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6okuto · 1 year ago

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WANNA GET BREAKFAST?

time skip + gn!reader | fluff (?), mutual pining w no resolution. Lol.

the first time atsumu shows up at your house this week is for a movie marathon. he moves through your home as if it was his own—no hesitation in opening cupboards he knows have bowls and cups, grabbing his go-to blanket from your closet, and taking up more space on the couch than you until you shove his legs away.

he falls asleep during the third movie, head on your shoulder and arm across your lap. when he wakes up, he denies your claims of him snoring and drooling on your shirt.

the second time he shows up is the morning after, 30 minutes after calling to ask if he left his charger in your living room.

you open the door to find him wearing pyjama pants and a shirt you bought him years ago as a birthday gift, hair still messy in a fluffy, you really want to reach out and touch it way. “mornin’.”

“good morning.”

otherwise wordlessly, you offer his charger and he wraps it up to fit nicely in his pocket. he thanks you, and you shift on your feet to lean against the door frame.

a beat passes where neither of you move to say goodbye.

“do you wanna grab breakfast together?” he asks suddenly.

“you want to spend another day with me?”

“woah, i never said that. just breakfast.”

it isn’t just breakfast. though you guessed as much hours ago.

you’re back in your room that evening laughing over things that happened years ago—things you’ve talked about a dozen times but never seem to grow tired of. your head is on his chest, and you can feel his laughter run through you while you reenact a god awful sex ed class that haunts you to this day.

atsumu stays until your eyes droop and you keep yawning, and he figures he should head home to make sure nothing somehow caught fire while he was away.

you manage to walk him to the door, and his hands find their way to pull the blanket tighter around your sleepy figure. “you sure you can make it back to bed?” he teases.

“goodnight, ‘tsumu.”

the third time, again, the morning after, atsumu doesn’t bother calling to check if you're home before you hear the doorbell ring.

“‘tsumu? did you forget something again?”

he doesn’t respond at first. he isn’t even looking at your face when he snickers. “yeah, actually. the sweater someone that isn’t me happens to be wearing.”

looking down, you see the familiar MSBY logo on your chest and feel your face warm. it hits you then that when you reached for your hoodie, it had been in the laundry, not at the corner of your bed.

maybe that's why you fell asleep to the smell of his cologne.

“...shut up.”

you move a little too fast to take it off, if only to cover your face by pulling it over your head. “didn’t say y’had to take it off.”

you freeze, and just like the day before, the both of you stare at each other for a second.

maybe two.

your hands let go of the sweater edge, clenching and unclenching your fists instead. “good. it’s comfy.”

“mhm,” he hums. “it suits you.”

ignoring the compliment, this time you’re the one who asks, “do you wanna get breakfast?”

he shoots you a smile. “sure. you paying?”

the fourth time that atsumu shows up, you’re the one who called.

“are you missing something?”

“what? am i s'pposed to say you?” he answers, voice still groggy.

yes, a part of you thinks. “no, idiot. you left your headphones here.”

“...oh.” there’s shuffling on the other side of the line, and you imagine he’s looking around to confirm as if you weren’t holding the headphones in your hand. “guess i did.”

“i’ll come over then. breakfast after?”

the question makes you smile. “yeah, but i’m too lazy to go out. wanna cook something?”

“fuck no.” atsumu lets out a breathy laugh. “how is cookin' any less work than going to a café?”

“okay, baby, do you want cereal?”

“woah, woah, woah, baby?” he asks loudly. the grin on his face is audible. “i knew y’had a crush on me.”

“that’s not—god, i’m hanging up on you.”

you don’t hang up. not until he finishes laughing and you hear him confirm, “be there in 20.”

it’s the fifth time atsumu comes over that really confuses you.

“why are you here?”

“that's how you greet your best friend?”

“stop it, you know what i mean. i didn’t find anything you left behind, we even double checked before you left,” you point out, brows furrowed.

“yeah, i know. kinda ruined my plan.” he pouts at you.

you blink back at him.

“what plan?”

atsumu, jokingly aghast, softly says your name. he drags out the last syllable in that teasing, endearing way that makes your stomach do a flip. “you think i’d just forget things i use regularly at your house 3 times in one week?”

“i—well,” you start and sputter. it sounds stupid to say now but, “i mean, yeah, i guess?”

a laugh escapes your best friend and even as your face warms in embarrassment, it's a nice sound. he leans in slightly, tilting his head. “and you call me the idiot?”

looking at the grin on his face, witty remarks, statements, any words at all flash in your head, none staying long enough for you to figure out what to say. your eyes flicker between him and anywhere, everywhere else.

cute, atsumu thinks.

maybe if you weren’t looking at the tree behind him, you would have noticed his eyes flicker between yours down to your lips.

they stay there, on your mouth, a little longer than he expects. only by a second, but whatever confidence atsumu has falters as his face starts to go red. clearing his throat, he moves back a breathable distance away.

“nevermind, you'll figure it out. you, uh, still wanna get breakfast?”

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @dimslover @kuroaka @sunaslay @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #bwah....my atsumu..hes so silly #smth abt leaving smth at their house as an excuse to come over is so cutesie 2 me #who gets me. whooo is getting me rn

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crusty-chronicles · 1 year ago

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hii! i really love your airhead s/o series!! especially that ging one, perhaps can you make a part 2 of airhead s/o x ging? i really love it😭😭

You know what, why the hell not. There simply isn't enough of this stinky man out there and I truly do love him. He's cute in the feral rat kinda way 🥺

BONUS AIRHEADED S/O HEADCANNONS: Ging part 2

Like a thorn in his side, you simply won't leave

He doesn't recall how exactly he met you, but he does remember what he said that started all this.

"Keep up with me if you can."

And keep up you did. A little too well. And now he was stuck with you.

Buys plastic plates and Styrofoam cups because you can't break them.

Seriously, every good dish he had is shattered in the trash somewhere.

No plastic spoons or forks though

He tried that once and you had broken them, unawares that the extra crunch to your cereal was plastic

Is amazed and a little curious to find out you set the sink on fire.

Like honsetly, what the fuck???? Should he be impressed or scared.

Ging is a lazy stinky man

He has you in one of those backpacks with leashes when you go out in crowded places.

Cannot be bothered to go looking for you, so the next best thing is to leash you so you don't wander far.

You'll see something you think is cool and rush off, only to be stopped by a small tug pulling you back.

"Can you focus for one second?"

And for the first time he actually looks the part of a parent as he tugs you back towards him.

"Quit running around, pup."

God forbid the leash is detachable and you find out how to get free

"Yes, I need some help. My idiot got loose and I can't find them."

"Sir this is a Mcdonalds."

The one thing he made sure to tell Gon atop the Great tree, was to make sure he found somebody who always kept him on his toes.

"Why?"

"Life is better when the person you're with makes it interesting." Completely unaware you were only a few branches down listening.

Panics when you leave for hunter business because of that one time.

"Pick up your phone, idiot!!!! Damnit! How many times have I told you not to go by yourself!"

Waits for you like an upset parent that just caught their kid sneaking back in

Arms crossed, sitting on your sofa style

Waiting impatiently as you bump into the vase by the door after breaking the lock to get in.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

And you stare up at him with puppy eyes holding out a small box.

"I got you a souvenir." 🥺

And it's most likely broken but he appreciates it anyways.

All great hunters are liked by animals.

You get adopted by nearly all the apex predators you come across

And Ging is distressed because 'That is a fucking lion, Y/n. You can't just cuddle it.'

He tries to take you away from it, only for whatever creature had you hostage to growl at him.

Then it continues licking you and eventually whines when you get up to follow a very perplexed Ging.

(He secretly thinks it's cool)

Ging knows you're stupid, but that you're not an idiot

He knows you get lost on missions frequently and for the life of you can't not break something for five seconds.

But he also knows that you can tell when people are lying and being disingenuous

You hate Pariston for a reason

That and he lied to you once about something which resulted in you refusing to talk to him for weeks

He totally didn't care

Totally didn't try to send you a message only to see you'd blocked his number (how you accomplished that, he'd never know)

Totally didn't ask Kite to check up on you and make sure you hadn't died or something

What him? Never

And he also totally didn't swing by your apartment to leave a box of your favorite snacks on your doorstep

Couldn't be him 🙄🙄🙄

Yeah, he never tried to lie to you after that.

He refuses to baby you, but if someone makes fun of you for not being able to do something, he's kicking their ass

Makes you teach Gon some of your nen tricks

Just because he knows you're capable enough to do so

You're not a two star hunter for nothing.

Plus it means you two get to bond. Which is something he'd deny to his grave

Him, wanting his partner and son to be close???

You're delusional, he doesn't care 🙄🙄🙄

Yes he does and what he lied to you about was having a kid in the first place.

He just knew you'd spill the secret on his whereabouts is all

Gon thinks you are the coolest person he's met so far.

Alluka, who can grant wishes? She's cool

You, who took him fishing and caught an alligator by wrestling it????

You're his idol 🤩🤩🤩

And Ging is so damn proud because the next day his son brought home this huge sea monster he caught with your help.

"Why wouldn't I settle for a capable partner," is the biggest compliment he'll give.

He is a man child who fights for your attention with anybody. Not even poor little Gon is safe 😞

The barista's hand brushed against yours while handing you a drink?

Ging is dragging you out by your hand, glaring behind at the confused worker.

You're catching up with an old friend?

Okay, but they're clearly not that interesting if you ditched them for him. So quit wasting time and follow him to this cool thing he just found.

Gon wants you to teach him and his friend a new ability?

It's a family event now

Physically cannot say he loves you

He's just not used to it

And he can't even hint to it through romantic gestures because you don't understand subtlety

But, he's more physical with you than with most people

You get to jostle him around in your excitement and pull him everywhere you go

Doesn't mean he won't complain about it

He just won't push you off

"That's enough, pup. You'll make me dizzy."

"But I haven't seen you in a while, don't be all mean."

And he regrettably lets you keep your arms tight around him

You can't read maps and he's so surprised you accomplish anything that requires travel

Showers

He showers with you or he doesn't at all

He just wants to make sure you don't fall in there okay. 🙄You already trip on dry land, so imagine the wet tile.

It's because he likes the way you're so gentle when you wash his scalp. And because you always have the best scented soaps.

Kissed you one time and collapsed from embarrassment

Like a real kiss, not the little forehead ones he gives when you've been good.

Red in the face and unable to look at you properly

All because he said he stole your favorite sweet and taunted you for it.

You'd tackled him down and kissed him, swiping your tongue on his lips.

And he was 😳😳😳

And when you pulled away with a triumphant smile on your face, he actually did faint.

You were so confused because he didn't taste like your candy??? Did he lie to you again???

Gets flustered if Gon asks him when he's gonna marry you.

Like c'mon kid, don't say things like that!!! They're literally right there!

(Doesn't want to marry you because he couldn't take it if you decided you couldn't stand him after all. But he also really does because you keep his life interesting)

"I want what I can't have."

Didn't know he wanted an idiot until trying and failing so many times to get you to see he actually does care

MASTERLIST

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter x y/n #x reader #hxh x reader #hxh x y/n #ging freecss #ging x reader #hxh ging #airhead s/o #stronk s/o #stupid s/o

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tenderlyrenjun · 2 years ago

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Golden Hour

minors + inactive/empty blogs do not interact

includes … celebrity chef!reader x idol-producer!mark, height difference, flirting, themes related to golden hour and child, kitchen sex, fingering, making out, light choking, oral sex (f receiving), penetration, safe sex ... I got a little inspired (?) and wrote this literally today after I got off work.

wc: 5,2k (two scenes)

“So …” You lean across the cluttered counter, most of the cooking utensils used thus far, since the class finished past your instruction ten minutes ago, the other party guests having already moved on to mingling and eating their bibimbap dishes, garnished by a simple omelette. “… how do you like your eggs?”

Mark licks his bottom lip, dragging it behind his teeth, and turns a brown egg, uncracked, in his hands, smoothly gliding the entire oval across his dorsal veins. He opens his mouth, but so many factors surface, once he takes everything into consideration – fried egg sandwiches during 9 AM business meetings at the studio; feta frittata eggs with a Sunday brunch mimosa; fluffy scrambled omelettes, adding an extra dash of protein, before the gym. And those are just scenarios, the last one mostly inspired by the matching, scanty gym outfit you gatekeep below that long apron, making you appear a little more exposed than his hippocampus can handle: crop top tank pushing up your chest, leggings laying so flat that he saw the outline of your thong when you spun the straps around your waist, fastening the long strands twice. Conversely, if he considers just the ingredients – of an omelette – or just the egg, ignoring his personal skill level, as shown by the pulped bibimbap dish nearly starting a fire on the hot plate at the end of his table, Mark … still has too many options.

So, he taps his neatly cut fingernail on one of the three eggs he’d been allotted at the beginning of the class and answers, “Scrambled,” slowly, because he’s used to it, to that technique. A scrambled egg is simple; no finesse. And he can cook it at any convenience, with the bare minimum number of utensils – in a pan, whisked by a fork; cracked over a steaming bowl of ramen, mixed by wooden chopsticks; heated in a microwave, nearly exploding after he sets the timer for five minutes.

Mark puts his egg back in the dispenser, sighs, and glances around the room. He honestly did not know what to expect from this “party”. Three rows of two long kitchen islands stand, placed equidistant in Renjun’s penthouse dining room, extending all the way to the living room where Jisung’s, his roommate, guitar accessories scatter across the coffee table. On his way up the elevator – actually a little before that, too, when he was at the studio, still evicting this tune he got stuck in his head, Mark considered the party to be a casual hangout, having heard that maybe 15 people, max, would be in attendance, not some theatre production, complete with a whole stage refurbishment. Ah, maybe he got his hopes up too high, relying more on the intimacy of a small party to keep him from a spatula, possibly wrapped up in conversation over a potential collaboration, like a networking event, rather than an actual cooking lesson from the youngest celebrity chef in the country’s largest metropolis with peers who doing the same as him, better than him. Mark thought he might excel, once he saw bibimbap on the schedule, the most basic breakfast dish, even though his stomach’s morning routine has been limited to toast or cereal for nearly a decade (much to Haechan’s grievance). Then, he overcooked the steak, resulting in you giving him yours; and he cooked his mushrooms first, the most potent flavor seeping down to the carrots, again resulting in you handing off your dish. The rice, really, was the only thing unscathed, mostly because he threw two cups in a cooker, leaving it untouched for 20 minutes.

“Sorry,” Mark apologizes. He winces, realizing how much of your time he monopolized during class – whether it was messing up a step in the recipe or staring at you too long until you noticed him again.

“It’s okay,” you tell him gently, bumping his arm, quickly, to scoot him down the counter. He complies, feet shuffling tinily, and watches you officially take over his project. “It happens. I think most people tend to, like, really develop their cooking skills around the same time their cells start dying,” you joke, giving him a light grin while you pull a clean glass bowl into frame.

“Mmhmm.”

Mark passes off all three eggs to you, and his fingers brush your hands, nails grazing, briefly, between your knuckles. He glances down at where they meet but jumps back to your face, stumbling at your chest, a consequence of the height difference, sternum hidden by both your boobs squished together and the apron holding them in place, albeit low-cut. You say nothing, instruct nothing, since the class is practically over (and he stays, like a teacher’s pet), so he leans back, checking out the gap in your apron, just to make sure you really do wear, like, actual clothes, including that thong he saw earlier, small triangle branded on your lower back like a tramp stamp. And you do! – wear clothes, which, at least, concludes one of his spinning thoughts today (it’s not even six o’clock yet, the time work usually ends). Then, his stomach rumbles, reminding him that breakfast was 12-hours ago.

“You’re, um, really good at this,” he brings his attention back to the purpose of this party.

“Yeah, thanks,” you accept, tone vocally light, which almost has him thanking you, too – be-because you have given him something to focus on this afternoon, temporarily relieving himself from the mental journalling his brain has been writing since 4 AM (would that be weird?; he doesn’t do it anyways). “I have a degree in physical chemistry,” you tell him, sharply whisking the eggs into a consistent yellow solution. “I’m making them eggs fluffy. I hope that’s okay.” You look at him, pausing the wooden sticks between your fingers, bowl pressed into your stomach, below your chest, and he has to look, bouncing from your eyes to boobs bowl.

Mark nods, twice, eyes widening downward, like a baby cheetah, half his bottom lip inside his mouth again, teeth chewing at the seam. He can’t trust himself not to stutter, not when his tongue falls numbly over his lower incisors and his toes bear his entire body weight, palms pushed into the edge of the counter to balance him.

“Sorry,” you apologize, reflexively, in the silence. And he winces, involuntarily stepping forward to revoke his silence, to verbally answer you so that you don’t have to take your eyes off the food. But you talk again and explain, “I’m not really used to the, like, customer service yet.” Your arms tense again, restarting the whisking, blending out the albumen on the perimeter. His fingers, too, strain, flexed wide enough to display his webbed metacarpal. If you were like his other friends, like Renjun, Mark might have already started massaging your shoulders, getting you to relax. But you’re not. And he barely knows you, mostly knows of you, from all the interviews preceding him in the magazine, little tidbits floating around the Internet as if fact without giving you the opportunity to confirm or deny them. “Sometimes, I just start cooking and forget to ask people – customers –“ You point at him, and he wishes you wouldn’t. It adds to the distance between you, making him count the millimeters you retracted when your fingers brushed tips. “– about their preferences.” You turn the electric stove top on, over medium heat, then reach for aluminium-wrapped slice of butter, unwrapping it at the back and pushing the soggy square (Mark winces again; that is probably his fault, having waiting too long to use it) into the pan via chopsticks. “But I’m, uh, I’m working on it.” You pull the pan off the stove, butter halfway melted, easy for you to slip and slide, coating the entire surface. And once you finish, putting it back to melt the rest, you glance around the room, small whisper drawing his ear to your lips. “It’s just hard … being the youngest person in the room, always obligated to absorb everyone’s opinions, everyone’s advice – whether solicited or not, kinda balancing this dichotomy where people want to guide you into what they think is the right direction or completely takeover the thing you’re doing.” You stab at the remaining butter with your chopstick, wood thumping the metal pan, then, lower the stove heat and sigh, “Sorry, that sounds weird, I know.”

“No, I, uh, I get it,” Mark croaks, stuttering getting even worse after you hand the glass bowl of whisked eggs to him. He tries to, like, replace you in front of the stove, but you stand still and guide both his hands on the rim, fingers filling in the gaps between his. You face the bowl toward his chest, a little lower than he would do on his own, but he keeps quiet at the discomfort, body stiffened, diaphragm concaved all the way. He tilts the eggs out fast, faster than you probably intended because you put up more resistance against him, slowing the pour until the curds form gently in the pan. You pull away first, completing his plan – in which he stands at the stove, you at the side. And Mark smacks his lips, tongue pushing on his bottom lip. “You’re trying to find some equilibrium between your environment – the people, the setting, whatever – and your own identity.” You hand him the cooking chopsticks, temporarily distracting his train of thought, but he bounces back quickly when you nudge his hand over the pan, directing him through scrambling the egg curds, through pushing the eggs outward to inward. “S-sometimes,” he breathes, shakily, grounding his body in cooking, “people will tell me that I’m, like, mature for my age, or – or, like, an old soul, and give me more responsibilities than I know what to do with. And it’s not like I can’t ask for help or anything; everyone gives me enough unsolicited advice to make me feel, like, okay, or whatever, with asking for help. But other times, people feel this need to, like, take care of me.” You hand him a rubber spatula and take away the chopsticks, which slightly proves his point, but he keeps to that point, using the spatula to put around the eggs evenly, fluffing them edges to middle. “Thanks.”

“Mmhmm,” you acknowledge before sitting on the counter, blue Nikes swinging against a cabinet door. And Mark copies you, leaning on the counter, just right of the electric stove and pan, eyeing you up. “Eyes on the pan, Mark.”

“Right, yeah.”

Mark uncrosses his arms and turns back to the last step of his bibimbap, folding the eggs over itself. But they look complete, a little wet, yellow dark and runny, but still, complete.

“Do I, um, do I do anything else?” he asks, holding both the handles of the pan and spatula. He cautiously looks up at you, through his own lashes, careful not to stutter at your chest again (even though you sit with your palms digging into your knees, biceps supporting their weight higher). You stare at him a second, something indiscernible crossing your mouth, then you shake your head, fringe falling in front of your ears, prompting you to tuck them back.

“Is there something else you want to do?”

Ask you out.

Maybe.

A beat passes.

“I don’t know,” Mark answers, nervously laughing to himself, under his breath. “I, uh, usually see people add stuff at the end – like, sprinkle some cilantro or squirt a side of ketchup.”

You hop down the counter and walk around his side, putting the pan between the two of you, which makes Mark tilt his head left, almost bonking his long blond hair (really his shoulder) on your head, if the height difference hadn’t returned. And the spatula drops from his hand, involuntarily he tells himself, when you nudge into his personal space. You catch it, not so easily, he notices – and apologizes, then you undo his folds to the omelette.

“People usually add spices and veggies to taste,” you start, not looking at him. “The eggs should be slightly wet when you’re adding the final ingredients, so you need to act quick –”

Mark jumps behind you, arm reaching across the counter, toward the far side, at the bowl of diced vegetables mixed with crushed pepper. He shakes it across the eggs, like he’s seen TV chefs do on Netflix. The silence, as you watch him top off the omelette with a literal pinch of salt, is a deafening few seconds, and he feels a sense of pride, that expectation of him excelling returning to the scene as he hoped before the class. But it leaves his body, the next second, when he realizes how close he stands to you – his chest pressed against your shoulders; your neck bending backwards, nearly resting on his bicep just to see his face.

“Ye-yeah,” you stutter, and suddenly, he sees you less confidently, and his mouth dries, preventing him from both apologizing for the intimacy and moving. “Just like that.” You swallow, thickly, fleetingly dipping your gaze to his lips; so quick, he thinks he hallucinated it.

“Th-then, does it, um, does it look done now?”

Mark’s shoulders stagger to his ears, tucking his chin to chest. He pulls his stomach backward, without the rest of his body, standing like a geometric abstract painting, limbs stacked one on top of the other.

You snap your head back to the pan, hair hitting his shirt. “Wh – Yeah, no, yeah, you were perf – good; you did good.” You kick up your elbow, outside his oblique, parenthetically trapping him tightly in place (otherwise, he’d fall). He watches you repeat his fold in the eggs, this time with ingredients sandwiched in the middle, yolk running less and less, tucking bell peppers and mushrooms inside. It’s a basic dish – the omelette – not even complete, since it will top the bibimbap.

Making an omelette takes longer than he thought it would, to be honest; well, making a good omelette. And this is probably the reason why he never makes one himself. All the recipes say 5-10 minutes, including prep time, but he has been here, with you, probably longer than that. Although, it could be his fault, needing to fill the silence with words, to say something – because he really cannot talk and check you out at the same time. You keep the conversation going, always articulating something interesting or relatable, to him, beyond the simple stuck-in-a-matrix TikTok clickbait that Renjun sends him at three in the morning. So, when you start moving again, shutting down the stove, plating his bibimbap, and untying your apron, Mark grabs your arm, fast, just strong enough to catch your attention; he releases immediately upon receiving your eye contact.

“Don’t,” he breathes, somehow winded. Then, he inhales, sharply, filling his lungs. “Eat with me?” he asks, “un-unless you have somewhere else to be.”

You turn around, at a better angle, back pushed against the stove buttons, apron hanging half an inch off your body. And Mark grabs you by the waist, hauling you into his chest, away from the sparking stove. But you both push each other away again, noticing the intimacy, hands rubbing into where you touched each other – you at your hips, him at his chest. And the two meter distance returns.

“No, I, um, I was just going to the gym after this.” You look him up and down, and his eyes sparkle. “But, no, yeah.” You take off the apron completely, folding it onto the counter. “I c-can eat with you. Just let me get a spoon.”

Mark produces one nearly out of thin air (really, he swiped one of the three off the counter to make space for your apron). “We can share,” he nods at the ceramic bowl, “this bibimbap. Yours is probably cold by now,” he reasons, because, if you go, you might not come back, and he doesn’t want to let this be a mirage or, worse, be a dream; dreams can become nightmares. And as another beat overtakes the conversation, overtakes his request and explanation, Mark thinks he fell into another night with the same nightmare. The bibimbap is only a single serving, if that, drowned by three servings of eggs. You barely know him, only revealing maybe one or two vulnerable thoughts, on which he piggybacked his own apprehensions. And really, Mark should feel bad, about monopolizing your time both during and after class, even though this is technically a party and he has yet to say more than three words to his best friend, Renjun. He phrased his request, less like a question, more like a demand, and he can’t find a reason why you would agree, his brain already lined up three objections for you to reject –

“Okay.”

Mark freezes, hand clenching around the air, since you took the spoon away from him (he hadn’t noticed you did that, to be honest). He only moves after you squeeze his arm, guiding him away from the stove too, like he did you, except the stove is really off right now. And everything rushes out at once – he follows you to the side, still far from the rest of the party guests, who he, frankly, forgot were in the room still, despite this not being his apartment; and he repeats, “Okay.” Mark tilts his head to the side, you blurring the rest of his vision. “Okay? Okay. Cool, cool, okay, cool.” You hop back on the counter and skulk your foot between his thighs, bringing him a little bit closer, out of the aisle. His hands fall on both your sides, lowering him down your chest, which looks about the same without the apron – pushed up and compressed together. “Actually …”

Mark’s request for you to eat with him changes.

In terms of location and subject.

He brought up that the bibimbap might not be an ideal meal to share, and that he wants to share a meal with you. It took a couple minutes, skirting around the whole date question, since he literally only knew you a couple hours, but if you know, you know. And Mark knew that he really wanted to see you more … privately. So, eventually, he got through the question, getting you back to his apartment on the lie that he has more food at home. But you never confirmed his lie, or maybe you never doubted him (he’ll clear it up later), because you shove him against the wall, kissing him between the photos of his friends and family, who he definitely does not want to see him railing the girl of his dreams.

Mark changes the position, scratching his nails up your scalp, behind your head, coiling thick strands around his fingers while he walks you down the living room to his bed, never letting up on the embrace.

However, the two of you fall on the ground, in the kitchen, Mark’s elbow slamming into the ground first as he tries to protect you from the hard wood floors. He yelps in pain, too, but you poke your tongue in his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck. You stumble toward his lips, chest beating on his, your back coming off the ground, nearly toppling him over. And Mark fumbles, hand feeling around the floor until he can sit upright, sloped against the island cabinets, which seem to have a lot of use today. He raises his chin higher, trying to match the way you bounce on his lap, cupping his face still. And, Jesus Christ, Mark compares your lips to every other person he has ever kissed before – his newest hairstylist a year after he became an adult; the concessions stand clerk at the movie theatre when he was 17; another idol he met through a mixed-up sandwich. You’re better than all of them, he concludes, swollen lips as pliant at his half-lidded eyes, puckering repeatedly to give you a sounding board each time you dive into his face. He grabs your ass, like an anchor, heels of his palms kneading into the muscles.

“Mm – Mark,” you moan, not breaking apart, hot breath exhaling down his tongue. You stand on your knees, and your nails drag into his hair, tugging at the roots.

“Fuck.”

Mark kisses you again, harder, bending you across his legs, one hand belting behind your waist, the other slamming into the ground. You hang off his neck, nearly dragging him on the floor with you, had he not already set himself up for support. Then, he starts falling back into the island, repeatedly pecking you, one last lick on your teeth before pulling away. He needs the reprieve, to organize his thoughts, figure out the first way he can fuck you tonight without blundering like a clumsy virgin. And when he peaks an eye open, he sees yours still closed; sees your chest heaving, the neckline somehow lower. So, Mark kisses you again, more chaste, patting down the side of your hair until his palm rests on your cheek.

“Why – why did you stop?” you ask, sinking your ass onto his thighs.

“I –“ Mark swallows. He wants you in his bed now, thrusting into you so rough that his blue sheets tear off the corners. He also wants you on his couch, the next immediate mattress, rubbing his boner up your tight, giving each other tight hand jobs, clinging to each other just to save room. But as he darts across your now flushed face, Mark is momentarily returned to that first moment when he saw you walk into Renjun’s apartment, a confident chef who eventually gave him your full attention, and he answers, “On the counter.” He taps your ass, getting you both to stand. He helps you jump on the granite, hands around your waist to place you perfectly in front of him.

“Like this?”

You wrap your legs and arms around him, nearly falling off, so Mark scoots closer to the edge, his mostly hard cock grazing the edge and your knee.

“Yeah,” he hisses, hands traveling down your calves, like a massage. “Good girl,” he praises. Mark brings one up your thigh, between your thighs, not quite touching the middle just yet. “Can I?” he asks, thumb resting on your stomach, above the waist band he already folded down your belly button. You both stare at each other, delicately grinding the paper-thin air between you two. Then, you roll down the counter, humping his abs so tightly that his shirt rides up.

“Yeah, Mark, please,” you moan again. “You c-can touch.”

Mark, impatient, doesn’t take your pants off, sliding all five digits down your stomach, palm facing you. His longest fingers trace your underwear, mentally drawing himself a picture of the thong you kept hidden from him for hours. It’s thinner than he imagined, wetter, too, the skinny string disappearing between your pussy lips, choking your clit. Mark breathes down your lips, inhaling through his nose as your breath hitches repeatedly, open-mouthed, staccato ah’s decreasing in octaves from moans to groans. He pads his index and ring finger on either side of your cunt, middle finger stroking your clit lightly. Actually, he tries not to touch you directly, wanting the ghost of his fingers to burn your loins first, but you keep grinding closer and closer to him; eventually, his fingers slip inside, starting with two interphalangeal creases. The tightness of your leggings holds his wrist against your lower stomach, but his fingers have some range, able to gesture for your G-spot to come hither, to find him.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he whimpers, kissing you again before you can retort – because it’s not a request; he’s not asking. Mark is telling you that he wants to fuck you so bad, right now, monster cock straining his jeans fully.

“You can,” you tell him between a kiss. Mark’s free hand holds you around the neck, palm on your jugular, thumb reaching across your larynx. Nothing supports your head, so you keep rocking forward, incidentally dropping further down his fingers in your cunt, stifling your voice box in his hand. “You can f-fuck – fuck – me, Mark.”

He almost takes you up on it, even stripping the both of you down to your underwear. And he finds out that your bra has been holding up your boobs, not your crop top, not the apron, your bra. He hopes you have a duplicate of this one, because he’s going to rip it.

Not actually though.

In reality, outside his thoughts, Mark hesitates. His cock twitches on his stomach, smooth tip leaking under the waistband, as he debates how he wants to get between your legs. Either way – stuffing you with his cock or lapping at your walls – would sprawl you across his kitchen counter, displaying you like a perfect meal prepared by his Michelin charisma, having moved the appetizer (flirting) from Renjun’s apartment into a main dish at his place. His place. Oh, yeah, you definitely have all night. So, Mark settles between your thighs, pushing your knees more open.

“No more teasing,” he tells you.

“What – Oh, fuck, just like that, Mark!”

You fall onto your forearms, over the counter, as Mark licks his way into your pussy, one finger holding the tiny thong string off to the side. He extends his tongue, all the way, angling his head diagonally. He keeps his wet muscle still and shakes his head, side-to-side, nose rubbing just outside your labia, more on your thigh, pushing your pussy lips together so tightly that your clit bears most of the tension. You moan his name, repeatedly, growing louder and louder over each passing syllable, encouraging him further – or, rather, deeper.

Mark pulls his dick out of his pants, stroking down only once, holding the pulsing base firmly, prematurely lining himself with the thought of your cunt.

“Ah, Mark,” you scream, palm slamming into the counter. Mark throws his glance at your face and sees your lips form a giant ‘O’ – God, he could fuck your mouth pussy. And he strokes himself again. The way you squirm on his kitchen island realigns your clit with his nose, and you grind the little nub on his nub, the hard ball jingling wetly. Your ass, too, bounces on the table, practically spanking yourself on the granite. Mark bites his lips higher, catching your clit in a hard suction, drinking the shaky nerves, tongue abrading the entire surface area. You return your hands to his hair, scratching into his scalp, never tugging him away, only yanking him tighter. And your thighs quiver, squeezing his cheeks, knees outlining his ears. “Mark, Mark,” you chant, “Mark, I’m gonna – I’m gonna – Oh, my God, I’m gonna – “

Then, he pulls away.

And you nearly scream again.

“Mark,” you whine for a good few seconds.

“Wait for me,” he tells you, holding your chin between his thumb and index finger to press a quick kiss on your lips. You try to elongate the kiss again, your sweaty ass adhering on the counter, but he pulls away fully after the one quick kiss. “Good girls wait,” he mumbles.

Mark leaves for a second, heading into his bathroom for a condom.

He catches himself in the mirror, toned abs full on display, lengthy cock flopping sans balls outside his briefs. His hair, too, has more volume than it normally does, even when his stylist fixes it up for concerts or stages (who knew sex hair looked this good?). Mark checks himself out another minute, then grabs a neatly packed L-condom. He exhales, jumping once, only to realize that it was a mistake when his dick hits his thigh. And he takes a moment, to just breathe, before going back to you, cock now wrapped up with protection.

In the kitchen, Mark finds you fingering yourself, writhing on the counter, opposite hand covering your mouth. He watches a little bit longer (but not long enough to be a pervert), then stalks between your thighs. You gasp, eyes widening.

“I thought I told you, ‘Good girls wait’.”

Your chest heaves a few seconds, and he realizes that he probably disturbed your orgasm a second time.

“I – I need to prep myself,” you explain, weakly, but he lets it go with the next half of your sentence boosting his ego, “Your dick is too big.”

“Mmhmm,” he nods. Mark wraps your thong around his dick, the little tiny crotch part choking his length, and rubs the new apparatus on your vulva, until you whine again, writhe again. “You’re gonna like it big,” he mumbles before untangling himself and impaling his cock all the way inside your cunt. “Oh, fuck,�� he groans, shallowly thrusting half an inch out your labia, the acute angle between your bodies chafing his cock under your clit. Your pussy throbs at a 3010 tempo, practically squeezing him out, which gives him an excuse to thrust again, to bottom out again, the furthest part in your uterus clinching his leaky tip. “You – you feel s-so close,” Mark lisps, “T-to cumming.”

“I am,” you confirm, voice tight, moans asphyxiating your throat. “Mm – Mark, close.”

“Go ahead,” he tells you. “Come on, baby, you can cum. Be a good girl, cum.” Mark abuses your cunt harder, holding your waist lowly, sliding your ass off the counter as he pounds you harder and harder, cock driving up your pussy at the perfect angle, for what seems like the both of you. He tries continuously accelerating his speed, but as your pussy strangles him, and his thighs bruise on your ass, his cock flops around inside your cunt, spinning clockwise, ricocheting your walls.

“Ah, ah, ah!”

Mark weighs down your hips with one hand, the other tilting your chin up to look at him, to watch just him make you feel so damn good. Somewhere along the moaning and the sloshing, Mark squeezes his eyes shut, a familiar pressure building in his ears; he chases it, bucking his hips faster, spanking his thighs on your ass, your pussy ultimately trapping his tip deep in your uterus, only letting his shaft spring back and forth, veins stinging your velvety walls.

“Fuck, fuck, yeah, good girl,” Mark raps in one breath, all the music in his head building up and up and up, until the bass drops, and white noise backs up your screams like an instrumental. He digs his thumbs into your waist, grinding his hips on your labia, burying his cum as far as it can go, though impeded by the condom. And he lays down on the counter with you, feet floating off the ground.

You curl into his side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. He can hear you steady your breathing, and it slows his, too. The moment hangs in the air, much like his feet, and Mark doesn’t know how much time passes, only enough for him to close his eyes, not a single thought behind those lids.

But you break the silence, mumbling something into his naked shoulder.

“Hmm? What was that?”

Mark lifts his head up, opening his eyes to stare at your newly shy smile.

“I just noticed you never asked me how I liked my eggs,” you laugh.

And Mark laughs too. “Okay, so how do you like your eggs then?” he plays along.

“Fertilized.”

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #mark lee smut #mark lee x reader #nct fluff #?#nct fanfic #nct mark smut #nct mark x reader #nct drabbles #nct drabble #nct mark drabble #mark drabble

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orions-choker · 3 months ago

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+:★:+* Chapter Three: Jump In The Fire +:★:+*

The MetalliMansion was a shit show, no matter how much Y/N attempted to keep it clean it was always riddled with empty beer cans, cigarette butts and an unfortunate amount of playboy magazines. The only reprieve Y/N had was in her own room. Clean and organized, posters and collectibles in neat displays.

“God you guys are fucking disgusting.” She groaned, stepping over spilt beer in the kitchen as she rummaged in the cupboards for cereal. “Clean up after yourselves you pigs.” Her nose crinkled in disgust.

From the couch Lars called out. “Dont like it find your own fuckin’ place, I still don't remember agreeing to let you live here.” There was no malice in his words. Infact as Y/N peaked her head around the corner to glare at him he smiled brightly back at her.

She flipped him off, sticking her tongue out. “That's why you're my least favorite.” She teased. Bowl of cereal in hand she sat beside Lars on the old couch, stretching her legs across him. “Remote.” She mumbled around a mouthful of her food, hand outstretched.

“Do they not teach you manners here in America, fuck.” He placed the remote in her hand anyways. She dug her heels into his legs in retaliation. Grinning at the way he winced. “Bitch.”

The television changed to cartoons, Mighty Mouse. “You fuckin’ love me shut up.” She smiled at him. When she didn't hear him protest she took it as a victory. Lars fell back asleep shortly after that, never one to be up early anyways.

Behind her she could hear the groggy mumblings of her brother and Cliff. “Morning!” She called out cheerily. The responses she got back were less than enthused. “You guys have a flight to catch in the afternoon don't you? Get your shit together.”

The boys were flying out to Denmark to record their next album. It frightened her to be alone now. She had been with everyone for a year now, ever since their first tour she hadn't left their sides. She couldn't go with them this time. Someone had to stay behind and take care of the house, pay the bills.

“Flights not till four.” James grumbled at his younger sister, sitting down with a coffee in hand.

“And it is currently one, airports an hour away dude.” She pushed his head to the side affectionately. “I work in an hour so i'm not gonna see you guys off.” She frowned.

Kirk stumbled into the living room next, his hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, glasses crooked on his face. Y/N stood up with her empty bowl and straightened the eyeware on his face before walking past him to the kitchen. “You're not gonna be there?” Kirk mumbled at her, sleep and disappointment laced in his voice.

Y/N shook her head. “Sorry Kirky, it's Sunday, happy hour starts early at the bar today for all the old people.” She sighed. She didn't want to miss seeing them leave either. Knowing she would come home to an empty house after her shift made her feel empty. “I'll miss you though, all of you.”

Cliff's presence was beside her, pulling her into a warm half hug. “Just a month, we'll be back before you know it.” He comforted her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before moving to grab his own cup of coffee. It brought a smile to her face again.

She had gained two extra brothers, Cliff and Lars. As much as the latter pissed her off she loved him all the same. She made a point to not include Kirk in her affections the same way, the desire that burned beneath her skin when she saw him wouldn't allow her.

“A month of peace might actually be nice.” She grinned, she didn't mean it and they knew that.

“A month without your best friend? Sounds lame.” Kirk's voice was still heavy with sleep, his voice just slightly deeper though still tinged with that same boyishness she was used to. “Who's gonna watch Evil Dead with you repeatedly?”

Best friend, she wasn’t sure when that title came into effect. She wasn’t completely upset about it, though some part of her ached everytime Kirk called her that. Y/N had made her peace with the desperation she felt to be more than just his friend. But it was true all the same he had become her best friend, not that there was any competition.

Her eyes glinted with something wicked. “Hmm doesn't really matter, I can always find someone else.” She shrugged nonchalantly, reveling in the faux hurt on Kirk’s face. “Be right back!” She giggled, quickly running up the stairs before Kirk shook the sleep from himself and chased her.

She had started working at the bar just down the road as soon as they got back from tour. She found it ironic, the way she was unable to drink alcohol at her age, but be a waitress and serve it? That was totally fine. Halfheartedly she got ready for work, her hair was growing out now, finally long enough to pull back into a ponytail without loose strands. She pushed her bangs from her face and did minimal makeup. She found she got better tips from creepy old men when her face looked ‘fresh’. Her uniform was nothing more than a black collared shirt and matching pencil skirt. She didn’t think it did much for her in terms of looks but the eyes on her said otherwise.

Skipping down the stairs two at a time, Y/N grabbed her purse hanging by the door. The boys all sat in the living room, more alert and more dressed. She smiled fondly at the sight of all of them. “I have to get going now, you guys are going to call me tonight when you make it to where you're staying right?” She asked stepping forward to give them each a hug.

She lingered the longest on her brother and Kirk before pulling away. “Yeah of course.” James assured her with a smile. “Aaaand we will call you at least twice a week, blah blah.” He made fun of her worries.

“God forbid I care about you fucks and don’t want you like dying when your like a million miles away.” Her top lip curled into a snarl as she kicked at James’s leg.

“So it would be okay if we died here?” Kirk asked, provoking further.

“Yes because then at least I could kick the shit out of your guy’s bodies for being fucking idiots.” She growled and lunged to attack him next.

Kirk quickly sidestepped her attempt with a laugh, reaching to pull her into another bear hug and trapping her arms beside her. “Don’t worry I could never die and leave you alone.” He whispered into her ear, low enough that no one else could hear. It sent goosebumps down her skin, her body stiffening in his hold before she quickly pulled herself away.

With a groan she gave her final goodbye. “Ugh I hate you guys, be safe.” The door closed behind her as she stepped into the slightly cooler California winter, nowhere near cold enough to bother with a jacket. The walk to her work was a short one, part of the reason she applied there in the first place.

The bar was old, run down, certainly not a hot spot for nightlife activity. Most of the patrons were older folk, making it easy not to deal with young drunk assholes, and she made great tips from old men with lingering eyes. She liked Sundays. It was an early start and dead at night, meaning she got cut quickly and could go home early.

“Hey Y/N.” From behind the bar a young woman greeted her, punctuating her sentence with a pop from her lips as she smacked gum between her teeth. Steph was a couple years older than her, just 21 and the bartender at her work. She was cute, tall and lean, long black hair and pretty dark eyes. She was a favorite for people to look at, including Y/N. Despite her interests in a certain curly haired guitarist Y/N would be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed to find out Steph had a boyfriend.

Y/N smiled brightly, excited to see they were working the shift together today. “Hey Steph! How’s it been today?” She asked sweetly, sliding behind the bar to set her stuff down and relax for a moment.

“Oh the usual, we’ve had two customers all day but we should get a rush here in a second.” She waved her well manicured hand, dismissing the small talk. “So your brother is in that band Metallica? Right?” She asked, a surprising amount of intrigue in her voice.

Confused Y/N nodded. As far as she was aware Steph really only listened to music like Bauhaus and The Cure. “Oh James? Yeah he is.” Y/N tied her apron tight around her waist. “Why? Have a sudden interest in thrash metal?” She joked.

Steph shook her head with a giggle “Oh god no, thank you.” Her face scrunched up in playful disgust. They might not share the same music taste but the two girls had become fast buddies at work. “My boyfriend is though! and I heard him talking about them the other day, said they were probably gonna get really big here soon and I remembered you mentioning your brother.” She explained.

Y/N’s heart swelled with pride. She knew the band was great of course, but she may or may not have been a bit biased. Hearing of the boy's success and more people talking about them excited her. She nodded, a blush coming to her cheeks. “Yeah they kick ass, glad your boyfriend thinks so too.” She grabbed her notepad and pen, tucking it into her pocket.

She felt as if she was on air the rest of the evening, floating from table to table as she served her regulars. Just as she had hoped she had been sent home around Seven, a couple hours earlier than she had been scheduled for. Making more than enough tips she was eager to leave.

The walk home was interrupted by a quick stop to the gas station across the street from her work. Grabbing a slush and a bag of mixed candy, she was set for the evening now. The walk home was slightly more chilled with the mixture of sweet ice on her lips. The sweets did little to ease the empty ache in her heart as she returned home to silence. The boys did their best to clean up after themselves and it brought a smile to her face.

The couch felt too big and empty as she lay across it alone, flipping the channel to a random network that was playing back to back B-Rate horror films. She assumed they should be landing soon, it was a ten hour flight. She would wait to go to bed until she got their call.

It was about halfway into the second movie she was watching when the worn out phone on the side table rang. Y/N smashed her knees on the ground, tumbling from the couch and crawling toward the phone. She was out of breath, voice laced with excitement as she picked up the call.

“Hello!”

“Hey Princess.” the groggy voice of her older brother came crackling through the phone. “We made it safe.”

Y/N sighed in relief. “Oh good, you made it to a hotel?” She asked balancing the phone between her ear and her shoulder.

There was an annoyed grunt over the phone. “No, were sleeping at the fucking studio on the floor, lars the prick is staying with family and wouldn't let us tag along.” James was tired and pissed, Y/N didn't want to press the issue any further, she didn't have to when she heard a familiar voice muffled in the background.

“Let me talk to her, move.” Kirk sounded more energetic than her brother as he overtook the phone. “Dont worry about us though Y/N, we'll be fine.” He instantly reassured her. It brought a dumb smile to her face knowing how well he knew her.

“Thanks Kirky, you guys should get to bed then.” She reminded them fondly, her finger twirling in the cord of the phone as she reveled in the comforting sound of Kirk's voice. “I love you guys.”

The was a stark silence for a moment, Kirk's heavy breathing the only noise that could be heard. “I- we love you too Y/N, talk to you tomorrow I promise.” There was a click, then silence, then the static of a dead phone line.

#metallica #metallica fanfiction #metallica/reader #kirk hammett #jason newsted #jason newsted x reader #kirk hammett x reader #jason newsted/reader #kirk hammett/reader #kirk hammett x jason newsted #kirk hammett/jason newsted

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hoperays-song · 2 years ago

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On a scale of "master chef" to "could set a bowl of cereal on fire", how are the Sing characters at cooking?

Oooooo, great ask! Thank you! Here's a bit of an explanation and a rating from 1-10 (10 being the best). I hope you enjoy! -<3 Gooseless

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Ash: 5

She's starting to learn how to cook from Rosita after Sing 1 but before that she was mainly surviving off of fast food. She never learned to cook from her parents as they often weren't home and she herself left home young. She's not horrible but not the best by any means.

Barry: 6

He can cook but only a few basic things like grilled cheese and oatmeal. While preferring not to cook, he does have to as Stan cannot and they were in charge of watching Johnny when he was little.

Buster: 2

...He can make sandwiches and that's about it. Even some of those flavour combinations can be extremely questionable.

Clay: 9

He is an amazing chef, having learned from both sides of his family. He cooks a fair mix of both Cajun and Irish dishes and briefly considered being a chef before pursuing music. He now is focusing on teaching Ash some of his recipes. Cooking is essentially a love language for him and he will bring food to almost any gathering.

Darius: 1

Burned cup Mac and Cheese and nearly got kicked out of his apartment... enough said.

Eddie: 2

He can heat up Cup Noodles safer than Buster can and make a few sandwiches... but that's about it.

Gunter: 3

The fanciest thing Gunter can make is boxed Mac and Cheese and he will forget the ingredients in even that. He can actually tell what flavours go together unlike some others but also always burns toast. He isn't that good at this.

Harry: 2

While he can make like a PB&J sandwich, there's a reason they and Darius mostly eat fast food. He sucks at cooking, not as bad as Darius but that's a very low bar.

Johnny: 7

Grew up with tons of home-cooked meals by both his dad and his neighbors, he's surprisingly good at cooking. He does need to follow a recipe exactly but he started practicing more when he lived with Rosita and has kept that practice going into the Majestic stay with phone calls to his dad for help. A lot of his happy childhood memories are cooking with his dad.

Marcus: 9

He learned to cook for his wife when she got too sick to be able to do so. He uses his wife's old cookbook to this day (her father was a chef) and is very good at it. Cooking is essentially a love language for him and he makes sure that when Johnny is at home he gets at least two home-cooked meals a day. He's had over 18 years of practice so he's a very good chef.

Meena: 7

She is much better at baking than cooking but she does know a few recipes. Her grandparents were actually the ones to teach her their old recipes when it comes to savory foods while her mom taught her deserts. She's good but she does credit that too a lot of practice as she much prefers working with sweeter foods. Most of her childhood was spent in the kitchen with her family though and it was a huge family bonding thing for them.

Mike: 1

He does not even know how to boil water.

Mrs. Crawly: 4

Not horrible but will commonly forget what she's cooking or what she already added so you never know what you're gonna get. She can make really good Turkish Delights though.

Nana: 6

While she is a decent cook, she doesn't have to cook for herself and therefore has fallen out of practice doing so. She is still disappointed in Eddie and Buster's cooking abilities.

Nancy: 5

She knows the basics but nothing even close to fancy. She and Mike eat out a lot.

Nooshy: 1

Has legit burned water while trying to boil it, they are not allowed with arms-reach of even a microwave. They are as bad as Darius.

Norman: 6

Decent chef, he knows how to make a few basics for the kids but he's never really been one to be talented in the kitchen. The most unique dish he can make is roasted potatoes.

Porsha: 1

She has never cooked a day in her life and has no idea what to do or where to start.

Rosita: 9

Rosita is an amazing cook and grew up helping her grandmother in the kitchen. She is constantly coming up with creative ways to get the kids to eat and try new foods. Rosita also has several family recipe books that she uses for most of her meals. She also taught Meena, Ash, and Johnny a lot of basics when it came to cooking. It functions as a love language for her as it allows her to take care of others.

Ryan: 6

Food is really difficult for him for various different reasons but he can cook. He is pretty decent at it, learning how to to help with his sisters, even though everyone always exaggerates how bad he actually is. His manman and mom taught his growing up.

Stan: 2

He once nearly got him and Barry evicted for starting a fire in a microwave. Marcus will not let him cook for his son in any way shape or form. Stan is a terrible chef and more than happy to let others cook for him.

Suki: 8

She's lived alone almost all her life and going out to eat in Redshore is crazy expensive. She taught herself to cook with the occasional help of some of her old mentors. Suki is pretty good at it and specializes in stir-frys as they are quick to make after work.

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In Order From Worst To Best:

Nooshy-Darius-Porsha

Buster-Stan-Harry

Gunter-Mrs. Crawly

Ash-Norman-Nana

Ryan-Barry

Johnny-Meena-Suki

Marcus-Rosita-Clay

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ryuto12 · 2 years ago

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Random RWBY Headcanon I Think Part Nine

First random RWBY of 2023 so let's go for it's headcanon and idea time. Still don't know what part it is tho

Jaune can cook all sorts of stuff, like mac and cheese and sandwiches and the occasional slightly burnt oven pizza. He's used to cooking big meals with his sisters, so he isn't sure how to do it alone. Mostly Valean and Mistrali food.

Ren is the only real chef around, capable of beautiful salads and tacos and noodle bowls, and makes pizza from scratch. Entirely Mistrali dishes though learned some Valean from Jaune.

Pyrrha claims to cook, and everyone believes her. She can not. She pours cereal and microwaves noodle cups. She can not cook. She would die without Ren.

Nora can actually cook, but no one believes her. Growing up at the orphanage she got used to cooking, and it is at her best when cooking alongside Ren, where they become capable of 5-star dishes. Mistrali food.

Ruby is capable of using the toaster and microwave. Actually quite the skilled baker, and loves making her own cookies with her mom's recipe. Like I mentioned in part six, Patch weed brownies.

Blake is actually a really good cook because her parents taught her everything they knew about it, but her real skill is in holding a steak over a fire rdr2 style and just letting it roast. The only member of the group who can skill animals and cook them from there. The White Fang shared dishes from all around the world, so very multicultural foods.

Yang can cook, but like Nora no one believes her. Growing up she was usually feeding herself and Ruby, so after much trial and error she became rather good and making eggs, pancakes, toast, bacon, and sandwiches alongside noodles. Due to their parents being spies who traveled the world, Yang also does multicultural foods. Traditional Patch weed brownies.

Oscar can cook. Loves plucking shit from the gardens back home, throwing it in a pot, and turning it into soup. Casserole god. Mix of Mistrali, Valean, and the occasional Vacuan foods.

Weiss didn't even know what a toaster was before going to Beacon. Refuses to bake after accidentally eating one of Yang's weed brownies. She's learning slowly how to boil noodles and use the time cook on the microwave. Learns Atlesian foods from Blake just to say she knows her home cuisine.

#rwby #rwby headcanon #jnpr #team rwby #team jnpr

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corrieguards · 1 year ago

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ok but imagine being a good cook and making new things for them to try and making snacks for them to have during late nights. oooh and making little goodie bags with their favorites and a little note in it!! or having group cooking sessions where you teach them to cook the basics so they can at least have something that's not just rations. and having to keep hardcase, jesse, and fives by you at all times because lord knows what would happen if they got left alone in the kitchen. turns out fives is actually a pretty good cook but obviously not that good because you cant have him taking your job.

send me a random anon ask 🖤

Stop this is so fucking cutee !! 😭😭 Apologies in advance for the absolute unhinged chaos under the cut ↓

First off, the goodie bags?? Omg that is so adorable. Imagine making them some to take with them when they have to go off-world.

They'd def try and ration it out so that they don't finish them too quickly and can make them last as long as possible.

And if you leave them a little note in the bag? Babe, they're going to be keeping those forever.

You know those little pouches they all have on their armour? They're folding the notes up and storing them in there.

Also will 100% proudlly show them off to their brothers.

Honestly, I think we're just gonna have to ban Hardcase from the kitchen altogether, cause I don't want to die y'all-

Or maybe we can just put him in a little corner with pot noodle or smt like that, just to play it safe.

He'd probably still manage to set fire to that too, somehow

The thing you said about Jesse reminds me of a fic in my WIPs were he tries to be all romantic and make you a morning mug of caff before you get up.

But just straight up ends up drowning your kitchen in caff some of it even somehow ends up on the ceiling?

But hey, it's the thought that counts. Jesse is pretty enough that he can get away with it <3

Imagine them just sitting on the counter and watching you cooking, in absolute amazement.

Like you could literally be making cereal or some shit and they just like :0 'wow...'

If they are watching you cook, then it is absolutely mandatory to give them a little spoonfull to try.

Like you offer them a little spoonful and do the thing where you cup a hand under their chin to catch any drops that spill, and their heart just fucking melts.

Fives is absolutely going to sneak little bits of whatever your cooking while your not watching.

If you do catch him, he will act all innocent and deny it profusely even though he's got chocolate all over his face

Omg don't even get me started on baking...

They try a cake for the first time and just about inhale it all in one go.

Rex specifically would have a huge sweet tooth.

If you accidentally burn or cut yourself, they will panic.

No matter how many times you reassure them that you're fine they're like "Should I call a medic?!?"

Unless of course the clone in question is himself a medic, in which case he'll just gently and lovingly patch you up himself.

#anon asks #this one was so goofy and fun #i loved it #ty for sending it in <33

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mistiell · 2 years ago

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Quirks Stranger Things Characters have

Contains: The Fruity Four (AKA Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and Nancy Wheeler)

Eddie Munson

- His room is constantly a mess

- Clothes on the floor, sheets and blankets askew, unfinished homework strewn all across his desk

- He tries to tidy up when you come over, but it’s still a little chaotic in classic Eddie fashion

- The man cannot cook for shit

- He lives off of cereal and microwaveable dinners.

- He tried cooking you breakfast when he stayed over once and nearly burned your house down

- safe to say you banned him from ever touching another kitchen appliance until you could show him how to not set the toaster on fire.

- He has a habit of fidgeting with his rings and biting his nails

- Whenever you catch him doing the latter, you take his hand and let him fidget with your fingers instead

- Which he loves btw-

- His handwriting is messy but in a pretty way

- His brain often moves too fast for his hands to keep up so the letters always look rushed and are slanted to the right

- He’s like an encyclopedia for the most random shit ever

- He can’t tell you who the president was 20 years ago or who invented the light bulb

-what he can tell you is that he learned that turtles can breathe through their butts after getting fucking zooted and watching animal planet for 5 hours straight

- He loves late night drives

- Bonus if you tag along with him

- He likes to say he drinks his coffee black “like his soul”, and he does most of the time

- but in reality, he actually prefers it to be sweet as fuck

- he’ll only ever get it that way if you’re ordering and no one can see what’s in the cup though

- or if you two are home alone

Steve Harrington

- He hates white chocolate

- I have absolutely nothing to back this up. It’s just a vibe

- Before all the shit with the watergate, he used to love swimming

- He still enjoys the water, but he gets a little anxious now when he can’t see the bottom

- He has a hoard of comfy sweaters

- You’ve stolen at least three

- dw, though, cause he doesn’t mind at all

- He actually really likes when you wear his clothes

- you’re the only person he lets touch his hair

- and the only other person aside from Dustin who knows what his hair routine is

- he cracks his knuckles absent mindedly

- he’s made it a habit to just bend down and retie your shoe laces if he notices they’re starting to come undone

- but unlike eddie, he would never tie them together

- Eddie teases him relentlessly for being whipped for you but he doesn’t care

- He chews on the ends of his pens and pencils

- He won’t do it if he’s borrowing it from someone else though

Robin Buckley

- she counts her fingers discreetly when she’s nervous

- It’s repetitive and it gives her something to focus on to calm down

- She cuts her own bangs

- If you have longer hair, she’s always asking to cut yours

- She hates black coffee, but she also hates when it’s overly sweet

- Her bed is filled with a bunch of pillows and blankets for top tier comfiness

- seriously. Cuddling is the best in her bed

- She has a habit of forgetting her things at your place whenever she sleeps over

- She’s left her toothbrush, hair brush, half her wardrobe

- You often joke that she’s slowly moving in with you

- She has a habit of talking during movies

- Especially horror movies

- She yells at the characters as if they could hear her

- Lots of “No, no, no! What’re you doing, you idiot!”

Nancy Wheeler

- She has a bunch of polaroids that she keeps in a little box

- Some are of your friend group, others are of the two of you

- She’s an amazing cook

- She makes you breakfast whenever you stay over at her place and it’s always amazing

- her handwriting is always neat, even when she’s rushing

- It’s kind of a mix between cursive and printing

- She writes little sticky note reminders and sticks them to her mirror

- Sort of like a to-do list

- She colour codes her notes

- And her annotations whenever she annotates a book

- Her room is normally spotless, so when it’s a little messy, that’s a tell tale sign that she’s not doing well

- She prefers sweet stuff over salty stuff

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve stranger things #nancy stranger things #nancy wheeler #nancy x reader #robin buckley #robin x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson st4 #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson stranger things #eddie st4 #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson

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sluttywonwoo · 3 years ago

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curious about breakfast with svt? who wakes you up with the smell of breakfast, who has to remind their s.o. to eat breakfast or visa versa, eating off the same plate, getting extra for you, burns the toast regularly, etc p.s. i literally adore your blog!

this is everything to me even as an anti-breakfast bitch (anti-breakfast meaning i just don’t like bfast foods not that i’m against the concept of it in general)

seungcheol: has your coffee order memorized and schedules a delivery to your door every morning- even when you’re traveling

jeonghan: insists on having breakfast with you each morning, even if it’s just a granola bar and some juice. he likes to start his days with you.

joshua: he’s an early bird. he wakes up before you and makes breakfast for the both of you- really going the extra mile to make everything delicious and nutritious to start the day off right :))

jun: texts you every day to remind you to eat breakfast, even though he often forgets to himself

soonyoung: isn’t the type to regularly eat breakfast, but every once in a blue moon he’d wake up super early and bring you breakfast in bed on a little tray and everything

wonwoo: he can make coffee 😃 and he does really well with the instant stuff like rice, grits, oatmeal… that’s usually what he has for you when you stay over at his place, but he still gets up a little earlier than you to microwave it and have it ready for you

jihoon: needs Lots of protein first thing in the morning bc of his workout routine so he usually makes himself a shake every day, but he makes you one too that’s got less powder in it because you like the choco milk taste lol

seokmin: always keeps your favorite cereal stocked- even if he prefers a completely different brand <3

mingyu: this man is so extra. he’s constantly making pancakes and waffles from scratch. trying new french toast recipes every weekend. going to the farmers market as soon as it opens to get fresh fruit for your smoothies that he makes you…

minghao: feel like saying tea is very on the nose for him because he loves tea, but it’s true ok. he brews you a warm cup of tea every morning and sometimes even puts it in a lil to-go cup if you’re running later than usual

seungkwan: loooves fresh fruit in the mornings!!! honestly also loves fresh bread and organic jams etc. etc… firmly believes breakfast is sacred and that you should start your day off with non-processed nutrients

vernon: he’s definitely the one to burn everything and almost set the house on fire, but he tries!! and that’s super sweet. he usually ends up putting some toaster stroodles in the toaster and calling it a day, but that’s why you love him

chan: good old fashioned “so, how do you like your eggs in the morning 😏” and then actually follows through with it. so you better be careful what you say because he will remember and he will cook them for you

#ik seungkwan usually has iced americanos for breakfast but let a girl dream ok #answered #anon #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen reaction #seventeen reactions #svt reactions #food cw

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ladykissingfish · 3 years ago

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The Akatsuki’s Favorite Halloween Candies

Kakuzu: Red Strawberry Candy

Ah, these. The little red candies in a strawberry print wrapper. Nobody knows exactly where they come from (other than the bottom of your grandmother’s purse) but every Halloween, you’re bound to get a few of these in your trick or treat bag. It’s perhaps very fitting that gruff, no-nonsense Kakuzu would prefer a candy thats small, cheap, and completely predictable. There’s no exotic flavors, no wild patterns … it’s simply a synthetic strawberry. Even when it’s not Halloween time, the nonagenarian will have a tiny handful of these nestled in his pocket, to keep in his mouth when he gets the (rare, for him) craving for something sweet.

Tobi: Pixie Stix

It’s difficult to pinpoint down the masked man’s favorite Candy, as, at some point or other, EVERY candy becomes his “favorite”. However, Pixie Stix make it into at least the top three for him. He’s a man who enjoys sugar and the quick bursts of energy they give him; so why not be obsessed with a candy thats, literally, a colorful stick of sugar? Tobi can down a dozen or more of these teeth-killing weapons in one go with relative ease; however, after the sugar rush wears off, he’s always left with a horrible headache and a grumbling in his stomach to match. Not that these after-effects do anything to dissuade him from partaking in this addictive ritual, but still.

Itachi: Suckers

For some reason, Itachi seems to be enamored with anything that he can eat on a stick. Because of this, when reaching for a sweet treat, he’s most likely to go with suckers/lollipops. He likes all colors/flavors, but his favorite is grape. And he’s not a huge fan of anything being inside of the sucker, for example gum or a tootsie roll, because he feels like it “ruins the simplistic integrity of the candy”. He finds having a sucker in his mouth to be a great stress reliever, and therefore will almost always have one or two sticking out of his back pocket, in case of “emergencies”.

Sasori: Gum

The puppet, of course, doesn’t eat. Even when he was still human, he had never held much of a fondness for sweet things. But one thing that he liked quite a bit was chewing gum. No fruity flavors, however; just the standard mint and peppermint. And, surprisingly, he used to be a Master at blowing bubbles. His technique was envied by all the other kids; he used to blow bigger, thicker bubbles than anyone else around. In fact, this is one of the main reasons he always chose to keep his hair short, even after the transformation: he got tired of having to cut exploded bubbles out of his locks.

Konan: Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup

Konan loves chocolate. If asked what her favorite chocolate candy is, she’ll likely have a different answer every time, based on her mood for that day. However, one of her most frequent answers is a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Peanut butter and chocolate, a match made in Heaven for the pretty blue-haired lady. Konan tries to stick to a careful diet most of the time, as her figure is very important to her. However, when it comes to peanut butter cups, all rules and inhibitions are out the window. She especially likes the mini cups, more so when the wrappers are colorful rather than the standard gold. She’s been known to eat an entire bag of the little treasures in one go, which the others think is incredibly cute. She’ll often wake up with bags of these placed outside her door by anonymous sources, which will keep her smiling all day.

Kisame: Gummy Bears

Kisame, being half shark, is always proud of being one of the fiercest predators of the animal (and human) world(s). Nobody has ever heard of a fight between a bear and a shark; but Kisame heartily feels that if such an event were to take place, HE’D be the one victorious. He likes to imagine tearing into a real bear as he tears into the little gummy bears with his razor-sharp teeth, and he always decapitates them before gnawing on the rest. When asked what color/flavor he prefers, he’ll comment that all of them taste pretty much the same. However, anybody observing him will see that he tends to go for the blue or green ones most frequently. He also has an incredibly strange habit, where he likes to dump a handful of gummy bears into a bowl of cereal and milk, and eat them like that, even though the others think he’s pretty crazy for doing so.

Zetsu: Twizzlers Pull n Peels

Zetsu is a very visual person. Oftentimes it’s not what he’s actually eating, but what it reminds him of. The thin, twisty ropes of red remind him of … veins. Different flavors of pull n peels exist but Zetsu prefers the standard cherry. A pipe dream of his is that one day he to create a flavor of this that closely mimics human blood, but the only Akatsuki member willing to help him with this is Sasori.

Nagato: Dots

Pein of course doesn’t eat. Nagato’s situation growing up was a bleak one, with him barely getting normal food to eat, let alone candy. One of the first candies he’d ever tried was a handful of Dots given to him by a friend, and that burst of sweetness was something that was cemented in his mind ever since. He often sends Konan out to buy him these, in fact replacing proper meals with the candy at least once a week. Of course, these particular candies are very dense and incredibly gummy, and Nagato’s teeth aren’t the best as is; so after eating he takes meticulous care in brushing/flossing his mouth. He also had a very organized way of eating this treat, rather than shove things into his mouth at random: he’ll divide a box into each separate color, then eat each color based on size (smallest to biggest).

Deidara: Payday Bars

Deidara isn’t much one for sweet things, as his palate leans more towards savory cuisine. However, there isn’t much in the candy world that echoes a savory taste, so, if in the mood for candy at all, he’ll go with something that has more of a nutty taste. Payday Bars are about as nutty as a candy can get, and the combination of that with the subtle flavor of caramel makes for a good treat for the blonde artist. The only downside is that this bar can be tough on the teeth, and a lot of brushing and flossing has to be done afterwards to get the little bits of peanuts entirely out of the gums.

Hidan: Hot Tamales

Hidan likes it spicy, which is why, if he eats candy at all, he’ll go for the hot-cinnamon-gumminess of Hot Tamales. His favorite (although somewhat stupid) thing to do is shotgun the entire box at once, lighting his whole mouth on fire simultaneously. He’ll also take delight in teasing Tobi by offering him the candy and NOT telling him that’s it’s spicy. He’s been yelled at by Pein multiple times when Tobi’s come to him crying about his mouth “hurting” after Hidan’s trick; not that the reprimand stops the Jashinist at all.

#the akatsuki #candy #halloween #nagato #konan #hidan #kakuzu #deidara #sasori #itachi uchiha #kisame #tobi #zetsu #naruto

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dvstybuns · 2 years ago

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SKYLER GISONDO, CIS MALE, HE/HIM | who’s that? oh it’s DUSTIN HENDERSON. i hear they’re EIGHTEEN and are known as THE BARD around HAWKINS. they’re also a FRESHMAN at HAWKINS COMMUNITY COLLEGE. they’re known to be INTELLECTUAL AND HUMOROUS and OPINIONATED AND INSECURE. some people say they remind them of a pencil trapped between teeth, staying up all night to prove a theory correct, a bullseye that never misses the mark, abandoned cups of coffee in the strangest places, always having to prove yourself to be taken seriously.

the basics

full name: dustin robert henderson

nickname(s): dusty-buns, dusty, henderson, the bard, nerd

age: eighteen

date of birth: may 29

hometown: lake city, minnesota

current location: hawkins, indiana

gender: cis male

pronouns: he / him

orientation: bisexual (but still figuring it out and definitely hasn’t discussed it with anyone)

occupation: worker at the palace arcade & hawkins community college freshman

the facts

dustin henderson is from lake city, minnesota, not hawkins. he moved there when he was in fourth grade, after his dad passed away. his mother, now a semi-wealthy widow, wanted to go back to the town her husband was from to raise her son in hopes of maybe letting dustin feel closer to him, somehow. dustin used to like hawkins well enough, but obviously there are some pretty rough memories associated with it now. he’ll always be grateful for the friends he’s made there, though. because at his core, even if he typically shows it with teasing and name calling, he loves his friends more than anything else.

at the risk of being a cliche, dustin’s sort of always looked for a male role model everywhere he went. he’s not entirely sure why - it isn’t like his mom doesn’t love him. she definitely does. he’s just always felt different and craved acceptance for who he is on some level. he doesn’t want or feel the need to be the most stereotypically masculine guy around, but he does want someone to be proud of him for who he is. he’s also an only child, so having some pseudo siblings has always been appreciated.

he planned to go away for college - not because he wants to abandon anyone, but because…well, he’d always wanted to go to MIT. that’s been the dream since he realized how fucking cool science is. But, it turns out, MIT is very, very expensive and claudia henderson isn’t exactly rolling in cash these days. so, he’s working at the palace to make some extra money while going to the community college. he plans to transfer before his junior year, although he doubts MIT is on the table even then. probably somewhere like purdue or notre dame, if he could get some scholarship money together.

dustin has a large ego, that’s true. he’s very aware that he’s often the smartest person in the room (not always, but most of the time), and that comes with the need to prove it sometimes, especially if other people don’t take him seriously. dustin’s used to being seen as just the goofy, weird guy, so he loves being able to solve a mystery and show everyone not to think of him as a joke. he also doesn’t really give a fuck about being polite, which can be both annoying and endearing, depending on the situation.

the headcanons

dustin excels at most sciences, but physics and chemistry will always be his favorites. when classes are in session, you can usually find him in one of the school’s labs, pestering a professor about some project or something he’s working on currently.

he is a god awful, terrible cook. like, once set fire trying to make a microwave meal. probably could set a fire while making cereal if given the chance.

i feel like he applied for a job at family video, but keith refused to hire him and/or maybe he was fired from there after a week because he repeatedly criticized people’s movie choices.

he’s actually a really good singer, but after the never ending story debacle, dustin rarely sings around people. mostly he does it absentmindedly while working on a project or his homework.

dustin is not athletic whatsoever. despite being in life or death situations like 4 times during his youth, dustin still refuses to run regularly or work out. video games and occasionally riding his bike when his old car is messed up is enough exercise in his opinion.

he still does dnd, and i feel like maybe he eventually began dming? he didn’t take over that or anything, but like, if their usual dm wanted a break or they were busy, dustin gave it a shot.

i think he’s probably still living with claudia to save money, but he gets out of the house a lot. he loves his mom, but he can only handle so much codling before he has to get out of there.

dustin’s sexuality is the only mystery he is not in a rush to solve, honestly. like, he knows he likes girls. he has occasionally thought a guy was attractive, but genuinely did not realize that that wasn’t like Straight™ until somewhat recently. i think he’s really only dated suzie or maybe one other girl in high school, but maybe a random kiss with a boy might make him go “wait what???” and open that curiosity door a bit wider.

speaking of suzie! they’re still going strong !!!!!

he’s still soooooooo unapologetically nerdy. like, he will absolutely stay up until 2 am discussing plot holes in star wars with you. he doesn’t really give a shit whether people think he’s a nerd or not, because he is. and if that’s lame, who cares? he probably thinks they’re lame, honestly.

#bth:intro #( intro. )#uhhh this may be updated or changed at some point !#but take it for the time being <3

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years ago

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Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar Of 24 Normal Human Task As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.

Day 8: It Is The Most Important Meal Of The Day

Warnings: Bad Language Words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale X Reader

A/N: HELLO! Welcome back for another day of Ransom Drysdale mishaps! Is he hopeless? Well between myself, @what-is-your-plan-today and @jennmurawski13 he seems to be, but I think some day he will get the hang of it. Maybe. Happy Reading!

Series Masterlist

“Why don't we just go out to the Beehive for breakfast?” Ransom questioned with a hand on his hips while you searched the refrigerator to pull out eggs, veggies and ham. You close the door with your hip and walk around your husband with a tired sigh, setting it all out on the counter.

“Because I can just cook for us Ransom. We’ve been out every day this week, and to the Beehive Diner twice for breakfast, I just want to stay home.” You open the cupboards and search for a bowl to whisk your eggs in, and glance at Ransom who seems stuck between agreeing and making an argument that it would be easier to just go. “Besides, I'm making it, you don't have to cook Ransom. If you want to go so bad, go. But I’m staying home.”

His mouth snapped shut and a dark eyebrow arched at you while listening. You sounded tired and even though he thought it was easier to let someone else cook and bring the food to you, you seemed set on just staying home. In your oversized tee shirt that was starting to stretch a bit more over your belly and leggings. “Well I can cook if you want me to.” Ransom finally spoke up, in which You pause, and turn to face him, your hand resting on your belly. “I mean, you do it most of the time, and you are not feeling like going out. Let me.” He stepped forward, catching you by surprise, and wrapped his arms around your waist. “It's about time I learn right? When we have this kid running around, we will be staying home more.”

His logic was sound, and you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and looked up at him, really touched at the effort he was making with all of this. Your fingers tangled at the trimmed hair along the back of his head, and nodded. “Are you sure you know what to do with all this Ransom?”

He rolled his eyes at you with an exaggerated huff escaping, even though you looked doubtful. “Y/N how many times do I have to tell you I’m not a complete invalid. I had a nanny who I watched cook omelets all the time. Whisk some eggs, add that extra crap, fold it over. Done.”

They were eggs, if he can't cook eggs then Ransom really would be hopeless you thought to yourself. “Okay, I am going to go take a shower then since you are offering.” You tilted to your tip toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. “If you need anything, get me. I swear Ransom, let's not do another roast pork in the crockpot incident.”

“Are you ever going to let that go Princess?” he huffed against your lips, and you fell back to the flat of your feet.

“Maybe next year, you did almost poison your parents after all Ransom.” Your hand slid against his chest as you pulled away with a grin.

Ransom smirked hearing you, wiggling eyebrows as you headed for the stairs. “Maybe that was actually what I was trying to do Princess.” You shook your head at him and went up slowly. Once you left, Ransom almost considered just calling for a delivery from the diner down the road. They made those omelets you so loved, which is what you seemed to be making by looking at the mix of ingredients on the counter. But you really seemed set against eating out, and that would include takeout.

“Fuck its just eggs, damn it. Your better then letting a couple fucking eggs beat you.” He approached the bowl and started to crack eggs into the bowl. Unsure of how many to do, because he had never actually cooked an omelet before, he just did the whole carton. Grabbing a small knife he had seen you use before, he started to dice the veggies, shred some of the ham and set it all aside. “Well it isn’t no Gordon Ramsey, but not’ bad.” He said out loud to himself while inspecting his handy work of wildly sized vegetables.

Now was time for the real challenge. The actual cooking of these eggs.

It took him a few minutes to get a pan that looked like it was made to cook on the stove, which he cranked on the heat and set the skillet down. While it was heating, he waited thinking that the skillet had to be sizzling before putting the eggs in. Once he saw a small curl of smoke roll out of the pan, he took the massive bowl of eggs he had diligently cracked, and tipped them into the pan.

The sizzle was immediate, egg whites started popping out of the pan from where he didn’t whisk them together enough, the smoke billowed up to fill the room and soon the eggs were boiling over the too small skillet to dry on the electric stove top, and catch on fire.

This all happened in moments. Faster than Ransom was expecting, he watched with a colorful string of curses escaping him as the orange flames crackled amid the black smoke.

“Oh you motherfucker!” He turned off the stove and searched for anything to grab the pan with. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, son of a bitch.” Ransom is ripping open drawers, and pawing through the cupboard at the bottom of the sink till he finds a hand towel, which he wraps around his hand. Grabbing the handle of the skillet, he shoots for the sink and dumps it all in, turning on the water. Somewhere a fire alarm is blaring and he can hear your footsteps thumping above him to go down the stairs, which he darts out of the kitchen, coughing while using the hand towel to shoo away the burnt smoke clinging to him. “Stop right there Y/N!”

You pause mid step, clutching a towel around yourself, soap still streaked along your shoulders and neck. “Ransom are you okay? Do I need to call the fire department?”

Coughing he waved his hand to have you go back upstairs. “No, it's fine, I got it. You go back to your shower.”

“I think I should really help you…” You started down the stairs, but Ransom went up a few steps to block you and turn you around.

“No, go back upstairs. Your dripping soap all over the rug.”

You try to peek over the railing into the kitchen, but he turns you around and has you start back up the stairs. “Ransom the kitchen is filled with smoke.” You try to stall but he gives you another nudge.

“It's nothing, I got this. Go finish.”

After you finally relented, sputtering all the way back up “I shouldn’t have let him in my kitchen, fuck I hope we can get someone in here to fix it. Maybe Linda knows someone”

Ransom scoffed with a “I heard that, we wouldn't use my mother… BUT THE KITCHEN IS FINE” He raised his voice while you slammed the bathroom door shut. Ransom waited a few seconds to be sure you wouldn’t try coming back down just yet. Then went back down into the kitchen, prying open some windows and went to look at the mess in the sink.

“Fucking hell, I should have just ordered in. Why the fuck didn’t I just order it in?” He heard the shower start back up, and went to the pantry instead, avoiding the stove now. Pushing stuff around while in the pantry, muttering to himself, determined not to make that phone call.

You came back down about fifteen minutes later, cautious as you stepped into the kitchen. The smell of burnt eggs clung to the air, and you started to breath subtly through your mouth, so your stomach did not turn. Ransom sat at the table and you moved over to him, slipping into his lap to see what he had set the table with. Spread out was some of your cups of yogurt, a cut up banana and bundle of grapes, along with your granola cereal.

Ransom's arm circled around your waist, and you reached for a grape, turning enough to offer it to him. “It looks really good Handsome.” You pressed the grape to his lips, and he let it slide in, chewing slowly.

“I can still order in. Twenty minutes for a hot breakfast.” He started and you shook your head, leaning forward to grab one of the yogurt cups to peel off the top as well as the granola to sprinkle in.

“Ransom, this is exactly what your spawn wants right now. Fresh fruit and yogurt. The thought of eggs is a no right now. Might be for a while…”

Ransoms head tilted back while he groaned, knowing it was because he had burned the fucking eggs. Seeing him, you laughed while mixing it up and offered him a bite.

“I am not hungry anymore.” He glared at the spoon of yogurt and you shrugged, taking it for yourself. “I think that stove is broken.”

“I think you just need some actual lessons. Which we're going to do tonight.”

That earned you another groan from Ransom while he pressed his lips to your shoulder. “Fuck it, you should have just let me order in.” he groaned against your skin while you took another bite of yogurt and granola.

#real life tasks with ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x you #knives out #knives out au #amber writes #swetaer writes

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