#chicken noodle soup challenge

[kevinkevinson]

bonus day 61 Chicken Noodle Soup

From 광주 한 거시기의 gang, ayy 금남 충장 street 거긴 내 할렘

[motorsportbarbie13]

A Package Deal - Epilogue 2

In which Lando learns just how mean kids can be

Warnings: pregnancy talk, bullying(kinda?), time hop to two years later. Pairing: lando x singlemom!reader Word Count: 2.3k

Master List - A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - A Package Deal - Part 3 - A Package Deal - Part 4 - A Package Deal - Part 5 - A Package Deal - Part 6 - A Package Deal - Epilogue 1

2 years later 

The front door slams so hard the windows in the living room shake. You’re yanked out of the deep sleep you had slipped into after Lando had left to go pick Stella up from school. 

“Lan?” You call from your place on the couch, not bothering to get up. It would take too much energy for you to even attempt to sit up with how big your bump was now. Instead you just swing your feet to the ground so you can sort of sit up to see the front door. “Everything okay?” 

From the entryway, you hear a grunt in response but nothing else until there’s the unmistakable sound of feet pounding their way upstairs. “It sounds like someone had a good day at school.” You mutter, waiting for Lando to join you in the living room. 

Moments later, your husband shuffles in, frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, that was fun.” 

He flops down on the couch next to you, hand immediately finding your bump. 

“What in the world was that?” 

Lando shrugs, hand tracing lazy circles as the baby boy in your belly does a few soccer kicks in response to the sudden movement and sound outside. He had given you a break the last few hours, seemingly taking a nap with you but if there was one thing this little boy shared in common with his daddy, it was the fact that he very rarely settled down. You were used to the somersaults in the middle of the night and the feet stuck in the middle of a rib while you’d be attempting to have a conversation at work. Even the tap dancing on your bladder was routine now. 

When you had found out you were pregnant just a few months after your wedding you had been a nervous wreck. Your first pregnancy had been difficult, both mentally and physically. Getting pregnant accidentally while still a teenager had been humiliating, the people in your small town mucked up gossip about you for months. Stella’s dad had tried his best to be supportive but he was just a teenager himself and hadn’t done a very good job at being there for you. Most of your pregnancy had been spent alone, isolated, and grieving the loss of your freedom while you watched everyone else continue on with their lives. Not that you would have changed anything for the world looking back. The challenges you had gone through had brought you Stella and in some way, it had also brought you Lando. 

But being pregnant again? The old trauma and memories had resurfaced and it had taken you longer than you cared to admit to come to terms with the fact that you were having a second baby. 

Lando, on the other hand, had been ecstatic from the moment you showed him the pregnancy test the morning you had realized your period was weeks late. He had been waiting (not so) patiently to finally get you pregnant for what felt like a lifetime. Lando knew you were anxious though, he saw it in the way you shied away from talking about the future the first few months and found himself bound and determined to make this pregnancy a good one for you. You had told him about the gossip that had followed you the first time, the challenges of being pregnant and not having the easiest go of it physically so he had made a decision the morning you had showed him that pregnancy test: make this pregnancy and all of your future ones as easy and stress free as possible. 

And so far he had made good on that promise. Anything that you wanted or craved was yours. Ice cream and pickles at 3 in the morning after he’d just gotten home from a race in Brazil? Done. Chicken noodle soup followed by a giant bowl of cereal for lunch in your office? He was on it. Putting Stella to bed while you watched a movie in bed and inevitably fell asleep before he was even done reading to her? That was a common occurrence in your house these days. 

Lando wanted to do anything and everything he could to make this pregnancy miles back from your first one. Which was why you were still on the couch and Lando had made the trek to school this afternoon to pick Stella up. It was an off week from racing late in the spring so you had taken the day off from work to spend the day cuddled up in bed with Lando while Stella had been in school. You were about six weeks away from giving birth, having somehow timed it nearly perfectly with summer break. If baby boy listened to the doctors, he should make his appearance right around the time F1 took it’s annual summer break. 

“She seemed pretty upset.” You observe, listening to the stomping that Stella was doing above your head in her room. 

“Something happened at school but she refuses to tell me what.” Lando grumbles, hand slipping underneath your shirt so he can rub at the smooth skin of your belly. If there’s one thing he’s become completely and utterly obsessed with over the last few months it’s the way you look while pregnant with his baby. It’s a feeling that’s so primal, seeing you all big and round because of him. You’ve always been drop dead gorgeous to him, but pregnant? Pregnant, you were a masterpiece. 

Ever since you had told Stella you were pregnant, she had been having mixed feelings. Finding out she was going to be a big sister to a little brother had gone not gone over very well as she had wanted a little sister to dress up and play with. But lately, she had been warming up to the idea of having a baby brother more and more so you hoped this little temper tantrum wasn’t baby related. 

Reaching behind you, you pitch your weight forward, desperately trying to navigate around what felt like the biggest pregnant belly you’d ever seen, you struggle to get off the couch.

 “I’m going to need a forklift by the time I hit my due date if I ever want to sit down comfortably again.” You grumble before Lando reaches out and pulls you back. “Lan!” You whine, smacking him on the chest. “I was nearly up, you jerk!” 

“Stay where you are, mama. I’ll go take care of it.” He orders before leaning over and kissing you on the temple. 

“Are you sure?” 

Lando stands and your momentarily jealous of how easy that was for him. He looks down at you, warm smile playing on his face. “Of course. Stella’s my daughter too.” 

You grin, thinking back to the court date last month where Lando had officially adopted Stella, both of you now sharing the ‘Norris’ last name with your husband. 

“Okay. But I’m going to get dinner started in a few minutes anyway.” 

“We can order, you need to rest.” 

You roll your eyes but don’t say anything, knowing arguing with him is totally useless. 

Lando leans down to press another kiss to the crown of your head before heading towards Stella’s room on the second floor. When he had picked Stella up at school earlier, the little girl had been a storm cloud of anger and irritation, refusing to talk to Lando about any part of her day. This was incredibly unusual because normally when he picked Stella up from school, she didn’t stop chattering the entire drive home. 

Stella’s door is shut tightly but all it takes is a soft knock from Lando to have her calling out a soft ‘come in!’ Lando is surprised when he walks into the room, still tidy from the round of nesting you’d done earlier in the week. On one side of the room, Stella’s bed was tucked up against the corner of the wall, purple and cream quilt that Lando’s mom made for her last Christmas spread neatly across the expanse. A small creamy white desk and dresser are on the opposite side, Stella’s laptop and iPad sitting discarded on the desk. The only thing Lando can hear when he walks in is the soft sniffles of Stella’s crying. 

“Stelly Belly.” Lando coos, crossing the room in a few strides once he realizes she’s still truly upset. “What’s wrong, baby girl?” 

“I’m not your baby girl!!!” Stella sobs into her pillow. 

Lando’s chest tightens at her words, her wailing continuing while he sits himself on the edge of her bed. Stella doesn’t  respond when he lays his hand on the small of her back, rubbing small circles like the way he’s seen you do before when she’s upset. “Shh…baby girl. What happened that’s got you so spun up? You can talk to me, you know that.” He murmurs. 

Stella lifts her head, craning it around to look at Lando. “I’m not your baby girl.” She spits again, anger and betrayal sitting heavy on her small features. 

“Well, that adoption certificate says otherwise, missy.” Lando shoots back, pointing over to Stella’s dresser where the framed piece of paper sits beside a photo of you, Stella, and Lando from a few weeks ago. After the wedding, Lando had broached the subject of formally adopting Stella, and idea that had been fully embraced and celebrated by everyone in your lives. It had taken months to do all of the paperwork and get everything in order but that day had been just as emotional as the day you had become Lando’s wife. 

“Well, Georgia from my class says you’re not my real dad and that when the baby comes you’re going to forget all about me and only love the baby, mister.” Stella flips over before sitting up, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at Lando like she’s daring him to argue with him. 

Everything clicks into place for Lando then, understanding flitting across his consciousness like a quick snap of a whip. “Stella, you know that’s not true.” He reasons. 

“Do I?” She practically wails, tears spilling over once more. “You’re not my real dad but you’ll be the baby’s real dad and only his real dad and you’ll forget all about me just like Georgia says and I’ll have to go live in the ATTIC!” 

Lando reaches out for his daughter, because that’s exactly what she is: his daughter, and pulls him close to his side. He waits patiently, something he’s had to work on in the months since marrying you. Living full time with two women, one of whom is pregnant and the other nearly a tween and also very emotional, has been a minefield that no one warned Lando about. 

“Okay, first of all, we don’t even have an attic in this house so there goes that theory.” Lando murmurs into Stella’s hair, barely suppressing the urge to laugh at how silly her worry was. If there was one thing Stella could be counted on for it was the dramatics. “And second of all, you are my baby and you will always be my baby, just like you’ll always be your momma’s baby. And you know what else?” 

Lando pauses, waiting for Stella to turn her blue eyes that match your own up at him. They’re still a bit watery but the tears have stopped for the most part when she finally chokes out a strangled “What?” In response. 

“You are my first baby, the baby that made me a dad and you chose me to be your daddy, you know that. Nothing can ever change that or take away from that fact, not a baby brother or baby sister or a stupid little girl named Georgia who needs to mind her own business.” Lando pauses, his sharp gaze softening into something that has Stella leaning against him, head burying itself into the warmth of his side. “You are my baby girl and you always will be.” He whispers as he pulls your daughter into his lap, allowing her to bury her head in his neck like she did that very first day all those years ago when she was sick and Lando picked her up from school. 

“I promise you, you will never have to move to the attic, okay sweet girl?” Lando says, the bite of laughter sitting just at the edge of his voice, toned down just enough so that Stella doesn’t pick up on it. 

“Okay.” Stella sniffles before raising her head. “I won’t have to go the basement either though, right?” 

Lando chuckles as he stands up, reaching to take Stella’s hand in his own. “No my love. You will always have your room right here, okay? No one will ever make you live in the basement or the nonexistent attic ever, I promise. Now, your momma was on the couch talking about making dinner but I bet if we hurry we can convince her to let us take her out to dinner so we don’t have to do the dishes, sound good?” 

“Only if we can go to Pizza Palace!” She declares, leaping off the bed and running for the door. 

Lando slowly follows behind, heart full of love for the little girl that came crashing into his life and heart and never left. “Anything for you, Stella Belly.” 

yourusername posted:

34,504 yourusername norris, party of four coming soon (tagged: lando) BFFSarah SQUEEEEEEE these turned out so good yourdad another grand baby to spoil rotten! lando <3 love you baby >>>yourusername <3 <3 <3 user019 the best day of my life was when @/yourusername made her insta public >>>user002 seriously!!! user001 you're GLOWINGGGGGG mama!!! mclaren another baby norris on the way! lets gooooooo!!!

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[elixirfromthestars]

On Days Like This

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: The comforts of sick days with your boyfriend Matt.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning(s): fluff / descriptions of mild sickness / sick + comfort

requested by anonymous

a/n: hello! i'm jumping between wips and i was able to finish this bingo request 💖 originally it was just going to be the first part, but then I got carried away 🤭✨ as always feedback is appreciated! and my writing challenge is still on going 💗

birthday bingo masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

When He's Sick

“ Matt, don’t even think about it,” you warn as he reaches for the armrest of the couch. You know what he’s about to do and you refuse to let him do it. You’re not letting him move a muscle while he’s sick. 

“ I got it,” you add, rushing to the front door and answering the knock that rang throughout his apartment seconds earlier. Matt grumbles something under his breath as he sinks back onto the couch—a resigned sigh leaving his lips. 

Your boyfriend gets a little grumpy when he’s sick. He relies on his senses to see and it’s hard to do that when he can’t breathe out of his nose and has a constant ringing in his ears. The delirium of his ongoing fever further muddied his brain. The clouding of his senses was overwhelming to say the least and you were trying your best to help remedy that. 

You open the door and grab the items you instacarted to make him some homemade chicken noodle soup. You make your way back to the kitchen where you take the items out and start preparing the meal.

You peak out into the living room. Your boyfriend resembles a child all snuggled up into the blue cotton blanket you draped over him earlier. The slight hum of the television in the background casting a light glow onto him. 

He won’t admit it now, but he secretly loves being taken care of. Its not a feeling he’s used to, but when it comes to you he welcomes it. 

When you’re done preparing the ingredients, you pour them all into a pot to simmer. You wash your hands thoroughly and then make your way over to your boyfriend. Its time to take his temperature again.

“ Hey, how are you feeling?” You ask, your tone filled with a gentle worry. You lower to your knees to be eye level with him.

“ Like my head’s going to explode,” he groans quietly. You give him a weary smile, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. You’ve done this so many times you can’t tell if his fevers gone down or not. 

“ Open up,” you request as you inch the tip of the thermometer to his lips. He does as told and you take his temperature. 

“ One hundred and two. Looks like that medicine is starting to kick in. You were at one o’three earlier,” you say, slightly optimistic. This does nothing to cheer your boyfriend up as he’s still in his sickly haze.

You kiss your fingers and then press it onto his lips,“ Soup will be ready soon. I promise it’ll make you feel better,” your voice brings him a comfort he direly needs. Coupled that with the indirect kiss and the way you’re brushing away the strands of sweaty hair from his face—he’s in heaven. 

“ Thanks, baby,” he manages to croak out. You brush another strand from his face and he leans into your touch. “ No need to thank me. I’m here for you,” you reply with a soft sincerity. 

Damn the medicine and the soup. All he needs is you. 

After about another forty minutes the soup is done and served in a bowl. You let it cool down a bit before heading over to the couch, setting the bowl down on the coffee table. Matt can faintly pick up the savory aroma in the air and he gently sits up. He intends to reach out to grab the bowl until you swat his hands away lightly. 

“ No. I got it. You focus on getting better. I’ll do the rest,” there’s a slight pout on his lips as you say this. You’re tempted to kiss it away, but you stop yourself. The last thing either of you needed was for you to get sick too.

You blow on the soup a bit before serving him the first spoonful. The warmth spreads throughout his body blanketing him better than anything else did. 

You were right. The soup did make him feel better.

When You're Sick

A content sigh escapes you as Matt massages the lavender scented shampoo into your scalp. His fingers are delicate, but working with purpose as he lathers every strand. Your body was already melting into the bath, but with the way his hands were working—you’d soon melt into him. 

There wasn’t a strand of hair left untouched by him. He gave every bit of it his full attention. Wanting to make sure he was doing things right. He had never done this for anyone before. 

The bath was Matt’s idea and his doing. When you came down with the flu and complained about your achy muscles and congested sinuses—he knew just what to do. 

Well, more like the internet told him what to do and what products to buy.

His every touch was gentle and soothing. The scent of lavender was calming to your senses so he left it in your hair to settle for just a bit while he worked on lathering a rosemary scented body wash into your skin. His fingers work in slow circular motions, applying just the right amount of pressure to pacify the ache. 

“ How’s that?” he asks, fingers gliding over your back as his circular motions continue.

Now you were completely melting into his touch, “ Perfect. That seriously helps so much,” you reply a little breathless, your eyes closing to focus on the feeling. 

Matt grinned, pleased that he was able to help you. He loves taking care of you as much as you take care of him. Being the one you can lean on, on days like this, means everything to him.

When You're Both Sick

“ Come here,” Matt’s quiet voice rings out in his dark bedroom. The slightest sliver of moonlight coming from his window. His arms are outstretched in your direction as you make your way into the covers. 

You sniffle briefly as you snuggle into his side, his arms enveloping you immediately. You clear your throat to hold back a nasty cough that is trying to fight its way out of you. 

Your bodies tangle under the blanket, trying to calm the chills that run through both of you. Matt’s head rests delicately on your head as your face nestles into the crook of his neck. 

The cold medicine starts to take effect as your eyelids get heavier. Matt’s breathing has relaxed signaling to you he’s on the verge of falling asleep too. 

“ Goodnight,” you whisper, tilting your head to plant a soft kiss to his jaw. 

“ Goodnight,” he whispers back, planting a loving kiss to the top of your head, pulling you impossibly closer to him. 

You fall asleep just like that.

[opiopal]

mc actually helping solomon improve his cooking .... Tooth rotting fluff

dude the first thing I thought of was matching aprons,

like maybe they don’t even say anything cute on them, or maybe they do, but it’s absolutely a baking pun,

but I also immediately thought of mc having to let him down gently like…. Pookie your cooking has almost killed all of us at some point… but that’s ok because i know how to Cooke more then just mac’n cheese! I can imagine mc starting him off with very basic stuff, like things you’d make in a highschool culinary class. They’d start him off with a simple stir fry, just with noodles, chicken, and some veggies- and after multiple attempts he gets something that doesn’t resemble the souls of the damned! Which they are both equally excited about!! Mc boasts about him to the others and shows off pictures that they took of his edible creation, the others may not be as impressed but they do give a simple compliment or two(strictly just bc mc is the one so happy abt it- also half the time it’s praise given to mc for being so willing to take on such a challenge)

as time goes on they could even start having little cooking dates, which is just them both working in the kitchen together, which normally consists of Solomon asking what would be a good ingredient to add into the stew/fish/chicken/potatoes, and mc typically steering him away from things that would make the food inedible- but over time they end up with better and better meals for dinner! I could also see mc going up to the human realm with Solomon once he gains enough experience to participate in a potluck! And he’s just so excited for weeks before the trip, what should he make? He heard that chili is popular- but if it’s popular then other people would be doing it too! Maybe something sweet? He couldn’t do a cake or cupcakes since making enough to feed everyone, since it would be too much of a hassle to carry with them. Maybe he could make some sort of stew or soup- or he could try making ravioli noodles from hand! Oh but that would also take a very long time, though of course mc would help him. eventually mc helps him to make up his mind, and it’s such a blast. Even though the food they end up bringing is a bit simple, it’s very much so enjoyed by the other people there! And honestly the smile on his face is just so precious,

also mc totally has a chart hung up on the wall for him, which is basically little cooking tips, like, you made something a little too sweet? Add a small amount of vinegar or lemon juice slowly to combat it. Do not mix too much baking powder with a cake batter unless you also want to be feeding the oven. Is the stew a little bit thin? Let it simmer a bit longer- is your sauce a bit thin as well? Try a bit of flower or heavy whipping cream, in small amounts. Ect. ect. and mc absolutely makes him call them whenever he has questions, it doesn’t matter the time of day, mc would rather step out of a student council meeting for 5 minutes then come home to the kitchen being completely destroyed…

[chrystal-ink]

Shadvent calendar Day 5

Shadow x GN Reader

Soup kitchen

One of the many things Shadow did in his free time was volunteer once a week at the local soup kitchen. It started out as just another way for him to honor Maria's memory but the more he volunteered the more he enjoyed doing it, he preferred to stay in the kitchen doing prep work or dishes. They didn't allow him to cook anymore on account that he was truly a terrible chef.

Unfortunately the Kitchen didn't have any options today, the flu was going around and it wiped out half of the volunteers. Since Shadow was immune to the virus he was put in charge of cooking under one condition.

You had joined him a few times at the kitchen, you enjoyed serving the community with him even if you two weren't always stationed together. Today you were in charge of making sure Shadow's soup was actually edible, a truly taxing challenge indeed. Chicken noodle soup should be easy to make, right?

"Honey I love you, but you can't cut the carrots that big they're going to take forever to cook."

"why wouldn't they cook in time? they'll be in the same pot as the the rest of the soup"

"Because carrots are thick they take time to get soft that's why you cut them thinner."

"Why do we need to add carrots anyway it's a chicken noodle soup there should only be two ingredients."

"It's for flavor Shadow"

"I still don't see why it's necessary"

"I know sweetie, just cut the carrots."

🥕

"Shadow did you season the chicken?"

"Was I supposed to?"

"I'll take that as a no."

🍗

"what is bullion anyway?" Shadow asked

".....I don't actually know, but you need it for soup."

Before you knew it the two of you had produced a pretty decent soup, the pleasant scent of broth floated through the air warming the spirits of everyone around. The kitchen manager tasted the result of your labours and deemed it a success.

Soon enough it was serving time. You and shadow were placed at your serving stations, you poured the soup while Shadow handed out bread.

Shadow couldn't help but steal glances at you from across the room. Seeing how you served everyone with a warm gentle smile.

He felt lucky that he had found someone like you. Always willing to help, even on your bad days when all around you was falling apart you still showed kindness to anyone who would accept it from you.

Once dinner service was over and the washing up was done the two of you were headed home. Hand in hand the both of you walked past the buildings and parks enjoying the scenic route as you made your way to your house just outside the city.

"Thank you for coming with me tonight"

"No need to thank me Shadow I love doing these things with you. even if I have to put up with your terrible cooking skills" you jested.

"My cooking skills are perfectly fine thank you very much."

you giggled "of course they are sweetheart" you smiled kissing him on the cheek. "maybe they're not for everyone though"

The two of you continued your walk home chatting about the dishes Shadow could and couldn't cook, as well as your own cooking failures.

" I swear I turned the stove on low."

"well evidently you did not seeing as you almost burnt the house down. it didn't taste too bad though, it had a nice crunch to it."

"You actually ate it?!"

"I was not about to let perfectly good rice go to waste y/n, burnt or not."

"And you liked it?"

"it had a nice texture."

"Well maybe I'll have to burn it again sometime."

Shadow smiled at you. "that's all i ask for my love."

[amostimprobabledream]

Sink Your Teeth In (Kensei x Reader)

Also available on Ao3!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61846402

"I'm so sorry I'm late."

The restaurant is a Western-style one and you pause to admire the decor as you hurry in. Outside it's raining and cold, so the warmth inside draws you closer like a magnet. You really don't like these after work meals, the conversation is always so forced and the people who pick the food tend to go for these fancy restaurants that make you feel guilty for even considering the more expensive stuff.

Yasochika Iemura, one of your annoying busybody colleagues, scowls at you.

"You're late!" he scolds, as if you didn't just apologise for that very thing.

"I know, I was on the train, and it stopped for about twenty-five minutes outside the station-" you begin, speaking fast. "I tried to call but I couldn't get any reception-"

"Well, you should have gotten an earlier one in the event of this happening!" he says pompously, waving away your words, as if you're expected to plan for every single conceivably emergency. "We've already ordered the starters. Hurry up and sit down."

You scowl in annoyance as you wander over to the vacant chair, awkwardly maneuvering past other diners who have come as couples or families or friends. Not a bunch of people you have to see all the time if you want to get paid. You exchange a couple of awkward smiles with a few people you know somewhat well - Isane Kotetsu is sitting across from you and looks like she'd been having ear talked off.

"Hi!" an attractive waiter with spiky black hair approaches you, seeing you're the only person without her own drink. "I'm Hisagi, would you like to order anything else?"

"Oh, um, I'll have a cider." you say, a little flustered by how cute he is. "Thank you."

He nods and disappears off to the bar. You turn your attention to the starter in front of you - it's not the kind of thing you'd have ordered for yourself, it's some kind of soup or stew, maybe? But it's gone lukewarm and to be honest, you're not really hungry enough to brave mouthfuls of lukewarm soup. You decide to just leave it alone an idly skim through the menu, but you're still feeling frazzled and irritated from being scolded like an errant teenager and nothing jumps out at you.

Besides, this menu is predictably overpriced. Honestly you'd rather just go home and boil instant noodles than waste money on something off a menu with a dozen ingredients you probably won't even like that much.

When Hisagi returns with your drink, you thank him and he discreetly whisks away the bowl of soup when it becomes clear you're not going to eat it. He asks if you want to order anything else and you politely decline. He looks slightly disappointed, like he'd been hoping you'd ask him for something, but he doesn't bother you about it.

"You really don't want anything?" asks Nanao beside you. "The chef here is supposedly very good. Muguruma, I believe his name is?"

"It's okay, don't worry." you reply vaguely, reaching over and grabbing some bread. "I'm kind of broke right now."

You butter the bread as you listen to people around you gossip about what went on in the big board meeting last week - apparently one of the executives lost it and challenged the other one to a fistfight. You wish you'd seen it yourself, it's very Mad Men.

When the waiter starts bringing everyone's main courses to the table, you have to fight not to gawk at some of the dishes he brings out, but now you feel awkward about suddenly changing your mind. Plus, even though some of it smells amazing, you're still not convinced it's worth splashing out your cash on. Maybe if your stupid train hadn't got stuck and gotten you all stressed out and panicky and you'd arrived with everyone like you were supposed to…

"Do you want to try some of mine?" Isane offers shyly as your waiter from earlier wanders past. You glance down at her food which looks like some kind of chicken salad thing, but there's way too much dressing on it and you crinkle your nose just a fraction.

"I'm fine," you smile tightly at her, nibbling on bread.

At least people are getting drunker and less inclined to comment on your picky eating habits. You even loosen enough to laugh and joke about, mostly when people begin ribbing Yasochika, which is easy to do considering he's such a tightly-wound prig, but then he goes and asks to speak to the Chef.

"What is he doing?" you hiss at Nanao, who looks similarly disapproving. "The Chef's busy, he doesn't want to talk to some pompous ass!"

"Ssh. Though you're right, I don't know why he has to do this whenever we go anywhere." Nanao tuts, and you smirk - woe betide the person who gets on Nanao's bad side.

Soon enough a man in a chef's outfit appears. Your eyes widen at the sight of him. You don't know why but you had an image of a guy with a beard and French accent and flamboyant mannerisms, some cliche off TV that embedded in your brain.

Kensei Muguruma, as his nametag says, is nothing like that. He looks like he's made of brick or steel - solid and tough, with arms that, even with the thick chef's coat, you can tell are toned. For sure he hits the gym, he holds himself like a man who takes care of his body, all straight-backed and solid posture. His arms are folded over his chest as he listens to Yasochika's pandering compliments. His jaw is held tight, and you're admiring the sharpness of it when he lifts his eyes to yours, spotting you watching him.

"Oi. You."

His words cut over Yasochika, who flops back in his seat like a kid.

"Uh…yes?" you say, looking up. And up. Christ, his biceps.

"You haven’t ordered a single thing since you sat down." Kensei barks, in tones of deep condemnation. "And you sent the starter back."

That's not strictly true, you didn't even order the starter, they just took it away when you hadn't touched it. But clearly this guy takes food very seriously. He'd got a thunderous scowl on his face, like he intends on throwing you face-first out of the nearest window. A flicker of irritation that had dimmed down into embers comes back to life at his accusatory tone - you don't know how he knows that (except, perhaps, Hisagi mentioned it in passing), but what does it even matter? You don't appreciate him acting like you've done something wrong.

"Well," you say, with a passive-aggressive smile. "Maybe I'm just not hungry."

His eyebrow twitches, not missing out on the edge to your voice. He leans down and you fight back the urge to lean away from him - you won't let him use his bigger size to intimidate you, even if it is kind of working. For god's sake, you're a customer!

Are you, though? a voice in your head asks. After all, you haven't ordered anything. No transaction has occurred, besides the drink at the bar you bought.

Kensei speaks in a low tone, like his words are meant exclusively for you. He has a nice voice when he's not barking orders at people, low and smooth.

"Yeah? You've been sitting there for nearly three hours while everybody else eats, and you're not hungry at all? Bullshit."

Your eyes widened, surprised and, to be honest, a little titillated that he's speaking to you like that. You assumed that this place with its atmospheric mood lighting and ambient music playing would be too haughty for that kind of language. Evidently Chef Muguruma doesn't care as much as everyone else does about all that. Your thighs press together underneath the mahogany table.

Easy, girl, easy.

"You're just a fussy brat, aren't you?" he says, and your chest heaves with indignation. How dare he?! Especially in front of your colleagues who are totally earwigging!

"Maybe you're just not a good a cook as you think you are." you reply without thinking. Shit, that was rude.

But instead of getting angry like you expected, Kensei smirks and your stomach flipflops. He's even more handsome when he smiles, maybe because it's such a rare thing you feel like you've won something just by catching a glimpse of it.

"Oh yeah?" he says, straightening up. "Fine. Pick something."

He plucks a menu off another table and hands it to you, folding his arms when you take it hesitantly. By now you feel like everyone in the restaurant must be staring at you, but it's Kensei's gaze you return, everyone else fading into background noise. Swallowing, you look down, eyes tracing over the starters, side orders, main course…there are so many options it's a bit overwhelming, but you take your time with it this time, weighing up your choices instead of skimming and dismissing everything offhand. Your eyes land on something and you point to the dish on the menu.

"This one," you say, reading it aloud. "Sole meuniere."

Kensei's eyebrows rise slightly, no doubt expecting you to pick something excessively complicated just to spite him, not a simple dish like this. But he nods and takes the menu back, his eyes on you.

"Don't you move." he says, as if you have anywhere else to go. "I'll be back."

And off he disappears into the kitchen, and you notice the back of his neck is red. Everybody at the table is staring at you and heat crawls up your cheeks. What? You weren't the one who demanded to talk to him!

"What were you thinking!" Yasochika hisses at you, looking mortified. "You can't speak to the chef that way!"

"Stop making a scene, Yasochika." Nanao says, and you could hug her if you weren't already aware she'd hate it. "He asked her to pick something to cook, she picked, he's cooking it. That should be the end of it."

Nanao's words manage to take some of the heat off you and you smile gratefully at her. She simply nods and sips her drink, ever the professional. You should have expected this much, she's used to handling Shunsui on a daily basis. You like the guy, but you can't imagine the willpower takes not to slap him about the head whenever he's sleeping instead of doing paperwork.

Sure enough, after waiting a little while, Kensei reappears and a sizzling pan of fish is presented to you. It smells heavenly, you look over the golden-brown skin of the fish, bubbling still with butter, and you can feel your mouth flooding with saliva. He's right, you are hungry - in fact, you're starving despite the bread you were eating beforehand. You'd just been doing your best to ignore it.

"Well, don't just stare at it." Kensei huffs impatiently. "Get eating."

"You're seriously going to watch?" you ask in a deadpan, but he's apparently determined to get your reaction firsthand. You suppose that's on you for challenging him so openly, so you turn your attention to the piping hot fish in front of you, accompanied by some asparagus that looks nice and fresh.

You grab some of the fish with your fork, which falls apart easily and slowly, take a bite.

Oh, fuck me.

The flavour is soft, sweet and tantalising. You'd expected Kensei to have harsh, strong flavours that fit his personality, but this is like a warm, slow melting together of complementary tastes. Creamy melted butter soaked into the flesh of the fish, and you can taste the tang of salt and parsley. It's not too rich, and the sizzling hot dish wafts steam into your face that makes you salivate as you chew, each bite releasing more buttery goodness. The asparagus that goes great with the fish too - a soft, slightly peppery crunch that doesn't overpower anything.

Kensei's expression would be annoyingly smug, if you weren't enjoying the food so much.

"Good?" he asks, rhetorically. He doesn't need to ask, the look on your face is enough.

"Good." you reply, covering your mouth with your hand, but unable to conceal the growing smile behind it.

A moment lingers between you - more than just a cook and a customer enjoying the creation between you. You'd blame it on the atmosphere or the alcohol you've had, but as you bite into another mouthful of fish, you know what it is. Attraction. He's a damn fine-looking man even buttoned up to the neck as he is - you can only imagine what he looks like when that white coat of his comes off.

With a grunt that might just be covering slight embarrassment, Kensei turns and disappears back into the kitchen, apparently satisfied he's made his point - and, more importantly, given something to the picky eater she actually liked.

You eat every bite of the sole meuniere, licking butter off your lips. It's so good and warm, perfect for filling you up. You won't even mind braving the rainy weather after this. You keep glancing every so often at the kitchen door, longing to look at Kensei one more time, but he's clearly a busy guy and he doesn't reappear all evening.

When it's time to go, you linger a bit so everyone is ahead of you. Hisagi is picking bottles and glasses off the table when he notices you hovering, and gives you a smile.

"Was everything to your liking, miss?"

"It was," you reply with a smile. "Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you for one more thing."

"Certainly!" he says eagerly, and you hand him a napkin.

"Could you give this to the chef? With my compliments." you say, biting your lip slightly, and Hisagi's smile turns into a grin.

"Of course, I'll give it to him when we close tonight. Have a good evening, miss!"

"You too."

You sling on your coat and yank up your hood, hurrying after your colleagues to brave the journey home. Luckily you did remember an umbrella this time. Your heart is pounding even as you leave the restaurant - you're not the type of person to make such a bold move as to give

"I may be picky," you reply, leaning against the counter. "But when I see something I do like, I know it."

"Yeah?" he says and you can picture that cute amused smile of his again. "In that case, meet me after work tomorrow. I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.”

There’s only one answer to that and you grin foolishly as you reply;

“Yes, Chef.”

[nartothelar]

But for the vampire au, have you considered Emmet getting Severely Hurt™️ and Ingo turning him to keep his brother alive?

Or do they have an agreement to just let things happen?

“No.” Emmet responds simply, decisively.

The answer is expected and yet, the disappointment Ingo feels is an unwelcome heaviness, his constant frown turning genuine without it meaning to.

Ingo had asked the very same question thrice times now.

Once was when they were kids. It was casual inquiry that came with little prompting; he had asked out of curiosity more than anything. Ingo had asked Emmet after they had defeated a trio of challengers off hand. Emmet had laughed, light and airy, when he answered. They had gotten ice cream using their winnings after.

The second time had been following a much more harrowing experience. A safety check forgotten, a simple mistake by a depot agent newly hired, had resulted in a derailed train. Fortunately only a few were injured. Unfortunately, one of those few was Emmet.

Ingo had asked him with bags under his eyes, something quite silly since Ingo didn’t even need to sleep. (Was that makeup? Emmet had joked with an exhausted smile.)

Emmet, laying in that hospital bed, IV's in his arm and a cask around his left leg, had responded much the same, a chuckle rather than a laugh. Perhaps his headache had come back to manage much more than that. Ingo didn’t attempt to change his mind and offered him the chicken noodle soup Elesa had brought for him.

And the third time was right now: Ingo sitting across from Emmet in the dining room of their shared apartment. It was morning and even though the windows curtains were drawn, the room was illuminated with a soft glow. In front of his brother was a plate of eggs and toast, him nursing a cup of black coffee. In front of Ingo was just a cup of tea, untouched and cooling.

“But why don’t you want to be a vampire?”

“But why don’t you want to be a vampire?”

The way he asks shows his cards far to easily. Whoever had said Subway Boss Ingo was hard to read must have not tried at all.

His brother looks at him, assessing him, and then looks away.

Emmet is silent for a minute, simply gazing at the cup in front of him. His food was getting cold.

Most would think Emmet was being hesitant when answering, that this was a sign he didn’t want to answer at all. But Ingo knows him well. He knows he wants to go over what he will day and that he voices his thoughts properly.

Ingo is patient and waits. Finally, Emmet answers.

“I like the sun.” His brother says, looking at him. The color of his eyes haven’t dulled all these years. “It feels warm on my skin. It feels good.”

“I love eating. The taste, the action. Yup!" Emmet picks at his plate with a hum. "I want to eat what I like, when I like."

“I like my independence." Ingo's tea leaves an ashy taste as he sips it - a floral chamomile bag floats at the bottom of it. "I do not want to be dependent on others. I do not want to be dependent on things out of my control."

"I know that I will have to sometimes." Emmet really looks at him now. "And that is ok. But I still feel the same way.”

Ingo squeezes his mug, before he relaxes his grip. Emmet notices.

Emmet lays his palm on his chest, closing it into a fist near the middle.

“I like being human.” It sounds final, the words like a gavel to wood, the way it echoes in his mind. “I do not want to be a vampire.”

Ingo wants to argue. To convince him that the pros outweigh the insignificant cons, but he does not. No. Usually Ingo is more eloquent with his words, but the fear that rises up in his throat makes his usually well thought out words more brisk, more succinct, more honest as he says the obvious.

“But you are aging.” Ingo says. You are dying, Ingo tries, fails, and a refrains to add.

Ingo hands are smooth, his face without a wrinkle. He looks as the same as he as when he first became a subway boss. He has since he was sent to Hisui. Forever youthful. And Emmet.

Emmet's hands are calloused, wrinkled from years of maintenance at gear station. His hair is thinning and his temples were turning white. His stride not as brisk as it was years ago.

“I am.” Emmet replies. “And I will continue to age.”

Ingo knows Emmet. He is stubborn, just like himself. That is how he is. He knows he will not change his mind. And that makes him clench his jaw, look down at his cup with furrowed brow.

“Ingo.”

Ingo snaps his head up, fear turning to anger that makes him feel sick. He should not be angry, but he is.

“Then you plan to reach your final stop?” Emmet’s smile dims. Ingo continues anyway. “Leave this station?” Without me? Ingo clamps down before he utters the accusation.

“You....you will have me wait here for you to die? And do nothing?!”

And there it is. Ingo barring his greatest fear since he got turned. The thing that has plaguing his mind since he stood at the grave of his old clan leader in Hisui, at the cemetery where his other wardens were laid to rest. What he had realized as he saw time passes by, years of constant goodbyes and tearful farewells.

It was that, no matter how grand his ideals, the simple truth of the matter was that he was utterly powerless to the passage of time.

Ingo doesn't realize that he has stood up until he is already towering over Emmet's seated form. His fangs barred and he suspects his eyes are slits.

And despite that, Emmet looks calm. He looks...sad.

“I didn’t ask for this.” Ingo says softly, deflated as the anger leaves his body. To live on as those around him pass. To see enjoy his life without the people he cares most around him.

Ingo feels arms wrap around him and he wraps trembling arms around Emmet too, his head laying on his shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, simply holding each other, not letting go.

"I'm sorry I never gave you the choice." Emmet finally says. Ingo's hands grip at Emmet's shirt. "We were young. You were dying. And I was desperate. I did not want to lose you..."

Emmet pulls back after that, not all the way, but enough to look into Ingo's face. His fangs have retracted, his eyes normal again. "But those details do not matter now, do they?" Emmet sighs out, that sad smile still there.

"They matter. Of course they matter." Ingo protests, but he doesn't elaborate pass that.

Emmet looks at the floor, thinking about his words and looks at Ingo again before saying, "Everything reaches its final terminal."

"Not me." Ingo says. It comes out bitter.

"Everything does." Emmet repeats, shaking his head. He squeezes Ingo's forearm before he lets go. "I did not give you a choice. but you can choose for yourself now."

His brother’s crows feet, a result from decades worth of smiles, crinkle at the edges as he looks at him. "Just as I choose for myself."

Ingo dwells on those words, on what his brother is offering. A choice and a decision to make. Emmet looks at him and Ingo understands.

With a sigh (a concession, a compromise), Ingo nods and accepts Emmet's answer.

That heaviness Ingo feels is not fully gone from his mind, but it has lightened, the tension of the room dispersing like the morning fog.

Emmet notices, smiles, and sits back down to finish his breakfast. Ingo follows. And then the silence is filled anew with his brother's latest retelling of yet another dealing he had with a rude passenger yesterday.

Ingo listens and they both laugh and talk and all is right and as it should be that morning, in their shared moment of time.

Him and his brother were a two car train, always have been, no matter their differences. And no matter what, he was going to be there with him until his brother's final destination.

And then after that, once that engine has long gone cold, Ingo would decide when his last stop was too.

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 7th: Wayne | The Seeker - The Who | Warm a/n: vampire!eddie, eddie & wayne, implied steddie. un-betaed because I’m challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 | link to masterpost on ao3

Wayne takes Eddie in officially when he’s 13 years old. It’s winter in Indiana and the kid shows up without so much as a jacket. 

Who doesn’t buy their kid a jacket in Indiana winter? 

Well, Clyde Munson, apparently. 

He’s dropped off at Wayne’s trailer with no coat and refuses to shake Wayne’s hand when he offers it out in a gesture of good will. Eddie’s a skinny kid, a little scraggly and a lot ornery, but nothing Wayne knows he can’t fix with some hot dogs and a few hugs.

He’s almost always cold though, no matter how much weight he puts on, or however many layers he wears. Wayne makes sure he has a good coat and tries his best to keep the trailer warm but it’s tough in these midwest winters. 

Trailers hold the heat in the summer, and unfortunately, the chill in the winter. 

He takes the opportunity to Eddie how to make the best hot chocolate, even the occasional tea, and passes along his favorite soup and stew recipes. Grandma Munson taught Wayne and Clyde when they were kids, and it’s a goddamn shame that Eddie was robbed of making those memories, too. The intention was to share family recipes but Wayne’s pretty sure that Clyde’s forgotten the old peach kitchen in its entirety. Eddie loves them though, all of them– potato soup, chicken noodle, beef stew. 

They keep him and his heart warm at the same time. 

Wayne watches Eddie grow up, watches him struggle in school and with himself, but he knows his boy is trying. He hadn’t had the easiest start to life so Wayne gives him yards and yards of slack when he fails his senior year twice, when he grows his hair out, when he plays that racket at all hours of the night, when he’s brought back to the trailer park by Chief Hopper instead of to the station. He has an agreement with his old fishing buddy, and Chief Hopper knows Eddie’s misguided but harmless. 

But then Chief Hopper dies, or so he thinks, and Eddie doesn’t have this protection from the closed-minded townspeople who see him as a leper, a stain on their town. 

Eddie’s accused of murder and Wayne knows that his boy who only drinks hot chocolate out of his Garfield mug and shivers until there’s two thick blankets thrown over his shoulders didn’t do it. Not when he’s constantly talking about protecting the younger kids of Hellfire Club from the “dystopian nightmare of normalcy” and taking a cut of his weekly dealing profits to buy cat food for the park strays. 

Wayne understands why Eddie runs, but it leaves him sitting alone, wondering, afraid. Eddie’s his to keep safe, no matter how old he gets, and now he can’t. He can’t protect him from the town, he can’t protect him from the media, he can’t protect him from the basketball team or the earthquake that follows. There’s no way to link them logically, but he knows in his heart of hearts that Eddie’s disappearance and the odd series of catastrophic earthquakes are related. 

It only gets worse when Dustin gives him the bloody guitar pick, that red one Eddie wears daily cold and sticky in his calloused hands. No one will tell him the truth, but Eddie is a survivor. If there was a way to climb out of a ditch or from under a tree, he would’ve. Hell, these friends of Eddie’s that Wayne meets in the aftermath look like his company coming back from the War. 

The Harrington boy in particular tells him the same story: Eddie was lost when the Earth splintered open and he pushed Dustin out of the way in a show of self-sacrifice, but his eyes seem desperate, unfocused, lost. 

Wayne knows this was no earthquake and goes searching. 

Every night for months, Wayne goes out into the woods and looks. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, exactly, but he ignores everyone who tells him to let it go and work through his grief. He doesn’t need to mourn until he knows for sure that Eddie’s dead and he doesn’t. Not when the Harrington boy looks like there’s a truth beating at his chest as he watches him with a kind of pity that doesn’t match the story. 

It’s a sweltering summer night when he heads into the woods looking for answers for the last time. He and his flashlight search the brush, look beneath bushes and behind gnarled trees. An owl hoots in the distance and Wayne hears the snapping of twigs behind him. 

Wayne turns to face whatever approaches him, frighteningly calm. After the past few months, he’d welcome a bear. 

What he finds instead is Eddie. Or, well, a version of Eddie. His eyes are less chocolate brown and more red velvet, and he was always a pale kid but Wayne doesn’t remember the bluish bags beneath his eyes. He’s still Eddie– there’s something different about him, but it doesn’t matter. Not to Wayne. 

“Eddie?” Wayne steps forward. 

“Hey, old man.” His voice echoes, almost musical, but it breaks all the same. “I shouldn’t be here, but I couldn’t keep you in the dark anymore. A lot of things happened, but I’m… well, not quite alive but I’m okay. Or, at least I’m gonna be.” 

“Son, what the hell is going on? Let me help.” Wayne’s heart pounds in his rib cage, hard enough to be felt in his stomach and heard in his ears. 

Eddie’s eyes dart down to Wayne’s chest and back up, shaking his head rapidly. “It’s a long story, and it’s not over yet. But when it is, I promise I’ll tell you. You just– you can’t tell anyone about this or that you saw me. You’ll be in danger.” 

“Does anyone else know?” He asks, but he knows the answer. Suddenly, Steve's reactions all make sense. 

Eddie nods. “He wants to tell you too, but it’s not time yet. Just, please, listen to them. If they tell you to leave town, do it. If they tell you not to trust someone, don’t.” 

“I’m just supposed to accept that you’re alive but not really, and trust the people who kept this a secret from me blindly?” 

“Yes. I know how it sounds, but they’re your only allies right now. There’s a lot going on beneath Hawkins, Wayne. It might not be safe for much longer.” 

Wayne swallows and takes another step towards Eddie, watching as he flinches and crinkles his nose. “The earthquakes, right? They weren’t just earthquakes, were they?” 

Eddie sighs and lifts a hand to his nose, an old tell that he’s clearly brought into whatever new version of himself he’s become. “Just listen to them. Trust them. Please, Wayne.” 

There’s a desperation to Eddie’s voice that makes Wayne ache. He steps closer and outstretches a hand, the same one he’d offered all of those years ago when Eddie arrived, scraggly and scared at the trailer. This time though, Eddie takes it. 

His hands are still cold, and Wayne brings up his other hand to hold Eddie’s tightly between his shaking, calloused fingers. 

His boy’s always just needed a little extra warmth.

[igncrxntripley]

Would you mind doing headcannons for when secret weapon gets sick, like damn near fever coma sick?

headcanons: in sickness and in health

A/N: i was so excited when i saw this we love fluffy judgement day

tags: poly!judgement day, fem!reader, illness, brief mention of medicine

mentions: @babybatlover @ripleyswhore

y/n knew something was wrong when she woke up and had little to no energy to move

not only was she shivering to no end laying against damian (a human furnace) but she was sweating like she just finished working out

he's the first to notice something is wrong and starts making a to-do list of how to make their baby feel better

"finn, we need chicken noodle soup asap" "dom, check what medicine we have and run to the store if we don't have anything" "rhea, set up the couch and the living room"

no one wastes any time for their babygirl; dominik is already taking inventory of medicine and going to the drugstore for more, rhea has the best blankets and pillows on the couch with y/n's favorite movies and shows, and finn is slaving over a hot stove making soup

damian starts by getting y/n changed into new pajamas and braids her hair way from her face, which proves to all be somewhat of a challenge because y/n has latched herself onto his body and won't let go

eventually he finishes and brings her downstairs to get comfy with rhea but since y/n won't let go, he gives in and brings both girls to his chest to cuddle

rhea's usually pretty tough but she's most definitely concerned when y/n can barely keep her eyes open; damian's spending just as much time calming rhea down and making her feel better as he is y/n

"she can't even fuckin' keep her eyes open, what if something's wrong?" "she'll be fine once dominik gets some medicine"

dominik is easily taking way too much time at the store, because not only is he getting medicine but he's getting all of the juice and anything to make y/n feel better

but once he gets home he's playing nurse; rhea practically has to hold y/n up to get her to take medicine and drink something

finn manages to leave his soup long enough to bring out a damp towel and hopefully start breaking y/n's fever

eventually all five people are on the couch, damian and rhea being the main cuddlers on duty while dominik and finn are the runners for anything they need

they manage to keep y/n awake long enough to finally eat something even though finn is spoon-feeding her like a baby

each one of them is amazing with taking care of y/n, and when she's finally feeling better she apologizes

"you wasted your whole day taking care of me and now you're probably all going to get sick!"

not a single one of them cares, because they know they would all do it for one another

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Let's call it Fate | Part 15

(A/N) Who wants my uterus? I'm done with that thing. Also, yes this is a reference to what happens to Terzo. :)

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: google translate translations, abusive parents (especially mother), arranged marriage, age gap, bullying, talk of grandparents and death of a grandparent, mistreatment of Ghouls, threats, angst, fluff, kissis, bit more spice

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

The moment was quickly interrupted by Papa Secondo softly clearing his throat. Both you and Copia quickly turned to look at him, a blush covering your cheeks.

“As much as I hate to interrupt this moment-” his tone suggested that he very much enjoyed it. “-I assume that means that you two are going to take care of Primo tonight, si? Great! I’ll be in my chambers if you need something. His medicine is on the table.” He started to walk to the door, before turning around again and calling out to Copia. “È quella giusta, vero? Sei fortunato che sia completamente innamorata di te, altrimenti la prenderei per me.” 

Copia chuckled before pulling you closer to himself, a dangerous spark in his eyes, as you got the feeling that whatever the older Emeritus brother had said, was about you. “Provaci, caro fratello, e ti taglio la testa.” Secondo laughed, making you glance at Primo, who thankfully didn’t stir in his sleep. “You know I like the challenge, little brother. Anyway, good night.” And with those words, Papa Secondo left the room.

You turned to look at Copia, an eyebrow raised. “Do I want to know?” Copia snacked both arms around your waist and pulled you close until your noses were almost touching, your chest pressed to his. “He said that if you weren’t so in love with me, he’d take you for himself.” The thought that any of the other brothers, hell, anyone else, would desire you like that had never crossed your mind. And you didn’t know if you were supposed to be flattered or scared.

“What did you say?” His lips found their way to the column of your throat, where they ghosted over your skin, a smile pulling on them. “I said that if he tried, I’d cut his head off.” A quiet moan escaped your lips at his words, and as if to emphasize what he’d just said, he bit down on your skin, hard enough to leave a mark but not enough to break the skin. You never knew this possessive side of Copia, but you had to admit that you liked it.

Before either of you could take it further, Swiss and Dew returned. A very quiet Dew and a very smug Swiss when they noticed the position you were in. You would've hit him if the taller one hadn’t been carrying a very comfortable-looking couch. Softly. Instead, you glared at him, watching as he placed the furniture down, the blanket, book, and cloth all on top of it. Dew was trailing behind him, wheeling in a small cart with everything else on it.

Once the Ghouls had placed everything where you wanted it, you pulled away from Copia and hugged both of them, thanking them quietly. “We also told the kitchen to prepare some chicken noodle soup. He gathered the vegetables from the greenhouse. I hope you don’t mind.” You were surprised when Dew spoke up. “No, of course not. Thank you so much. Both of you.” Dew nodded and turned, heading for the door, but Swiss stayed for a second longer.

“You gonna be okay?” You nodded, forcing a smile onto your face. “Copia is going to stay with me; I’ll be fine.” Swiss nodded, hesitating, before handing you a slip of paper. “My number if you ever need something.” You couldn’t help but throw your arms around his neck, thanking him again. He returned the hug, before pulling away gently and leaving. You stayed there, rooted to the spot, until Copia pulled you out of your thoughts. “Come, let’s get comfortable, si?”

The night was spent mostly awake, with a few short naps sprinkled in between. When you weren’t next to Primo, either standing or sitting on the side of his bed, you were lying on Copia, your head on his chest as his hands softly caressed your back. You tried reading but found that you couldn’t concentrate on it, so instead, Copia took to read it aloud. You were still struggling to pay attention, but his voice was enough to keep you calm.

By the time the sun was rising, you could barely keep your eyes open, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but startle awake every time you started to fall asleep. Thankfully, the replacement came in the form of Papa Secondo and Terzo. When they ushered you out, Copia didn’t even try to get you to walk, instead, he picked you up and carried you back to his apartment, where he fell onto the bed with you. You had never fallen asleep quicker.

When you woke up, everything felt wrong. It was too hot, and there was a slight pounding in your head. The light streaming in from the windows was too bright, and you weren’t sure what time zone you were in. Beside you, you heard a deep and sleepy groan. Copia had one warm thrown over his face, effectively shielding his eyes.

“Amore…I think I’m too old to stay up all night.” You chuckled and pulled yourself closer to him, resting your head on his chest as you gazed up at him. “I know…but thank you for doing it. I’m glad I wasn’t alone.” Lightly lifting his arm, he blinked down at you, a soft smile on his lips. “Anything for you, cuore mio.”

After resting for a few more minutes, both of you got out of bed. Slowly, hand in hand, you shuffled to the kitchen, where Copia brewed coffee for the both of you. While waiting, you checked the time and realized it was already past lunch. You missed the lessons that morning. A silent curse escaped you, catching Copia’s attention. “What is it, amore?” Instead of answering, you just held up your phone and let him read the time. But instead of panicking, Copia just shrugged and returned to the coffee machine.

“I assumed we’d be sleeping in, so I asked Secondo to excuse us for today.” You frowned. “When? I don’t recall you doing that?” Copia chuckled as he picked up two filled mugs and led you to the couch, where he sat down the mugs before pulling you down with him. “As we left. You were half asleep by then, so I’m not surprised you didn’t notice.” While talking, he pulled you closer until you leaned your back against his chest, sitting between his legs.

You spent the rest of the day lounging around in Copia’s apartment, only quickly letting Lila know that you were okay and you would see her soon. After Copia and you ate dinner, you decided to go and check on Primo, where you found Terzo, sleeping soundly on the couch while a very irritated Papa Secondo sat next to Primo’s bed and played some kind of card game with his older brother. The older man looked better already, and you couldn’t help but smile at him as he noticed your presence.

“Ah, tesoro, fratellino. We were wondering when you’d come back.” Primo waved you over, and you followed the invitation, standing next to his bed with Copia behind you, his hand on your waist. As soon as Papa Secondo noticed you two, he let out a relieved sigh and got to his feet, leaving his cards on Primo’s bed. “Thank Satanas. I’ll get this bastardo back to his quarters; you take over from here.” Without another word, Papa Secondo slapped Terzo over the head, waking him up, before dragging him out of the room. You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched, Primo also letting out a chuckle while Copia just shook his head.

“Those two told me what you did last night, and I want to thank you.” Primo looked at the pair of you, a grateful smile on his face. You waved it off, smiling right back. “Please, it’s the least we could do. How are you feeling?” Primo padded the mattress next to him, and you sat down, waiting for him to answer. “Much better, dear. Thank you. I’ll take the weekend to rest, but I should be fine starting next week. Although I can’t miss this week’s black mass. We are celebrating Secondo after all.”

You looked back at Copia, who nodded. “Si, it’s his birthday.” Immediately, your mind went into overdrive, trying to think of a good present for the former Papa, but you came up empty. “Don’t worry, amore. He hates his birthday, hates that we have to celebrate it. He wouldn’t care for a present anyway.” You nodded, although you couldn’t help but feel sad for him. No one should hate their birthday. At least now you had a mission: make Secondo enjoy his birthday!

Translations: È quella giusta, vero? Sei fortunato che sia completamente innamorata di te, altrimenti la prenderei per me...She's the one, isn't she? You're lucky she is utterly in love with you, or I'd take her for myself. Provaci, caro fratello, e ti taglio la testa...Try it, dear brother, and I'll cut your head off. amore...love si...yes fratellino...little brother tesoro...dear cuore mio...my heart Satanas...Satan bastardo...bastard

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Ghost Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

Tags: @antoniamarie1989

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[emo-batboy]

Depression meals Battinson has made himself at least once while unsupervised to the shock and horror of Alfred

(Alfred has to sleep at some point. that’s when Bruce decides to wreak havoc and make these barely edible monstrosities)

(Btw he’s vegetarian, fucking fight me)

Pepper jack cheese between two seaweed sheets

Uncooked ramen dipped in the seasoning packet

Ready rice with cold tofu

Spoonfuls of peanut butter

Instant grits with one slice of American cheese

Pop tart dipped in hot chocolate

Spaghetti noodles with no other ingredient than a mountain parmesan, didn’t even put salt in the water

“Technically bread” (water and flour, microwaved…he was having a really bad day)

Bread, cheese, ketchup, microwave = pizza

Cream cheese and jelly sandwich

Vegan hot dog microwaved without a plate. He picked it up from the microwave with a piece of white bread and ate it just like that. No dirty dishes

kraft mac and cheese with one single raw asparagus

Various little kiddie-themed smoothie shots

Dry cereal

Cheddar cheese wrapped in a flour tortilla

Vegan dinosaur nuggets (microwaved, tho he tried to cook it in his hot coffee once, it didn’t work)

Frozen snap peas straight from the bag, unthawed

Tomato soup with cheez-its sprinkled on top

Tried to make a meal completely out of vitamin supplements once, based entirely on the exact amount of nutrients you need in a day

A family-sized bag of generic brand corn chips

Hard boiled eggs (they were supposed to be soft-boiled) and paprika

Blueberry bagel, toasted, no butter

Cold chicken noodle soup in one of those paper cartons from the corner store (it gave him food poisoning)

Microwave grilled cheese

Cucumber rolls (cucumber slices he rolled in microwave rice)

Leftover cake washed down with a protein shake

A hunk of mozzarella cheese, microwaved

Frozen Garlic bread (it’s actually good like that, he swears)

Four 5-hour energy shots to make a 20-hour energy (his heart rate didn’t go back to normal for two days)

Fruit snacks squished between two slices of wheat bread

Tried to dry scoop protein powder once, worked about as well as the cinnamon challenge

Pistachios with the shells (it was an accident. He did not notice)

Refried refried beans (for protein)

Handfuls of mushy, room temperature blueberries

Tofu block cut up with a spam slicer and dipped in mustard

[narrans]

My Borrowed Son | 3 | Earning Trust

Amanda knew immediately the second she crossed the threshold of her home that she was in over her head. The minuscule boy in the palm of her hand needed intense care, and his size, being no bigger than her thumb, was going to be an immense challenge. 

Still, Amanda knew she made a promise to this boy, and she refused to let him down now - especially after they first met. She had earned a fragment of trust, and she intended to keep it. 

Finally making it past the mountains of boxes, she stepped into her kitchen and set her hand onto the counter. The slight jostle made the poor boy whimper pitifully. 

“You’re okay. I’m here,” she reassured just as she had done the whole way home. Seeing him in full light, Amanda wanted more than anything to give him a bath, but more importantly was the fact that he needed food. One handed, Amanda fished out a bowl and a standard can of chicken noodle soup and began heating it in the microwave. 

She wished she could give him something a little more nutritious and home-made, but that would have to wait. At the moment, her life was upside down. Everything happening was the last thing she wanted, but it was what she needed. 

While the little boy stayed huddled in her hand, Amanda continued to work. She realized after fumbling around for a minute for a spoon that she had nothing in her house that would be small enough for the child. Amanda, as her thoughts bounced around her skull like a bouncy ball, didn’t want to scare the child with a spoon that he could sit on; but he also needed something to eat the soup with. 

The boy watched with his insightful eyes, keeping eerily quiet, while Amanda searched. 

Feeling the pressure of his eyes, Amanda suddenly came up with an idea, but she’d need the boy to listen to instructions for this to work. She snagged a dish cloth from her sink and ran it under the water, moving delicately to not startle the little boy. When it was just barely damp, she turned off the water and held out just a little corner for him. 

“Could you rub your hands on the cloth? Okay? Rub your hands on the cloth,” coaxed Amanda as she mimicked the motion with her thumb and index finger. The infinitesimal child blinked uncertainly before inching himself across Amanda’s palm, making a tingling shiver shoot up her arm, and imitating the motion, rubbing his hands on the cloth. 

Her mind was absolutely numb. This boy was absolutely amazing. At every turn, she was discovering something new about him and what he understood. Did that mean he could speak as well?

The thought was fascinating, but it would have to wait because, just then, the microwave dinged. Amanda moved instinctually at her own pace simply to look over at the kitchen appliance, but it was enough to jostle her hand and make the boy whimper and take cover against Amanda’s curled fingers. 

“Oh… oh no… It’s okay, sweetie. I’m sorry,” muttered Amanda as she curled her fingers a little tighter. The boy whimpered again, hiding his soft brown eyes as he kept them shut tight. His breathing was rapid, and he was trembling ever so slightly. Amanda could feel him against her fingertips. It made her heart hurt, so she tried coaxing him a little more. “I’ll move slower. I promise. You’re okay.” 

Seemingly convinced, the sandy haired boy to open his eyes once again after a few minutes and looked back up at Amanda. To her, it looked like he was seeking reassurance in her eyes, and she freely gave it. 

“There you go. See? All better,” Amanda encouraged. Moving slower now, Amanda retrieved the soup, a soft drink cap, and the loaf of bread from the kitchen counter. With the items neatly organized, Amanda dipped the cap into the warmed soup and tested the temperature to make sure he wouldn’t get burned before daring to lower both the cap and the little boy to the kitchen counter. 

Goodness… he’s so small. He looks like one of those little salt and pepper shakers, Amanda thought as she kept her hand on the counter, the boy still sitting on the edges of her fingers. He was looking around at all of the cabinets and drew his legs in toward him, obviously intimidated. 

To make this a positive experience, Amanda acted quickly and pinched off a corner of bread and offered it to the boy. His little features furrowed in confusion as he carefully took the bread from in between her pinched fingers. He rotated around so he could face her but didn’t leave the safety of her hand. 

It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only option she had. She didn’t want to force the boy off. If her hand was where he felt safe, then that was where he should stay. 

Amanda moved the cap of soup onto her palm in front of the boy before pulling her own bowl toward her. 

“Here now, watch me, okay? Just dip the bread into the soup, like this,” instructed Amanda. Keeping her hand steady, she took her own piece of bread and dipped it into the liquid, swirled it around, and then brought it to her lips for a bite. The soft brown eyed boy watched Amanda do this several more times before looking down at his own piece of bread and, to her amazement, dipping it into the broth in the lid, imitating Amanda’s behavior. 

Thankfully, Amanda didn’t need to continue repeating the action because the moment the bread and salty soup touched his lips, the boy began to eat ravenously, broth dribbling down his front and into his already filthy clothes. 

Now really able to see him, Amanda saw that the little boy’s outfit consisted of a shirt with a faded yellow button on his front that took up most of his chest and a big green button on his back that was like the one on his chest. He was barefoot, mud caked in between his toes, and his pants were obviously soiled. 

It made Amanda’s heart twist in her chest. How long had this boy been out on his own? 

When the little pinch of bread was gone, the most pitiful look filled his eyes as he looked back up at Amanda eagerly, to which she happily gave him another piece. He inhaled three fair sized bread pinches before he showed signs of slowing down. It was on the fifth piece that he slowed and stopped, simply holding the bread close and nibbling on the edge absentmindedly. 

Amanda knew she would need to get some utensils for him, but now was not that time. Now, after the boy had some food in him, she managed to convince him to drink a little bit of water before she shuffled both of them to the bathroom. 

A bath was in order. 

She stepped up to her bathroom sink and began to run some warm water. She found some vapor bubble bath that would probably do the little boy some good and added that to the running water in the sink. 

At first sight, however, the boy whimpered and scuttled across her hand to grasp her thumb with all of his might. He was shivering violently and fell to his knees. Amanda kept her free hand cupped near her thumb in case the little boy accidentally lost his balance. Perhaps it was instinct, but the boy’s ability to balance on such a malleable substance like a hand was incredible. 

She couldn’t pause to marvel at him now, however. 

With a feeling like a punch in the gut, Amanda tried figuring out how to convince this child he was alright and that the water was alright. 

Did something happen related to water to make him so afraid? Amanda wondered. The horrid thought that he had been swept away in a rainstorm from his family made her heart clench. Just keep reassuring him. Show him it’s okay. He trusted you with the bread, right? 

It was a weak argument, but it was all she had. 

“It’s okay sweetie,” coaxed Amada, speaking once again in a low, sonoric tone. “It’s just water, see?” With that, Amanda carefully placed her other hand under the water and moved her fingers around, splashing the liquid around the sink. The little boy continued clutching Amanda’s thumb as he whimpered. 

She had to try something else. Then, she got an idea. 

Amanda cupped her one hand and caught some of the water in it before pulling it away from the faucet and holding it up to the little boy. 

“Here, see? It’s just water,” reassured Amanda as she tapped the puddle of water in her palm while holding it up to the boy. 

He turned his soft brown eyes to Amanda before looking back at the water. Tears still staining his face, he leaned forward and barely touched the water with the tip of his finger. 

The miniscule boy instantly retraced his finger and huddled against Amanda’s thumb, but a smile from her and another reassuring, “It’s okay,” had the boy tapping the liquid until the tears stopped. 

It would take Amanda another twenty minutes to coax the little boy under the stream of water where she gently massaged soap into his hair and over his clothes. While she worked, she watched the boy’s eyes drifting further and further down, drowsiness overtaking him. The sight was adorable beyond words. Though tentative, his trust mixed with exhaustion was making this little boy fall asleep in her hands. 

Amanda dried him off, careful not to jostle his head, and carefully constructed a toga-like outfit. Cutting away the little boy’s clothes was nerve wracking and made Amanda’s heart ache at seeing all of his injuries as well as his little ribs, which were clearly visible. There were also numerous bruises on his body as well as scratches, some of which ran from the base of his back to the top of his neck. 

Was he attacked by something? How long has he been out there? Where are his parents? Did he have parents? 

Amanda organized a shoebox with some snacks, water, and bedding and set the unconscious boy inside. Evidently, he had fallen asleep in her hand while she put together a space for him.

His little forehead furrowed as he twitched and turned into the bed Amanda made for him.

Now, more than ever, she needed to find out about this little boy, and, beyond that, she needed to find a way to protect him - no matter what.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Previous

Beginning

[themculibrary]

Tony Takes Care Of Sick Peter Masterlist

Am I A Dying Man? (ao3) - Odd_I G, 5k

Summary: Peter Parker didn’t get sick, not any more. He hadn’t been really sick since before the bite, and that was what? Three years ago?

He was pretty sure it had something to do with his super healing, but he wasn’t completely sure. They never really had to test it out, after all. But he healed fast, so it generally made sense that his weird radioactive spider system also fought off any infections and illnesses.

— OR —

Peter gets sick, is a dramatic little shit, and Tony is just done with everything.

Appendicitis (ao3) - tommyparkerr T, 15k

Summary: In which Peter doesn't realize until too late that the flu shouldn't be this painful, and Tony Stark is right there to both lecture and comfort him (and accidentally call him his kid in the process).

Blankets (ao3) - kiwifeather G, 1k

Summary: Tony cares for an under-the-weather Peter the best way he knows how (which is pretty good, because he's a Dad™ now).

et tu, brute? (ao3) - turtle_bean G, 3k

Summary: Peter rounds the corner and gives a half-hearted hop. “All ready for the mission, Mr. Stark!”

Yeah, no.

“FRI, give me a read.”

“What -”

“101.7 degrees Fahrenheit, Mr. Stark,” Karen announces from Peter’s suit.

--

or, peter is sick, ned’s worried, and tony is... well, tony.

Extra Noodles (ao3) - duskblue G, 4k

Summary: Peter is staying with Tony while May is out of town. Unfortunately, Peter doesn't feel the best, so Tony is on a mission to figure out what's wrong so he can take the best possible care of him. He enlists his good friend, Bruce Banner in this task.

flushed away (ao3) - underpassgraffiti G, 2k

Summary: "I'm dying," he decides, flushing the toilet and resting his forehead against the rim. He feels disgusting. "I'm dying, I'm gonna die. Spider-Man dies to ravioli."

"Should I alert Boss?" Friday chirps, and Peter groans, waving a hand uselessly.

"No, m'fine," he grumbles. "WebMD will save me."

or: peter gets food poisoning & tony takes care of him.

Into the West (ao3) - ChocolateAndRedbull G, 1k

Summary: When a feverish Peter lets himself dwell on the past, Tony makes sure that he’s there to talk him through it

it's in the job description (ao3) - iron_spider_suit G, 8k

Summary: Peter gets sick just in time for movie night with the team. Tony does his best.

lessons in the metric system (ao3) - akapeterman G, 2k

Summary: “Pete,” Tony said slowly, “You’re sick.”

“No!” Peter said more urgently. “I’m hyp’thermic.”

“Trust me, you are the opposite of hypothermic right now, kiddo.”

or; Peter and Tony decide to road trip to Canada. Unfortunately, a peppermint air freshener happens to be Spider-Man's kryptonite. Confusion ensues. And honestly, Peter blames the American school system. They really should be more clear about the difference between Celsius and Farenheight.

Of Chicken Soup and Brooklyn-99 (ao3) - AnnabelleBlack20 G, 2k

Summary: Peter hadn’t gotten sick since the spider bite. But then again, his rotten Parker luck had a mind of its own. Lucky for him, he’s got a superhero in his corner. Nothing but pure fluff between IRONDAD and his SPIDERSON!

shaken up realities (shaking up reality) (ao3) - lemonlillybee M, 5k

Summary: This takes place after Endgame, and it’s a bit angsty, but everyone lives!

Written for the following Sicktember 2022 prompt: Cold Sweat

Sick Puppies (ao3) - OllieCollie G, 7k

Summary: Tony has been through a lot in his lifetime—from being kidnapped by terrorists to saving the world multiple times and just about everything in between—but he may be facing his toughest challenge yet: taking care of two kids with the flu.

Since I Have You (ao3) - lunasquared G, 2k

Summary: He didn’t register the fact that he started falling until he was caught by a pair of arms right before he hit the floor.

“Whoa there kiddo,” Tony said, helping Peter over to the couch. “What’s going on?”

“‘s hot.” Peter mumbled as he laid down on the couch thankful to finally be off his feet.

OR

Peter gets sick and Tony helps take care of him.

we all have a hunger (ao3) - MotherKarizma G, 6k

Summary: “Morgan,” he croaked, throat afire, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey – hey, it’s okay, I’m just…”

“You’re sick.” She mustered up something like bravery, using it to straighten her back and plaster a very grown-up look on her face. “I’ll get Daddy!”

“No!” Morgan jumped, eyes wide. Peter fought to calm his voice. He offered her a smile that couldn’t have been convincing, not even to a five year old. “No, you don’t have to. I feel better now. You don’t have to tell him.”

Morgan’s lips wobbled. Peter knew what her fake pout looked like well enough to know this wasn’t it. “Petey…”

Peter had a lot of reasons to feel guilty. He felt guilty for scaring her. He felt guilty for forgetting to lock his bedroom door, for making scaring her a possibility. He kind of, in a way, felt guilty for doing it in the first place, though not nearly enough to stop.

But more than anything, he felt guilty for this: “Morgan, promise me you won’t tell him. He…he won’t let us swim anymore if you do. And I’m not sick, my tummy just hurt a little bit, but I’m all better now. Promise me you won’t tell him, okay?”

“But…”

“Morgan. Promise.”

When I'm Sick Or Suffering (I'll Still Call You) (ao3) - l_u_c_k_y_c_l_o_v_e_r G, 2k

Summary: Peter comes down with the flu, but a certain superhero makes sure he doesn't have to deal with it on his own.

Wingman (ao3) - Sahiya G, 4k

Summary: Holy shit, Rhodey thought. Tony’s a dad.

[endless-summer-soldier]

cruel to be kind - chapter three

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (90s college AU)

summary: it started with a dare. Bucky restlessly pursues Y/N, seeking just one date. as he chases her, he realizes she's different from she challenges him, so he starts to catch feelings. but it all falls apart when she learns about his initial motivations. based on 10 things I hate about you!

warnings: alcohol use, cursing

word count: 1k

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Y/N woke up and let out a long groan. Her head was pounding and blurred visions from the night before slowly entered her brain. Then suddenly she realized she was parched. Water. She needed water. She crawled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. Her water bottle was about halfway full when her roommate, Carol, entered the room, back from a morning run.

“Well you look like shit,” she said.

“Feel like shit,” Y/N added.

“What exactly did you get up to last night?” Carol stretched in the living room as Y/N chugged down her water.

“Went out with some asshole. It was a mistake.”

“Oh come on, he couldn’t have been that bad. He got you home.”

“He got me drunk, I made a fool of myself, and then he rejected me.”

“Oh you left out the part about maybe having a concussion.”

“Ugh…don’t remind me about that.” She drank more water and then the realization hit her “Wait, how…?”

Carol smirked, “The ‘asshole’ left this under my door,” she held up a small handwritten note, “Wanted me to keep an eye on you and make sure you were okay.”

Y/N had no response to that. She enjoyed her disdain for Bucky. She didn’t need to go around catching feelings just because he did something sweet. Y/N grumbled and retreated to her room as Carol watched her with a knowing look.

Bucky woke up the next morning and his first thought was about Y/N. He hated to admit it, but he was worried about her. And he knew he had his work cut out for him since he had bruised her ego the night before.

So he put himself together and headed to her apartment. He stopped to pick up a couple coffees, hoping to bribe her into liking him again.

He softly knocked in rhythm on her door and heard shuffling from the other side. He could almost sense her looking through the peephole eyeing him up.

“Go away,” she said firmly.

“I brought coffee,” he retorted.

“Oh, well in that case, leave the coffee and go away.”

“Come on Y/N…”

“I made myself perfectly clear. Leave.”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why do you care?”

He sighed and let out a chuckle, “Because I like you!”

There was a long pause before she said, “Well, I don’t like you.”

“That’s the best you could come up with? Damn, you must be really hung over.”

“I’m walking away from the door now,” she said.

He chuckled at her stubbornness, but respected her commitment. He scrawled a quick note on the coffee cup that read Call me once you’re feeling better with his phone number.

He sauntered off, knowing it wouldn’t be that easy. He started considering his next few moves.

He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t heard from her in a few days. In fact, he anticipated that. So he moved on to phase two.

He approached her front door and knocked, this time hiding from view of the peephole. He heard the lock switching and knew he was in. As soon as the door was open he barged in, taking Y/N by surprise.

Before she could say anything he started unloading the stocked grocery bag. 

“I have everything you could possibly need. Gatorade, ginger ale, homemade chicken noodle soup, saltines, lemon ginger tea…” He pulled out each of the items as they were announced and placed them on her kitchen counter.

“Bucky…what the fuck?”

He looked at her with raised eyebrows encouraging her to continue.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Well you never called me. So you must still be very sick and I thought ‘Hm, if I were really sick, I’d want someone to come over and take care of me.’ So here I am with all the best remedies.”

She was so close to smiling but she kept her composure and responded. “I’m not sick you asshole. I just didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Now that cannot possibly be true. We had such a lovely time together on our date.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Whatever you say sweetheart. Just remember I was the perfect gentleman. I picked you up, I walked you home, and I didn’t take advantage of you in your vulnerable state.” He hoped the last part of his statement would help her understand why he declined her advances that night.

“What a shame, I don’t remember any of it.”

“I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it then. Oh, did I mention that you agreed to go out with me again?”

“Liar,” she joked.

“Can’t blame me for trying.”

She shook her head, “You can leave now.”

“If you insist,” he said. He didn’t move, hoping she would reconsider.

“I do,” she opened the front door wide and signaled for him to make his way through it.

“I have to say Y/N, you are really good at this whole hard to get thing.” He made his way through the door and turned to face her, shooting her his winning smile.

“Bye,” she said as she shut the door in his face.

“I’ll see you later!” he shouted through the door.

Bucky continued to pursue Y/N for the days that followed. He tried out a few different tactics but most of them involved buying her coffee or walking her to class. Her defenses came down a bit, but she still declined any date suggestions Bucky threw out there.

“What’s your endgame here?” she asked him at one point.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you doing all this?”

“Because I have never met a girl as interesting as you. And I want to spend time with you and get to know you better.”

She rolled her eyes, “I bet you tell all the girls that.”

“Not a chance.”

“Hate to break it to you but sweet talk doesn’t work on me.”

That was the moment he realized he needed to step things up so he began planning. His friends were constantly telling him to give up, that the dare wasn’t worth all this effort. But it wasn’t about that anymore. Bucky had never struggled when it came to women. Usually his tough exterior and ocean blue eyes were enough to do the trick. Y/N was so different from any other girl and the challenge was a great motivator. He wanted to know what made her tick.

[rickfucker]

can u please just infodump about ricks autism?like his stims,his “icky sensations” etc?thank you! <3

Please forgive the informal nature of this; I obviously have not been writing a lot lately, but I'm back on my Adderall and thinking about Rick as much as I think about Astarion from Baldur’s Gate.

First of all, Rick’s love of Birdperson is because he’s so unlike anyone Rick’s ever met. He’s totally straight forward, no guessing games on his intentions. Given a theory that I just reblogged a day ago, he’s probably got familial trauma similar enough to Rick, in their distrust of love, and possibly marriage. Birdperson is serious and goal-oriented, but lets loose around Rick’s influence BECAUSE they’re both autistic as fuck LMAO.

Rick is hella stimmy. He’s big on echolalia. Always whistling, humming or singing, repeating brand new alien phrases (wubba lubba dub dub, duhh) that have a good mouth feel. Writing songs with his favorite words. Also totally makes fun of people who can’t whistle.

I’ve talked before about his food & texture sensitivities. He’s totally fine eating spaghetti made out of people, but lo mein noodles? Absolutely not; too slimy. He can rip the head off a snake with his bare teeth, yes. He's just so specific with the things he dislikes. Take a chicken breast for example - that's fine. Breaded? Fine. Gravy on chicken breast? Fine. Gravy on breaded chicken breast? Bin it. Anything attached to a bone? No, thank you. Anything that still looks like the animal (whole fish filet, for example), no, thank you. Soup? Better be vegetable and no solids except croutons only. That way, nothing gets too soggy.

He inspects every chip/crisp/french fry before eating for black or green parts. If they have any blemishes like that, they’re getting chucked. He tried once to eat one once, just to challenge himself, and nearly got sick. The texture was simply ungodly.

Some one-off thoughts:

He hates a lot of different clothing textures, which is why he’s always wearing the same outfits. He cut off those clothing tags and cloned the result so he doesn’t have to deal anymore. 

Usually wears shoes around the house. Doesn’t like walking around the house without socks on.

Clumsy when he’s not on high-alert, like on adventures. Got hella bruises on his legs from running into the living room furniture & his work areas in the garage.

Definitely particular about temperature. He keeps his room a toasty 71 degrees, but never 72.

that's all I got for now. Hope you enjoy, anon.

[theflirtmeister]

Domestic hoffheight :( need some cocaine inducing fluff of the guys ever :( some chicken noodle soup for the soul

On the third day, Adam demanded his bed back.

Mark refused to move from his cocoon of bloodstained pillows and sheets, because fuck whatever Adam said. His entire body ached, one moment cold, the next burning hot, and the new stitches up the side of his face prevented him from eating anything more challenging than soup. He had spent the last three days drifting in and out of sleep, pretending not to notice when Adam checked his forehead for a temperature, or tucked the blankets around him.

Now Adam was standing there with his hands on his hips, glaring. His apartment was exactly the kind of shithole that Mark had been expecting when he dragged himself up the flights of stairs, dripping blood onto the concrete steps. There were band posters and club flyers stuck to the walls, clothes strewn on the floor and on the backs of chairs. It felt like student living, but Adam was too old to be a student, and was now just pathetic.

“Get up,” Adam said. “I’m sick of sleeping on the couch.”

“Didn’t ask you to sleep there.” Mark rasped. His throat hurt from screaming, everything raw and tender.

“You didn’t give me much choice,” Adam said. “I had nowhere else to put you.”

Mark shuffled a little to the right-hand side of the bed, but didn’t otherwise evacuate. He was comfy, and the idea of sleeping on the sofa whilst trying to keep his face from falling apart didn’t sound ideal. Adam had sewn him up with the same thread he used to patch his jeans – Mark was surprised he didn’t complete the look with a safety pin.

“Good enough,” Adam muttered, and climbed onto the bed. “You’re a real dick, you know that Hoffman?”

Mark didn’t reply. Adam lay beside him like a corpse, staring up at the ceiling, hands by his sides. He was wearing his version of pyjamas, an old band shirt and a pair of boxers that slipped down his hips. His skin was goose-pimpled, and Mark started to tug at the covers, because watching Adam freeze for the sake of martyrdom was pathetic.

“What are you doing you weirdo-” Adam started, and Mark managed to pull him underneath the thin sheets, before Adam could protest further.

Adam went very still and quiet as Mark arranged the two of them, until Adam’s back was pressed up against Mark’s stomach. He was cold to the touch, and Mark wrapped one arm around Adam’s waist, burying his nose in Adam’s hair. He smelt like cigarettes and laundry detergent, unlike the horrible rot he had stunk of when Mark had gone to collect his corpse from Kramer’s bathroom.

“You’re going to get blood on me.” Adam muttered as Mark rubbed his face against Adam.

“You wanted the bed back,” Mark replied hoarsely. “Shut up and be happy.”

“Thrilled,” Adam said sarcastically. “I love having you snorting in my ear like the fucking pig you are.”

Mark shoved his nose into Adam’s ear and inhaled loudly, causing Adam to squirm away from him in disgust. Mark gave a wheeze of a laugh as Adam furiously rubbed at the side of his face – annoying him was so easy.

“You’re the worst.” Adam snapped. “I take you into my home, and you bleed all over my things and cry all the time and slobber on me.”

“I didn’t cry.” Mark prodded Adam’s back.

“Did cry.” Adam muttered. “When you were delirious and throwing up over yourself. It was real fucking pathetic.”

“You’re pathetic.” Mark replied lamely.

He didn’t want to know what he had said when his body was going through shock – whose names he’d called out, what secrets he’d spilt to Adam. He can barely remember the first day, but has a faint memory of being held on the floor, Adam’s fingers digging into his wrist as he screamed in pain. He thinks he may have begged for Angelina.

“Great comeback,” Adam said. “Ever considered a career in comedy Hoffman, instead of serial killing?”

“Fuck you,” Mark said, resisting the urge to prod him again. “I should have left you chained up.”

“Who else would sew your ugly face back together?” Adam asked. “Everyone else is dead.”

“Shut up,” Mark grunted and dragged Adam back towards him, tangling their legs together.

Adam, surprisingly, didn’t put up a fuss, allowing Mark to hold him. He must have felt some sympathy for Mark, or else was nervous that Mark would bite his throat open if he kicked him away. Mark hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since he was a child; one-night stands rarely stayed the night, and it was strange yet familiar to listen to Adam’s quickened breathing.

“I’m making you get out of bed tomorrow,” Adam said, his voice quiet. “Even if it’s just to sit on my fucking couch. No more feeling sorry for yourself.”

Mark could have protested. He could have screamed and shouted and threatened Adam, hidden under the covers like a child. Instead, he nodded his head, tightening his grip around Adam’s skinny waist. If he slipped his hand underneath Adam’s shirt, he could have counted every rib. Mark wondered if Adam had as many as his original namesake.

“Okay,” Mark said. “I’ll leave the bed.”

“Good,” Adam said, and reached across to turn out the light, the room cast into an ominous level of darkness. At least there was still a strip of light underneath the doorframe leading to the outside hall, and Mark stared at it until his vision blurred. “You better not snore.”

“No promises.” Mark grunted, and closed his eyes.

He listened to the sound of Adam settling down for sleep, arranging his arms in several positions before he was comfortable. He was warm as he pressed himself against Mark’s stomach, hair tickling Mark’s nose. Mark’s jaw throbbed, and he chewed the other side of his cheek to try and distract himself from the pain.

“Goodnight.” Adam said suddenly, and Mark gave him another squeeze.

“Night.” He said, and let sleep swallow him up.