#canister stoves

[tracksterman]

With just a brew's worth of gas left, it's time to open the valve full, turn the canister upside down and empty it. Four clear punctures with the Crunchit tool and in the recycling it goes...

[movingtothefarm]

"We are glad to discover this refillable gas canister, which is portable and convenient. It can be refilled by a butane canister directly without using an adapter. Paired with a compact stove, this is our new favorite setup for quick coffee and meals. In this video, we will demonstrate the variety of uses of our pocket stove."

They have Amazon links in video description.

Campingmoon refillable canister (There is a 110g version of this refillable canister)

MHW-3BOMBER Mini Coffee Scale

Snow Peak GigaPower 2.0 Stove

GigaPower windscreen

TRANGIA 27 Aluminium Kettle (0.6-Liter)

Campingmoon portable campfire grill MS-1011

Campingmoon Mini Roaster

Stanley Adventure Camp Cook Set

Snow Peak Titanium Cup 300

Snow Peak Titanium Cup 450

Boundless Voyage Titanium Pour Over Coffee Maker

Boundless Voyage Titanium Pour Over Coffee Maker Holders

Snow Peak Wabuki 8" Chopsticks

Snow Peak Folding Spatula

TRANGIA Mess Tin (Small)

Opinel pocket knife

[mathewmartin1]

Mastering the Art of Camping Gas Canisters: A Comprehensive Guide for Outdoor Enthusiasts

Introduction

Camping is a timeless adventure that allows us to reconnect with nature, unwind from the hustle and bustle of daily life, and create lasting memories with loved ones. One essential element of any camping trip is the trusty gas canister, a compact and efficient source of fuel for cooking, heating, and lighting. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into everything you need to know about camping gas canisters, from choosing the right type to safety tips and proper disposal.

Understanding Camping Gas Canisters

Gas canisters are indispensable companions for outdoor enthusiasts, providing a convenient and reliable energy source for cooking meals, boiling water, and even powering portable heaters and lanterns. These canisters typically contain a mixture of propane, butane, or a blend of both, compressed into a portable container for easy transport and use.

Types of Camping Gas Canisters

When it comes to camping gas canisters, there are several options to choose from, each with its own advantages and considerations. The most common types include:

Propane Canisters: Propane is a popular choice for camping due to its high energy content and ability to perform well in cold temperatures. Propane canisters are often used for larger camping stoves and appliances, providing a steady and consistent flame for cooking.

Butane Canisters: Butane is another commonly used fuel for camping, prized for its ease of use and clean-burning properties. Butane canisters are ideal for smaller camping stoves and portable cookers, offering quick ignition and reliable performance in mild weather conditions.

Propane-Butane Blends: Some camping gas canisters contain a mixture of propane and butane, offering the benefits of both fuels. These blends are versatile options that perform well in a variety of temperatures and are suitable for a wide range of camping applications.

Choosing the Right Camping Gas Canister

When selecting a camping gas canister, it's essential to consider factors such as the duration of your trip, the type of equipment you'll be using, and the weather conditions you're likely to encounter. Here are some tips for choosing the right canister for your needs:

Assess Your Equipment: Determine the type of camping stove or appliance you'll be using and check its compatibility with different types of gas canisters. Some stoves may require specific fuel types or fittings, so be sure to choose accordingly.

Consider Temperature: If you're camping in cold weather, propane is typically the preferred option, as it performs better at low temperatures compared to butane. However, if you're camping in mild conditions, either propane or butane canisters should suffice.

Evaluate Duration: Estimate how much fuel you'll need for the duration of your trip and choose canister sizes accordingly. Larger canisters provide more fuel but may be heavier and bulkier to carry, so strike a balance based on your needs.

Safety Tips for Handling Camping Gas Canisters

While camping gas canisters are generally safe to use when handled properly, it's essential to observe some safety precautions to prevent accidents and ensure a worry-free camping experience. Here are some essential tips to keep in mind:

Store and Transport Safely: When transporting gas canisters, always ensure they are stored upright in a well-ventilated area away from heat sources and open flames. Secure them tightly to prevent tipping or rolling during transit.

Check for Leaks: Before connecting a gas canister to your camping stove or appliance, inspect the valve and fittings for any signs of damage or leakage. Apply soapy water to the connections and look for bubbles, which indicate a leak that needs to be addressed before use.

Use in Well-Ventilated Areas: When cooking with gas canisters inside a tent or enclosed space, ensure adequate ventilation to prevent the buildup of carbon monoxide. Use portable gas stoves outdoors whenever possible, and never use them for heating purposes inside a tent.

Follow Manufacturer's Instructions: Always follow the manufacturer's instructions for your camping stove or appliance and adhere to any specific guidelines for the use of gas canisters. Improper use can lead to accidents or equipment damage.

Proper Disposal of Camping Gas Canisters

Once you've finished using a camping gas canister, it's crucial to dispose of it properly to minimize environmental impact and ensure safety. Here's how to dispose of camping gas canisters responsibly:

Empty the Canister: Use up any remaining fuel in the canister by operating your camping stove or appliance until the flame extinguishes. This will help reduce the risk of accidental ignition during disposal.

Depressurize the Canister: To depressurize the canister, connect it to your camping stove or appliance and open the valve to release any remaining gas. Once depressurized, the canister is safer to handle and dispose of.

Recycle or Dispose: Check with local recycling centers or waste disposal facilities to determine the proper method for recycling or disposing of gas canister camping in your area. Some facilities may accept empty canisters for recycling, while others may require specialized disposal methods.

Conclusion

Camping gas canisters are invaluable companions for outdoor adventures, providing a convenient and reliable source of fuel for cooking, heating, and lighting. By understanding the different types of gas canisters, choosing the right one for your needs, and observing safety precautions, you can enjoy a safe and enjoyable camping experience. Remember to dispose of gas canisters responsibly to protect the environment and preserve the beauty of our natural surroundings. Happy camping!

[luveline]

do you think you could do something with zombie au where reader is on her period? thank you!!

thank you for your request! fem, 1k

You’ve gotten your period three times since the apocalypse began. The first time, you and Steve were just beginning to get along, and he’d proved why you trust him as you do, treating the whole thing with kindness. More recently, he’s your unofficial boyfriend. Like, kissing you and holding you, but foregoing the conversation that would make you an official couple. 

Either he doesn’t want to be official (which is fine, it’s not like he’s going anywhere), or you’re official without words. You’ve assumed the latter because the former makes you nauseous. 

Not that you need much help in that department. Your stomach churns like a tide, bouts of sickness and pain that hit you rampantly as you follow Steve downstairs. 

“Can I take my shoes off?” you ask. 

“Why are you asking me? It’s not my house.” Steve descends the last step and holds his hand behind him for you. Seemingly to help you down a step you don’t need help with. 

You’re asking because taking your shoes off means getting comfy for the night, and he doesn’t want to do that at every house you break into.

You don’t explain yourself. You follow Steve into the living room, hoping he’s going to take your hand again. He nudges you with his hip into a mildly dusty couch. 

You sit. “What, are we gonna watch TV?” you joke. 

“You look sickly.” 

That’s not nice. “I do?” you ask, all teasing gone from your tone. You often wish you were much prettier, and occasionally beg fate to drop a bottle of medical grade body wash into your lap, if just to make Steve see you that way. But Steve’s kissed you with a greasy nose and blood on your chin. You were hoping appearances didn’t matter. 

“You look awful,” he says, his eyebrows stitching together as he heads into the kitchen. “Stay sat down!” 

“Awful?” you ask. 

He doubles back, face peeking around the doorway. “Not like that,” he says hurriedly. “Just, sick. I’m gonna cook you something.” 

“I don’t need to be sat down, I’m fine.” 

He disappears again. “That why you’re glaring at me?” he calls, his voice echoing against tile. 

You don’t have the energy for whatever it is that’s happening. You kick your legs out on the couch and begin kneading the swollen mess that is your stomach, debating on telling him why you’re grumpy. It’s not like he cares. He never finds it gross, but you don’t want him to pity you either. It’s just a period. 

(It really sucks.) 

“Alright, the hot plate is on,” he calls. “What do you want, huh? We got the split pea soup, or the chicken casserole?” He laughs. “The casserole, duh. Ten minutes and it’s yours.” 

Your breath rushes out through your nose. Stomach hurts, head hurts, he’s making you dinner and laughing where you can’t see him. You force yourself to get up, shuffling to the kitchen with a pout already in place. 

“Ten minutes is not right,” you say, announcing your movement so he doesn’t stab you. 

“Is too right. How come you never listen?” 

“Steve, please don’t be mean to me, I’m on my period.” You wince as a pang climbs your back. 

“Oh, you are?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Well… I’m glad, sort of. Better that then the flu, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

A couple of weeks ago, he would’ve told you to go back to the couch, and he would’ve brought your food in to you, wrapping a blanket over your legs and leaving you to it. But this is now. Your unwilling protector has gone remarkably soft on you. 

“Is it like last time?” he asks, holding out his arm. 

You drift toward him, pretending it isn’t to be hugged. “It hurts, if that’s what you mean.” 

“It hurts,” he repeats in a murmur as his arm finally curls around your waist. He pulls you into his side.

“You’re pitying me.” 

“You like it,” he jokes, his tone still held in that soft murmuring. 

You close your eyes, driving your nose into his chest. The hot plate gurgles weakly on the stove, using the last of a canister of camping gas, a few days from the end of its life. Your eyelids feel heavy closed, achy not with tears but fatigue, and your head aches with a migraine you know from experience won’t be defeated using tylenol. But Steve hugs you with one arm and leans against you as you press into him. Stuck together. He doesn’t move for ages. 

“I’m glad I don’t get my period,” he says. 

“You act like you do.” 

“Were you not gonna tell me? I guess you don’t have to, but if you’re in pain, I’d like to know.” 

“Don’t need you to feel any more sorry for me.” 

“I don’t. Just like rubbing your back.” 

Your heart skips a beat. That’s as close to a confession of feelings you’ve ever gotten from him. Well, verbally. His sporadic kissing says a lot. 

“Thanks for telling me,” he says. You have to strain your ears to hear him. “I don’t think there’s much iron in chicken casserole. I wish we… How much iron is there in squirrel?” 

“I don’t wanna eat squirrel.” Again. 

“It’s good for you.” 

Doubtful. You turn completely into his touch and hug him. “Please don’t make me eat squirrel.” 

You sound a teeny tiny bit pitiful, and you earn yourself an even better hug than the first. “I won’t, I won’t, I was just kidding,” he promises, “I just figure you need it. Maybe if we look through the medicine cabinet they’ll have some multivitamins or something.” His hand grabs at your side. It’s not a careful touch, though he’s far from spiteful. “You need painkillers, right? I could crush a Vicodin into your casserole.” 

“Yes, please.” 

Steve’s nose presses into the side of your face. You feel close to him in a way that chokes you up, but you don’t need to talk any more. 

“Half a Vicodin,” he deliberates, “and I’ll rub your back.”

[lemoncrushh]

Anniversary Pancakes

Summary: Harry and his daughter make breakfast for his wife on their anniversary

Warnings: None, cutesy family fluff (very small mention of sex at the beginning)

Word Count: 1264

A/N: From my 2016 collection, this is written from Harry's POV.

I was in love with her. After six blissful years of marriage, I was still as much in love with her as I'd been the day we said "I do."

I woke up before she did, thinking about the night we'd shared. I'd made love to her three times, each time bringing her to the brink as she called out my name. Then we'd laid in each other's arms, whispering sweet nothings, exchanging confirmations of our everlasting love. The sun was just starting to rise, a blueish glow streaming through the curtains. I laid in bed watching her for a good ten minutes, her chest rising and falling as puffs of breaths escaped her lips. She was so beautiful, it took all the strength I had not to wake her up with a gentle kiss. But I wanted to let her sleep. Today was our anniversary, and I had plans.

I sauntered into the kitchen squinting my eyes when I flipped the switch, light illuminating the granite countertops. I started the coffee brewing, knowing that's the first thing my love likes when she wakes up. Opening the refrigerator, I pulled out the eggs, milk, cheese, spinach and bacon. I'd just finished whisking the eggs in a bowl when I heard the pitter patter of little feet on the hardwood floor.

"Morning, Daddy," my little girl said softly as she appeared around the corner, her tiny fist rubbing her eye.

"Morning, princess, what are you doin' up so early?"

She merely shrugged before reaching her arms out to me for a hug. I set the bowl down on the counter and lifted her into my arms, giving her a kiss on her forehead.

"Whatcha makin'?" she asked me.

"An omelet," I replied. "For your mum."

"What's a omnet?"

I giggled as her mispronunciation. "Omelet. It's eggs with stuff in it."

My daughter made a face, showing me she did not approve. I shook my head and set her down on the nearby stool to watch me. I got the first pan ready for the bacon.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," I heard behind me as the bacon started to sizzle.

"What would you like to eat, love?"

"Pancakes."

I chuckled. "I don't think I know how to make those all by myself. Can you help me?"

"Uh huh!"

I flipped the bacon over before turning to my little girl.

"Will you get me a bowl from under there?" I pointed to the cabinet next to her.

"Okay."

She hopped off her stool, eagerly searching for the bowl she knew her mum had used to made pancakes in before. When she came up with it in her little hands, a satisfied grin on her face, she handed it to me.

"Here you go, Daddy."

"Alright monkey," I said. "First I need some flour. Do you know where that is?"

Her little arm immediately shot out across the counter, her finger pointing to a canister.

"In there?" I raised a brow, teasing her. "You sure?"

"Uh huh," she nodded. "The big one is flour."

I grabbed the large canister and lifted the lid, widening my eyes.

"What do ya know! There's flour in here!"

My daughter giggled, covering her mouth. I winked at her, dropping some of the flour into the bowl. Then I added baking powder, salt and sugar.

"Will you stir that for me while I grab this bacon off the fire?"

I lifted her back to her stool, handing her a big spoon. I removed the bacon from the stove while she stirred.

"Good job," I remarked. "Now we get to add the egg."

"Can I do it?" she pleaded.

"Uh...how 'bout we add it together."

"'kay."

I cracked the egg gently as I covered her hand that held it, opening it with precision, careful not to get any shells in the bowl.

"What am I missing?" I narrowed my eyes, putting my finger to my chin.

My little girl shifted her eyes back and forth before giving me a big shrug, her hands in the air.

"Butter!" I exclaimed.

I quickly grabbed some from the fridge, warming it in the microwave to melt. I let the little one pour it into the bowl while I started heating the griddle. Then grabbing the whisk once again, I handed it to her.

"I like the whisk," she commented, her S held out longer than the other letters. I smiled as I watched her move it around the bowl.

"Here, bug," I said, covering her hand again, showing her how to whisk the ingredients.

Her wee little tongue poked out of the side of her mouth in concentration. I brushed her hair back with my other hand, kissing the side of her face. God, I loved my family.

"Alright," I chimed. "Time for pouring."

My daughter watched as I poured the pancake mix onto the griddle. While I waited for it to bubble, I poured my previously prepared egg mixture into the second pan to make my wife's omelet.

I'd just folded the eggs and had made two good pancakes when I heard a little voice say cheer "Mommy!"

"Hi, precious," she said, her voice still groggy from sleep.

Our little girl hopped off the stool once again to wrap her arms around her mum.

"What's all this?" my love inquired, lifted her head to look at me.

"We made breakfast!" our daughter danced.

"You did?" Her eyes were locked on mine.

I grinned at her sheepishly, setting down the spatula. Then I pulled her to me, planting a soft kiss to her lips.

"Happy Anniversary," I murmured against her mouth.

She leaned her forehead against mine. "I love you."

"I love you more."

"Daddy?"

"Yes, monkey?" I asked, even though my eyes were still on my wife.

"What's a ammivassy?"

I grinned. "It means your mum and I love each other a whole lot. And today is the day we celebrate."

My beautiful woman's face beamed back at me as I took it in my hands, kissing her once again.

"Harry..." she said when she broke the kiss.

"Yeah?" I asked, my lips pressed to her jaw.

"Something's burning."

"Shit!" I exclaimed.

I tore away from her to remove the scorched pancake from the griddle. As I cursed under my breath, I heard her chuckle behind me. Luckily, it was only one pancake. And I was able to save her omelet. I felt her hand on my back as I poured more of the mix.

"This is wonderful," she whispered in my ear. "You're wonderful."

Her arms wound around my waist as she rested her head on my back. Then she kissed my neck before backing away. I winked at her as she poured herself a cup of coffee, adding the creamer she liked.

"C'mon, precious, let's go sit at the table so we can have this delicious breakfast you and Daddy made."

I slipped an omelet onto a plate along with bacon, setting it in front of her. Then I gave my little girl her stack of pancakes, covered in syrup before making a plate for myself. I ate with my gorgeous ladies, another morning of complete joy.

My wife smiled at me as she ate, a look on her face that told me something else was on her mind. Perhaps she woke up thinking about last night too.

"I love you," she mouthed silently.

I was about to declare my love in return when my little girl spoke.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, love?" I turned to her, giving her my undivided attention.

"When is our ammivassy?"

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[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Snow Storm | Wooyoung

❄️ Pairing: Neighbour!Wooyoung x Fem!Reader ❄️ Requested by: Anon ❄️ Synopsis: Prompt 2: there's a snowstorm that prevents Y/N from going home for Christmas. She thinks she's the only one who wasn't able to make it home but is surprised to see that her cute neighbour is also there. ❄️ Word Count: ❄️ Warnings: talks of snow storm. power outage, a match-making cat. ❄️ Taglist: Open. I am renewing my tag lists for 2025. Please read this post if you want to stay on them- tag list renewal (dec 01-31 2024).

12 Days of Christmas Masterlist

As she's cooking ramyeon on her stove top, Y/N suddenly finds herself plunged into darkness as the power cuts out. She had been warned about potential outages due to the relentless snowfall that had started last night, which forced her to cancel her plans to visit her parents for Christmas. They had suggested she arrive a day early to avoid the impending snowstorm but she told them it'll be fine, believing the weather reports that said it wouldn't be that bad. It ended up worse than predicted.  

"Once again, I should have listened to them," she sighs, glancing at her cat perched on the counter, observing her every move. "I can hear grandma's 'I told you so' in my head," she continues talking to Bora as she locates her phone and turns on the flashlight.  

As the light illuminates the area the best it can, she rummages through her cupboard and discovers her portable gas stove. Pulling it out, she checks the canister, shaking it lightly but hearing nothing. "I knew I should have picked up another one," she mutters, tossing it into the trash.  

Now, she begins to think about what she can do. Asking her neighbours for a canister isn’t an option. The Lee family across the hall left to see their family for Christmas three days ago, and the Choi family two doors down left yesterday and she suspects the cute guy next door has also gone to spend the holidays with his family. 

Despite knowing that no one is around, she opens her apartment door, only to be met with complete darkness. The dark empty hallway gives her an eerie feeling as she recalls the latest ghost story the Lee's son told her a few days ago. Rolling her eyes, feeling stupid for even thinking there will be someone there, she retreats back into her apartment. As she’s about to close the door, her cat darts past her into the hallway." 

Bo!" she scolds the feline, as she blends in with the darkness. "Get back here, now!" she insists, her tone laced with annoyance. With a resigned sigh, she grabs her phone from the counter, flashlight still on. "Bora!" she calls again, her voice echoing in the empty corridor.  

"I'm guessing this little troublemaker is yours?" a voice comes from behind her, making her jump and spin around. There stands the cute neighbour she thought had left for the holidays, cradling her mischievous cat, who seems quite at home in his arms. She remembers the Lee kids saying his name is Wooyoung. "What's her name?"  

"Bora," she replied, feeling a flush of embarrassment. "I call her Bo for short."  

"Cute," he said with a smile, scratching the cat under her chin. "I don't think we've had the chance to properly meet," he continued, releasing Bora when she decided she’d had enough attention and returned to Y/N. Wooyoung had only moved in next door a month ago. They exchanged greetings in the hallway but had never taken the time to introduce themselves. "I'm Wooyoung."  

"Y/N," she introduced herself.  

"So, you're the one the Lee kids are always talking about," he grinned. "They mentioned you were going away for Christmas."  

"They talk about you a lot too," Y/N replied. "I was but the snowstorm messed up my plans. I was supposed to drive to my parents today."  

"I was supposed to head to my older brother's place for Christmas since everyone agreed to have it there this year," he said. Bora then made her way back to him, weaving between his legs and nudging them with her whole body. He bent down to pet her, earning a series of purrs in return. "I hope this isn't too forward, but would you like to come over? I have one of those camping stove things, I can make us some hot drinks and ramen. It’s not much, but it might be nicer than spending Christmas Eve alone. Bora is welcome too," he offered, a bit flustered but eager to extend the invitation. 

"I would like that," she says taking him up on his offer. She looks from him to her cat. "I think she would too." 

-----------------------------------------------------------

Later that night, Wooyoung and Y/N are oblivious to how quickly the time passed as they talked, getting to know each other over a couple bottles of soju and three packets of ramen. It isn't until the power flickers back on when the two realise how late it is. Looking at the time on her phone, Y/N sees that it's well after midnight. 

"I should really head back to my apartment and get some sleep," she sighs, a part of her not wanting to leave Wooyoung's company, finding that she really enjoys it and his cozy couch. She looks at her cat, curled up asleep next to Wooyoung, surprising her. It always took a while for Bora to warm up to people she doesn't know, making her think there could be something special about her new neighbour. "I should probably take Bora home before she gets too attached and I end up losing her," she joked lightly as she scooped up the sleeping cat. 

"You two could always come back over later," he offers. 

"Or you could come over and I'll cook for us to say thanks for tonight," she counter offers, wanting to repay Wooyoung for allowing her and her cat into his home. 

"What time should I be there?" He asks standing up and following her to the door.  

"Just come over whenever you're ready," she tells him, opening the door. They both step into the now brightly lit hallway. "Thank you for tonight. Hopefully telling my parents that I wasn't alone will lessen the lecture I'll be getting from them." 

"Glad to be of service," he smiles, saluting her.  

"Goodnight," she smiles and makes her way to her apartment. As she's about to open the door, Wooyoung calls her name. She looks back at him, expectantly, waiting for him to say something. 

"Merry Christmas," he tells her, a friendly smile on his lips. 

"Merry Christmas," She replies before heading back inside her apartment, cheeks warm, heart fluttering and stomach filled with butterflies. She looks down at the cat in her arms, who's big green eyes are looking back at her with a knowing glint in her eyes. "Don't you start," she says to the cat before letting her down on the floor. 

I am renewing my tag list for 2025. If you want to remain on my tag list (or join) you can fill out my Tag List Form

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[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 1)

It wasn't long after Uzi restored N and V's memories that N began to stay over at her “apartment.” more often.

It started when he sheepishly knocked on her door one morning, chassis slightly steaming and looking guilty, tail laying flat against the floor.

“H-H-Hey U-U-zi” His voice was so glichy it was nearly impossible to hear what exactly he was saying, his visor angerly blinking, warning him that he was overheating, as if that wasn't immediately obvious.

“Holy shit! N!” Uzi was immediately concerned, leaning in to help her best freind and to lead him inside, she went to grab his hand to help him. Only to be immediately burned, the temperature of his plating feeling like a stove top.

“Y-y-eah, I'm kinda h-h-ooo-t right now.” He explained as if he wasn't about to melt in front of her. She sprinted to her room, grabbing the canister of oil she'd been sipping on and shoving it in his mouth.

He drank it deeply, emptying the entire container rather quickly, steam plumed around him and he sighed, his joints groaning from the quick constriction back to form.

“Oh wow, that was a little closer than I would have liked. Thanks Uz!” He brightened immediately, tail curling up and beginning to wag, a beaming smile on his face.

“N! What happened? I've never seen you that hot before!” She motioned him in, looking into the hallway to make sure nobody saw him enter. It wouldn't help the already rampant rumors about her. About them.

“Uh, V is in one of her moods after I tried reminiscing with her, she shoved me and I fell into the sunlight.” His explanation was not lacking in enthusiasm, seemingly not thinking about how close the death he just came.

“And she didn't get you oil because…?” Uzi questioned, trying to not notice how he looked around her house in awe, glancing around at everything.

“Oh, because the oil we have is old and a little chunky, it would have taken too long to cool me off before I started to go offline.” He explained, picking up a picture of her father and her, when she was a pill.

“Awww, baby Uzi!”

Blushing, she swiped the picture out of his hands and put it back down.

“Bite me! I'm not cute!” She snapped at him, only for him to laugh lightly, as if that action itself proved whatever point he was trying to make.

“Whatever you say!” He grinned, walking off to pick up another trinket off the shelf and turn it in his hands.

“This isn't the first time you've been here, you've seen it before, also you almost just died. Priorities!”

“I actively avoid thinking about the times I almost die. Also look!” He brought her attention to a picture of her, in a toddler body, bashing her dad in the head with a wrench.

“Looks like you were good with tools even when tiny!” He cooed at her image, Uzi grumbled, trying and failing to swipe the picture from his hands.

“Also, I was unconscious for most of the time I was here. I didn't get to see all your adorable droneling pictures!” He threw his hands up, tail wagging wildly.

Adorable?

“N!” She shouted in indignation, fists balling up and stomping her foot like the was throwing a tantrum.

He put the picture back on the shelf, giggling at her, if he was anyone else she would have bitten back a little harder, but he was incredibly difficult to stay mad at, especially with that crooked, dopey smile.

“Well, I guess I'm stuck with you until nightfall…” She murmured, honestly she had started to become nocturnal herself, being unable to touch sunlight after her strange, fleshy transformation at camp, switching over seemed to be the better option.

“I was about to get ready for bed, if you wanna-”

“Sleepover!” He shouted immediately, looking like he just got the best Christmas gift ever. Uzi couldn't help but smile at him, he was always so endlessly positive.

“Uh, yeah… I guess.” She turned to look aloof, but to also hide her growing fluster, which had been growing more and more common since prom.

She drug him into her room by the arm, partly just to get him away from more of her pictures. And slammed the door behind her. Sighing softly.

When she opened her eyes again, N was sitting on her bed, well more laying, as he was a little too tall to comfortably sit upright without touching the ceiling, and was looking at her nightmare board.

“Mmm. This looks like repressed memories.” He said off-handedly, and he was partly correct, some of them were nightmares, some were things she'd rather be only in her nightmares.

“Just nightmares N.” She replied, going into the corner of the room to find a comfortable shirt to change into. Only to look at N, to realize he was still in his overcoat and hat.

“You want to wear something more comfortable then that coat?” She asked, still pulling through the mountain of clothes.

“Huh? Oh uh, if you have something that fits me.”

Fair enough, he was quite a bit taller than any other worker drone. Especially her.

But luckily, she had hoarded clothes over the years, and finally fished something out that was way too big for her. But would probably fit him just fine. A thin lilac shirt that said. “My Girlfriend Thinks I'm Tall.”

The universe really wanted to shove this crush in her face today. Didn't it?

Whatever, the universe could bite her.

“Here.” She threw the shirt up at him and continued to search for something that suited her. Finally, she saw a faded yellow shirt that read; I'm a Big Freakin’ Ray of Sunshine

Perfect

She turned, only to find N standing naked in the middle of her room, the shirt folded in one hand and his coat draped over the other.

“N!” She immediately whipped around to face the wall, her temperature rising quickly, a violent blush taking over her face.

“What?” He hummed, seemingly unperturbed by being nude in front of her, taking his sweet ass time putting the shirt on.

“You're naked!”

“And? The only difference between us is armor plating.” He responded, pulling the shirt over his head. His voice laced with confusion.

“Still! You don’t see me stripping in front of you!”

N paused for a moment, seemingly pondering this. Before he clicked his tongue.

“I wouldn't mind it, you seem to forget that none of the corpses that make up the spire have clothes.” That made her jump, sometimes she forgot he was a disassembly drone, with his cheerful, loving attitude. And it made her feel a little weird, did all of the worker drones really look so similar?

Did he not think of her as different?

“N-No, I don't care how many you've seen. I don't want you to see me.”

She heard N make some kind of noise, then heard him step out and close the door. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, shit, she didn't realize N would be so nonchalant about it.

She quickly got changed, and reopened the door for N, who met her gaze with a slight blush, and who's hands were shifting against each other awkwardly. Clearly, he'd known he'd said something wrong and overthought it.

“Erm, sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, and I didn't mean to imply that… you look like every other worker drone. Because you don't- uh…” He broke from her gaze for a moment, and his tail flicked irritability. What she could see of his visor he was? Blushing? Maybe?

“You don't look like anyone else. You look like you, and you are my best friend.”

Or maybe he did.

“It's okay, you kinda walk around without pants anyway.”

“So does V!” He defended, before they both dissolved into laughter, awkward moment being pushed aside.

“Come on, let's choose something to watch.” And they walked back into her room, N following as she pulled put a drawer, letting him look at the movies she had.

“A lot of them are animated, looking at live action humans is a little freaky to me.” She admitted, watching as he held each box in his hands. Reading the description of each.

“Oooh, this one is about robots!” He grinned, showing off on of the boxes to her.

“Wall-E? I haven't seen that since I was little.” She vaguely knew it was sappy though, which knowing N, he may have picked up on as well.

‘Yeah sure…” She picked up her homebrew laptop and shoved the disk into the reader, before looking around for a place for both of them to sit.

Her couch was currently covered in railgun parts, where she has been trying (and kinda failing) to repair it after it exploded, she'd nearly had to start from scratch.

But then that left her bed… which would probably end up with the both of them being in pretty close proximity, even more so with how excitable N could get.

N made the choice for her, climbing up to her bed and giving her his hand to help her up.

She blushed, looking away as she took his hand as was hoisted up quickly enough to disorient her, thankfully she didn't loose grip on the laptop.

She landed in his lap, she could tell that much by the ambient warmth radiating from his core, she felt him lean down over her shoulder to start the movie, some of his silvery hair tickling her cheek.

Ah, shit this escalated, does he realize how close we are right now?

Apparently not, as he readjusted himself he forced them closer, Uzi leaning fully against his chest, his head looming above her as she was curled on his lap.

She was extremely happy he couldn't see her visor, which she was sure was nothing but purple at this point.

Still, she eventually relaxed into it, realizing that this was one of the only ways they'd both truly fit on the bed while still being able to see the screen.

She just… didn't remember the movie being so… romantic?

The way Wall-E swooned over Eva's sleek design, melted at her voice, showed her his collection of weird human things… for once she could kinda relate, looking up at the disassembly drone, who's eyes were locked onto the screen.

“Awww, he likes her!” He pointed out when Wall-E tried to hold her hand, and all Uzi could do was shake her head, of course he'd be into romance, that was just so… N.

“Kinda reminds me of when we first met.” She said without thinking, before her words caught up with her and she realized what she was implying.

Luckily, either N didn't call her out or simply didn't notice.

“Yeah… her arm cannon thing is really similar to your railgun.”

Oh thank Robo-Jesus that's what he took from that.

“I don't think you were swooning over me though, with me trying to kill you and everything.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

“Uh- Pfft, I wouldn't swoon over anyone N.”

Yes. Nice Save.

“Thad?” N mentioned, eyes still trained on the screen. Although his tone had shifted slightly, although she couldn't fathom why.

“Ew. No. Sports Jock is not my type, he's just not mean to me.” They both jumped when a lightning strike hit Wall-E as we was trying to recharge her.

“I'm not sure what I'd do if you suddenly went offline like that.” N's voice was uncertain, like it was something he'd been thinking on.

“You worry about that?” Uzi replied, trying to ignore the way her core sped up, but wait his did too.

“Of course, with everything going on I'm afraid someone is going to get hurt in a way I can't fix…” One of his arms wrapped around her, seeking comfort, making her jump slightly.

She wasn't used to other people caring about her to this extent, in the way she knew N did, he was her ride or die and she knew that, and it was worth so much to her.

“If you're talking about V, she can kill us both before taking a breath.”

But showing him that was too scary.

“I don't worry about her as much as I worry about you.” His head rested on hers for a moment, as he watched Wall-E hold onto the side of the spaceship for dear life.

She felt herself smiling, face warm. He was such a wonderful friend, he was one of the only people that truly cared about her.

“I'll be fine… Bite me….” He chuckled, sensing no aggression behind her words. And they fell into comfortable silence, getting reabsorbed back into the movie.

Uzi found herself melting pleasantly in his warmth, she'd expected him to be warm, with his constant need for oil, but had expected it to be more unpleasant, instead it was lulling her to sleep quite rapidly. She felt… safe. And that was weird considering she was cudd- uh leaning against a drone who could end her life before she could even finish her next thought.

But she knew he'd never do that, he would rather melt into a puddle than lay an aggressive hand on her, and in a way that made her feel special, even though he would do the same for any of the worker drones in the bunker.

“Oh she looks really upset…” Her eyes refocused on the screen, Eve shouting at Wall-E while her words faded into the background, showing he wasn't listening.

“He did follow her into space.”

“For love!”

“She doesn't know that, although pretty sure she'd still be mad if she did… it really wasn't a smart decision.” Uzi deadpaned, groaning at N's partly fake offense.

“Love is always the best decision!”

Then please don't let me go

She shook off that thought with a shake of her head, settling back against his chest, realizing his arm was still around her and his head still laid on hers.

They were actually cuddling now, there would be no denying that. But Uzi couldn't bring herself to be upset by it even if a part of herself was screaming about her “reputation.” and her “critical lack of edge.”

“Am I putting you to sleep?” N asked, his voice soft and soothing, it sent pleasant streams of data straight to her core.

“I've already seen the movie, and… you're really warm.” She admitted, looking up onto to find he was looking back at her.

“You don't have to stay awake for me then.”

His eyes were honey, pure and sweet and looking down at her like she was a precious gem. She smiled, eyes dimming as she fell into sleep mode. Was this still just a crush? It didn't feel like one, with the way her core felt full and heavy like it was about to come out of her chest. Was this what love was like? She didn't know, she'd never felt anything close to it before.

[Sleep Mode] appered on her visor and N felt her relax fully into him, letting out a content sigh that made yellow spring to his cheeks. His attention slowly turning to the movie again.

She nuzzled into him in her sleep, making the robot equivalent of a squeak as she did. His core felt light, and a small laugh fell out of his mouth.

He worried about her constantly, with her strange powers and her transformation, she'd put herself in danger, always bravely going into it with so much confidence it tended to rub off on him even if he was nervous. But he still worried, she was still a worker, still small, still so much more fragile. And recently, he'd seen her lacking in confidence, terrified.

Even if she would tell him to bite her if he dared ever call her any sort of fragile. She meant so much to him, his closest friend that he could always count on to be patient with him. She could be prickly, sure, but that was more of a shield she put up to protect herself. Much like the padding of optimism he'd wrapped himself in.

He was really upset knowing how the rest of the colony treated her, as if she was some sort of diseased stray cat that needed to be avoided. It was awful! Uzi had the potential to be so sweet, and it was sad to see her having to create this shell to hide that part of herself.

“Mm… N…” She mumbled in her sleep, and he subconsciously pulled her closer, he'd stopped paying attention to the movie long ago, that was okay, he was recording everything anyway, he'd be sure to pay more attention then.

He was going to make his best freind feel wanted. Like he'd wanted to feel, like she made him feel.

Sleep mode came quickly for him too, until all the sound that escaped the room was the sound of the laptop, until that too died down to nothing.

Next ->

[myloveismylevi]

Just a lil weepy thinking about post-war dadvi, his little boy (5? 6?) wanting to make tea for his Dad the way he’s seen him do it a million times, because he just loves him so much and admires him and wants to make him the happiest Dad in the world, but he’s still so little compared to the world around him, so he pulls a chair over to the counter and climbs on it, putting water in the teapot, opening the canister of tea leaves, and pulling a teacup - Levi’s favorite teacup - out of the cabinet. but his hands are small, and when he tries to climb down from the chair the cup slips from his hand and breaks on the kitchen floor.

So, naturally Levi comes hurrying (as much as he can on his stiff knee) into the kitchen to see what produced the noise, and finds the chaos his little one has produced on the counter, and him, kneeling on the ground, with shards of porcelain in front of him. And when his father stands in the doorway, he looks up at him, tears collecting at his lash line.

“I’m sorry, Daddy…” he’ll whimper.

“What happened?” Levi’ll ask in his usual monotone voice, but there’s a softness behind it.

And the boy will try to explain, tears rolling down his face, feeling so awful for making a mess, and for breaking his Dad’s favorite cup, and for not being able to take care of Daddy the way Daddy takes care of him, because he’s got Levi’s same bleeding heart beating in his chest, the one that wants to take care, the one wants to be strong and independent. But also his introspection, his emotion, his sensitivity and empathy.

And Levi’ll be transported back to his own childhood, the teacup that belonged to his mom, the one that they had to sell, the one he tried to get back, but couldn’t. And his heart will ache so bad to think that his child, his sweet perfect angle of a thing, feels even a fraction of the hurt he felt over a piece of porcelain, because of his utter devotion to him.

And he’ll take the boy in his arms, and he’ll hold him close, and he’ll tell him patiently and gently, in his Levi way, that a cup is just a thing, and what matters most is that he wasn’t hurt. And how much he appreciates the boy wanting to do a nice thing for him, but that what he was doing was dangerous, and how important it is that he be more careful, because stoves are hot, and chairs can tip, and broken porcelain can cut one of his 10 miraculous sweet little fingers, and there are thousands of teacups to replace what broke but nothing in all of eternity could replace the boy, living and breathing, that he holds fast to his chest. (His voice is quiet, words grammatically simple, and his tone is steady but his heart is physically ACHING and flailing in his chest from how much love is trying to squeeze into it rn)

And Levi tells his son, in plain English (Eldian? Idk?), that he loves him, and that he always will, because with a tiny mind and heart at stake, there’s no room for beating around the bush with that talk like he often does. And he tells him that his parents will help him to do whatever he wants to do, and to ask for help next time.

Because if only someone’d told Levi, when he was that small, that they would help him. If someone has just loved him, and ALWAYS been there… how much easier he could’ve breathed all those years. The prospect of not having to constantly be afraid to feel. To fail.

It’s all he can think about - how he can do better, give more, than what he had - even in a moment as seemingly small as this.

(I’m sorry.)

[readyforthegarden]

Yes, Chef

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x F!Reader

Synopsis: A sweet late night snack for yourself turns into one for Jake as well.

Warnings: Smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), food play (the classic eating whipped cream off someones body, licking up strawberry juice)

A/N: I've had this in the works since Bourbon and Beyond over a year ago, and suddenly got struck with inspiration. Enjoy!

WC: 3140

You weren’t sure how you ended up on the kitchen counter at 2am. Well, that was only half true. You knew incredibly well how you got there, stark naked, and whimpering while Jake took his time with you. All you wanted was to make a quick and sweet late night snack while you stayed up to finish your book. Jake was off somewhere else in the house, undoubtedly playing one of his many guitars, or recording something to show his brothers the next time he saw them.

But as soon as he heard you rustling in the kitchen, he was at your heels, suddenly craving a snack as well. You were taking a carton of strawberries out of the fridge, a can of whipped cream tucked in your arm and he grinned. You washed the berries in a colander, and began to place them in a bowl when he stopped you.

“Baby, let me,” Jake was never one to just toss a snack together. He took pride in his kitchen, and even simple snacks turned into decadent appetizers. He gently nudged you out of the way, getting a cutting board and knife, slicing up the strawberries.

“Jake, I’m happy to just eat them as is.” you protested softly, itching to get back to your book. “You don’t have to make it fancy.” he turned to you, lifting an eyebrow.

“Nothing but the best for my love,” he smirked. “Hand me the sugar?”

“Yes, Chef.” you rolled your eyes with a small giggle, turning to grab the small canister of sugar you kept on the counter by the stove and mixer. Jake’s knife stopped, and you turned to find him watching you. “What?”

“What did you say?”

“Yes Chef?” Jake watched you wide eyed for a moment, a small blaze behind them as he set the knife down. “Jake?”

“You know, in restaurants, whatever the head chef says goes, right?” he turned his body fully to you, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s why when he commands something, the answer is ‘yes chef’.”

“Is that so?” your voice dropped to a murmur as he stalked closer to you, rolling up the sleeves of his tattered shirt to his elbows.

“It is,” Jake confirmed, once he was nose-to-nose with you. His eyes were looking at your lips for a few moments before they flickered up to yours, a playful, amorous look in them. “Would you like to play a little game?”

“I don’t know Jake,” you teased. “We’re both pretty sore losers, are you sure it’s a good idea?” Jake smirked, brushing his lips against yours.

“Darlin’, I can promise that both of us are going to end up very, very happy.” a small, excited shiver ran down your spine when his lips touched yours, and you found yourself nodding.

“What’s the game?” you breathed.

“When I tell you to do something, when I ask something of you, you answer ‘Yes Chef’.”

“And if I don’t want to do something?” you asked, testing your boundaries.

“‘No Chef,’” Jake gave you a soft smile, his reminder that he would never ask too much of you, always giving you an out and a safety net. “Do you want to play?”

“Yes, Chef.” Jake grinned, leaning down and wrapping his arms around you, letting them slide down the backs of your thighs until you were off the ground. He carried you over to the opposite counter, setting you down on the edge before making sure the cutting board and knife is far out of the way. He sauntered back over, holding the colander of strawberries in his hands. Setting it by your leg, he reached in, plucking a large one up by the leaves.

“You picked some really lovely berries at the farmers market this morning,” he murmured. “You always do. You find the ones that are so ripe and plump, so juicy.” he raised it to his nose, smelling the red fruit. He wasn’t lying, the fruit in his hand was almost ready to burst. Reaching out, he pointed the tip of the berry towards you. “You can feel it,” he let the strawberry touch the very edge of your bottom lip, tracing the shape of them. Jake watched the path as he traced it again. You waited for the moment he presented the berry to you to bite, yet it didn’t come. Watching him with an almost forlorn look, he brought the berry back to his own lips, biting into it.

The moan that rumbled from his chest as the juices cascaded over his tongue set you on fire. His eyes had closed as he took the bite, slowly opening them again as he pulled it away from his mouth, chewing slowly. You could see the shine of juice on his lips, and subconsciously licked your own.

“Would you like a taste?” you nodded quickly and Jake just chuckled with a devious smirk. “What do you say?”

“Yes Chef,” you expected the berry to be brought to your lips, but instead Jake stood between your legs, leaning up and pressing his lips to yours, his tongue skillfully sliding into your mouth and gently, slowly lapping against yours. The lingering flavor of the strawberry made you hum, melting as Jake’s gentle caresses relaxed you. He pulled away slowly, bringing the bitten berry to your lips and allowing you a full taste.

You savored the juiciness, the exact flavor you were looking to satisfy your late night craving with flooding your senses. A droplet of the berry’s juice dripped from your lip, landing on the old t-shirt you wore. The color soaked into the faded, off-white fabric and Jake tsked.

“Can’t keep your whites clean?” he sighed. “Take it off.” Your fingers found the hem of the t-shirt, raising it above your head and letting it drop to the floor. Your skin prickled at the coolness of the air, something Jake’s ever observant eyes honed in on. “Cold?”

“A little,” the words floated out in a sigh. Jake smiled, twirling the berry in his fingers. Without another word, he brought the bitten fruit to your left breast, teasing it. The berry was cool, its juices leaving a sticky sweet trail around your nipple as Jake traced it. You were almost transfixed watching his hand, eyes following the slow circles. He broke the trance when he leaned in, replacing the berry with his mouth. His tongue was just as slow as his hand, lapping up the drying trail of juice. Your head fell back, arms stretching out behind you with your palms flat to support yourself as the tip of his tongue flicked your hardened nipple. You fell into the feeling of Jake at your breast, the gentle tug of his teeth on the sensitive flesh. Your back arched, pressing the swell further into his mouth.

Registering a touch on your other nipple, you glanced down. Jake had raised the strawberry up to your other breast, rubbing the juices there. Your eyes trailed to his face, to find him looking up at you through his lashes, studying your reactions. Biting your bottom lip, you whimpered softly, your skin flushing as he trailed a wet kiss from your left breast to your right, lapping the juice there.

“Jake,” you sighed, reaching out a hand and tangling your fingers in his hair. If he heard your moan, he paid you no mind. Wrapping his lips around your right nipple he mimicked the movements he’d finished only a few moments earlier before letting go with a soft pop, and bringing his lips to yours again. When he pulled away, he stepped back, watching your flushed body move with your breathing.

Finishing the strawberry in his hand, he tossed the leaves and small stem to the sink. He moved slowly about the kitchen, going to the counter space next to where you sat, and moving a few items, clearing it off.

“Would you lay down for me?”

“Yes Chef,” your body was chilled again as you twisted on the smooth surface, laying back on the granite. Turning your head, you watched him as he picked up the can of whipped cream, shaking it in his hand rhythmically. He watched you shiver as your body adjusted to the cool granite while he used the pad of his thumb to pop off the cap to the can, letting it drop to the floor with a rattle.

“You know, I would prefer to make our own whipped cream instead of eating something out of the can.” he hummed, then as if it was a side note, “Open your mouth,” you did so without question, sticking out your tongue flat as he pressed his finger against the nozzle, squirting the creamy confection onto it. Before you could taste it, Jake leaned over, lapping it off your waiting tongue before closing his mouth around yours in a kiss. “Not enough flavor for me, but it will do for tonight.” Without another word, he moved the tip of the nozzle to the valley between your breasts, circling around your navel and to the waistband of your panties.

Setting the can up by your head with a soft clink, he leaned over your body, letting his tongue follow the path of the quickly warming cream. One of his hands was holding back his hair, keeping it from getting into the trial. The mustache he’d been growing in as of late tickled your skin, making you shudder. As he circled your belly button, you began to grow desperate, your body growing hot under his affections.

“Jake, I need you,” you yearned quietly. He raised his head, giving you a smarmy look as he rounded the edge of the counter, standing between your knees which hung over. He ran his hands up and down your thighs, teasing the skin at your hips where the hem of your panties rested.

“You need me?” Jake murmured, his fingertips following the round of your hips and taking hold of the waistband. You raised your hips the best you could, allowing him to slide the cotton down your legs and dispose of them with your stained shirt. One of his hands found your wrist, slipping the simple black hair tie that rested there onto his wrist before standing back and tying his hair in a low bun at the nape of his neck.

Jake’s hands were back on your thighs, sliding underneath them and holding tightly, dragging you down the counter until you were almost afraid you’d slide right off to the floor. Stepping away momentarily, he picked up another berry from the colander, taking his place between your legs again. “I wonder which is going to taste sweeter, this berry or you?” Jake leaned over your body, no doubt feeling the heat from between your legs on his abdomen. He brought the strawberry to your lips, and you took a bite, this one just as delicious as the last. A gasp escaped your throat when you felt two of his fingers slowly swipe a path up your slit. He leaned over again, and this time pressed his fingers to your lips.

Humming as you swirled your tongue around his fingers, you tasted yourself on them. There was no comparison to the sweet fruit, but you knew what Jake would choose. He withdrew his fingers from your mouth and wrapped his arms around your thighs, bending at the waist and attaching his mouth to your pussy. Long, languid licks, as if he were savoring your taste as much as he did the berry’s earlier, had you sighing out his name, fingernails scratching at the smooth surface beneath you. Your knees rested on the crook of his elbows, and you felt your legs twitch as the tip of his tongue flicked over your clit. Your heels dug into his sides of their own accord, as if you were ushering on a steed.

The wet sounds from his mouth lapping and sucking at your pussy echoed in the kitchen. True to his word, Jake was a messy eater, in every sense of the phrase. Your hips began to writhe under his touch, one of Jake’s hands coming and resting firmly on your pelvis, trying to hold you down, though you both knew he loved the feeling of you unraveling under him. He looked up at you, hair falling around his face from his bun. You could barely see his lips as you looked down at him, but you could feel them tugging into a smile against you. One of his arms hoisted your leg onto his shoulder, and you felt the two fingers he’d teased your earlier back at your core, coating themselves in your slick.

Jake’s tongue pressed rough circles around your clit as his fingers eased themselves in and out of you just as roughly. He shook his face against you when your hips thrust against his face, a low growl vibrating against you, causing you to cry out. Your walls began to clench around his fingers, coos of ecstasy falling from your lips as you reached your peak. He worked you through your orgasm, his touch more gentle. When your breathing began to steady, Jake stood up, lips and chin glistening as he began to pull your body towards him again.

Once your feet touched the floor, he wrapped an arm around your back, pressing you into his front. You tasted yourself on his lips and tongue as he kissed you. You gripped tightly to his shirt, legs feeling unsteady. When he pulled back, you could see how dark his eyes had gotten, causing your stomach to quiver.

“Tell me darlin’,” he drawled out lowly, his other hand coming to cup your face, keeping it close to his. “Would you like me to fuck you?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, almost dizzily. Jake shook his head, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as he laughed softly.

“This is twice now you’ve forgotten our game,” he reminded you. “Should we stop playing and go to bed?”

“No Chef!” you shook your head, getting back into the game. “No, please, I want you…I need you, please Chef.” Jake hushed your pleading with a soft kiss. You savored his softness, his easing of your nerves. And yet in a flash, you were turned, your front pressed against the edge of the counter. You heard his pants unzip and glanced over your shoulder to catch him stroking himself as you spread your legs out a bit. Jakes eyes were zeroed in on your pussy, and you could feel his hot gaze lingering as the cool air brushed over your skin.

One of Jake’s hands gripped your hip, tugging you back even further. You gasped as he slid the head of his cock through your folds, tapping roughly on your clit, causing you to jolt with every tap. Wiggling your hips, you felt him tease your entrance, bringing your whines to the point of begging as he let the head push in and out. The shallow movements had you slapping your palm against the counter.

“Dammit, Jake!” you cried. “Please!” with a hearty, sly chuckle Jake’s other hand grabbed your free hip, and used your own body as leverage as he slammed into you. The quick movement had the air rushing from your lungs. The slick push and pull of Jake’s cock was delicious, sending shivers down your spine and goosebumps to prickle your skin. Your hands gripped the edge of the counter, feeling the sharp corner dig into the skin under your breasts.

“Feel so good,” Jake grunted out from behind you, one of his hands leaving your hip and grabbing your shoulder, tugging you back roughly to meet the snap of his hips. The pants that were falling from behind his grit teeth were so sinfully delectable, you had to match them with your own. As his hips began to speed their motions, almost recklessly, his hand left your shoulder, sliding down to splay at the middle of your back. You could feel him pressing down on your spine, arching your body so your hips stuck out even more towards him. The pads of his fingers dug grooves into your skin, you were sure you’d be bruised as he cursed under his breath between praises.

You could feel another orgasm building, your toes curling against the floor, nearly slipping out from under you. His name fell from your lips as you reached out, grabbing every inch of the counter you could, trying to hold on to something as your stomach quivered, a feeling like you were melting from the inside out overtaking you.

“Jake!” your walls clenched around him, causing him to groan and buck his hips almost erratically. The slapping of skin rang out in the kitchen, nearly causing the pots and pans in the cupboard you were up against to rattle and echo back. You knew there would be red marks on your ass from where his hips were impacting, but you couldn’t care less, as the soreness was starting to set in, so was your orgasm.

“Oh fuck!” you cried out harshly, moaning loudly. You were clawing at the stone beneath you, sure that if it had been anything softer, your nails and fingertips would have easily ripped through it with the passion you were feeling spread throughout your body.

The slaps from Jake’s hips were stinging now as he found his own end, a guttural, stuttering moan emitting from his throat as he spilled himself inside you. He leaned against your back, his sweaty cheek meeting your own damp skin there. You could feel his breath gliding over your own sweaty skin, cooling and chilling it. Jake’s hands let go of your hips, encircling your waist and hugging you close in the bent position.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled. “So perfect, so amazing.” Jake pressed soft, lazy kisses to your spine as he caught his breath and praised you quietly. When you caught your breath, you turned your head slightly, doing your best to see him at your angle.

“So, did you find the answer?” you asked, causing him to look up at you, though he barely moved his tired head to do so.

“What answer?”

“Which tasted sweeter? The strawberry or me?” A glint shone in Jake’s dark eyes as he laughed, peeling his sticky skin from yours and straightening himself, withdrawing from you. You watched as he grabbed some paper towels, rinsing them under some water to soften them and came over to where you were still leaning against the counter. He helped clean you up before wiping himself off, and tossing the paper towels away.

Bringing the colander back towards you, he reached in and plucked another berry from it. He took a bite and grinned.

“Definitely you.”

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[enchantedflameandflower]

Gavin (Karl Urban) x reader!

Some hot making out in a magical tree house that is for sure going to lead to more…

co-written with CheshireCatSmile

@kus-babygirl @shirley-girly @jynx15 @everchar-of-the-shire @vavafaure1994

@deathlesun @butchers-girl @hippo2211

@bohemianblasphemy @karlurbanism @imherefordeanandbones @torntaltos @babyfri3dric3

karl urban masterlist

direct link to part 1

part 7

8.

Gavin chuckles, his dark eyes crinkling pleasantly at the corners then pulls you toward the make shift doorway and starts down the carved steps toward the space with the counter. When he's at the bottom he grabs you around the waist to lift you down the rest of the way. He's so strong he makes it seem effortless.

“I don’t know how you do that,” you say. “You might hurt yourself tossing me around like that.” You can’t help yourself, running your palm over his arm, feeling the muscles.

He eyes you up and down with a glint in his eyes. “I can handle you just fine…I'd say you’re about perfect in my book.”  He caresses your cheek then turns to start opening some of the other cabinets until he pulls down a cook top that looks to work much as a camp stove would. He checks the fuel canisters then rummages through his pack for the food packets. "Savory beef stew and savory chicken stew...which would you like tonight?  Or...there's...chow mein or white cheddar mac 'n cheese."

“Mmmmm mac ‘n cheese,” you grin. Something feels so good about sharing this with just him, comfortable and right. “It’s so nice to be away from everything. Thank you for bringing me.”

"It's my pleasure sweetheart. I'm kinda glad it worked out this way. Not that I want Jack to worry any more about his family or the baby...but it's nice sharing this with you. I would have been hesitant to go look for this treehouse if he was with me. I mean, he would have been totally focused on the business and wouldn't have wanted to take the time." He clears his throat. "I mean...he's just more on the serious side."

“He is. But I think it’s important to keep some magic and adventure in your life. At least it is to me. Honestly, I could stay out here for ages and never worry… It’s so beautiful.” 

Gavin finishes heating the food and brings it over to the table, sitting next to you. He smiles softly as he hands you the mac 'n cheese. "I had you pegged as a mac 'n cheese type of girl right from the start. Jack said you'd lived in Seattle and were used to fancier big city stuff. But I just had a feeling." He plucks off a piece of the leftover corn bread to dip in his stew. His thigh is warm against yours.

You laugh and take a big bite then hum gratefully. It’s actually very good. “I’m not used to fancy anything, believe me. But even if I was I’d much rather have a homey mac and cheese.” His thigh shifts against yours under the table and a little flutter of warmth goes through you so you press even closer.

"I like you just the way you are."

When you finish eating, you make sure to clean up while Gavin goes through his pack. It’s starting to get dark and the rain is picking up again.

"Thanks for cleaning up. I'll take the sleeping bags upstairs. I'd hate to have anything happen to that beautiful old quilt." Then he chuckles. "Upstairs higher up in the tree that is." He gathers both the bags up and traverses the carved stairs. Then he looks over his shoulder. "Ready for dessert?"

You laugh a little but a wild flutter goes off in your chest and warmth suffuses you. How could you have gotten this lucky out of nowhere? You try to tamp your excitement in case it doesn’t work but you can’t help it. You’ve never had anyone be this kind, not even at the beginning. “Oh, yes I am,” you smile. You dig a flashlight out of your pack and follow him up.

He unrolls one sleeping bag on the double bed and smooths it out over the mattress then spreads out the second one face down and zips one side and the bottom together making it easy to slide in from the other side. The rain starts coming down a little harder and you're both grateful at how much of the room is actually securely covered. Someone must have done a lot of work getting things in shape before they left. "I'll just grab our packs and bring them up in case we need anything."  He's back in a moment and you notice his hair got a little damp.

You had shimmied out of your jeans while he grabbed the packs like he had done the night before then slipped into the sleeping bags and scooted all the way over so he can slide in too. It was dark now so you left the flashlight on and grinned when he came back in the room. “You’re wet again,” you teased but you loved the way his hair looked a little disheveled.

"Yeah, I grabbed the quilt and folded it back up to put away then I took a look over the edge and out toward the ridge. But I got out too far from the roof," he chuckles. "Didn't get too wet luckily." He reaches in his pack and pulls out a chocolate bar to share. Then he undresses down to his boxers and a tank. You watch his muscles ripple and bunch and can't help admire his strong body.

He has a couple funny tan lines from working so much in the sun but they don’t deter at all from the way he looks. He smiles when he sees you watching him and you’re sure he can see all the less than innocent thoughts in your head. You sit up and pull off your sweater but leave your t-shirt on as he climbs in. “It’s strange how it doesn’t seem to be too cold in here isn’t it? It’s lovely.”

"It is," he agrees. Then he smiles. "Just cool enough for comfortable cuddling...but first..."  He splits the chocolate bar in two and hands you half as he slips into the sleeping bag.

“You definitely know the way to get me in a good mood,” you grin. “Mac ‘n cheese and chocolate in bed?” You curl up close to him and take a bite of the candy, humming with pleasure at the sweet, rich taste.

"You are so different from what Jack has in his head," he says, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close. "You're beautiful and kind and down to earth. Pretty perfect in my book." 

“I think people in town think I’m a snob because I’m quiet. I’m just…I don’t know,” you shrug and take anther bite of chocolate. “Do you talk about me a lot?” you grin, wriggling closer.

"Well...I have to be honest...I noticed you that first day you came in to interview. Just something about you caught my attention. Thank God your references were so great. Jack had to agree with me you were the best person we could hire. He was impressed too and that's not always easy. But I think he has this idea since you were at that big firm in Seattle that you're a city girl at heart. He told me to be caref....well he told me you'd probably get tired of life down here and move back to the city." He clears his throat.  "Anyway, I'm glad you answered our ad."

“I’m glad I did too. I couldn’t stay in the city anymore. Not with…” you trail off and stop yourself, not wanting to talk about your ex at all. “I noticed you the first day too. But you’re always so busy and I so desperately wanted to do a good job.” You finish the chocolate and snuggle a little closer to him, licking your fingers clean.

You notice a little spot of chocolate on his lower lip as he shifts closer to you and settles. "What?" he inquires as he watches your eyes flick to his lips more than once.

“Um,” you bite your lip, letting your gaze flick to his eyes and lips again. “You missed some,” you smile, then lean forward and slowly swipe your tongue over his full lower lip.

His hazel eyes darken a shade. "Mmmm," he hums and captures you in a slow sensuous kiss, his tongue gliding in to swirl around yours in a possessive dance sending warmth all the way to your toes.

You moan softly into his kiss as he takes over completely and fills you with so much heat you wish you were wearing nothing at all. Your arms slide around his broad shoulders unconsciously as you try to pull him closer.

One strong arm tightens around you as his other hand slides into your hair. A low rumble rolls through his chest sounding like the purr of a large jungle cat. His fingers drag through your hair and it’s so good, you feel like you’re going to melt away. His tongue swirls around yours again, making your heart race. You shift against him, rubbing your foot along his calf.

That masculine rumble rolls through his chest again, vibrating against you. He pulls back so slowly from the kiss and presses a row of kisses along your jawline.

His mouth is hot and insistent and you have to gasp for air when he breaks the kiss as if you had forgotten you need to breathe. “Gavin,” you moan his name. “Something feels different here…almost as if there’s magic in the air…doesn’t it?”

He lets out a shaky breath and you know he’s affected by you too. His dark eyes glitter in the dim light as he looks at you. "Mmm...yes...it does sweetheart.” The rain makes a tinkling sound high overhead...almost like hitting soft chimes and it's sound is like music drifting down from the highest branches.

You think it must’ve been years since you’ve felt as relaxed as this. That voice in your head is still telling you to hide away but you can barely hear it. You let your fingers trace the muscles of his shoulders, perfectly built and lithe and so strong, you can’t get enough.

He nuzzles at your neck softly then whispers, "I think it must be magic that brought you here and brought us to this place and time. It's almost like I remember you from a dream."

“You feel like magic…” you breathe. He’s warm and solid, almost on top of you and his stubble lightly tickles your sensitive skin as he’s careful not to rub. It makes you feel like your entire body is coming alive for the first time.

"You feel so right in my arms," he says, husk in his voice. "Like you were always meant to be there. That probably sounds like a line...but I promise you it's not." He kisses his way down your throat to your pulse point and stops to lightly touch there, his lips warm and soft.

You tilt your head back in pure bliss and shivers of pleasure go through you making you cling to him tighter. “It doesn’t sound like a line. I feel it too.”

He nips gently at your pulse and smiles against your skin as he feels your heartbeat increase. "Either this place is magic or you are," he murmurs in a slightly gruff timbre.

It’s hard to believe it could be you but you can hardly even think with the way he feels. You thread your fingers through his tousled hair and guide his mouth back to yours, wanting to taste him again.

He immediately responds to your coaxing and his lips are on yours, tongue sliding in to possess yours. He presses you closer and deepens the kiss like a man parched, finding an oasis in the desert and leaving you whimpering helplessly beneath him.

His body somehow grows even hotter and feels even better than before. The sleeping bag has fallen away and he’s holding you against him. You tangle your legs with his as he tangles his tongue around yours and it makes you moan softly.

He takes his fill then finally lets you breathe as he kisses his way along your jaw again to that sensitive hollow just behind your ear. He flicks his tongue out to taste just there sending more warm shivers through you and making your center throb. You shift your hips pressing to his firm thigh and you can feel his cock swelling against your stomach. He gives a low rumble and flicks his tongue over that little spot once more.

“Gavin…” you whimper. Pleasure and heat flare inside of you. “If you do that again I’m going to go crazy,” you tease, laughing softly.

He pulls back to smile at you and rubs his hand comfortingly along your side. “Why don’t you catch your breath, sweetheart,” his voice is husky but his words are sure and you know he must have seen that tiny last fleck of lingering anxiousness in your eyes. “I don't mind taking my time with you. Let me just hold you close for awhile and we can listen to the rain. Feel the magic of this place." He adjusts his position and lays back, wrapping his arms around you and snuggling you close to his body.

You curl your arm around him, letting your fingers drift over his chest and tilt your head just a little to look into his dark eyes. “You really don’t mind?”

You can see the emotions swirling there, but mostly you see the warmth and growing affection with that carefully banked simmering heat. You also see the promise of more and the conviction of his words.

“No, I don’t mind. We can wait until you’re 100% sure. I’ll be here no matter what.”

You settle in against his chest again, resting your head on his warm shoulder. You’re almost there, you know, and you have a feeling you’re not going to make it out of this bed without giving in to your desires. But for now, this just feels perfect. “I love the sound of the rain. I couldn’t be happier.”

"Your happiness makes my heart feel warm and full," he murmurs.  He settles you closer against him and his warm breath gently ruffles your hair.

All of him feels so so good.

"I could fall asleep with you pressed against me every single night and die a happy man. Rest for a bit, sweetheart. I’ll be here."

~*~*~

Part 9

really hope you like, reblogs, comments and like mean everything <3

[lxvi-gloria]

Drabble Prompt: Post-canon Levi, struggling with chronic pain and mourning his dead loved ones, being visited by his still alive loved ones

Anon, you knew how to talk pretty to me <3

hihi requests are still open btw

I feel like I gotta put a disclaimer or something lmao. So, the length of my drabble requests is usually something between 100-400 words. This request is just an incredibly unexpected exception. it just happened to fit into this idea I already had been thinking of, which was how the remaining 104th would ask Levi to be part of important events in their lives because well, they like the dude lmao, so expect that sort of one-shot soon. Additionally, since I kept reminding myself that this was supposed to be a drabble, I might have glossed over the chronic pain and mourning bits so I'm sorry about that ;;

that being said, 2.4k words of Levi and Gabi be upon ye <3

Now on Ao3!

The angry hissing of the kettle makes him flinch. It brings a loud ringing to his right ear. Instinctively, he places his right hand over it, and gives his ear a couple of gentle taps; it's more of a grounding gesture, a distraction from the buzzing. He usually keeps watch over the kettle, so that he can lower the heat just right before it gets a chance to scream at him. 

He realises then that he must have spaced out while waiting. It’s alright, he thinks. It’s been like that a lot, recently. He’s been like that. Lost in thought-- lost in time, if he allowed himself to be precise. The last days, weeks even, as the temperatures started to drop, blended into each other. There’s a little calendar on his bedside table, it had been a birthday gift from Armin – or had that been Mikasa’s? He isn’t sure, he had received an absurd number of presents from the kids last year, it had been hard to keep track of who gave him what and now the fact escaped him. Turning the pages of the little calendar, with its delicate botanical illustrations on each day, quickly became part of his morning routine, and so he was sure that time was passing at all. The stillness of the routine, he guesses, made him like this.

His vision blurs momentarily while he scoops the tea leaves into the teapot. He squints, trying to will his good eye to focus, but all he gets in return is a throb in his right eye. After putting the tea canister away, he presses the inner sides of his wrists to both eyes, placing just enough pressure to relieve the discomfort. When he opens his eyes again, he is pleased to find he can read the small print on the canister an arm’s length away. 

There’s a loud slam coming from the front of the house, followed by footsteps coming further into the house.

He quickly recognizes the heavy stomping as Gabi’s gait. She’s always been so loud.

Gabi crosses the arch into the small kitchen and dining area. 

“Don’t slam my doors,” he says as a greeting, slowly turning his head to his left side, trying to catch a glimpse of her in his periphery.

“Aye, aye,” the kid waves her hand, shoots him a teasing grin, “someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Levi hums in response but doesn’t say anything else. He busies himself with placing everything they need for their morning tea and coffee on a metal tray on the counter, which Gabi takes from him as soon as it’s ready and sets it on the table.

He grabs his cane from where he had hooked it on one of the kitchen drawers. He has been leaning against the counter, his right leg supporting most of his weight all this time. He braces himself for the sharp pain that will surely surge from his bad knee, through his left hip and up his spine. Cold mornings like this one and being still in one place for long will do that to him. It’s not so bad. It could be worse.

It takes 4 steps to get from the stove to his chair, which Gabi has already pulled out for him. It sits at an angle that allows him to easily slide down on it and rest his right elbow on top of the table, leaning back and against his good side.

“I have something that will cheer you up,” she holds a couple of envelopes in her hand and waves them at him, “You’ve got mail!”

He nods at her in acknowledgement but does not take his attention away from preparing his first batch of tea of the day. There’s a ritual to it, it almost feels like, and he doesn’t want to mess it up. Not when the ringing in his ear is still there, the building pressure in the upper back part of his eyeballs, and the cold air seeping into his bones through his thick jumper. Oh, how he needs a good cup of tea right now.

While Levi waits for it to steep, he grabs the papers that she had shoved in his face, squints his eyes at the first envelope and finds that he is unable to make out much of the handwriting. He brings it closer to his face, squints harder, steals a quick glance across the table and hopes Gabi isn’t paying him any mind, too preoccupied with choosing from the bag of pastries she brought with her. It is with an impassive expression that he hands the stack of envelopes back. 

“Read it for me.” A beat and then he adds, a little reluctant: “Please.”

He knows Gabi prefers coffee in the mornings, and black tea in the evenings, so he makes sure to have a fresh brew of the former whenever he knows she’s coming over; so, with shaky hands, Levi gets to prepare her cup of coffee. While he enjoys the aroma of it, he remains faithful to tea; at first, he thought he didn’t like it because he had butchered his first attempts at brewing it. But even after Onyankopon had taught him how to do it properly and he had enjoyed his cup, it didn’t bring the same comfort as tea. It just never hit the spot.

She shoots him a mischievous grin, “Oh, you sure? What if I read something personal, hm?” 

Levi just shakes his head, scoffing at the idea of Gabi finding his junk mail fascinating.

“Is this how I find out you have a secret lover you’re exchanging raunchy love letters with?” Gabi teases, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He lets out a tired sigh and rolls his eyes, “just wanna be done with it, ” he stirs the milk into Gabi’s coffee, which now has turned into a cup of milk with coffee. “We have a lot to prepare for tonight.”

She clicks her tongue at him, but still rips the first envelope open, “Mr. Levi, your reading won’t improve if you keep doing that,” she jokingly scolds him.

Although Levi mentally recognises handing her and Falco stuff he couldn’t be bothered reading before, that’s not the case this time. He’ll let her think that for now, though, because he doesn’t want to mention the pressure building in the back of his bad eye, it’s not important and she, a kid, doesn’t need to know his newly found ailment of the week. He can see just fine around him right now. He can see Gabi’s big eyes and playful smile at the other side of the table, and that’s good enough; smaller details, he doesn’t feel he can do them, not without making himself go dizzy with a migraine.

Levi slides the cup of coffee to her and is pleased with himself when she approves of the colour of her drink.

“It’s from Armin,” she announces as she scans the letter. 

From this angle, the soft morning light illuminating her face and thanks to his faulty vision, Gabi’s image stirs his memory. His heart faintly constricts as he is reminded of the many times Hange read their research reports to him during breakfast in the mess hall before presenting them to Erwin. Levi always wondered how they could read so fast, sometimes he even doubted they were actually reading at all, their words barely being able to catch up with her eyes; he never asked about it, maybe reading came easy to them as numbers did to him.

A high-pitched squeal from Gabi startles him, bringing him back to the here and now.

“Oh… ohh, Mr. Levi,” she starts, her smile widening by the second “This is good news!”

Gabi makes a show of clearing her throat and then starts reading “Dear Captain, I hope this letter finds you well and in good health.” 

Levi can’t help but let a sardonic huff at the irony of the greetings but doesn’t let himself be bothered by it. He has written only a handful of personal letters throughout his life, and by now he knows it’s just something you’re supposed to say because jumping straight to the point isn’t acceptable, or so that’s what he had been told. 

Gabi continues reading Armin’s words to him. For the most part, it’s a standard letter coming from him: he asks Levi how he’s dealing with the changing of the seasons, how Gabi and Falco are faring, if business at the tea shop has been good, if there’s anything Levi needs that he can’t get in town so that Armin or the others can get it for him. He tells him a little about the country he’s writing from, he even includes a photograph. Then, after the expected pleasantries, Gabi can barely hold her excitement and starts reading faster, trying so hard not to trip over her words.

“If I’m being sincere, we would prefer to ask you in person,” Gabi stops for a second to look up at him from the paper, gauging for a reaction and finding nothing, she continues. 

Armin apologises for not being able to visit him before the holidays, Annie included, and so it is implied that he won’t be attending tonight’s reunion. 

Sometime during the last five years, the Alliance brats had decided to make showing up at Levi’s doorstep together once a year a sort of custom; the first time it happened was during an early winter, a blizzard had stopped them from leaving Levi’s until the next morning. It had been a really nice evening despite the awful weather, Levi remembers, after everyone pitched in one way or another, they all shared a simple but hearty meal together. It was Connie who jokingly said they should do it every year. The following year, Onyankopon, Gabi and Falco joined them. 

This year would be their fourth, and the first someone wouldn’t make it. That fact sits heavily in Levi’s chest, stealing the spotlight from his throbbing eye.

“...Annie and I have decided to get married. The both of us would like you to officiate our ceremony!” unable to contain her excitement, she tears her eyes away from the paper and looks at Levi. “Huh?! This is good news! What’s with the constipated face?!”

That doesn’t sound right. It figures that Annie and Armin would be the first to marry; in a way, he is happy for them, they clearly care for each other. No, that part is easy to understand. Their union is logical to anyone who knows the couple. What Levi can’t figure out is why they are asking him such a thing.

He clears his throat, assumes it’s been 3 minutes and his tea is ready to be poured and so he distracts himself with that.

When he doesn’t answer Gabi, she picks up where she left off. 

He isn’t… well, he isn’t that close to either of them. He’s sure Annie must have other relatives that could step in his stead. Maybe a brother, a cousin. Even Jean or Reiner would be better options than Levi. He isn’t good with words or people like they are, he couldn’t possibly give them a speech about something foreign to him as it is that kind of love, that’s what people expect, right? His title of Captain is obsolete in this new world, so it can’t be that either. Hell, he has never been to a fucking wedding. 

Just… why him?

As expected, Armin doesn’t really go into the details of their choice but does let Levi know they do not expect a fast answer and that they do not want him to feel pressured to accept it, despite how much it would mean to them if he did. Armin asks if there’s anything in particular that he would like for his birthday, as it is a month away, and closes the letter by saying he looks forward to seeing him and everyone then.

When the letter is closed and put back into its envelope, silence falls around them. For a moment the only sound that can be heard is the clinking of tableware as Levi places the teacup back on its saucer.

It bothers him, that he knows he will be letting Armin down by refusing something that any other well-adapted person would consider an honour. But the thought of embarrassing him and himself, because he gave an awkward, most likely insensitive, speech, mortifies him. No, he can’t put them and their guests through that. He will find a way to make it up to the couple, maybe he can… he doesn’t know yet, but he will come up with something.

As he finishes his first cup, Levi realises that at some point while he was lost in thought, the ringing in his ear has subsided and now it’s back to that muffled, cotton-in-ear sensation he’s used to and he doesn’t feel his eyeball pulsating anymore. Glancing at Gabi, he notices she is trying really hard not to say something, her brow furrowed as she takes a sip of her own drink, followed by a big bite of her pastry. Flakes stick to the corner of her mouth and for once it doesn’t disgust him. Instead, it makes his lips twitch as if going into a smile.

“I can help you... if you want,” she says eventually, sounding uncharacteristically careful and small of her.

Levi quirks an eyebrow “Help? with what?” 

She shrugs, “How to… tell them you don’t want to,” she avoids looking at him for the first time, finding the flakes on her plate more interesting. She shrugs again and tilts her head to the side, a thin line of a smile appearing on her face. “...or prepare for the ceremony.”

Not unlike many times before, Gabi’s words render him speechless, if only for a moment. He spares his tea a glance and he thinks: it’s bold of her to be so upfront about offering her help to him, and had it been any other morning, one where he couldn’t think past the constant ache in his body, he would’ve chewed her head off for simply trying to help him because he himself doesn’t know how to accept that kindness.

This kid is trying her best and he can’t help but feel somewhat proud of that.

“You have shit on your face. Here,” he points to where the flakes would sit on his own face and picks his refilled teacup back up.

Gabi quickly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting most of the flakes off. Levi gives her a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally concedes and tries to ignore the little happy dance she does in her seat.

This time, when the amber liquid touches his lips, it’s remarkably sweeter than before.

[laughtalelogs]

❄frosted - ace x reader❄

❄ day 5 - cookies, holiday-themed contest, “that definitely looks… interesting?”, “that is exactly why you want a high-quality fire extinguisher right in the kitchen.” —the santa clause ❄ fandom/character(s) - one piece - ace x reader ❄ warnings - no beta reader, modern au, fem!reader, no warnings - just fluff, blurb ❄ word count: 617 ❄ description - you both suck at making cookies, but it's the thought that counts, right?

still working on the robin fic. I would just upload what I have, but I want to do my lady justice she's too fine to fumble

somethin' cute for the girls; this one was actually the 2nd blurb I had locked and loaded ready to go. tomorrow is law, and its about to be long asf too.

check out the rest of the days here

A bead of sweat dropped on your chin. The thick itchy wool felt suffocating as your tense muscles flexed. You grip the bag with a shaking hand. Every second you try willing your digits to stay still, tremors wracked through them more.  

“And....” You exhale, dropping the piping bag onto the counter, sliding down to the ground. One dozen down, another 3 dozen to go. “-done!”

“That definitely looks... Interesting?” A pang of annoyance rings through as you watch Ace glance from his station, a raised eyebrow. He picks up the frosted sugar cookie you just finished, holding the crude drawing up like it was fine china.

“Is this supposed to be a Yeti? It’s kind of sick.” 

You huff exasperatedly, “No, it’s obvious Frosty, dumbass.” 

His smile drops, as his gaze turns to you, the cookie, and back at you. He tries to clear his throat, but fails to cover his laugh. 

You puff your cheeks in embarrassment. “It’s not funny, baby.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t laughing at you, pretty girl, I was laughing at how creative you are,” He tries to fight back, but you reach on the top of the counter and grab the spatula, throwing it at him. 

He dodges with ease, mirroring the same look you had on your face.  “Sorry, baby.” 

“As if,” You scoff back, but an acrid stench burns the inside of your nostrils, a smoky haze covering your apartment. Your heart drops at the sudden beeping alarm.

“Ace! The cookies!”

“Shit-” 

You watch him run to the stove, and as soon as he opens it, a plume of fire fans out, licking at the fresh oxygen of the kitchen. Screaming, you scuttle underneath the cabinet, grab the canister, and pull the pin. A sea of smoke and foam finally fades, and you both sit staring at each other with wide eyes.

“Oh no... The cookies.” You glance back at the ones you just frosted, the frosty-yeti hybrid cookie buried in an avalanche of foam. 

He scratches the back of his head, smiling sheepishly.  “That is exactly why you want a high-quality fire extinguisher right in the kitchen.” 

“But- But-” You feel the whine bubble up your throat, looking at the destruction of the kitchen. Ace sighs, but smiles nonetheless, dropping to his knees beside you. 

“It's honestly my fault for even accepting the baking contest,” He admits, wiping what he can of the foam off his face, crouching to do the same for you with gentle fingers.

 You go to the counter, because, no, it was your fault for thinking you both had the patience for a task like this. Sanji wouldn’t have cared if you both didn’t bring cookies. It was the idea of making them with him that made you so on board with it. Before you could get anything out, his rambling trails off as he looks at you with a coy smile.

 “Has anyone told you look amazing in white?” 

“Piss off,” You burn hot, waving away his hand that cradles your face. You were supposed to be mad. “And now you look like Frosty.” 

“Well, you don’t have to cry, because I don’t plan to melt away,” He cheeses

“Ha-ha, corny ass,” You mumbled, leaning forward to let your head press into his chest, feeling his lips press against the top of your head fondly in response. You hum in content. Maybe it wasn’t the cookies that made the moment. Maybe it's the man who will not let you be upset for a moment more. 

“Why don’t we just buy some really nice cookies..” You offer finally, and he laughs in response, his voice rumbling in your head. 

“Sounds good to me, angel.”

just so you know this is canon! I actually talked with ace, he told me to tell you ‘hi baby’ and to kiss ur forehead<3

liked this? check out my other fics! (x)

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 33: Alexander's Feeding

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Captivity, mind control, blood drinking

His Master was staring him down with a look of haunted bliss, the way a starving man might regard a luxurious dinner spread, and Oliver realized that he still wasn't quite prepared for it. Even when he was being fawned over by vampires as a piece of merchandise, he hadn't felt quite so much like prey as he did right now.

"Oliver," Alexander said, visibly trying to regain his composure. "There... there you are. In my library."

"Yes, Master," he said simply, the awkwardness permeating though the fog in his mind.

"Very good, very good... I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, very much so, Master."

"Why don't I..." He cleared his throat loudly. "I need to be more awake for this. Would you like some coffee? I'll show you how I make it."

"Yes, sir," Oliver agreed easily, wondering if the "this" that his Master needed to be awake for was what he thought it might be. 

He followed his Master into the kitchen, lighting one of the gas lamps along the way. Alexander opened a cupboard and pulled out a small but delicate French vacuum pot, a hand-cranked grinder, and a cheerful red tin canister. He opened the canister and smelled the contents, inviting Oliver over. The scent nearly knocked him off his feet, much stronger than the milder coffee he favored.

"I prefer my coffee beans rich. My taste has diminished since... Well, I'm better off than many vampires in that regard," he said casually, pouring a generous amount of beans into the grinder. "Here, put this water on the stove to boil."

The domesticity of the coffee making process was an odd contrast to the intensity of the moment in the library, but not so much that Oliver could put it out of mind. It didn't help that Alexander was gazing longingly at his neck whenever he thought Oliver wasn't looking. Perhaps even when he was well aware Oliver was looking.

"I don't intend to impose much in the way of tasks on you," his Master explained. "But I certainly wouldn't mind if you were to prepare a pot of coffee for me around sundown."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, flooded with obedient contentment at the thought of having such a straightforward way to please his new Master.

Before long, two perfect, steaming hot mugs of strong coffee had been procured, and they retired once more to the library. "Feel free to continue on with what you were doing before," said Alexander, waving Oliver off. "I'll call upon you shortly, if that's acceptable for you."

Of course it was. Oliver was in no position to refuse, and all of his former resistance was no more than the dimmest of sparks. "More than acceptable, Master."

The books held such fascination for him only an hour before, but now he felt as though he couldn't focus on any of them, the titles sliding from his mind as soon as he'd read them. He could barely even taste the rich, delicious coffee. All he could think about was his Master's gaze upon him, what his teeth would feel like grazing his neck, how it would feel to finally succumb. 

He was so lost in his reverie that he barely noticed when Alexander, reclined in a soft leather loveseat, began to sing gently under his breath.

Oliver's breath hitched with the realization that this was it, just before he was awash in a sea of calm relaxation. Alexander's sharp fangs glistened in the flickering gas lamp as he smiled at Oliver and beckoned him closer. Oliver took a few clumsy steps towards him, the intense vampiric aura stealing away what remained of his thoughts.

His Master's hunger weighed heavily upon him, and his hand reached up, slipping his frock off his shoulder and exposing his neck. His Master needed to feed, and Oliver would provide, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so sure of himself. He knew exactly what he needed to do, where he needed to be, sitting down next to his Master as docile as a lamb.

Oliver looked deep into his Master's eyes as he drew closer, realizing that his Master looked almost as spellbound as Oliver felt. He could feel his Master's desire through the vampiric aura, pulling him closer, drowning every thought from his mind but the feeding. In that moment, it seemed as if he had been put on the green Earth solely for this, to provide for this beautiful vampire.

Alexander took Oliver's chin and tilted his head further to the side, cold breath on his ear as he whispered into it. "Fall under my spell," he said. "Feel no pain. Only pleasure when I drink from you, Oliver."

"Only pleasure... yes, Master..."

Sharp teeth grazed his neck just long enough for Oliver's breath to hitch before twin pinpricks pierced his skin, and then...

Bliss.

He gasped as endorphins flooded his system, turning what remained of his mind to mush. His Master's lips were on his neck, drinking from the small wounds, and even after all of his conditioning, he couldn't imagine it would feel so good. 

Why had he ever resisted this? Why had he ever feared? This was everything he'd ever wanted: purpose, pleasure, and serenity all wrapped together. His head slumped against his Master, and he felt unexpectedly safe and cared for, secure in the knowledge that he was providing well, and that his Master would not hurt him.

And then, there was another sensation, one more foreign to him, but no less welcome. It was the feeling of hunger giving way, of finally being sated after an age of starvation, a dying man restored. Through the fog of blood loss and bliss, he understood what it was: his Master's thoughts, shared through a connection bound in blood. Through that connection, Oliver could tell how much he was truly appreciated, deepening his contentment even as he began to feel drowsy from blood loss and the vampiric spell.

Alexander gently kissed the wounds closed, finishing his meal, and ran his fingers through the hair on the back of Oliver's head. "You're all right, Oliver," he said, and it wasn't a command but an observation.

"That was..." Oliver trailed off, not having the words to even begin to describe what that was like.

"Mmm," said his Master, and Oliver could hear the smile in his voice. He could feel strength. He'd made his Master stronger. He'd done well.

"I think... I think I'd like to celebrate a little, after that," said Alexander after a moment. "Would you be willing to accompany me to the music room? It's been so long since I've played."

In his half-asleep daze, Oliver nodded. "Yes, Master."

He was being scooped up in strong arms and held to his Master's chest as they walked out of the library and into the exquisite music room. Oliver was laid out on a velvet couch, a pillow tucked behind his head, as Alexander surveyed the room like a king looking over his adoring subjects. He looked healthier, Oliver realized. His skin was less pallid, his eyes more awake.

After pondering his options, Alexander sat at the piano and began to play. Oliver didn't know much about music, but it sounded like an old classical tune, the kind you might hear at a symphony hall. His Master played expertly, hands flying over the keys, and the song had an air of joy about it.

Through the remnants of the connection, Oliver could sense how the smooth ivories felt under his fingers, follow the rhythm and weave of the music. His eyelids drooped despite himself; he was drowsy enough to desire sleep, but he didn't want this moment to end.

As he skimmed the surface of dreams, floating in and out of awareness, he felt himself getting lost in a memory. Another man lying on this couch, content after a feeding, as Alexander played for him. Fingers strumming a guitar, playing a sprightly tune as Lex looked on in appreciation. 

Nimble feet danced across the wooden floor. Lex was holding a young man with golden hair and smiling eyes. He laughed when Lex clumsily stepped on his foot.

"Really, Lex?" said the man with a smirk. "I thought a vampire might be better at this. How long have you had to practice?"

"I haven't exactly had many people to practice with, you know," said Lex.

"Good thing I'm here. What would you even do without me?"

"Not dance, that's for certain."

A deep kiss. A deep longing. Loss. Fear. Regret.

Lose -- don't want to lose --

Oliver stirred in his sleep, the beautiful dream turning to a nightmare.

"It's okay, Oliver," said his Master's deep voice. "I didn't mean for you to see that. Put it out of your mind."

He felt his contentment returning to him as his Master's arms picked him up once again, carrying him out of the room and up the stairs, placing him in his comfortable bed and pulling up warm blankets.

"Pleasant dreams, Oliver," said his Master.

"You... too..." said Oliver. He felt safe. He felt fulfilled. He curled up in the luxurious bed and began to drift.

Part 32 >> Masterlist >> Part 34

Thank you for reading this story of a delectable treat for vampires.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king

[ms-demeanor]

my thing is I'm capable of any of this stuff up to at least level 3 and can do them for special occasions and if I've rested enough no problem, but I can't do it OFTEN because it just uses up too many spoons. any thoughts on this? besides practice, I already cook as often as I can (which is not very)

Mise en place your life as much as possible. I've talked about this before but this is what I do to make things easier on myself. My baking station with all the ingredients out and clearly labeled instead of at the bottom of the pantry where I have to dig for them makes it much, much, much easier to bake. My knife strip on the wall and the dozen cutting boards in a rack on the wall and the frying pan that lives on the stove instead of under the counter all make it much easier for me to cook.

Like, a lot of what I've been going through and doing in terms of home improvement/home decor is attempting to configure the house in such a way that large bastard and i can easily do the things we want to/need to do. We need batteries all the time, so the batteries live in an organized box where we can see it instead of in the back of the cabinet. We also need to *discard* batteries all the time, so the battery discard tub is right next to that box otherwise we'll start accumulating used batteries on surfaces.

The instruments that live on my kitchen counter are the ones that get used most often so that I don't need to go looking for them and so that I know at a glance if they're clean (if so they're in the canister on the counter) or need to be washed. The appliances that I use the most either live on the counter or get put places where it's convenient - I don't have enough bowls and plates that I need to use the top three shelves of my cabinet for bowls and plates like my parents did, but I do use my rice cooker twice a week so my rice cooker lives in the same cabinet as my dishes (as does my tofu press, my waffle maker, and the easiest-to-use 16oz food storage containers).

And you know what sometimes i just can't do it. Sometimes my back isn't working or my hip isn't working or i got glutened recently and I can't do much of anything.

I've got a variety of low spoon foods that I always have ingredients for (one recent addition to this list is tofu; i went from eating no tofu to eating tofu twice a week because two days a week i can't really use one of my arms to make dinner so i just prep the tofu at lunchtime and when i get home from the plasma center all i have to do is season and pan fry it and make a pot of rice. And I also make a shitload of extra rice because rice with eggs and sweet-spicy sauce is now one of my easiest and best go-to lunches) and whenever I make a pot of soup (something that I do pretty much every weekend when it's cool enough) I will make enough for lunch that week plus usually some extra to go in the freezer as backup "I don't feel like cooking" meals.

So, yeah I guess what I'm saying is get a good list of low-spoon foods that you like and can keep the ingredients handy for (ground beef goes bad in a week, tofu lasts like a month, i love tofu, it's so easy and so cheap to keep a bunch of tofu handy), and throw out the idea of what a kitchen is "supposed" to be like and figure out if there are ways to make your kitchen more adaptive for you.

Get anti-fatigue mats for your home kitchen. Get a tall stool that you can sit at while cooking at the stove instead of standing. Reorganize your cabinets for maximum efficiency for your needs. (large bastard and I have been doing this both with organized visible storage like wall racks as well as putting his stuff up high because bending over isn't easy for him but it is easy for me).

And also, like, consider if it's worth it, or how it can be worth it. How do you want to be a better cook? Do you want to be better at making meals for large groups or do you want to be more comfortable cooking for yourself or do you want a wider repertoire of recipes - all of those things will take a different path and some will be harder than others if you're wrangling disabilities that make it difficult to cook. I'm probably never going to be great at cooking for large groups because it doesn't really suit my lifestyle and it hurts! It hurts a lot and after hosting thanksgiving last year i needed to use my cane for a week because of how much it hurt my back! But I can work on stuff that makes it easier for me to cook, like having my baking station or keeping my rice cooker in an easy-to-reach cabinet.

[inkdrinkerworld]

a fluffy fall date night with remus or Aaron and he totally just goes along with your love of fall so you’re like idk making homemade pizza in the shape of ghosts or pumpkins and you’re doing something crafty like painting and watching the best fall/Halloween movies and it’s just lovely and soft and wonderful

Going w aaron cos it just feels like such a thing to get his mind off work

You’ve got something easy playing on the tv. Nothing like horror, but something cozy and that just screams fall.

For you, that’s ‘Practical Magic’ and Aaron doesn’t mind it one bit.

“Are we making individual pizzas?” He asks, watching you cut the ball of dough in half.

He’s in his slacks still, but has since shedded his shirt and jacket since coming into the kitchen.

Aaron’s hair is a little flat from the day, and his cologne has almost completely gone from his skin.

It had been a hard day- as most were, but you’d figured this was a good way to wind down.

Making ghost pizzas, watching something cozy, and finishing the night with hot chocolate with little ghost shaped marshmallows that you’d made before he got home.

“Yeah, they’re little ghost guys. Jack made his for tomorrow already.” You show Aaron the pizza that’s cooling on the stove top and he grins.

Jack’s pizza is full of cheese, olives and prosciutto- a pizza you know Aaron’s will resemble.

“And I got the good chocolate for hot cocoa.” You point to the block of pure cocoa near the canister of sugar and cinnamon.

Aaron feels his chest flutter at your care. You’ve always been good at taking care of him; helping him unwind and leave work at the BAU.

He’s always been grateful for it too. You don’t probe unless it’s affecting his demeanor, and that allows him to leave it alone when he gets home to you and Jack.

“You’re god sent,” he says softly, holding your cheek as he tips your face up. His lips brush yours gently, noses nudging as he kisses you. “Truly.”

You kiss him again, a peck really, but still with all the love as the first one.

“C’mon, let’s try baking these off before Gillian kills her boyfriend.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By His Command 3

Summary: the commander arrives. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, possible pregnancy and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Thank you for reading! Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

The martha comes to fetch you as the sky dims outside the iron bars. You follow her to the kitchen where she has a sparse array of produce. A few potatoes, some leeks, and a clove of garlic. 

“You will help,” she says bluntly.

“Praise be,” you reply but receive only a sharp look.

“Peel,” she takes out a peeler and puts it before you. “We’ve had no handmaid, so a guardian delivers the produce. It is never enough.”

You nod and go to work. You drag the blade along the skin, stripping it away, and let it drop to the counter. You pick out an eye from the potato and set down the naked spud, grabbing the next. That martha chops with heavy, short thunks against the cutting board.

When you’re done, you gather up the skins. She points you to the bin and you dump them there. You rinse your hands and face her. She puts a pot on the stove, ignoring your expectant gaze. You don’t dare ask what to do next as you only feel in the way.

“We’ll do a stew, bake some fresh bread,” she instructs, “tomorrow, you will go to Loaves and Fishes so we can fill the pantry.”

“Praise be,” you agree. She sighs.

She dumps the ingredients all together in the pot, adding some pork bones for flavour in the broth and some rise to round it out. It’s better than what you got at the center but you won’t presume that you’ll share the same stock.

“Martha,” the wife enter’s in her blue dress. Long straight sleeves and cinched waist. You bow your head so your bonnet hides your face. She sidesteps you, shouldering you away without acknowledgement.

“Mrs. Hansen,” the martha falters, her previous derision gone.

“Toss the stew, we’ve received a duck from Commander Bodecker. You know he loves to hunt.”

She puts a crate on the counter. The martha reaches to slide it towards her and pulls back the cloth to peer inside. You look at your feet, wiggling your toes in your red socks.

“The Commander has returned,” the wife continues, “the table must be set.”

“I will have the handmaid do it,” the martha confirms.

“Pray that she can handle such a task,” the wife rebukes and sweeps around, strutting out without even a glance in your direction.

The martha reaches into the crate and pulls out the dead mallard. You wrinkle your nose at the mussed green feathers. You look away.

“Well, would you rather lay some spoons out or undress this?” She asks brusquely.

You go to the cupboards and pull a door open. You only find plain metal canisters. She comes over and shuts the door, opening the next to reveal the plates. You bring one down, then a second. She slides a drawer out.

“Take one for yourself. Three,” she instructs.

You wince and pull out another plate.

“When you dine with the Commander and his wife, you say nothing, you look at nothing but your plate, you eat only what they allow you,” she hisses.

“I understand.”

“If only you could.”

She counts out the cutlery and puts it atop the stack of plates.

“Napkins beside the stove. Wrap the silverware.”

You go to the drawer nearest the stove and find the pale white napkins trimmed with blue flowers. You add them to your lot and the martha points you through the archway that looks into the dining room. You hear her mutter as she turns back to the duck.

You roll up the cutlery tightly in the fabric. Like swaddling a baby. You go around, chair by chair, plate and cutlery. 

As you arrange the last, only thinking then of the glassware, a soft noise brings your head up. A man in navy blue leans in the doorway. You did not hear him or sense him. You cannot guess for how long he’s been there but you can guess at his identity.

You dip your head down and step away from the table, “Commander.”

He breaks the threshold and strides around the other side of the table. You keep your chin down, jaw locked, as you listen, don’t look. The glimpse of his face floats in your vision. Tidy combed hair and shaved sides, a trim of hair across his lip, and handsomely forged features. 

He stops behind a chair and you feel his gaze on you.

“Blessed be the fruit, Ofloyd,” he rolls the name on his tongue.

“May the Lord open,” you eke out.

He chuckles. You bite your lip. The only people who laughed were the aunts, and it often meant trouble. He grips the back of the chair.

“I am the lord’s agent but it will not be him who does the… opening,” he intones, his tone dripping salaciously. “So, Ofloyd, will you open yourself to me?”

You don’t know how to answer. This is not how the aunts speak; or the guardians; or the handmaids.

“Praise be,” you gulp.

He snickers and twists his grip on the back of the chair.

“You have no idea,” he slips a hand down, brushing along the front of his trousers, “praise, there will be.”

He growls and leans back on his heel. There is no time to respond. He is already on his way. As quickly as he appeared, he is gone again, leaving only dread and the scent of cedarwood.