had. Orange toppled off of the bed, and Remus went with him, slamming his knees into Orange’s chest as his back hit the floor, hands clasped around his throat like a prayer.

“Don’t you fucking dare say anything about him you goddamn piece of shit,” Remus snarled,  "He is nothing like them— nothing like me! And that’s… that’s none of your business! That’s what it is! Do you hear me?”

Orange just grinned, his unreadable face flickering. Remus throttled him back and forth, slamming his head into the dirty floor of his room. Orange’s face never shifted. Still cold, unreadable. Remus dug his nails into his throat. His breath came in shallow puffs.

“Do you fucking hear me?”

Someone knocked on the door quietly. Janus, probably. Remus held fast to Orange’s neck.

“Do you hear me, motherfucker? He doesn’t hate me! HE DOESN’T HATE ME!” Remus screeched. All Orange did, the absolute bastard, was raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Look at that, I got you out of bed. You should thank me, Green.”

Remus punched him in the nose as hard as he could, a loud crack echoing through the room. Orange’s blood dyed his knuckles a shifting cascade of color. 

The door quietly creaked open.

“I heard something fall, and then yelling,” Logan began carefully. "I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Remus looked up from where he knelt on the floor, hands clasping at nothing but air. Cowardly bastard had up and vanished without a trace. Even the blood had vanished from his knuckles. Logan was still looking at him, tray in his hands, angelically haloed in the light of the hallway. Remus coughed, attempting (and probably failing) to not look like he had just tried to brutally murder someone.

“Hi, Logan, what’cha got there?”

“Janus said he didn’t see you at breakfast, so I, um. Grabbed some pancakes Virgil made, and made you a little plate. Are you alright?”

Remus stood, brushing dust off of his dirty pajama pants. He hadn’t washed them in… had he ever washed them? He sat back on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m perfectly peachy, Logan.”

Logan frowned. “It’s 9… 9 something. I didn’t check the time before I came up. But I thought you’d be hungry.”

Remus tilted his head, sloshed the sludge of his brain around trying to find coherent thought. The urge to scream at Logan welled up within him, a thick feeling in his throat as if he was about to puke up a torrent of slugs. He wanted to ask him for so many things- stay with him, hold him, tell him he doesn’t hate him. He gingerly pat his bed. 

Logan stepped inside of his room, closing the door behind him. Remus turned on the lights with a clap of his hands. Logan sat (on the bed,) facing him, and set the tray between them. There was a plate of pancakes— probably banana nut, knowing Virgil— as well as two glasses of water with lemon on the rim, and an orange. Two glasses of water.

“Were you planning on eating with me?” Remus asked quietly. Logan picked up one of the glasses.

“If you wouldn’t be averse to that,” he muttered. Remus snorted.

“You know I love spending time with you.”

Logan sipped his water, the slice of lemon bumping his glasses a little. Remus couldn’t help but stare. He wanted. He wanted. He didn’t know what it was, but whatever it was, he wanted. 

“How have you been?” Remus asked. Logan swallowed a mouthful of cold water. 

“Well. And you?”

Remus picked up the fork and knife on the tray, gingerly cutting into the stack of pancakes. He poked one with a fork, and lifted it to his mouth. Banana nut, just as he’d expected. He hated the taste of banana nut, but Logan didn’t know that. 

“Good, I’ve been doing good. I couldn’t get out of bed this morning, but besides that, I’m all good. I haven’t washed my sheets in close to twenty years and I’m so glad I’m not a human or else they’d smell absolutely horrible and be covered in dead skin.”

Logan looked down at the blanket. Remus chewed slowly.

“That’s okay,” Logan mumbled.

Remus chewed, then swallowed.

“Do you still have that pearl I gave you?” He asked.

Logan sipped his water. Remus’ heart started to pound.

“Do you still have that pearl I gave you?” Remus repeated. Logan lowered the glass from his lips, then nodded.

“Of course I do. It’s beautiful, Remus.”

“Just beautiful? No little scientific quip about pearls?”

Logan opened his mouth, then closed it. He cleared his throat.

“Cleopatra, according to legend, dissolved crushed pearls in vinegar to drink them. The pearls would dissolve in the vinegar, since pearls are 85-90% calcium carbonate, which is also the main component of snail shells, and eggs. Calcium carbonate is also suspected to be found on Mars.”

“Space oysters!” Remus said between bites of pancake, “speaking of Cleopatra, how has Roman been doing? Get it, since Cleopatra fucked Caesar and Caesar was Roman, though I doubt Roman is getting any. Did you know Cleopatra made a vibrator by sticking a bunch of bees in a dildo?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitched up.

“That is quite an interesting fact.” “So how is he? Roman, I mean.

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, he’s been hanging out with Virgil a good deal. They were working together. I… don’t know if Roman is feeling any better, though. The two of them, surprisingly enough, seem to bring out the best and worst in one another. Roman makes Virgil brave, in an odd way.”

Remus nodded.

“I regret teaching him to cook.” 

“Who, Virgil?”

“Yes,” Remus said, “cooking’s my thing and I hate him so much and I hate Roman too, they left me, they hate me, and I hate them.”

Logan went silent.

“...Virgil made those pancakes. Do you want to move downstairs? We could make pancakes, and they wouldn’t be his.”

Remus nodded. 

“That sounds great! Are you sure the others won’t be there?”

“The kitchen has been mostly empty since Roman and Virgil’s little… escapade. It would be just the two of us.”

Remus stood, leaving the tray of food on the bed.

“Alright then! Race you to the kitchen!”

He lept off of his bed and burst through the door of his room, almost slamming into the wall before turning and running down the stairs on all fours. He toppled over his arms, and slid down the rest of the stairs on his back. His feet touched the floor, and he sprinted into the kitchen, only to find Logan already standing there.

“How the fuck?”

“I teleported,” Logan said, a small smirk lighting up his features. He still held the glass of water with a lemon slice on it, “we’re not real, remember?”

“You little shit,” Remus said with a smile. Logan raised his glass in a mock toast. Remus walked over to the cupboards, keeping his eyes on Logan the whole time. He wanted.

“The griddle is still out at least,” Remus observed, “Virgil never was one to clean up his own goddamn messes. Now sit down, unless you have an award winning pancake recipe!”

Logan sat, and said “your pancake recipe has won an award?”

Remus snorted.

“No, but Janus once told me it deserved an award.”

He knew the steps. Get the flour. Scoop some into a bowl, then baking powder, eggs, sugar… it felt like too much. He’d made it so many times. Now it felt like too much.

Logan stared at him.

“...do you wish for me to help you make them?”

“Yes, please,” Remus said, absolutely relieved, “get the flour.”

Logan stood from the table, and went over to the cabinet. He reached up, and Remus couldn’t help but stare at his arms as he got the milk and eggs out of the fridge.

“You should wear less clothes,” Remus said, “you have nothing to be ashamed of, really, you’re just as handsome as everyone else here.”

“Nobody else is here except you.”

“Are you saying I’m not handsome?” Remus teased, conjuring a bowl.

“I certainly am not.”

Logan pulled the flour down, as well as the baking powder. 

“Is there anything else we need from the cabinet?” He asked. Remus grabbed the milk, eggs and butter from the fridge.

“Salt and sugar, and the rest is moist ingredients!”

Remus used his fingers to squeeze 3 tablespoons of butter from the stick, watching Logan get all the ingredients lined up on the counter.

“How much of each ingredient do you need?”

“One point five cups flour, like, four teaspoons powder, tablespoon of sugar. You seem much more alive today, is that because the others aren’t around?”

Logan sighed.

“I constantly remind you that I have to keep up appearances in front of the others—“

“And I constantly tell you that you don’t have to listen to them. You can make them listen, too.”

Logan took out the measuring cups, starting to measure the ingredients. Remus melted the butter into the bowl with a snap of his fingers, then cracked the egg into the bowl.

“How would you suggest I go about making them listen?”

Remus giggled quietly.

“Patton’s afraid of death, right? Just threaten him. Say you’ll tear his throat out. Or stomp on his neck until he dies. And then when he comes back up you explain everything to him! Or you just scare him! Make your face all scary and spook him!”

Logan frowned.

“I don’t think that would do much for the situation, especially considering that Patton doesn’t listen to you because you scare him.”

“Have you tried asking Patton and the others to listen to you?” Remus asked, stirring the butter and eggs together. He wasn’t really focused on the recipe, just on Logan. That odd heaviness still lingered, but he tried to push past it.

“No, I don’t think so. If I did, it didn’t work.”

Remus sighed.

“My offer still stands, you know. A cottage, a castle, anything you want.”

Logan looked up at Remus, then back down at the measuring cups.

“I can’t, I’m sorry. With how much Thomas’ emotional state has been spiraling, I can’t leave him or the others unsupervised. Relations between the sides can move from arguing to breakdown inducing levels of tension.”

“When has that ever happened?”

Logan frowned. All of the ingredients sat neay measured in front of him, sat on the counter.

“Besides the memorable incidents concerning the wedding, Janus was the one who encouraged you to become more present in Thomas’ day to day life, was he not?”

Remus shrugged. He walked over to Logan, grabbing all the measuring cups and dumping them into the bowl, one by one, haphazardly mixing them together with a summoned spoon.

“I’ve always been in Thomas’ life, and I always will be. I just decided to become more present in his life, to piss off Patton and Virgil. So I’d wait until he was about to sleep, and scream my ideas into the imagination, which certainly terrified Patton and Virgil.”

Logan raised his eyebrow.

“You did all that because Janus told you too?”

Remus stared at Logan blankly.

“He’s the only person that’s always been there for me.”

An awkward silence fell between them. He mixed the contents of the bowl until all of the chunks of flour and baking powder were mixed in, making a liquid smooth batter. He considered adding blueberries or chocolate, but Logan liked simple things. Water with lemon, saffron crocuses. Remus looked over to Logan. 

“A cottage, would that be nice for you? Or would you want a more modern house with lots of bells and whistles? A smart house like that one Ray Bradbury short story, you know the ones with the lions and the kids and the lions ate the parents? I could make it in the crocus field you helped me make and you’ll have infinite saffron— you’re frowning, is that not nice? It sounds pretty nice to me.”

Logan shook his head.

“I’ve told you many, many times, I can’t.”

“Because of how your little light sides would feel?” Remus snapped, “What about how I would feel?”

“And how do you feel?” Logan asked sharply.

“I want to eat your heart,” Remus blurted. He felt his face burn. Logan blinked, staring right at him. 

“I don’t have a heart, Remus,” Logan whispered.

“What if you had a heart, if you were human? Would you let me eat it then?”

Logan looked away from him, staring down at his hands.

“If you wanted to,” Logan mumbled.

“I do,” Remus exclaimed, “with saffron and sea salt!”

Logan’s face burned bright red. His hands pressed flat against the counter, and he turned to Remus.

“It’s a damn shame I’m not human then,” Logan spoke, “because I would love every second of that.”

Without thinking, Remus dropped the bowl and the spoon, letting batter splatter all over himself and the stove. He turned, pressing himself close to Logan, placing one hand on his chest where his heart would be. It covered his shirt in batter, but Logan didn’t seem to mind.

“Then let’s pretend we are human.”

Logan turned to face him, eyes wide, and face flushed.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Remus smirked. He leaned in, just enough to smell the coffee on Logan’s nervous breaths.

“Do you want me to?” He asked. Logan swallowed. He looked over Remus’ shoulder, then grabbed his wrist. 

“What about the others?” Logan whispered. Remus’ face fell. He set his hand on Logan’s cheek.

“If this makes you happy, the others won’t care who kisses you,” he promised. Logan smiled softly. 

“Then I want you to, Remus. Kiss me,” Logan said breathily. Remus leaned just a little closer, foot happily tapping against the ground.

Remus leaned in closer, closing the distance between them, and gently pressed his lips against Logan’s. He tasted like coffee, warm and inviting, and something very familiar. Probably spit. But it was good, because it was him, it was Logan, Logan kissing him and moving his hand from his wrist to the small of his back. Wonderful, so wonderful. Remus pulled back, just for a breath he didn’t even need, and pressed his lips to Logan’s cheeks, then his nose, his brow bone.

“Is that necessary?” Logan mumbled. Remus laughed quietly, pressing a small kiss to Logan’s eyelid. They fluttered open. Remus stared into his eyes, and cupped Logan’s cheek in his hand.

“A cabin,” Remus muttered, “a cabin where we can be alone and I can kiss you all the time, and you never have to be scared again.”

Logan sighed, leaning closer to Remus. They bumped their foreheads together, Remus wrapping his arms around Logan possessively. 

“I can’t leave. But we can still kiss,” Logan whispered.

“I’m so glad I got out of bed.”

“What the fuck is going on?!?”

Remus turned his head quicker than he ever thought he had before. There, standing in the middle of the kitchen, Virgil glared at them.

“Oh, hi Virgil, don’t you look cheerful as ever,” Remus crowed. He looked back, Logan’s face as pale as a pearl. 

“Get the fuck away from him,” Virgil ordered. Remus tilted his head.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, then I’ll fucking kill you.”

Remsus’ brows shot up. 

“Over what, you perpetually pissed purple pussy? Just because Logan wanted me to--” “I doubt he wanted anything from you,” Virgil growled, “what could he possibly fucking want? Get away from him. Now.”

“Why don’t you just ask--” “Get. Away.”

Remus glanced back at Logan. Any trace of emotion had vanished, replaced with that cold, stony stoicism. Remus wanted to grab him. Grab him and scream at him to say something, scream until something got through to him, scream until Logan realized that even if he did piss the light sides off, he wouldn’t be alone, they’d always have the ocean and the kitchen and one another--

“You are a really, really shitty person, Virgil. And the worst part is that I don’t even think you see it. I mean, what gives you the goddamn right to come wandering in here and tell me what to do, and assume what Logan wants?”

Virgil took a step forward. “I know that he wants nothing to do with a shitbag skunk-cunt like you.”

“Oh, what an original insult!” Remus exclaimed. He laughed, then the smile suddenly dropped from his face. ”Actually, it isn’t. That was the same thing I called you when you left me, left me behind to rot, you and fucking Roman, and you know, I know what you want with him. You want everything about him, you want to leech off the love he gets from the others since none of them fucking love you, and you know that deep down, don’t you? That nobody likes you!”

Remus reached behind him. He grabbed Logan’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Logan’s hand was limp in his grasp. Virgil glared at him. “Wow, I’d sure be hurt if you weren’t such a fucking hippocrite. At least I’m wanted. I may have my moments, sure, I can be paranoid and snappy, but that’s not my constant state of being. You’re just a rabid dog. Sure, Janus may tolerate you, but once he really figures out how useless you are, he’ll leave. I’m sure that’s why he suddenly decided to play nice with the light sides, he realized that you couldn’t do anything for him anymore-- you certainly can’t scare me or Patton-- and you’re useless to him, time to throw you away like the shitsack you are. You’re useless to everyone, you know? If you just locked yourself in your room for the rest of Thomas’ life, nothing would change. You’re Roman’s lesser half, his fucking shadow-- are you crying?”

Remus touched his face. It was wet. His feet felt like they were glued to the floor. 

“What,” Virgil mocked, a shaky smile on his face, “Can’t handle the heat? Then get the FUCK out of the kitchen!”

Remus raised his arm to throw a punch. Logan’s grip tightened on his hand.

“That is enough, both of you,” Logan said calmly. He stepped in front of Remus, letting go of his hand.

“Virgil, thank you for being vigilant, but I assure you it’s fine.” Virgil stared at Logan’s chest. His usually neat dress shirt had a messy stain in the shape of a hand, right over his heart. “Did he hurt you?” Virgil asked.

“He didn’t hurt me, I’m okay. We were having a simple conversation, nothing more.”

Remus stared at him sadly. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. They weren’t just talking, they had something. They kissed, for gods sake, they kissed--

Remus grabbed Logan’s shoulders and spun him around. He slammed Logan against the table, and kissed him deep and hard, desperate. Logan’s hand pushed against his chest. Remus could feel Virgil’s hands grab his shirt and yank, the collar choking him, but he didn’t need air or water or food, he didn’t need anything but Logan, his Logan--

Logan shoved him away with both hands, staring at him sadly. As if he was nothing but a hurt animal. 

“I--” 

“Virgil, let go,” Logan said. Virgil let go of his shirt with a quiet grumble.

Remus stared at Logan. He backed away, until he could feel the stove against his back, the heat of the griddle.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Virgil shouted. Remus stared at the floor. If Virgil said anything else, it was lost in the dark tidal wave of emotion that hit Remus. He didn’t even know what it was. He was drowning, and the water was devoid of any life. Dark, too dark, too cold. He shook. A sudden heat jolted up his arm-- when had he set his hand on the griddle? He could smell his skin cooking. Bubbling. He watched Logan. He said he wanted to kiss him, he said he wanted him to, and they kissed and it was so wonderful. Virgil left. Logan walked out behind him. His palm burned on the griddle.

“What’s cooking?” 

Remus looked up. Orange sat in front of him at the kitchen table, straddling a chair. Remus stared at him, trying to see past whatever Orange did to make himself imperceptible, but his form kept on shifting in dizzying spirals of color, like oil on water. Remus slowly raised his hand from the griddle. If he was human, the skin would be white and blistered, maybe even peeling in a few places. But just like Logan, he wasn’t human. His hand was fine.

“A heart,” Remus mumbled, “and I’m eating it with saffron and sea salt.”

Orange tilted his head.

“There’s no need to repeat yourself, Remus. I heard everything. And I’m here to say that I told you Indigo would leave.”

Remus moved without thinking. He rushed at Orange. Instead, he collided with a chair, sending it clattering to the ground.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Remus screamed. 

“No you won’t, because you know I’m right. I’ve always been right.” This time, Orange sat atop the counter. Remus summoned his morningstar with a flick of his wrist.

“No you’re not, you’re not right,” Remus growled. He swung at Orange. Orange vanished into thin air before it could even come close to hitting, the heavy iron ball instead slamming into the counter. It cracked the counter, and sent flour flying.

“I’ve always been right, Remus!” Orange said from in front of the fridge. He leaned against it oh so casually, “I’ve been right that you’re only playing house because you think they’ll all leave. Well, look at you now. Making pancakes, right? How sweet.” Remus swung again. The morning star collided with the fridge. It dented the door, and made a horrible screech of metal on metal. He pulled back, ready to strike again.

“You believe that Indigo deserves to be listened to no matter what, correct?” Orange asked. He laid on the table. Remus swung. The morning star collided with wood, splintering the wood.

“I take that as a yes,” Orange said. He was back on the table. Remus swung again. It hit the table in the same place as last time.

“Fucking stay still!” Remus screamed.

“You think he should be listened to no matter what he says or does. No matter who he truly is. And yet, you hold yourself back.” For the third time, the morningstar slammed into the table. This time, it broke through, splitting the table in two. Splintered wood flew in every direction.

“You cook because that makes you palatable,” Orange repeated. He sat on the stove. Swing. The griddle broke under the force of the morning star.

“But you aren’t.”

Swing. Miss. Break.

“You are a monster, that’s how you were made, that is who you are.”

Swing. Miss. Break. 

“You’re really good at swinging that thing around. Did you know that Lucifer was called the Morning Star? And he got punted out of heaven for defying God. His brother was an angel, I believe.”

Remus stilled, panting. Orange stood on the countertop, back pressed against the cabinets, 

“You’re nothing like them. You are the parts of humans that they hate, the beast in the brain, a reminder that humans evolved from animals. They hate you, Remus. They all do. Because they don’t understand you.”

Remus’ hands tightened around the morning star. Orange tilted his head.

“If Indigo loved you, wouldn’t he have said it by now?”

He hefted up the morningstar, and swung recklessly at Orange. The wood of the cabinet splintered and cracked. Glass shattered with a massive crash, like a wave hitting the shore, and millions of glinting shards flew at him, some sticking in his skin and others harmlessly bouncing on the tiles. 

“You are so much more than what they think you are,” Orange said, breath tickling the back of Remus’ neck, “so why try to make them like you? Do you really care that much about them? They’ve done nothing but abandon you, Remus. Over and over again. Nothing has or will change that.”

Remus whipped around, morningstar in hand, but Orange was gone. Remus dropped the morningstar. It clattered to the ground with a thud. He opened his mouth to scream, but no words came out. Nothing came out. He shakily walked to the destroyed table, and sat down on a chair. He looked around. Broken glass littered the floor. The stove had a massive dent in it, and the griddle had been snapped in two. The fridge had a dent, the counters had a dent and harsh scratches from his mace’s spikes, and the realization that he did that just because Orange made him angry made bile rush up his throat.

He didn’t scream or cry or vomit. Just stared at the mess he’d made.

Really, he’d made a mess. Maybe Logan didn’t want to kiss him. Maybe it was an experiment to him, like that stupid fucking schedule that had started this all, made Logan come to the kitchen, see him cooking…

Remus closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he sat on the edge of his dock, watching the glowing waves crash against the shore without end. The place he’d shared with Logan, offered him everything he wanted. Their skin was pale under the moonlight. Remus pulled his knees up to his chest.

He still owed Janus rabbit. He’d make it, then that would be the end, and he’d never set foot in that fucking kitchen again.

He watched the waves.

Tag list: @alexalexisalexej @breezy-skribblz @the-real-comically-insane @gravestone-monarch @heartwitchhouse @appleflavoredkitkats

[psychosuna]

a/n: kinda fluffy and a bit boring these r just my self indulgent thoughts ,, feel free to send rqs

daichi: makes the same breakfast every morning. eggs and toast and some sort of protein. probably drinks black coffee, adds a little cream and sugar if he’s feeling fancy. a ketchup user and abuser. “breakfast is the most important meal of the day” blah blah just say you’re capable of waking up early and go.

asahi: idk why i just see asahi as a big baby thags like incapable of doing anything for himself honestly like his mom probs still makes him breakfast either that or he has a bowl of cereal.

sugawara: pop tart man. also goes feral over toaster strudels. the way he frosts them is an exact science. coffee but it’s light roast. uses creamer, duh.

noya: really likes ego waffles. toasts like 2-3 and gets really fuckin impatient so he just eats them as the next ones are toasting. probably drinks a glass of milk after like a freak. he’s always running late in the morning but will turn into a fuckin grouch if he doesn’t eat. it’s placebo. he just thinks he’s in a bad mood.

tanaka: i see this man as a scrambled eggs type of guy. it’s simple. the only thing he knows how to cook, actually. that, and mac n cheese (same). drank orange juice w bfast all through highschool and had a coffee awakening in college. doesn’t eat if he’s running late.

ennoshita: doesn’t eat breakfast, usually just has a cup of coffee and will eat a little something a couple hours later. he’s just not hungry in the morning.

hinata: probs has a whole ass family breakfast every morning in highschool. mum cooked eggs, bacon, rice (enter traditional japanese breakfast because i’m uneducated). when he went to college he tried to keep up with making a big breakfast every morning, and succeeds for the most part. not big on coffee.

kageyama: cereal boy. goes for somewhat sugary cereals, also the type to have a granola bar or something otw to school/classes. on game days , he makes a big breakfast. also not big on coffee.

tsukishima: tbh i headcanon him eating oatmeal and i really wish he didn’t. like, strawberry oatmeal or the strawberry K cereal is really just his favorite. coffee expert, really picky about the grounds he uses and the way he makes it. takes pride in his morning coffee. he can go without eating but he truly cannot go without coffee.

yamaguchi: pretty baby probably just eats a bowl of cereal or something. he doesn’t think too much about it but also tends to not skip breakfast. sometimes tsukki will bring him a coffee , but he doesn’t make it on his own.

kuroo: foggy area here. usually skips breakfast, always makes the coffee right when he wakes up but sometimes forgets to make a mug or a coffee to take with him to classes. sometimes he just randomly wakes up at the crack of dawn and makes a huge ass breakfast. he’s not used to eating a big breakfast, so when he does, it tears his stomach up.

kenma: he was up playing games and snacking all night. he’s full from the cosmic brownies and monster energy drinks he had at 4am before he ultimately crashed. and if he does have breakfast, it’s probably some sugary ass cereal. get some proper sleep, freak.

lev: probs has like a typical russian breakfast honestly, he grew up w it and still makes it to this day. a typical bfast for him is fried eggs with kolbasa and dill on top. family recipe type kid. this is only when he can be fucked to make it, though.

oikawa: motherfucker makes smoothies for breakfast. not even the protein shake types, like the fruity ass spinach ass types of smoothies that probably have more sugar than anything else in them. he’s thinks he’s eating “clean.” also stops by a starbucks or soemthing every morning bc he likes the complicated ass coffees rather than just making his own.

iwaizumi: i see him actually like, enjoying making breakfast. his go-to is a quick breakfast burrito. on weekends, hes a whore for chicken and waffles. probably uses a lot of hot sauce. definitely drinks black coffee he has big dick energy

matsukawa: skips breakfast entirely. literally cannot be fucked. if he eats in the morning, he goes to mcdonalds. mans never fucked with coffee, either. i’m telling you guys, he’s got a big dick, but this is one sketchy mfer.

hanamaki: really likes bagels. everything bagels with a shit ton of cream cheese. coffee with a tiny bit of cream and sugar. he’s classy. he’s perfect. i adore him.

bokuto: his mom always told him that breakfast is the most important meal of the day and why would he doubt her ? he makes the birds eye egg thinf with the hole in the bread and then puts in the pan and cracks the egg in the whole. you guys know what i’m talking about. another ketchup user and abuser but i’m less mad bc, cmon, it’s bokuto!

akaashi: this mfer. THIS MFER. i adore him truly. wait for it... greek yogurt. he gets the tubs of greek yogurt, sometimes the honey flavored kind, and will cut up fruit and put granola on top, and has espresso. he’s just. so sexy honestly.

tendou: always making something weird to be fucking honest. liek the motherfucker never skips breakfast, but he’ll straight up eat left over takeout from the night before at like 7:30am. what’s wrong with him. tries homemade pancakes every once in a while and they aren’t even that bad, he just puts WAY too much syrup on top.

semi: will have one cup of black coffee and that’s literally it.

ushijima: has the same thing every single morning. he never switches up. protein shake (black coffee in the shake), one fried egg, two pieces of bacon. it’s the perfect combo why would he ever even need to change it?

goshiki: tbh this mfer is always in a rush in the mornings but u know what. two pieces of toast and grape or strawberry jam. he’s a lil jam on toast cutie tell me i’m wrong. i’d die for him.

osamu: if he doesn’t have time to cook, he won’t eat. he doesn’t see the point in eating pre packaged shit. he wants to really get in the kitchen and make something. poor baby just wakes up late sometimes.

atsumu: if osamu doesn’t have time to cook, he won’t eat. fiend ass motherfucker. don’t get me wrong, i love him, but he’s so fucking annoying. will smell food and walk in the kitchen like “what’s for breakfast lil bro?” and osamu is all like “nothing for you dipshit” but he always gives in and feeds the mfer

suna: nothing. like. ever. he forgets. doesn’t have a big appetite and he can’t cook for shit unless it’s edibles so he just doesn’t bother. a coffee addict but refuses to tell anyone.

kita: a nice ol mug of fresh coffee, maybe some eggs, maybe some sausage, whatever he feels like! tries to eat every morning bc he knows it’s for the best. is a morning person so it’s not like he doesn’t have time!

terushima: a monster and a protien bar. likes the coffee flavored monsters in the morning , though. cheese toast on occasion.

sakusa: black coffee, two splendas, avocado toast. he’s got taste.

˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ꒰ ⌨︎ ✰ thank u for reading! | ೃ࿔₊•

[gallavictorious]

GW 2020: Domestic

It's almost ten when Mickey emerges from the bedroom and heads downstairs in search of Ian. They both have the day off, and he's slightly disappointed that his husband didn't wake him up for a nice morning fuck, but the disappointment immediately fades when he spots him by the stove, in sweatpants and a t-shirt, nothing on his feet.

”Hey,” Mickey says, pausing to run a hand over Ian's arm and inhaling his scent before pouring himself a cup of coffee.

”Hey,” Ian replies, looking up from the frying pan to favor him with a quick grin over his shoulder. ”Making pancakes.”

Mickey's about to say something snarky about stating the fucking obvious, but the words die on his lips. Somehow and strangely, the sight of Ian and the simple joy it inspires brings with it other and darker emotions; a painful tug of something half forgotten, and a sense of foreboding –

Mickey frowns. And then he remembers:

He wakes, and something is different. It takes him but a moment to realize what it is: Ian's not in bed with him. For the past two weeks, ever since Mickey came out and Ian disappeared into that weird fucking fog his siblings want to call bipolar disorder, he's been curled up on his side whenever Mickey opens his eyes. For the first few days he'd only ever gotten up to go to the bathroom, and done it reluctantly at that. He's been doing a little better since, but still moves like a zombie, hardly speaks – and doesn't get up until noon.

But now the bed next to Mickey is empty. Hopeful, worried, he hastily reaches for a t-shirt and pads out from his – their – room. The sitting area is empty, but there's a pleasant smell wafting through the air from the kitchen, where Ian is stood in front of the stove, dressed, and with a spatula at the ready.

He looks up at Mickey; smiles. ”I made pancakes.”

And Mickey smiles back, sharp relief mixing with a surge of something warm and strong in the vincinity of his heart. Thinks, we'll be all right now.

For a while they are. Ian keeps getting up in the mornings. Sometimes he makes pancakes, sometimes Svetlana makes eggs, and yeah, sometimes Mickey makes toast for everybody. They look after the kid and they make money and he goes to sleep with Ian in the evenings (or whenever Ian gets home from the club) and Svetlana shares a bed with Nika. It's a bit weird, maybe, but it works.

It works.

Mickey is happy. For the first time he can remember, he feels happy, and safe, and like maybe it isn't so bad after all, this life. Maybe there can be happiness – even here, and even for someone like him.

And then one night Ian doesn't come home and Mickey finds out that he's been cheating on him. And everything else happens, it all falls apart, even though for a while it seems like maybe they can work it out, but no, no, it all comes crashing down, and when the dust finally settles Mickey is in prison, and Ian has stopped coming to visit.

Fuck. Blinking once, twice, Mickey pulls away from the memory. Shakes his head as if to clear it: doesn't quite manage.

The nasty thing is, he couldn't have imagined it, on that happy morning in the kitchen five years ago. He'd felt so safe and happy and sure then, and he could never in a million years have guessed how very quickly absolutely everything would go so very straight to hell. And he should have known, he'd thought later: he'd been living on the edge of utter chaos his entire life, balancing there, occasionally slipping over, and he should have known.

But he hadn't. He'd been too fucking happy, and stupid with it.

Mickey takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly and looks up to find his husband eyeing him with a frown.

”What's going on?” Ian asks.

”Don't worry about it,” Mickey says, walking over to the table with his coffee mug and sitting down. ”Stupid fucking memories.”

”Oh.” Ian doesn't ask him to elaborate. Probably doesn't need to; he's a perceptive motherfucker.

Still, when he brings the plate of pancakes over, he catches Mickey's eyes and asks: ”You sure you're okay?”

Reaching out to briefly squeeze his hand, Mickey nods. ”Yeah, man, I'm fine.”

And – he means it. Sure it still stings, the memories of all that fucking pain and heartbreak, and all those years spent apart: maybe it'll always sting. But behind the hurt there's something else, something equally true and even stronger: the knowledge that they had found their way back to each other. In spite of everything, in spite of all that goddamned shit, they'd done that.

Will do it again, should the need ever arise. Do it quicker and better too, because they're not fucking kids anymore; they've been through a lot and learned a lot and they've chosen each other for a reason.

”Okay. Good.” Ian bends down to capture his lips in a kiss, and Mickey tilts his head to meet him, putting a hand behind his head to pull him closer. It doesn't last very long; it is chaste rather than passionate, but Mickey is still grinning when they break apart.

”Pancakes smell fucking delicious,” he says.

[aforrestofstuff]

I'd like to know if you have any cooking skills headcanons!! Like, from who's able to make a absolute meal to who burns microwaved instant noodles.

I’ve done a few individual headcanons about cooking before, but I think it’s time for a refresher. You could call this... the main course.

Okay, enough of that bullshit. Here’s the hcs. Thanks for your ask, anon! ❤️❤️💞

Disclaimer: this shit is crack as fuck because I have very strong feelings about cooking lmfao. FOH don’t interact.

Tornado of Terror: She’d find a way to burn ice cream, honestly. She tries so hard (by god she tries) but her meals always come out as a convoluted mess with ingredients that have no reason being together. She eats her steaks well done and boils hamburgers. It’s a nightmare. She doesn’t really spend too much time in the kitchen, however, because she knows she sucks at cooking and because of this, makes 90% of her diet consist of takeout. But if she did spend more of her day cooking, she’d probably discover the recipe to meth accidentally. It’s that bad.

Silverfang: Stubborn old grandpa way of cooking. He’s got a handful of recipes that have been passed down for generations and he’s gonna carry those fuckers to his grave. When Garou was living at the dojo, the little bastard would try to make some changes to these recipes and Bang had to will every molecule in his arthritis-riddled body to not RKO this kid (not really, Bang wouldn’t hurt a fly). But I digress. He’s a decent cook, knows all the fundamentals and all of that shit.

Atomic Samurai: Can’t cook or bake for shit although he, of course, talks himself up like he can. The extent of his cooking knowledge is only within the realm of “shit you can roast over a campfire when your cheap ass can’t scrape together enough coin to pay the electricity bill”. But now that he’s got that S-Class paycheck and three other disciples to freeload off of, they pretty much cater to his every food-related need. He’s useless in the kitchen. Utterly fucking useless.

Child Emperor: Doesn’t know how to cook (little bastard ain’t even tall enough to reach the stove imo) but luckily he’s got that PHAT BRAIN so he can easily just build a Gordon Ramsey bot 3000 to replace his incompetence in the kitchen. His diet consists of Dino nuggets and microwaveable noodles so it’s not like he’s doing the world a great disservice by not learning how to cook properly.

Metal Knight: Same as Child Emperor except he’s a rich bastard and programs his bots to make that fancy shit with only the finest ingredients. He’s got enough cash from doing black market tech trades and building up his robo-army that this motherfucker could snort caviar for fun. He’s a real pompous asshole about it.

King: His mom taught him to cook a few things, nothing serious. He’s one of those dudes that doesn’t really know how to make much, but the few dishes that he does know how to cook are fucking BOMB. He’s got a cast iron skillet for making pancakes and everything, bitch is already halfway to being a chef himself. Other than that, however, he’s a ramen monster. His blood is practically pre-packaged bone broth.

Zombieman: I’ve said this in a previous hc but he’s a damn good cook. One problem though: he only knows how to make single servings of everything because he eats alone almost all the time. He specializes in meats. Bitch is a carnivore. He bought himself a set of those 500-dollar butcher knives so he can carve up cuts like a monster. He hemorrhages cash into fancy wood chips so he can get that smoky flavor juuuuust right. He’s got an Outdoor Chef setup on his patio. My mans is living the DREAM.

Drive Knight: He can eat but does he really need to? His cooking expertise is popping a new battery in. There you go.

Pig God: Oh my god if this man’s kitchen isn’t Michelin-Star quality. He eats a lot and he cooks a lot, it’s only natural. He’s got an indoor grill and pot chandelier and buys industrial-sized buckets of pickles and roast beef by the cow and— okay he just has a lot of food, alright? And he’s got that PHAT S-Class paycheck so my boy probably has a whole walk-in fridge just to put all the fucking food he eats. Bonus points if he hires a dishboy to work and a contractor to implement a three-sink dish station with “Clean-Rinse-Sanitize” stickers slapped on the steel, lol. But yeah, he cooks for 500 people at a time because he eats enough for 500 people at a time. Gotta maintain that figure, you know what I’m saying?

Superalloy Darkshine: He has. Oh my god— he has a full shelf dedicated to just. DOZENS OF JARS of whey protein. He has two blenders: one for fruit smoothies and one for protein shakes. His kitchen? Spotless. He knows how to cook and he eats like a bodybuilder (because he is one, duh) so he’s got that fridge STOCKED at all times. He cleans like he’s getting paid for it because nothing feels better than wiping down a gas stove until that bitch is spotless. However, his taste is garbage. He can throw down in the kitchen but does it taste good? No. Sometimes the ultra-healthy alternative to something isn’t always the greatest. He’s grown accustomed to putting zucchini in his cakes and almost damn well likes the texture of it, but don’t invite this guy to the potluck because he WILL show up with a vegetable nightmare that’s sure to make even vegans gag. Sorry bud, but nobody likes soy bacon.

Watchdog Man: furry ass.

Flashy Flash: I’ve said this before in a previous hc, but he’s pescatarian. He grew up on a coastal town before being sold of to the ninja village like a goddamned carpet and now fish is the only meat he eats. His cooking ability is about as good as one would expect from a homesless ninja. Like Atomic Samurai, he can throw it down over the campfire and still find a way to make a decent dish (in both presentation and taste) despite having limited knowledge and resources to work with. Bitch can whip up a five-star meal with some branches, a fish, and half a carrot like it was second nature. That’s about it though. He’s useless in an actual kitchen.

Genos: It’s canon. He’s a housewife. He only knows how to make the select few dishes that play an integral part in Saitama’s diet, though (because Genos can eat but he doesn’t really need to, so he only does it when he and Saitama are sharing a meal). Those dishes include things like: actual garbage. He cooks shit food. It’s not his fault. Saitama just eats like a fucking twat. There’s rats that live in the dumpster outside the restaurant I work in that have a better diet than him. Genos just works with what the poor bastard’s got and has gained a pretty mediocre grasp on cooking because of it. If he wanted to, though, he could easily be the best chef in all the land. Too bad he’s more focused on being an ultra-powerful speed demon.

Metal Bat: Tries his absolute best to cook healthy meals for him and Zenko when he almost always resorts to just popping a frozen pizza in the oven and calling it a day. I’ve said this before in a previous hc, but he eats his shit BURNT. Bitch like his steak well done, his yolks grey, and his chicken vaporized. The only exception to this is sushi because there really is no other way to enjoy it other than having it raw. Trust me, though. If there was a way to burn the fuck out of sashimi while still having it be sashimi, he’d find a way to do it and like it. But yeah, as I said: he sucks ass at cooking. He’s tried the tutorials, he’s bought the skillets, he’s sharpened the knives, but he just can’t fucking do it.

Tanktop Master: Same as Superalloy. They bond over gross-ass ultra-healthy recipes that only they enjoy. The Tanktop Gang loves him but they always kindly refuse to eat over at his house because they know he’s gonna try to make them ingest a broccoli loaf or some shit. He’s not too strict about his diet, though. He’ll chill out and have a pizza every once and a while, but only when he’s hanging out with the homies.

Puri-Puri Prisoner: He has a job in prison where he helps out in the kitchen for seventy-five cents an hour, but that’s about the extent of it. He’s got the bare basics down and could put together a decent meal for date night if he really tried (and had a damn kitchen to work with). On top of that, he can throw down some tasty prison food recipes, hand-crafted from the brick box itself. Ramen pad Thai, anyone?

Amai Mask: he’s rich as fuck, why does he need to cook? Bitch hired a chef and now all he does it drink skim milk and eat food from the top shelf. He couldn’t fry an egg if his life depended on it. Poor bastard doesn’t even know what a whisk is. And don’t even get me started on how much of a slob he is. The ten-minute process of making a single plate of spaghetti will have his kitchen in such a disgusting state that it’ll take him and a trusty Mister Clean Magic Eraser five hours just to clean it up. That is, if he even has the basic human decency to pick up after himself. He’ll probably just hire someone to do for him and then tip them a crisp 100-dollar bill for their troubles, only to make an even worse mess tomorrow.

Iaian: I’ve said this before in a previous hc, but yes: he can cook. It’s nothing special. He’s got a suburban dad sense of cooking where he, like King, can only make a select few dishes but makes those dishes taste magical. He’s got 0 utensils and shit kitchen to work with (because Kami’s place is probably like, centuries old on account of him still being a Samurai), but boy can Iaian whip up a feast like no other despite all that. It’s all protein-packed flavor bombs that look simple in comparison to, say, Zombieman or Metal Knight’s food, but it still tastes good all the same. Kama eats off of his plate all the time and it used to annoy him but they’ve grown so close that they might as well share forks at this point.

Okamaitachi: Can’t really cook, but they are a baking god. I don’t know much about baking but I know they’ve got a cupboard dedicated to their plethora of sourdough starters. They buy yeast by the pound and make enough bread to feed entire armies some days. Whatever the gang doesn’t eat, they donate it to the local homeless shelter and make it a habit to go out of their way performing good deeds that don’t always involve sword fighting (something Kami insists he instilled into them via his teachings— which is bullshit. Kama is just naturally good-hearted and sweet).

Bushidrill: Can’t cook or bake for shit but like Atomic Samurai and Flash, can throw it down on the campfire. Don’t let this man near any turkeys or pigs because he will spitroast the fuck out of them.

Fubuki: Okay, not only is she a great cook but she’s as dogmatic as a coked-out head chef. She and the Blizzard Group sometimes cook together in her massive kitchen (she poured all of her measly paycheck into it because by god, if her apartment doesn’t have a kitchen fit for a chef then it’s not worth living in), and she’ll be barking orders like a damn crow. She’s got the two-grand knife set, cast-iron everything, bronze accents on the sink, and the ability to deglaze a pan without starting a fire. She’s a natural. If she cooks for you, then that’s how you know she likes you. All in all, her food tastes and looks great. She’s a bit low on funds on account of being only Class-B, so she sometimes takes little shortcuts when plating her dishes, like using celery leaves in place of parsley and all that jazz.

Saitama: I’ve already said that his diet is absolute shit and part of that is due to being poor, but I will show mercy and say that he’s a decent cook. He only makes what he knows he’s gonna like and doesn’t leave any room for experimentation unless his budget allows it (which isn’t often). His kitchen only has the bare essentials. Genos has offered to buy him more equipment and even renovate the damn thing for him but Saitama refuses each time because then he’d have a bigass kitchen just for making a poor man’s omurice, and that would be a waste. His talent, though? Making a perfect omelet. He can fold the egg like a sheet with no tears and no brown spots. It tastes heavenly.

Mumen Rider: Ultra-safe in the kitchen. He doesn’t even own a knife sharpener because he’s clumsy enough to know he’ll cut himself the moment he even tries to use it. His pot handles all have coverings and he’s watched all of the food safety and fire safety videos out there. He could give a goddamned seminar on it. Food-wise, he’s a decent home cook. Nothing special. He does, however, share Superalloy and Tanktop’s nasty habit of over healthy-ing everything to oblivion and making it a tasteless, vegetative mess. It doesn’t matter if you invite him to the potluck or not because he’ll bring a cauliflower pizza anyway and y’all better fucking enjoy it or he’ll start crying.

Sonic: The same as Flashy Flash, minus the pescatarianism. He’d butcher a pig without blinking an eye, and often uses his katana in cooking (even though it poses like, 87 different safety hazards and is most definitely health violation). He can forage quite well and has taken a liking to wild mushrooms and berries over the years. It’s gotten so natural to him that he now knows by heart the specific time of year in which the wild berries are ripest, and which species of salmon inhabit certain streams on any given day.

Garou: Would burn water. End of story. His cooking is so bad and dangerous that everyone thinks he’s an arsonist when he really just starts fires on accident. Don’t let this fucker near a stove, for the love of god.

[nancythebisexualslutwheeler]

Prompt: “My husband has made pancakes and eggs for breakfast every morning and my kids are becoming accustomed to a standard I am not prepared to maintain after he returns to work.”

Richie loves having Eddie home, he does. For the last seven years, Richie’s been working as the stay at home parent, for all three of their children. Eddie continued his work as a risk analyst, though he worked more appropriate hours. He was allowed one week a month to stay after regular business hours to catch up.

They’d met in their mid thirties and clicked right away. Richie lived out most of his career in his late twenties to early thirties so he’s got a little pocket of money that allows them to live in their nice, blue, four bedroom house in the suburbs. Eddie just likes to work because he likes to live a kind of -fancy ass - lifestyle.

So their oldest, freshly turned 7 year olds name is Gemma and she’s a beautiful princess from the day she was born. With Richie’s bright blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair. She loves baking and Legos and of course, Frozen. Richie had thought he could never love anyone more than Eddie until he spent every day at home with his baby girl. Her first word had been “daddy” and the first time she walked from him to Eddie, he’d cried.

Liam is four, with Eddie’s dark hair and eyes. He’s not quiet or timid but loud and demanding and fierce and stubborn, and going to give them a run for their money his entire life. Between Paw Patrol and Frozen, he totally thinks Richie is wasting his time with structured learning, but as soon as he learned to write his name, he wrote it all over the wall. With sharpie. Eddie had a heart attack.

Ian is seven months old. Richie’s doing it all over again and loving it and loves teaching his older children how to take care of their brother. He’s bubbly with chubby cheeks and he loves sweet potatoes and the Gerber puffs more than the five them combined. (Which really sucked cause Richie loved those motherfuckers and they were always out!)

So Richie’s a stay at dad and loves it, and with everything going on, the schools closed, and now Eddie working for home, they’ve somehow stumbled into a weird routine.

For some reason, Eddie wanted to wake up with the kids. Richie had always slept in more than him, and weekends were dedicated to letting him sleep in anyway. So Richie wakes up around 9 or 10. They have lunch around 12, and Eddie works from 12-3, as Richie handles nap time, clean up and prepping for school time. Richie teaches from 2-3 with an afternoon snack outside by the swing set.

Richie stays outside with the younger kids while Eddie works out, he’s been allowing Gemma to come downstairs with him and she’d learned squats and sit ups. She was thrilled.

Richie usually cooked while Eddie led a dance party or an art project or movie time. Richie did a lot for the kids and he was pretty happy with his routine and lifestyle. So when he comes down on Friday and Eddie has not let up on the cooking a full ass breakfast including either hash browns or sausage depending on the day, and a different flavor of pancakes every day, Richie must say something.

If he gets fancy they have oatmeal with too much brown sugar or toast with Nutella but mostly it’s dry cereal in front of the tv while they watch Doc McStuffins for hours on end while Richie wakes up.

“You’re outshining me,” he says, slapping Eddie on the ass with a spatula. Gemmas stirring the pancake batter, Ian is in the high chair eating those damn puffs and Liam is eating chocolate chips out of the bag.

“Are you making homemade whipped cream?” Richie moans as Eddie hands him a cup of coffee.

“Yes daddy!! Papa said it’s a special day!”

“Is it now?”

“Yes it is. We survived one week at home together.”

Richie grins,

“I guess we did. Liam, can I have some of those?”

Liam pulls them bag to his chest and Richie raises an eyebrow,

“Sorry daddy, I’ll share,” he holds the bag out and Richie kisses his forehead,

“Thanks champ.”

“Just so you know Eduardo, I’m not keeping this up when you get back to work, that’s the end of breakfast kids, back to puffs and cereal, you rascals.”

Gemma giggles,

“I miss Frosted Flakes. Oh my gosh, Daddy can I have some?”

“Papa is making breakfast silly.”

“Please? One bowl? Papa?”

“Yeah that’s fine honey.”

Richie rolls his eyes and hugs Eddie from behind,

“Push over.”

“Isn’t that right Ian? You’re the only one who ever listens around here, huh my precious boy?”

“I listen daddy!”

“I listen!”

“I listen!” Eddie replies just to join in.

Richie laughs, he loves his family.

“Can we have sausage too?”

Eddie turns from his place at the stove,

“It’s in the freezer in the garage, go grab it. An orange juice too.”

“Papa say please!” Says Liam.

“Please,” Eddie sings.

Gemma laughs,

“Daddy I wanna listen to music!”

“Papa I wanna play Frozen!”

“Okay, well, breakfast isn’t ready so you can go get dressed if you want.”

“Papa can I be Anna this time?!” Liam begs.

“That’s up to sissy,”.

“No, actually, it’s Liam’s  turn to be Anna,” Richie says, coming back into the kitchen, setting the stuff on the counter.

“Daddy!”

Richie raises an eyebrow and though she’s still pouting, Gemma quiets. The two kids run up the stairs and Eddie uses the opportunity to slide into his husbands chest.

“Good morning my love.”

“Good morning,” Richie kisses Eddie’s forehead.

“You’re a good daddy.”

Richie beams,

“Thank you.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you more.

[purplesurveys]

1191

survey by voicedance16

name yourself: Robyn

name (one of) your best friend(s): Angela; she’s for keeps.

name 3 things in your fridge/freezer: I don’t think I opened the fridge at all today, but if I had to guess...eggs, bread, and our pad thai leftovers from dinner earlier.

name a color you're wearing currently: Green.

name the last thing you ate: I treated myself and ordered spicy tuna salad tonight because I had a shit shift. It’s been a while since I felt a little burned out with my job, but it happened today and it wasn’t very pleasant.

name the last store you went to: I never go out these days...does online shopping count? I’m always browsing through Shopee, if anything lol.

name the song you're listening to: ON - BTS.

name the artist of that song: BTS.

name your favorite animal: Dogs or elephants.

name what pets you have, if any:  Two dogs. Kimi, Cooper.

name the town/state you live in: No thanks. I live near Manila though, which is probably the only city most people know from the Philippines anyway so that should suffice.

name something commonly ordered at Starbucks: I think my usual is a pretty common order – caramel macchiato.

name the last person you talked to in person: Not sure. I think it may have been Nina? I was just jokingly asking her if her bias recognized her again on a VLive, since her comments have been read by her favorite group recently, and she tells me they even laugh at them :( Perks of liking a smaller, more underground group for sure; pigs would have to fall from the sky before anyone from BTS notices me lol.

name the last person you talked to on the phone: My mom. I didn’t hear her calling for dinner last night, so she ended up having to call me from downstairs while I was hanging out at the rooftop.

name the current day of the week: Tuesday.

name the current month: May.

name the current time: 10:22 PM.

name the last movie you watched: I have not watched an entire movie since i’m thinking of ending things back in September. I did watch a snippet from Portrait of a Lady on Fire a few weeks ago, though. That’s the closest thing I’ve got to watching any film recently.

name the last book you read: This one I’m even more uncertain about.

name a place you've been on vacation: South Korea.

name a place you'd like to go on vacation: Malta or Turkey.

name 3 things you can see from where you're sitting: It’s pretty dark so I technically can’t ‘see’ anything, but based on what I know I brought up to the rooftop tonight I have my phone, my salad, and my vape pen.

name your favorite musical: Miss Saigon, if anything. I’m not a big fan of musicals.

name an animal (any): Turtle was the first that came to mind.

name a fruit: Mangoes.

name a vegetable: Lettuce.

name a common breakfast food: Pancakes. They’d sound so good rn, too.

name a color: Grey.

name a type of flower: Dandelions.

name a type of tree: Uh...mango again? HAHA I’m not very good with trees.

name a city: New York.

name a state: Indiana.

name a country: India.

name a continent: Asia.

name a planet: Jupiter.

name a girl's name: Jessica.

name the last person to comment you on Facebook: Angela. She tagged me on this post that was promoting a local shop that makes customized face pillows and she told me we should order a Taehyung one for me and a Seokjin one for her, hahaha. The concept is definitely cute but it wasn’t my style, so I showed her another shop that also makes face pillows, but prettier.

name a clothing store/brand: Thom Browne.

name the last book you got at the library: If I remember correctly, it was History of the Filipino People which, coincidentally, my great-uncle wrote.

name a restaurant: Yabu but eugh, haven’t eaten there since the breakup. I should order from them soon to commemmorate moving on heheh.

name a grocery store: Can I just name a local one? SM.

name an iPhone app: YouTube.

name an actor: Eddie Redmayne.

name an actress: Emma Stone.

name a music group: BTS.

name your favorite/lucky number: It used to be 4, but I’m now going with 7.

name something you've accomplished: Continued from...last night, I think? I have no concept of time anymore. I managed to survive this week so far considering how deadly my schedule was.

name something you'd like to accomplish: Get a promotion once I’ve proven myself capable.

name someone who makes you laugh: Hans can make anything funny.

name something exciting coming up soon: Some of my online shopping orders arriving I’m guessing by later today, yayyyy.

name a song that makes you emotional: Oh man, there are a lot. O by Coldplay is probably the one that hits the worst, though; I still can’t listen to that song completely to this day. Recently, I also can’t really avoid being sad whenever I listen to Butterfly by BTS.

name one of your pet peeves: Overly slow drivers.

name someone you know who is an amazing singer: Hannah.

name someone who is the same religion as you: JM.

name a holiday you celebrate: Christmas.

name the last 4 digits of your phone number: That’s too many, lmao.

name one of your cousins: My cousin Lei from my dad’s side.

name a book you loved when you were younger: The entire Septimus Heap series. I must’ve reread Magyk (the first book) a hundred times.

name a song you loved when you were younger: Let’s go withhhhh Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne. Making sure there were no adults around whenever I sang along to “I’m a motherfucking princess” as an 8 year old was always a thrill.

name your favorite movie: Two for the Road.

name a popular book series: Percy Jackson.

name a musical instrument: Saxophone.

name a language: French.

name what other tabs you have open: Archive of our Own, Dailymotion, Bzoink.

name 3 things on the walls of the room you're in: The walls of the rooftop are bare.

name your house number 4.

name your high school: Nope.

name your college, if applicable: UP.

name your middle school See high school.

name your elementary school: See high school.

name the college you wish you went to/hope to go to: I was able to qualify for the university and degree I wanted to attend.

name your favorite teacher: My music teacher in high school.

name the color of your backpack: Hm, don’t really use backpacks anymore but the main one I had in college - at least until I switched to a simple handbag (aka my senior year when I started to not care lol) - was a pink Herschel backpack.

name a dessert: Leche flan.

name a famous landmark: Statue of Liberty, only because of the question after this.

name a place you might go in NYC: Tiffany’s.

name an inventor: Nikola Tesla.

name an article of clothing: Jeans.

name an ice cream flavor: Pistachio.

name a religion: Islam.

name an emotion: Resentment.

name a room in your house: Mine.

name a website: Twitter.

name a car: Hyundai Palisade.

name something you need to do today: It’s a holiday today so I technically should be off work, but since it’s a holiday squished in the middle of the week that’s just another way of saying my dayoff will be a scam lmao. That said, I need to draft an article today for a client.

name someone you admire: My dad.

name someone you miss: My two best friends.

name a part of the body: Thighs.

name the last youtube video you watched: It was a Taehyung-focused compilation.

name a quote you love: “If you really love to be loved, it’d be good to show those who love you how much you’ve changed.” There’s some background context obviously playing around in here and most people might not recognize the weight it holds if they’re unfamiliar, but it’s a quote that really means a lot to me and came to me during a time I needed to hear it.

[twonewkidsonesouthpark]

Birthday fic for Buttlord

So, day late, dollar short, but cut me some slack I have TWO birthdays to celebrate the 28th and I’ve been out for the past 12 hours doing so XD

Happy birthday @justcallmebuttlord​, have some cute twin bday fic ^^

“Happy birthday to you,”

“Happy birthday to you,”

“Happy birthday dear Lynnie,”/“Happy birthday dear Lyssie,”

“Happy birthday to us.”

--

Alyssa and Lynnea Ostenmeyer could be forgiven for being confused when they walked downstairs to a veritable feast waiting for them for breakfast. They glanced at each other, identical confusion in their eyes. Finally, Alyssa shrugged, making for the table to sit down. This was hardly the weirdest thing that had happened since the ill-fated ‘hero’ game. With their father having taken up cooking instead of pot brownies, they had a lot better meals (with a lot less drugs slipped into their meatloaf).

“Good morning girls!” Kelly sing-songed, coming into the kitchen.

“Morning mom,” Lynn replied, glancing at Alyssa, Did we slip into an alternate timeline in our sleep or something?

Alyssa shrugged, face clearly as confused as Lynnea felt. Both of them were distracted as two piled high stacks of pancakes were set down in front of them.

“We forgot to tell you, we’re having the house cleaned today, so you’ll have to spend the day out,” Chris said from the counter, cracking a couple of eggs into a bowl of batter, “Hope you don’t mind!”

So, same thing we do every weekend, then? Alyssa took a bite of bacon.

Kelly and Chris shared an indecipherable glance over their heads, “Well, once you’re done with breakfast, get dressed and head out. We’ll message the two of you when it’s all done, okay?”

-

“That was weird, right?” Lynnea asked as they stepped down off their front porch steps, “Like, that wasn’t just me?”

Alyssa shook her head. No, definitely weird. Mom and dad are up to something.

“...you don’t think we have to move again, do you?” Lynnea asked, voice suddenly taking on a panicked edge, “I thought we’d been taking care of the government guys so they wouldn’t notice.”

No, I don’t think so at least, Alyssa cocked her head to the side. It was enough to get Lynn to relax as they headed down the street.

“Wanna see if the guys are busy?” Lynn asked, not waiting before heading across the front yard to Butters’ house and knocking on the door.

Both twins were grateful that it was Mrs. Stotch who opened the door, “Oh! Hello there you two,” she greeted, “I’m afraid Butters is --” Please don’t say grounded, “--n’t home right now.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Lynn said, hopping down the steps, “He’s probably at Cartman’s if he’s not here.”

Alyssa nodded, leading the trudge through the snow this time to the next house down, “Hello Dee, Lynnea. I’m sorry, but Eric’s gone out already.”

Curiouser and curiouser, Alyssa thought, nodding and going back down the driveway to meet Lynn.

“Cartman too?” She asked, surprised. Alyssa nodded, “Kyle and Stan��s, maybe?”

Alyssa frowned slightly, but nodded, following her sister down the street.

“Okay, what the fuck,” Lynnea asked emphatically as Mrs. McCormick shut the door, “Is going on today? Butters, Cartman, Kyle, Stan, AND Kenny are all out?”

Can’t get ahold of Clyde’s gang either, Alyssa turned her phone screen toward Lynnea, showing unanswered messages to Clyde, Token, Tweek, and Craig.

“Tricia, Karen, and Ike aren’t answering me, either,” Lynn said, frowning at her phone, “Well… alright, fuck the boys too, they can do whatever it is they’re doing without us. Feel like hanging out with Wendy?”

Wendy’s always cool, Alyssa nodded, watching as her twin’s fingers flew over her phone keyboard, then pause.

“Wendy’s busy too,” she said, “And she went offline after I messaged, what the heck? Since when does Wendy Testaburger go radio silent?”

Ooookay this is officially donkey balls levels of weird, Alyssa frowned, looking at her friends list. Their usual gang of miscreants was all offline… or invisible, she wasn’t sure which.

“This blows,” Lynn muttered. They had relocated to the park, with Lynn peeking into the girls room to see if there’d been a meeting today she didn’t know about in the Sunshine Sparkle Club, but they’d found it empty. So now, they sat on the swings in sullen, confused silence.

Fuck ‘em, Alyssa reached over to squeeze Lynn’s hand, Not the first time we’ve gotten by alone. We don’t need those cock guzzling taint munchers anyway.

Lynn squeezed back, her grip noticeably weaker, as she continued to scroll through her phone. Alyssa rolled her eyes, and grabbed the phone with her free hand, “Hey!”

No more phone for you, you’re just getting upset.

“At least give it back so I can play something while we wait,” Lynn pouted. Alyssa gave her a flat, disbelieving look, “I won’t even open facebook or instagram, okay?”

Uh huh, Alyssa didn’t believe THAT line for a second, but she handed Lynn her phone back. Probably a wise choice, given that it was nearly another two hours before their phones simultaneously ‘pinged’ with messages from either parent that it was time to come home now.

“I’m half tempted not to,” Lynn admitted, skipping a rock across the top of the pond, “But they’d probably just come looking for us like the time we got lost in the forest.”

Given that they discovered that the forest was full of non-linear paths, satanic fauna, and aggressive wolves. Alyssa wasn’t necessarily complaining about THAT particular rescue. But the two of them threw the last of their gathered pebbles skittering across the top of the water’s half-frozen surface before heading back to their street, and past the bus stop back to their home.

Lynnea got to the door first, skipping over all the icy bits of the walkway up the stairs, and stomping her boots free of dirty snow on the mat before shoving the door open and --

“SURPRISE!”

Alyssa isn’t sure which of them react first -- either way, they both had the SAME reaction; time freezes, suspended with the smell that could burn hair off anyone too close by. It was probably a good thing that they were both immune -- sort of -- by now to their particular brand of… superpower.

“Wha -- oh my god,” Lynnea said, as they surveyed the scene that they had just ripped one on, “Oh my god. It’s our birthday.”

...fuck me running, it is, Alyssa realized, looking around the living room.A banner hung above the kitchen doorway reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY in vibrant letters, a veritable mountain of presents below it on the table. It looked like EVERY kid their parents had ever seen them so much as look at for more than a few seconds was in there.

There was a sniffle from beside her, and Alyssa looked over to see Lynn tearing up, “Wh -- whoa, hey, what’s with the waterworks?” she asked, safe to speak with no one to hear her but her twin.

“We -- we’ve never celebrated it before,” Lynn hiccuped, wiping at her eyes.

Alyssa didn’t have time to say much else -- she could feel the air straining around them, like a rubber band about to snap. It was always disconcerting to snap back into place as time began to flow forward again, even if she hadn’t really moved all that much.

“Aw, dude, c’mon!” Stan said, waving a hand over his nose as, with time unfreezing, the smell of using their powers hit the rest of the party as well. Alyssa shrugged at him, scooting around the gaggle of girls that had surrounded Lynnea the moment they’d noticed the burgeoning waterworks, Motherfucker you all should know what happens when you surprise us, you’re lucky you didn’t get hit and we were still out on the step. Now one of you want to explain the fresh FUCK is happening here?

“Your parents invited all of us over,” Kyle expounded without much more prompting than her raised eyebrow.

“Why didn’t you two ever tell us when your birthday is?” Stan asks, which gets him a look, “Okay, why didn’t LYNN tell us when your birthday is, wise ass?”

Alyssa shrugged, You never asked.

“Lame excuse man,” Kenny said, “Wendy had to dig this shit up and suggest the party to your parents.”

And depending on how this goes, I owe that girl SO many cookies, or a punch in the face, Alyssa glanced over the boys’ heads, at the gaggle of girls surrounding her sister, who looked a lot less wet-eyed now, laughing and accepting gentle scoldings for likely the same thing the boys were digging at her about. Wendy caught her looking and grinned unapologetically, ...maybe cookies AND a punch in the face, she amended privately.

“Whatever, not like it’s a big deal anyway,” Cartman grumped, distracting her from Wendy and her smug ass grinning, “No kewl party has girls at it.”

“Dude. They’re twins. And Lynn’s a girl,” Craig deadpanned.

“Y-yeah, it’s b-both their parties, of c-course the girls are gonna be here,” Tweek said.

Cartman huffed, “Whatever. I’m gonna be over HERE, NOT getting cooties,” he said, shuffling off to the other side of the room.

“Ignore him,” Kyle said, rolling his eyes, “He’s just bitter that you two get more presents.”

“And that people actually want to give you presents that aren’t off an itemized list,” Kenny snickered.

Alyssa raised a brow, Okay, gonna have to fill me in on that one --

“Who wants to break the pinata?” Chris called from the direction of the backdoor.

--after I beat a paper mache donkey to death, move it assholes.