#cream paint for kitchen cabinets

[fantabulisticity]

Had to take measurements of ALL my kitchen cabinets and drawers bc they have different dimensions :/ Now I can FINALLY buy cabinet liners so I can actually put all my kitchen stuff away!

[piratekane]

(a "lucy fills their home with things" kacy piece)

Lucy isn’t exaggerating. She travels light.

She brings a few bags of things—clothes, mostly; a few picture frames of faces that Kate recognizes; a sizable shoe collection that forces Kate to weed through her own and finally get rid of a few pairs she’s been holding onto for no reason.

What she doesn’t bring is trinkets.

There’s no novelty mugs, no knickknacks from Lucy’s college years, no potted plants, no paintings or little figurines that Kate was worrying wouldn’t fit on the shelves with her things.

She didn’t need to worry, though. Lucy makes four trips and then stands in the living room with her hands on her hips and a smile on her face. She declares herself moved in and immediately goes to the drawer filled with take out menus; it’s a pho night.

Kate stares in wonderment for a moment. Four trips and that’s it? Her apartment is empty? Not that it would take Kate long to pack up her apartment, really, but it would certainly be more boxes. She’d have to pack the planters, the mugs, the baskets of blankets, the candles, the small collection of books, the stack of games she keeps for the possibility of a game night. It would take Kai and Jesse’s help, at least. But Lucy did it all by herself, up and down the elevator like she was going on a weekend trip, not moving an entire life from one apartment to another.

“I just don’t need a lot,” she tells Kate that night, a sheet pooled around her waist as she lays back on her pillow. “Work, gym, and you. I wasn’t kidding.”

Kate doesn’t need a lot either, but she does have small things. Jane bought her an orchid in a yellow pot that thrives in the living room. She has a few things from Northwestern on a shelf nearby. A stack of books on a side table. Three mugs with silly slogans she got as a gag gift in D.C. that she used to hide in the back of the cupboard before she didn’t care if Lucy saw them. A novelty, oversized fork that hangs by the stove. Just a couple of things that give her apartment a version of a personality without overwhelming things.

Kate ran a finger over the swell of Lucy’s hip and they hadn’t talked about it again.

-

Kate doesn’t notice it at first, rushing in the morning because Lucy rolled across her just before her alarm went off and they got caught up in each other. She needs to start putting her foot down because she’s been nearly late to work too many times since Lucy moved in. But every time she thinks about telling Lucy they can’t, they have no time, Lucy tosses those curls over her shoulder and bats her eyes and smiles that slow smile Kate always gives in to.

So she misses it, sitting on the kitchen counter. She doesn’t see it until later, peeling her silk shirt off with a groan as the fabric sticks to her skin. It was a hot day and she spent too much of it running around. Her texts say that Lucy is finishing up a few notes but she’ll be home soon—home, Kate thinks, smile unconscious—and can Kate please make fettuccine Alfredo if they have the right ingredients? Kate opens and closes the refrigerator and cabinets and they have the basics but she’ll have to go back out to get cream. She fires off a text to have Lucy stop and pick up a few things and finds a wine glass, pouring herself a drink.

When she puts it down on the counter she sees it: a small, golden set of letters, interlocked seamlessly so she can barely tell where one ends and one begins. A K&L so small that she could fit in the center of her palm. It’s tucked next to the coffee maker, inconspicuous. Kate frowns, picking it up and turning it over. She didn’t bring this home, and logically it could have only been Lucy who did, but when did she put it on the counter? Was it here yesterday? Just how unobservant has she been lately?

She holds it for another moment before placing it gently down on the counter where it was. A fingerprint shines on the golden surface but she doesn’t wipe it away. Something about erasing it makes her chest ache with an unknown feelings. She tucks it back a little, tighter to the coffee maker, and makes a note to ask Lucy about it.

Lucy barrels through the front door 10 minutes and half a glass of wine later, already laughing as she launches into whatever Jesse did to Kai today and Kate forgets to ask Lucy where the K&L came from, too caught up in her whirlwind and the bruising kiss she pulls Kate into to remember it.

They don’t have fettuccine Alfredo but Lucy, standing behind her at the kitchen counter as Kate lazily stirs peppers and onions and Lucy presses even lazier kisses to her shoulder, doesn’t seem to mind.

-

Things start appearing.

Kate thinks she might be going crazy, honestly. Every time she looks around, more things pop up. She finds a bonsai tree on the coffee table one night when she gets home from work and Lucy is stretched across the couch, snoring. A new candle is burning on the counter when she gets back from her Saturday morning surfing. A bobble head pops up on Lucy’s nightstand that looks suspiciously like Jesse. Kate blinks and the tissue box in the living room has a strange Dallas Cowboys cover on it that she didn’t realize you could still buy. Then there’s a caricature of the two of them Kate doesn’t remember sitting for tucked onto the wall with all of their degrees. An NCIS mug finds its way into the cupboard and behind it is one with “Aloha Hawai’i” on it.

Kate looks around their apartment and wonders how Lucy keeps sneaking things in without her noticing. Or why she’s sneaking them in the first place.

But she doesn’t mind them. She does thinks the bobble head is creepy and she makes Lucy turn it to face the wall whenever Lucy’s hand snakes across the sheets to Kate’s thigh. But the rest of them, things her mother would probably turn her nose up at, don’t bother her. They’re cute, if a little kitschy. They bring a little life into their home, pops of color that Kate wouldn’t have thought to bring in herself.

Lucy doesn’t say anything about them either. She just keeps adding things: a wooden sign for the bathroom with a giant palm tree on it that takes Kate a week until she decides that no one sees their bathroom because no one visits; a three-candle holder sprayed a deep teal color that Kate thinks looks like the ocean before a storm: a new coffee pod container with a subtle rainbow on it; a small hand-painted pineapple.

Kate just lets these things pile up in their apartment and silently brings Ernie the bobble head after its beady eyes follow her around her bedroom in her towel.

-

“Okay,” Kate finally declares when she comes home to find a small clown figurine on the counter next to the wooden, painted bowl Lucy bought to house their oranges. “We need to talk.”

Lucy looks up from peeling one of those oranges and her brow furrows. “That’s never good.”

Kate frowns before it clears. “Oh, not like that.” She follows her words with her hands curling around Lucy’s waist and pressing a kiss to the top of Lucy’s head. She points to the clown. “About this.”

“You don’t like clowns.”

“I do not like clowns,” she confirms. “But I meant, where are all these things coming from?”

Lucy looks confused. “Where is what coming from?”

Kate sweeps an arm across their apartment and things Lucy has been bringing home. “All of this. The knickknacks. The trinkets. The… clown statue.”

Lucy brightens. “Oh, do you like them? Not the clown, obviously. I will get rid of that. Ernie is strangely afraid of clowns, too.”

“I didn’t say I was afraid. They’re just unnatural,” Kate insists. She shakes her head, getting back on track. “But where are they coming from?”

Lucy shrugs. “Everywhere. Whenever I see something I think you might like, I pick it up. This place was a little… boring. It needed some personality.”

Kate frowns. “It wasn’t boring. I just... wasn’t here a lot.” She leans one hip against the counter. “So you were just going to fill our place with ‘personality’ until we suffocate under screen-printed blankets and dog statues?”

“Well, you never said anything about them.”

“Neither did you.”

Lucy shrugs again. “I figured you’d say something if you didn’t like them.”

Kate softens. She tucks some of Lucy’s hair behind her ear. “I like them. Most of them,” she amends. “The sign in the bathroom is not my favorite. But the rest of them, I like,” she rushes to add. “I just didn’t think you were someone who liked those things. I mean, you literally brought nothing but clothes and shoes when you moved in.”

Lucy abandons the orange, turning until her stance mirrors Kate’s. She looks thoughtful as her gaze slides towards the open balcony doors. “My house growing up was… spartan. Not that it was empty, but we were doing the minimalist thing before it was cool. And so I never had these things. The knickknacks, you know?” She meets Kate’s eyes. “I told myself that when I had a home, I’d do the opposite. I’d get all the weird little things I saw, that I liked. And I’d buy them and fill a whole place with them.”

Something softens even more in Kate’s chest. It melts, warm and slow, through her body. She smiles softly, hands reaching for Lucy’s waist and curling in her shirt. “So you bought them now.”

“I have a home now,” Lucy says simply. “I didn’t before.”

Kate tugs Lucy forward a few inches until their hips press together. Her forehead drops to Lucy’s. “I love them. Well, except—“

“The clown and the bathroom sign,” Lucy finishes. Her lips twitch in a smile. “Noted.” She presses up on her toes, their lips brushing. “What about a different bathroom sign?”

“How about no bathroom sign?” Kate counters. She presses their lips together with more purpose. “And a no bobble head rule.”

Lucy laughs softly. “I’ll cancel my order, then. It’s a shame. You would have been a cute bobble head.” She unwinds from Kate’s grip, picks up an orange slice, and crosses the apartment, grinning.

“That’s not funny, Lucy.” Kate frowns when Lucy only smiles wider. “That was Jesse,” she accuses. “I knew it! Lucy, that was so creepy!”

Lucy laughs and pops an orange slice into her mouth. “I was going to fill the apartment with the team until you said something,” she admits. “But I guess they can go in Ernie’s lair.”

Kate rolls her eyes as Lucy disappears into the bedroom. She looks around the apartment—at the K&L by the coffee maker, the Cowboys tissue box, the half-filled “Aloha Hawai’i” mug, the coffee pod container, the collection of candles growing at the unused end of the counter. All little things Lucy picked up, picked out for them.

Trinkets, knickknacks, souvenirs, baubles—it would take Lucy more than four trips to move out now. And Kate agrees, it makes it look like a home in her with all these things, these novelties handpicked by the woman she loves.

Lucy hums from the bedroom and Kate smiles to herself before she catches sight of the clown figurine. Her smile twists into disgust and she picks it up, opening the trash can and dropping it in. Some of these things she can live without.

Lucy, not so much.

[the-californicationist]

Good Fences (Fluffuary #14)

FEB14: Cooking Together

“C’mon, love. We’ve gotta get this cake ready for tomorrow or Garrick is going to pout,” John reminded you, shaking a box of cake mix at you as he stood in the kitchen. 

You had promised to bake Kyle a cake for his birthday, complete with homemade icing and candles, and he had been practically glowing with excitement. He’d begged for funfetti, 

“I’ve never had it, and it looks fuckin’ grand. You’d be makin’ my birthday wish come true, babes.”

“Alright, alright. Cake-in-a-box, coming right up,” you laughed, holding up your hands in mock surrender.

That’s how you found yourself dragging your mixer out of the cabinet and following John’s orders as he read them off of the box.

“It says two eggs, love. Why’d you add the third yolk?” He warned, peering menacingly over your shoulder.

“Makes it a little richer. Just mind your business, sir,” you winked, elbowing him as you scraped the sides of the huge metal bowl, “What’s the next step?”

The batter came together in your mixer and you watched as the suspiciously-bright rainbow sprinkles dotted the inside of the pale cream, dancing in circles around the beater. John held the bowl while you filled each greased tin, making sure to leave some room. 

“Alright, chef,” he smiled, “Thirty minutes at three-fifty in your ridiculous Fahrenheit.”

John was wearing your oven mitts on his hands, using them to pull out the hot racks so he could place the cakes inside. They were shaped like fish, and their mouths were the hands. 

“What icing for the birthday boy, do you think?” You opened your fridge and stared at some of the ingredients you’d purchased.

You were planning on strawberry vanilla buttercream, but you could manage chocolate if you needed to.

John pulled off the mitts and shut the oven door. He wrapped you in his arms and stared into the fridge with you,

“Mmm. I know he’s a vanilla fan. Tha’s your safest bet, love.”

“Is he still planning on borrowing your car? He said he had something in town, but he didn’t elaborate,” you asked, wondering why you had to plan a birthday party in the middle of the day instead of around dinner time.

“Said he has a hot date…” John raised his eyebrows at you and helped you find a clean bowl to make the icing.

“Oh, God. Cana,” you realized, laughing as you started to prepare the buttercream, combining the ingredients manually rather than going through the trouble of washing the stand mixer.

“Yep,” John smiled, stealing an unused strawberry from the bowl he’d pulled from the icebox. 

The juice ran down the corner of his mouth and you caught it with your finger, licking it up and handing him a napkin.

“There,” you said, folding in the vanilla extract, “Give this a try.”

You held up the bowl of icing for him to taste, and he wiped some from the side of the bowl, painting it onto his finger and sucking it into his mouth. 

He groaned, low and deep,

“Mmm. It’s good, love.”

Then, he stuck his finger back in for a second taste, and you pulled the bowl away, giggling at him,

“Hey! Save it for the cake…”

He grabbed you around the waist and held you to him so you couldn’t escape. Using his finger filled with icing, he pointed it toward your nose, threatening to wipe it on you.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” he chuckled, letting you writhe against him, giggling and trying to get away.

“John! No! Oh, my God. I’m gonna pinch you,” you threatened.

“Mmm,” he purred, “Careful. I kinda like it when you pinch me, love.”

You gasped, and he took advantage of your shock, smearing the icing on the tip of your nose. He grabbed your face, smiling and laughing with you, sticking his tongue out to lick it off. 

“John Price!” You screeched, craning your neck away from his wet tongue. 

“Mm. Just a taste. C’mere…”

John covered you in icing, kisses, and his lustful caresses until the oven timer beeped loudly in the kitchen, nearly forgotten.

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

[veeisgayasf]

Hello hello :) first of all love ur work! But i see u are looking for a smutty prompt hehe. Two words: KITCHEN SEX. Pls!! I havent seen it anywhere, u can do whatever u want whit it i just need larissa or reader to be fucked on a kitchen counter.

Culinary Skills Larissa Weems x Reader

Authors Note: Anon, thank you so much for your kind words and for this request! This was by far the quickest I've written a fic. I sat down and it just flowed out. I really hope you like it!

(Apologies for any grammar or punctuation errors.)

Warnings: Minors DNI! NSFW, SMUT, lesbian sex, fingering, oral sex, praise kink (if you squint), strong language.

Word Count: 1800

You invited Larissa over after an extremely stressful day at work. She hadn’t expected you to actually make her dinner, instead she figured you would order take-out and you two would just cuddle up on the couch to watch a movie while you ate. She was pleasantly surprised when she showed up to the smell of stir-fry lingering in the air.

The both of you sat at the table, enjoying the food you prepared, talking about the craziness of the day. The conversation turned lighthearted and comical. Larissa cackled at your impression of Wednesday’s deadpan. The laughter filled the dining room, smiles painted on both of your faces.

When there was not a single morsel left on either plate, you got up to take the dishes to the kitchen. Larissa followed you making a fuss over you trying to clean when you had just cooked. You reluctantly gave in and allowed her to wash the dishes. It gave you the chance to make the icing for the cake you had baked for dessert.

“Y/N, what on earth are you making now?” Larissa asked, her hands still soapy from finishing up the last of the dishes. “Well, you really can’t have a good cake without icing now can you?” You quipped with a cheesy grin, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet. “Oh my lord, this is too much! You should be relaxing!” Her voice was high pitched and caused you to laugh. “I am relaxing. I enjoy cooking and baking, it's calming to me.” You said, walking over to grab a whisk out of your utensil container. You pulled heavy cream out of the refrigerator and powdered sugar from another cabinet. 

“Well… okay, I guess I can’t argue with you if it’s something you truly enjoy.” Larissa walked over to the counter next to you, leaning up against it, and watched you begin to furiously whisk heavy cream in the bowl. Her gaze falling to your hands and how skilled you were with the whisk. She knew you could cook, but never got to actually watch you in your element. You were completely focused on the task at hand and, oddly enough, it caused a warmth to travel to Larissa’s core. 

“Hey, will you hand me the powdered sugar, please?” You pointed to the bag sitting next to where Larissa was leaning. She passed it to you, completely enamored by the fact that you were mixing this all by hand. Out of your peripheral vision, you could see Larissa hoist herself up to sit on the counter. Her legs dangling over, the tips of her toes touching the linoleum. She let both legs part slightly causing a burning desire to course through your entire body.

Finally done mixing, you placed the bowl on the island counter behind you, tossing the whisk in the sink. When you turned around, Larissa still sat atop the counter. Several thoughts flew into your head at that exact moment. You knew you wouldn’t finish icing the cake with Larissa sitting there like that. You had another dessert in mind.

Larissa stared at you with a slight confusion. “Decide not to make the dessert after all?” She asked with a little giggle in her voice. “No, I decided on a different type of dessert.” You stated, heat settling behind your navel and a wetness between your legs. At first, Larissa didn’t really understand but quickly caught on when she saw your pupils dilate and your breaths quicken. “Oh… that kind of dessert.” Larissa barely got the sentence out of her mouth before you rushed forward, crashing your lips into hers with a bruising kiss. 

She spread her legs wider allowing you to bring your body flush with hers, fingers threading their way into your hair. The kiss was full of passion and lust as you swiped your tongue along her lower lip, eliciting a deep moan from the woman. She opened her mouth slightly allowing your tongue to dance along hers. You placed both hands on her thighs, trailing your fingers up and down, causing Larissa to shiver. You were the one to finally break the kiss, and she whined loudly as soon as you did.

“Take these off.” You demanded, pulling at Larissa’s pants. She tried stepping down off the counter, but you shook your head. She didn’t protest, only began fumbling with the button. She finally got it undone as you helped her peel them off, throwing them to the floor. She sat on the counter in black lace underwear. The sight of her long bare legs caused your own underwear to become completely soaked. 

Quickly returning your hands to her thighs, you trailed your nails all the way down to her knees and back up, dangerously close to where she desired them the most. Every time you got closer, Larissa would push her hips up just for you to trail your fingers back down towards her knees. She groaned loudly, “Please, Y/N, I need you.” The desperation in her voice only spurred you on further.

“Desperate, are we?” You teased, your fingers hooking into the hem of the thin material. “Tell me, Larissa. Tell me how desperate you are for me.” She whined, wrapping her hands around your neck and her legs around your waist, pulling you in closer. “So-s-so desperate. I need you. I need you deep inside me, Y/N!” She almost moaned, pupils completely blown. She lunged forward, trying to kiss you only for you to pull back slightly. 

“Nuh uh, I want to hear you beg. I want you to be a complete and utter mess before I devour you.” Your words elicited a loud whimper from the woman in front of you. “Fuck, please, Y/N! I’m b-begging you!!!” Larissa basically yelled. 

“Good girl. So good for me.” The praise making Larissa whine and whimper more, her legs pulling you closer. You leaned in, kissing the woman, tongue exploring every part of her mouth. Larissa kept her hands around your neck as you placed one on the side of her cheek and the other over her clothed sex, making the woman gasp and moan loudly at the sudden contact.

Her hips bucked forward trying to gain any friction they could. You rewarded her by bringing two fingers to her clit, still clothed. You circled the sensitive bundle as you began kissing along her jawline down to her pulse point. She hissed as you bit down, fingers gripping your neck tighter.

Finally, you slipped your fingers under the fabric allowing them to trail through her slick folds up to her clit again. Larissa let out a yelp “Oh gods yes!” You lazily circled the bud, trailing your tongue along her collar bone. Getting impatient with the shirt that was covering her, Larissa leaned slightly forward pulling it up and off, tossing it to the side. To your surprise, she was braless.

You wasted no time lavishing her chest with your tongue, stopping at a hardened nipple. Taking it into your mouth, you swirled your tongue around it lightly biting down, once again causing Larissa to hiss. You did the same to the other nipple, not wanting to leave it neglected.

You made your way down the expanse of her abdomen, kissing and trailing your tongue the entire way. You only stopped at the elastic of her ruined underwear. Kneeling, you placed both hands on either side of her hips, pulling the garment off. You let out a long moan at the sight of her glistening folds. Unable to resist, you slid your tongue up her inner thigh, tasting the juices that flowed down.

“Mm, Jesus baby, you’re so wet for me.” You sighed out, the woman above you resting her head on the cabinet door, body shaking in anticipation, mumbling incoherently.

You spent a little more time teasing along her thighs before finally swiping your tongue through her slick folds. Larissa cried out, hands flying down to rest in your hair, her heels on your back. You continued swirling your tongue up and back down, then circling her sensitive clit. The moans became louder as you quickened the pace.

Larissa was already extremely close to her first orgasm. Gripping her thighs, you slipped your tongue as far inside of her as you could. This is all it took to send her over the edge. Larissa let out a strangled cry, hands tightening in your hair. You didn’t stop, only moved back up to her clit, sucking the overly sensitive bud into your mouth.

Larissa writhed above you, crying out and moaning. “Y/N… g-god, Y/N..” Her words were broken and desperate. She screamed when you suddenly slid two fingers deep inside her, curling them slightly as you pulled them back hitting the soft spongy spot that drove her absolutely wild. 

“B-baby, I’m already s-so close!” She cried out, walls already constricting around your fingers. You pumped them in and out faster, building a rhythm. The moans above you louder and louder. 

The coil tightened behind Larissa’s navel and threatened to snap, but she held on a little longer. It wasn’t until you swiped her clit with the flat of your tongue while still pumping inside of her did it fully snap. She came with a screaming cry, your name falling from her lips over and over.

You lapped every bit of juice that flowed out of the woman, letting her ride out the orgasm. Breathless and overly sensitive, Larissa almost jumped off the counter top when you swiped your tongue through her folds one last time. You stood quickly, allowing Larissa to go limp in your grasp.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. Let's get you to the chair.” You held on to her as you reached for one of the chairs close by. She only nodded her head in a post ecstasy daze. She sat down, still holding onto your neck. 

“I’m going to grab you a water, Larissa. Give me one second and I will be right back.” You kissed her on the forehead before turning to grab a water bottle out of the fridge. Quickly making your way back, you kneeled in front of her handing her the bottle. 

She smiled, looking at you with a sleepy mischievous grin on her face. “So, did you enjoy your dessert, darling?” She asked, making you laugh loudly. “Oh, you bet your ass I did. Best damn dessert on the face of this planet.” You replied, leaning forward to wrap your arms around her waist, resting your chin on her knees. 

“Hmm, well once I gain my strength, I believe I would definitely like to indulge in a little dessert myself.” You only grinned, knowing Larissa was about to have you completely spent before this night was over.

[the-kr8tor]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do a fic of hobie taking care of the cats by himself. Thank you and have a good one:)

Hi hun! Thank you for the request! I was starting to miss the cats ❤️ hope you like this!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, FLUFF

The cats are based on this fic

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie wouldn't leave your side as you fix your appearance in the mirror. He stares at you from your bed, legs criss crossed together. It was supposed to be a quiet night for the both of you, finally your schedules lining up together. Your cuddling and random conversation gets cut off by the loud ring of your phone. Your friend's sobbing through the receiver startling you both, thinking something bad happened. Turns out your friend desperately (in her own words) needed you for an emergency girl talk, her boyfriend breaking up with her for the tenth time this year, and it's only May.

Hobie sighs dramatically as you pick up your jacket, showing how much he doesn't want you to leave. He sighs again, louder this time. You crane your neck to finally look at him, he perks up immediately, thinking his plan worked.

"Hobie, my love" you move closer to him with every word, he smiles triumphantly, as you cup his jaw, whispering "I need to go, I'll only be an hour or two, tops" you try to reassure him.

His smile fades, replaced with a small frown "you said that the last time, she had you for five bloody hours" Hobie holds you by your waist, tugging at your jeans, he's sure you're uncomfortable in it since a minute ago you were in your comfy pajamas.

"I promise this time I'll be fast, okay?" You peck his nose "I'll even buy her some Ben and Jerry's to cheer her up faster"

"Buy her favourite flavour, that'll shut her up faster" he rolls his eyes, annoyed.

"Don't be mean" you leave a sticky kiss to his cheek "I'll call you when I get there, don't wait up for me, rest, okay?"

"Do you want me to swing you over there?"

"Nope, I'll be fine she's a lot closer now since she moved" you grimace, when you remember something "she rented the place with him, goddamnit" you realize that it might take you longer than you thought, maybe you should buy her a few tubs of ice cream.

You reluctantly pull away from Hobie, hand still intertwined with his. "I'm sorry, I'll be here before you fall asleep I promise, then we can cuddle until we pass out"

"You better. Be careful alright" he stands up, walking you to your door. You give him one last kiss before you go, a promise you'll be back before he misses you (it's a stretch though).

Your door clicks close, Hobie turns away from it, he stops in his tracks when your cats block his way, weren't they asleep a second ago?

Crumpet meows loudly, while Teacup moves towards his legs, moving her little body around his feet, asking for attention. Meanwhile Crowley stares daggers at him, but he too meows at Hobie, that's a regular occurrence when it comes to him, but this time he moves towards Hobie, stopping by his foot, staring up at him with his bright green eyes.

Hobie's a bit confused, Crowley has never been this close to him.

Crumpet meows again, moving towards their food bowl, she moves her paw over it. Hobie understands quickly.

"Hungry then? Alright I'm coming" Hobie moves towards the bowls, grabbing each one, he then goes to the kitchen, he moves in precise footsteps, avoiding stepping on Teacup, circling his legs. Their stack of food is hidden inside the bottom cabinet.

He grabs one of each, while the cats surround him, Teacup is purring around his legs still, Crumpet meows impatiently behind him, while Crowley watches him with vigilant eyes as if he's waiting for Hobie to mess up.

Hobie opens up a can, scooping it into Crumpet's orange bowl, a cartoon drawing of Crumpet's face is painted on it. He carefully drops it in front of Crumpet, stopping her loud meows. She immediately goes ham, her whole face submerged inside the bowl.

"Fuckin' hell, where's your manners?"

He opens Teacup's can, pouring it inside her bright pink bowl, the words 'spoiled princess' written in cursive is printed on it. She's spoiled alright, her food labeled with the word 'premium' on it. Hobie brings it towards his legs, dropping it carefully for Teacup to eat.

She sniffs at it, before she eats. "You're a picky eater, huh" he pets her on her head, scratching behind her ears.

Hobie moves towards Crowley's food, he slowly opens it, making eye contact with the void, while Crowley plots his demise if he ever spilled it.

He carefully pours it over his jet black bowl, the words 'little devil' painstakingly painted red on its side (Hobie's gift to you). Hobie gives it to Crowley, taking his hand back quickly, as if Crowley will bite his hand off.

Hobie washes his hands, sighing as he watches them eat.

His phone rings from his sweatpants' pocket, your voice ringing out, in the background he can hear the loud sobbing of your friend.

You move farther away (as possible, while your friend is basically clinging to you) "Hey Hobie, I made it here, as you can tell" a loud sob almost bursts his eardrum, moving the phone away from him.

He glances at the cats, crouching down to Crumpet's level, stroking her soft orange fur. "Really? Can't tell"

He hears your friend in the background, yelling "men aren't shit!" She grabs your phone "Why can't they all be like you, Hobie?!" She says through sobs, before she gives you back your phone.

"It's going so well" you sarcastically say.

"Give her a hug or something"

"Oh I am trust me" he hears a rustling sound on your end, Crumpet licks her face clean, satisfied. Hobie pats her head, as she dives for more. "It's okay, I know he's a piece of shit" he hears your muffled voice. You move the phone back to your ear. "Sorry, I almost forgot to tell you, don't, under any circumstance give the cats food"

"What?" His stomach drops, as he watches all three cats finish their meal.

"They might ask you for more, and they're quite persistent, they'll keep hounding you till you fork over some. Especially Crumpet, she's the instigator. I've fed them already so please don't give them any"

Oh shit, he curses internally. Crowley licks his face while staring at Hobie, it's like he's mocking him.

"Hobie? You still there?"

"Yeah, love" he tries to play it cool while he looks at Teapot's full belly, she saunters towards him, rubbing her face on his hand. "Get back home safely, yeah? Give her my love"

You raise your eyebrows at his flat tone, but you ignore it while your friend pours herself another glass of wine, oh, that's not good.

"Yeah, Sure, love you" You end the call, after that you try to wrangle the glass from your friend's hand.

Hobie pinches the bridge of his nose, oh these cats are gonna be the death of him. Crumpet bumps her head on Hobie's leg, her way of saying thank you. Teacup meows at Hobie to pet her, while Crowley narrows his eyes at Hobie. He swears he can see that cat smirk at him.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Special thanks to my irl bestie for telling me stories about her cat, love you ❤️ thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it ❤️

[0oolookitsme]

Melted Ice Cream

Type - Blurb

Verse - Footballer!Harry x Art Director!Y/n

Word Count - 901

Warnings - None! Maybe some cursing here and there.

A/N - Wrote this on my phone and that too in a hour or so. This is just a cute little scene, hope you like it <3

(Just the Harry I pictured while writing this:)

The room remained silent, neither of them spoke a word but it was a known fact that both the pair of eyes were wide open.

"H?"

"Yep?"

There wasn't anything funny but the two still chortled. "Why the hell are you still awake?" Y/n asked, releasing his hand to rub her eyes.

"I don't know, why are you?" He asked back, turning on his side to face her. Out of habit, one of his legs swung up on her thigh.

Y/n didn't exactly turn on her side, but she still tilted her head in a way that she was facing him. Nothing but the A/C's light penetrated the darkness in the room, and they could still tell where the other one's eyes and mouth and head and nose were. Silence lingered around for a while before Y/n decided to speak up again.

"I can’t sleep, can we have ice cream?"

“I was about to say that!" Harry exclaimed silently and y/n could just tell that he had this wide grin on his face and that his eyebrows were probably closer to his hairline than to his eyes now.

It was as if they were little kids, the way they jumped off of the bed and scurried to be at each other's side – not exactly fitting in the door frame but still squeezing their way through. Sounds of small, high pitched giggles filled the whole house as they raced down the stairs. "No!" Harry cackled, fisting y/n's shirt from behind when she ran him out. Pulling her back into him he grabbed a tight hold of her by wrapping one arm around her waist and twisted to swing her behind and run ahead.

"That's cheating, H! You're such a loser!" She yelled, laughing and slightly wheezing.

Neither of them know why they are racing, it's not like they only have one scoop of ice cream left. But it was still obvious that the one who reaches the fridge first, wins. And while Y/n is a competitive freak, Harry wouldn't necessarily give himself that title – yet it's clear that if he's playing, he aims to win.

Harry opened the freezer with a smug smile on his face, pulling out a tub of vanilla ice-cream.

"Stop smiling like that or I will slap that off your face, you fuckin' cheater," Y/n grumbled from where she was sitting on the kitchen counter.

His frown started to melt into a lopsided grin on his mouth as he opened the drawer to pull out their ice cream bowls. "Oh please, you're just salty your loser ass couldn't win." He said, looking at her as if waiting for her to tell him to fuck off – and she did, indeed, flip him off.

Their ice cream bowls, on the other hand, are a whole nother story. They had gone to a ceramics class from their school's side and at the end of the workshop, had to make some bowls to show what they had learnt. The only thing that went wrong was that their bowls ended up looking like 'too-tiny bucket hats', as the incharge there had joked. They were so unbelievably tiny for a bowl that their crafts teacher at school believed that it had to be intentional.

But it was absolutely unintentional. They were just talking so much that the goal had escaped them, that's all.

On Harry's cup, Y/n had painted small footballs and written 'balls out' in the smallest font. And Harry, on the other hand, had painted small cherries and white doodle-flowers all over her cup. They had even gotten detention, for allegedly making a joke of a representation of their school.

"Want sprinkles?" Y/n asked him, kneeling on the floor in the front of the lowest cabinet. Harry only bummed in return, busy in scooping out equal amounts of ice cream in each bowl. She stood close next to him as she sprinkled the colourful bits on top of his ice cream first, and then onto hers.

"Hey! No fair! You have more sprinkles than mine!" Harry claimed, grabbing her hand and forcing her to put more on his. "Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!" He rushed, trying to take the jar out of her hand as she leaned on the slab to keep her body up while she laughed.

Whining, Harry took a few steps back. "Oh my god, now that's too much sprinkles!" He gritted through his teeth, frowning at her wheezing figure, then slowly and slowly, joining her. Before he knew, they were both kneeling on the kitchen floor, curling up because they were laughing so hard their stomach hurt.

"Why the fuck are you la-laughing?" Y/n asked in the midst, sitting up straight to calm down. "What's funny?" She asked seriously but then Harry spurted out another laugh and she was laughing again.

Tears were rolling down both their cheeks as they finally gained control over themselves. "Wait, wait, wait – this is melting!" Harry shrieked, grabbing ahold of his cup and raising a full spoon to his mouth.

"I told you eat it right away, you idiot!" Y/n panicked from behind, also reaching for her cup. "What?" She asked when Harry passed her a suspicious look.

"You never told me that."

"Do i really need to tell you to eat your ice cream before it fucking melts, Harry?"

Prompt Creds to @me-writes-prompts <3

Tagging: @reveriehs <3

MASTERLIST <3

[kangamommynow]

Kitchen update.

When we left for vacation, they had just started.

This is early. You can see the original laminate floor where they removed cabinets (the wood is covered). The amber is the color we painted it, and the cream color was behind the cabinets.

After paint and placing cabinets so they can measure the countertops

Today. That pantry makes me very happy. We’ve had the smallest space for pantry and I’m ready to actually see things.

And the laundry got some cabinets today. The machines will go on a lift so they don’t collect cat toys and cat litter under them.

[zombiewhor3]

WAKE UP

rick grimes x fem reader (carl grimes featured)

WARNINGS: mentions of walkers, implications of character death, mentions of character almost dying, angst, (no actual character death), mentions of Shane, fem reader.

-

she watched him limp as the boy ahead of them seemed to ignore as his father called out for him to slow down. y/n held her and Rick's bag on her back and shoulder so he wouldn't limp as much.

Once they reached the door of the house y/n had knocked harshly with her fist maybe to see if there were any walkers inside or near around the house they stood at.

she could see some of the paint chipping on the door and she was almost startled at the sound of a walker planting it's hand against the glass of the window pressing its face against it.

"stay here Carl, i'll clear it" he had given an order and they both knew it was what he wanted, they knew that he believed he was strong enough to do this on his own and maybe he was but not now.

not with the limp in his leg from being shot and not with the dehydration and the hunger that spread inside him.

"we can't let you do it alone, you can barely stand on your own Rick" she spoke up against him seeing as his son nodded in an agreement, slipping out his own gun from his holster.

she could see the furrow in his brows as he took it as maybe a sign of them calling him weak, he rubbed over some of the stubble from his beard and looked at the two in front of him.

"we'll help you clear it, it's nothing new just like the prison" Carl spoke watching his father hesitantly take in a sharp deep breath looking over at his girlfriend who he could tell was about to speak.

"let me do it myself" he spoke abruptly, he could feel a hand rubbing on his shoulder and he had finally made up his mind looking at the two of them so eager to help him, to help their group.

The door squeaked open with a crack and just enough y/n was able to place a knife in the walker's fleshy skull hearing it thud and drop to the ground with a sudden plop.

they could hear more rasping coming from up the stairs and Rick had placed a firm hand on Carl's chest looking over as y/n gripped onto her knife and tried her best to be quiet on the stairs.

she could hear the rasping and growling coming from behind a door, scratching and clawing to get out the walker was desperate, so desperate just for its next meal.

she used her foot to barge open the door and she could see it was a women, not to old but dressed in a night gown. Without even a struggle she easy had killed the walker and took a deep breath in.

she opened each of the other doors with a pre-caution making sure that there had been anymore that were lurking around inside the house. And once it was all clear and walker free she made her way down the stair case and tossed her bag onto the kitchen table.

she watched and heard as cabinets were torn apart and searched for any trace of food or water they could get, Carl smiled as he held up a box of Cereal taking a glance at his father and y/n.

"kitchen wasn't empty" he spoke shoving it into his bag along with a can of creamed corn that was dented slightly, he made his way up into the house admiring the windows and all the rooms inside.

He had ventured his way around the house amazed but the sights it had given to him, yet he could feel his fathers eyes burning into him with each and every move he made. when he tried opening a door to a guest bathroom his hand was grabbed.

"don't there could be walkers in there" Rick huffed feeling his son harshly pull away his hand from his grasp, he huffed and took a look at his father before banging his fist against the wall.

y/n sat in the living room, her feet propped up on the coffee table while she had been eating a can of whatever the hell she had managed to scavange from the cabinets of the kitchen.

she was startled by the noise of loud banging and the sound of Carl yelling, "Hey asshole! Hey shit face!"

he yelled making y/n rapidly put down the can on the coffee table and she made her way up the stair case and into the guest bedroom.

"Watch your mouth!" She heard Rick lecture at his son and she was like a deer in headlights frozen at the glimpse of them staring at her.

Carl had opened the door to show there was nothing inside, and instead of even a word slipping from his father's mouth he made his way from the bedroom and back into the living room.

-

the couch was slammed against the door and Carl looked at his father un amused by the situation, "it's fine i tied the door shut" Carl remarked hearing Rick reply dully,

"we don't need to take any chances besides this is fine for tonight it'll have to do anyways because we have no other choice"

"what you don't think it'll hold? it's a clove hitch. Shane taught me it. Do you remember him?" Carl could feel the bitter question slip right off his tongue and he wasn't even sure if he felt sorry about it.

y/n swallowed harshly and looked down at the floor, "carl" she managed to croak out to him knowing that his words were eating up his own father inside.

"i remember him , i think about him everyday god damn day. Now anything else you want to say to me son?" Rick pressed the couch against the door one more time before he untied and slipped off his boots setting them beside the couch.

y/n did the same and pulled off her flannel leaving her in a tank top, she watched Rick lay back on the couch and she snuggled up to him, her head on his chest while he stroked her hair.

she watched as Carl made his way up the stairs, his boots clomping against the wood so loud like it was intentional just to piss his father off, just to get his father going.

"what am i going to do?" he asked poking his tongue into the side of his inner cheek, he could hear the woman on her chest take a deep breath in as she adjusted herself so that she could look at him.

"he's a teenager and he's worried Rick. maybe he's scared and doesn't want to show it." she presumed all of what she said to be honest, she could understand how Carl was feeling.

the feeling of losing their home and losing people that they cared about, she understood the toll that it seemed to have on him.

"you are a good dad, one of the best fathers in the world" she spoke the truth even if he felt that it was a pity set of words only used to make him feel better and to chase away his feelings.

he smiled at her looking to see her head resting back against his chest, he closed his eyes and seemed to wrap his arms around her even tighter than he ever had.

-

she looked around to see she was still laying on Rick's chest, his arms had slipped to the side and one of his hands dangled from off of the couch. She gently slipped away trying not to disturb his peace after all this was the first he had slept in days.

she made her way into the kitchen seeing as Carl stood holding a can of opened chocolate pudding, "where the hell did you find that?" she chuckled placing a seat at the table.

"in another house down the street" he replied as he filled a spoonful of the dessert in his mouth and shrugged his shoulders at her, he watched her smile drop and her brows furrow softly.

"i'm sorry another house? but we didn't go to another house Carl" her tone became sharper and her voice more forceful, still in a whisper not to wake the man who was sleeping.

"i did, i snuck out from the window when you guys were still asleep and i went scavenging for supplies, and look at me i'm still okay. i don't need him" he remarked at her and she shook her head at him.

"do you know how dangerous that is?! Carl what if you weren't okay? What if you got bit? or what if someone else was out there?"

she was angry but more worried for his safety than anything, she had practically jumped up from the table to eye him for maybe any visible bruises or bites or scratches that he could've gotten.

"but i didn't! I didn't get bit or hurt! i can do things on my own, i don't need you and my father babying me all the time" he raised his voice at her and she pressed her hands against the table leaning against it while she took in a deep breath.

" we're not babying you, its to keep you safe because out there it's dangerous and you know that. You've seen how dangerous it is. you can't make stupid decisions not after everything that's happened"

she almost had tears in her eyes just thinking of losing him after Rick had felt the guilt of losing Judith during the war at the prison, he had practically been eating himself up inside as he tried to swallow the guilt that was overwhelming him.

Carl hadn't said anything but instead he gave a soft nod at the woman who had patted him on the shoulder before she stepped back into the living room to check on the still asleep man.

he had been asleep and it seemed as if he wasn't even bothered by the loud commotion Carl and y/n had caused in the kitchen the two of them caused over the disagreement.

she checked her watch and seeing as it was around 1 o'clock it would be the perfect time to get on the road because they couldn't stay here anymore, they couldn't stay in this place because it wasn't safe.

there was no supplies, no way to signal for walkers and they were alone with just the three of them and both of the boys were out of bullets in their guns.

she shook his shoulder softly and whispered his name, with not even a gesture or response she shook him again this time harder and she watched his body shake a little waiting for at least maybe a groan or a flicker of his eyes opening but there was nothing.

she figured he was playing a joke on her, that he was going to eventually crack a smile at her as if he was trying to fake the idea of sleeping just to get her to crawl back with him

"it's not funny Rick seriously now get up we have to go" she pushed him harder and she could feel her heart sink when she realized that maybe he wasn't actually playing some dumb prank on her.

she started to shake him even harder and quite faster now, "Rick please, wake up" she pleaded at him and his eyes still were closed his body still limp and she could hear him lightly breathing.

"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!" she yelled as she had taken a cushion from the couch and roughly hit him with it, still he remained with his silent breathing and not even an expression.

Carl had stepped into the living room his hand on the knife as he had a visble confusion on his face as to why y/n was yelling at him,

he was also confused by the fact that his father hadn't been waking up by her multiple attempts of her shaking him and hitting him with the pillow, he watched her swallow harshly as she took a look at him.

she had tears streaming down her face and a lump in her throat that was impossible to try to swallow back once more, she held onto his hand using two of her fingers to feel that he still had a pulse.

she wondered if the damage from getting the shit beat out of him by the governor had an impact. she wondered if he was in a coma, or if he was dying or maybe he was just brain dead.

she could see Carl and the tears he had in the orbs of his eyes, he tried to force his father to wake with his own attempt of a yell and a shove but it was still nothing other than the slight breathing and rise of his chest that he got back.

y/n dropped his hand and let it dangle from the couch as she pulled away the now crying boy away from Rick, "what's wrong with him?!" he asked rapidly and this time she didn't have an answer

because she truly didn't know what was wrong with him, she didn't have the answer this time and now it was eating her up. It was eating her up because she couldn't seem to calm Carl.

she couldn't seem to settle the boy with the pity of 'everything was going to be okay' because she didn't know, she didn't know whether Rick was going to wake up or if he was going to turn into one of those flesh eating monsters that were out there.

they were both crying and Carl seemed to plead a sorry, he hadn't really meant that he didn't need his dad or the fact that he had practically begged for independence to get away from his father.

it was like a curse from the universe that had seemed to twist his words into something even worse, he didn't want his father to die, he wanted his father to wake up from whatever the hell this was.

"why isn't he waking up?!" his voice cracked and this time y/n didn't have an answer because she was in just as much shock as he was, she was just as upset and confused as the boy in her arms.

she slipped off his hat and placed it onto the floor next to them so she could stroke over the top of his head and try to rock him into a settle state just to calm him down.

"i don't know Carl, i don't know" she replied softly and she could feel him squirm in her arms as he still tried to crawl back to his father but something inside of her couldn't seem to let him go from her arms.

he had softly said her name, a gentle call out for her to just let him go but now she was the one frozen in the state of wanting to give up because without Rick her whole world was gone.

she felt like she was almost about to sink into her own phase of a deep slumber just from her exhaustion and the emotions that had been pouring out of her for all this time, she was tired from the way her lungs kept gasping for air each time she felt like they were closing from panic, and she was tired of losing people.

-

she jumped up at the sound of hearing him groan even if it was small and weak it still made her heart jolt,

his hand moved softly against her back to settle her because he could tell that something had spooked her from her half awake state.

it was him who spooked her into opening her eyes, it was a shabby breath he let out and now it was the movement of his hands that slipped underneath her tank and out on the tender skin of her back.

he rubbed his coarse palms to soothe her and it almost felt un real, it almost felt like a fever dream or maybe just one hell of a miracle that he had seemed to waken up from whatever the hell he was in.

"oh god Rick" she clutched his shirt bawling her fists and burying her face into the crook of his neck to make sure that this was all real, to make sure that he wasn't going anywhere.

she had tears flowing against him, "whats going on y/n? talk to me" he spoke in such a worried manner that it made her own heart race even more at the fact he had no clue what was going on.

"you were out for two days and Carl and i were so worried i didn't know what to do Rick" her hands gripped at the fabric of his clothes and she watched him blink slowly as he swallowed in what she said.

"you wouldn't move and i waited, i waited with my knife because i thought you were going to turn" it made her ache just explaining what she had done in the time of his slumber,

the way she was so afraid and the way she had a hand tight;y gripping the handle of her knife ready to use it if he had turned into one of those things that filled the streets.

if he turned into a rotten piece of flesh that tried to kill them, one who was nothing but filled with violence and chomping teeth that always couldn't seem to get enough of human flesh.

"i'm here" he assured her and he could feel her breathing start to slow down each and every time he hummed those two words to her because it was all she needed to here. it was all she needed to keep herself going was that he was here.

he hummed them again and again until finally his son had stepped into the room rubbing his eyes to see that his father was awake and that this wasn't just some fever dream.

without even a doubt or hesitation Rick had Carl by his side, wrapping his arms around him taking in a deep sigh for the scare that he had given them from the amount of time he was asleep.

"it's okay. we're okay"

[16-04-16-daily]

Statement 0240728-C of the Assistant

The following is the written transcript of the recorded Statement 0240728-C of Dr Arian Baumfield, the assistant to the late Dr Apollo Cadence of Mary Bell Medical Facilities. This statement is regarding the domicile of one Dr Andrew Sandgrass, better known as "Unpaid MBRA Intern 2012". I begin.

STATEMENT A

STATEMENT B

[As the tape recorder clicks on, the assistant gives a sigh and walks over to the light switch. It gives a click, and the house is illuminated.]

Hello? Anyone here. [Silence] I find myself inside the house. My apologies to Dr Sandgrass but I find it to be rather pallid and not very lively. Well, I suppose he is unpaid and not one who possesses a lot of wealth. Yet, he does own a house in an acceptable neighbourhood and if he does not have any income at all, it seems surprising that he could own something like this. Perhaps he has an inheritance? His employment papers do not have much detail about his family so I cannot be sure.

I am standing on the foyer and from here, I can see two doors, though I suspect that there may be more if I venture further. His front door opens to his living room-cum-kitchen. His interior design appears to be austere but again, it could be for the lack of material wealth. Everything is in varying shades of gray, white, and brown — there, however, is a pop of color on the paintings he owns. Across his walls are several paintings, aligned neatly, all with various colors. They are all depicting various scenery and landscapes. They are rather pretty and very well-made.

I walk to the living room. A cream-colored six-seater sofa takes most of the space of the living room. Upon closer inspection, I notice that only one seat looks as if it is sat on often. The other seats look untouched. I suspect that he must not have many visitors over. In front of the sofa is a credenza. It is a rather grand arrangement — on top of it is a pristine gramophone, golden and brown. By far, it is the most extravagant article in his house. And it appears to have a record still on it, not yet removed even though the owner of this instrument is dead. [The tape recorder is set down by the gramophone. The room is silent, except for the soft whirring of the tape recorder. The Assistant moved the needle slowly to continue the music playing. The record spun around, the silence of the room being enveloped by the soft violin from Danse Macabre. He let it play on for several seconds before he stopped it with a sigh. He picked up the tape recorder again.

Well, continuing on. By the gramophone, there are several books, neatly arranged, all of them hardcover. Most of them are history books, mostly delving into the subjects of the 1950s and the mid and late 19th century. There are a few books of fiction as well, notable titles being Carmilla, Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, and As I Lie Dying. The credenza does have drawers to it — [Setting the tape recorder down again, he kneels on the bare wooden floors and pulls open a drawer, his hand moving through its contents.]

Just a lot of records, mostly classical music pieces. Nothing of note in the living room, except we have an idea about Dr Sandgrass' interests. I don't suppose that his kitchen could offer anything insightful but it is still necessary to check. The kitchen is not anything special either. Brown wooden wall cabinets, marble countertops, a stove, a microwave, a dishwasher, an oven, and a refrigerator. [The assistant opens and closes cabinets and drawers.] There is not much in his kitchen, only a few appliances and canned food in the cabinets. He keeps his plates and utensils in the dishwasher and they are rather few. Three plates, three bowls, three sets of forks and spoons. Well, that is better than what I possess. Only two sets of everything, one for me and the other for any guests that might come. Though I do not have many visitors.

[The fridge is opened and the sounds of the assistant going through different items can be heard.] There are not many things here. As Dr Sandgrass had died several weeks previous, it is imaginable that the items have started to spoil. You can smell it as soon as you open the fridge. A carton of milk that had long since expired, a container of rotten strawberries, rotten lemons and vegetables. Thankfully, he does not seem to own any meat, that would rather be malodorous. One moment.

[He pulls another cabinet and pulls a black garbage bag. Promptly, he opens it and gives it a flick. Slowly he throws the contents of the fridge inside the bag, closing the refrigerator. He ties the bag up and puts it aside.] Now that that is out of the way, we can move past the living room and kitchen.

I had been inaccurate in my assumption that there were two doors to this house; in actuality, there are three identical doors. I don't know which each leads to. I will have to take my chances. [At random, he swings open a door and pokes a head inside.] The bathroom, it appears. Very ordinary. A shower, a toilet and basin. The wallpaper is pale blue, his toothbrush is a red, and the toothpaste he uses is of a generic brand. Nothing here. [He closes the door]

Now, the door next to it. So far, there is nothing in this house that is of note. I cannot pretend that it does not make me rather frustrated. I expected to learn something about Dr Andrew Sandgrass, something that explains his situation. Instead, I still have so many questions. Goddamnit, I am a scientist. Learning is what I am best at, but my talent is failing me now. Why is he so different? Why is Andrew here while he is not?

[He sighs and puts a hand to his heart.] I fear I cannot be sentimental. I must keep going. [He opens another door and steps in. He clicks on the light switch.] This is quite obviously the bedroom. And it is largely... empty. Yes, it does have a bed, a chest of drawers and a bedside table — but those are the only things in his bedroom. Most bedrooms, they have other articles of note, don't they? A desk perhaps, paintings or additional storage. There is nothing except three pieces of furniture. He owns an oversized twin bed, the comforter is a mellow cream color. The bed is neatly made and very tidy. Right next to the bed is a bedside table, with a lamp and a copy of Frankenstein. He appears to have been reading it as there is a bookmark. [He picks up the book, flipping to the bookmarked page.] With a black pen, he had underlined a single quote. The underlined quote reads — "The world was to me a secret which I desired to devine."

[He sets the book down, walking towards the chest of drawers.] Clothes, most of them I have seen him wear previously. I don't want to look through his clothes too carefully, for obvious reasons. Once again, I find nothing. I am considering returning home and putting the tape away. Perhaps I should stop caring about Andrew — something to put in the back of my head, something to only think about in sparse amounts only when it's convenient. Well, it's almost over. I have only one room to look through, and then I am never returning here again. It's almost half past eleven, I did not notice that the time had passed by so quickly.

[Soft footsteps towards the final door — as he stands before the door, he gave a sigh. There is a silence as he simply just stands there.] Here goes nothing. [He opens the door.]

[The assistant does not speak for several moments as the door slowly swings open. Silence continues.] Uhm, this room surprised me, to say the least. I had thought this room to be a guest bedroom of sorts, perhaps even a room for storage. It is neither. Unlike all the other rooms with their clinical neatness and organization, this room is in disorder. It appears to be a radio studio, of sorts? A lot of appliances and gadgets related to radios and stereos. With the gramophone in the living room and just this room, it is a very fair assumption that audio visuals appear to be one of Dr Sandgrass' leisure activities. There is a desk, several radios on shelves, several other apparatuses I cannot even name and identify. It is all rather a lot. I don't believe Dr Sandgrass has ever made it aware of this hobby. Well, I wouldn't know. We had a strictly professional relationship, only encountering each other a few times, all for the sole purpose of work.

On the desk, there are papers, stationary and a rather antique radio. Now, I know nothing about radios but even I know that the thing is rather beautiful. Very pristine and it's so old, it does not even look like the radios we are used to seeing today. [Gingerly, the assistant picks it up, his hand trailing the service.] It's rather heavy too, and Oh! I can feel something under my fingers, something like an etching or an engraving. [He puts the radio down and it makes a deep noise as it is set down. Turning around, he blows a puff of air against it.] The engraving reads... Sandgrass... 1898. Uh, well. Perhaps it is a family heirloom. Well, moving on. [His hands quickly leave the radio and he moves them to the closest thing. The closest thing appears to be a closed drawer.] Well, let's see what I can find. [He opens the drawer and gingerly rummages through it.]

Three photographs. Of Dr Andrew Sandgrass. [He sets them down on the table, his movements sound quick and hurried.] It is unmistakably him in those photographs, the facial features are the same, the similarities are too uncanny for it to be one of his ancestors. The photographs are sepia in tone, his clothes are old-fashioned, two of the photographs are just him and the other one, he is with an older woman. Behind those photos, there is the year where the photographs were taken. 1883, 1887, 1890.

There is a journal too. [With a motion too quick, he grabs it. He accidentally proceeds to drop it. As it hits the floor, it makes a loud noise.] Uh, sorry. I really am. I will not pry too deeply into it, I just need to know. [He opens the first page, almost in a flurry.] It's his handwriting, I recognize it from the reports. The heading says — it says — January 23, 1890. [For the first time, the assistant appears to have lost his composure. His grip on the recorder is unusually tight, and when he speaks again, his voice is turbulent and almost fearful.] I — I don't know... what this means. I end this statement here.

[lavenderpanic]

NEW FIC

Okay I've been messing around with this idea for like months and i only have like 3k words written and I wanted to test the waters to see if this is something you guys are interested in reading.

Brief synopsis: Bucky, a 23 year old college dropout, lives with his fiancé Brock Rumlow by the small New England college Brock is a professor at. Between his OCD and his anxiety and the gender dysphoria his fiancé assures him is all in his head, he struggles to find purpose and happiness. That is, until his fiancé's graduate student, Steve Rogers, moves into town and disrupts everything Bucky thought he knew.

Excerpt below cut, TW: OCD, DV, intentional midgendering/deadnaming, SH behaviors, coercion

Bucky peeks his head into the living room. There are only three men besides his fiancé, but the conversation is already too loud. Brock always says Bucky is just especially sensitive, that he has a naturally nervous predisposition, that’s why he’s best suited to staying home most of the time. He’s right, Bucky is sensitive, to noises and lights and crowds. Brock is so kind to not force him to go out. When he was a kid, his parents always thought he was faking it for attention, so they’d make him go to church and school and the grocery store even when he was overwhelmed. Brock never makes him leave if he doesn’t want to. And sometimes, even if he does want to, Brock knows it’s better for him to stay inside.

“Jamie, why don’t you bring out the drinks?” Brock calls.

Bucky’s back stiffens and he takes a slow breath. The men probably won’t even want to talk to him, they rarely do, beyond simple pleasantries. He just needs to smile and look nice. He grabs the silver tray of gin and tonics and walks into the living room with a timid little smile. He recognizes two of the men, other professors from the university, Rollins and Sitwell, he actually took a course with Rollins before he dropped out, but he doesn’t recognize the third. He looks barely older than Bucky himself, with his sandy hair and round, blue eyes, like perfectly ripe blueberries.

He doesn’t dress like the other men, either. During their classes, sure, they may dress nicely, in suits or button-ups with pressed slacks, but when they get together outside of that, they nearly always wear jeans, maybe a nice shirt or a sweater if they care enough that night. But the younger man, the blond, he’s dressed up like a vaguely homosexual humanities major from a nineties movie about a college in New England. Sweater vest, pants in a cinnamon-y kind of brown, a cream-white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

Brock pecks Bucky’s cheek as he places the tray down on the coffee table, next to the platters of carefully-selected crackers and nuts and cheeses that Bucky has spent the last two years learning how to curate. Brock’s real particular about shit like that. “Thanks, babe,” Brock says gently.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” Bucky whispers, sidling up close to him and glancing at the other men. “Like… half an hour more, I think? The potatoes just need a bit longer.”

“Of course, babydoll,” Brock murmurs, then kisses Bucky’s cheek again. “Go on, you don’t have to stay in here.”

Bucky smiles thankfully and disappears back into the kitchen. It’s a gorgeous kitchen, Brock wanted to gut it and rebuild it all marble and sleek, but Bucky begged him to keep it the way it is. It has beautiful hand painted tiles and dark-stained wooden cabinets and the most perfectly-worn brass fixtures. Brock finally agreed to keep it the way he bought it, if only because Bucky’s the one who spends so much time in the kitchen.

The kitchen smells glorious, the whole apartment does, really. Like thyme and garlic and the orange-cranberry cake he baked this afternoon. The potatoes in the oven are a soft golden-brown, encrusted with herbs, and the steak is resting on the counter. He did a good job. Brock will be happy with him. He didn’t mess up like last time.

He decides to start on the icing for the cake, a simple powdered sugar icing, perhaps with a squeeze or two of orange juice. He plucks the leftover orange from the ceramic fruit bowl and places it down on the counter before going to the cupboard and reaching for the paper bag of icing sugar. He has to stand on his tiptoes and lean against the counter and he’s still barely tall enough to brush his fingers against the bottom of the bag. He gets a loose grip on it when–

“Oh, hey, do you need help with that?”

Bucky whirls around in surprise, sending the bag tumbling to the ground. Nearly half of it flies out in a sugary cloud, painting the antique tiles an ashy grey. On the other side of the cloud stands the blond, the young man who Bucky still hasn’t been introduced to.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” he says with wide eyes.

“No, no, my fault,” Bucky whispers. Brock is going to be so mad with him for making such a bad mess. He’ll need to really mop it, maybe twice or even three times, fine sugar is almost impossible to clean properly. “Sorry.”

“No, nonsense, do you have a broom or something, I could–”

Bucky shakes his head quickly and gestures for Steve to return to the men before he finds his voice. “‘S not your fault, I can clean it. Do you… you need something?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Rumlow just said there would be seltzer or soda or something in here. I’m not much of a drinker,” he laughs apologetically.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Bucky nods. He opens the fridge to reveal shelves upon shelves of perfectly organized food, labeled tupperwares, straight lines of soda cans. “Any flavor you prefer?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yeah, lemon would be great, thanks.” Bucky hands him a silvery can with a little lemon slice embossed into its front, careful not to slip into the mess of sugar. “Oh, I’m Steve, by the way. I’m a PhD candidate, I just moved here. I’m, um, TA-ing for one of Rumlow’s courses, and I’m teaching one myself.”

“Ooh, that sounds interesting,” Bucky hums. He struggles to think of an intelligent-sounding thing to say next. “What are you, like… getting your PhD in?”

Steve starts to say something, he nearly launches into what must be a very rehearsed recitation of his field of study, but Brock appears in the doorway next to him a moment later, places a hand on his far shoulder like they’re pals. Brock’s easy smile falls from his face when he sees the pile of sugar in the very center of the kitchen. Bucky instinctively takes a step back at the displeasure written into every line of his face. “What’s taking so long?” Brock chuckles, but there isn’t any humor in it.

“I’m really sorry, man,” Steve chuckles, ducking his head in faux-embarrassment. “I knocked over the sugar when I went to open the fridge, stupid mistake.”

Brock’s posture softens a bit, his shoulders drop and he stops glaring at Bucky quite so menacingly. “Yeah, she can clean it up, don’t worry about it.”

Bucky shoots Steve a little thankful grin as the two men walk out of the kitchen. He manages to salvage the sugar that didn’t fall out of the bag and does his best to brush as much of the mess on the floor into a trash bag as he can. He’ll clean the rest tonight, once everyone leaves and he can really scrub at the tile.

He doesn’t get the chance to make the icing before he has to plate up dinner, but that’s fine, the men usually like to drink and talk a bit in between dinner and dessert, so he should have plenty of time to ice the cake in between. He sets five plates full of potatoes and steak and grilled asparagus on the table and calls in for the men. He sits at Brock’s side. He doesn’t have steak, he doesn’t really like to eat meat, it feels weird against his teeth, but he does love potatoes and asparagus. He manages to finish off his plate, which earns him a small nod of approval from his fiancé.

“So, Jamie, what do you do?” Steve asks, once there’s a lull in conversation.

Bucky takes a shaky breath and glances to Brock before answering. “I really just take care of the home, I don’t… work or anything.”

The focus is quickly drawn away from him, and he doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t have anything interesting to add to any conversation. Not unless the topic is baked goods or bookshelves or something. He isn’t good at small talk, but it’s okay, because people don’t usually want to talk to him anyway.

He clears the table while the men chat in the living room. He notices Steve glancing at him through the doorway that connects the living room to the dining room, which makes him a bit uneasy, but people who meet him through Brock usually are a bit surprised to realize he’s so young. There’s only a seventeen year gap, but Bucky knows he’s still quite young. Most people don’t expect a forty-year-old professor to have a twenty-three-year-old fiancée at home. Bucky doesn’t mind. Brock doesn’t, so why should he?

He makes the icing once the table is re-set with clean dessert dishes, a simple icing, vanilla and powdered sugar and milk and a bit of orange juice. He drizzles it neatly onto the bundt cake and places it on the table proudly and waits in the kitchen until the men decide they’re hungry again. Steve sits next to Bucky this time. Brock on one side, Steve on the other.

“Shit, this is good,” Steve curses under his breath. The other men are too busy talking about something Bucky doesn’t understand to compliment him, but he doesn’t mind, he doesn’t need to be thanked for doing what’s expected of him. “Is this from, like, scratch?”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers, grinning a bit. “It’s a recipe I developed. I have a lot of time. I made a lot of lemon blueberry cake this summer and I thought I could adapt it for autumn.”

“Are you gonna eat some? Seriously, this is like… better than bakery quality.”

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” Bucky lies. He’s on a diet. Not a strict one, but he absolutely couldn’t fit a whole slice of cake into his daily calorie allotment. Maybe if he doesn’t eat breakfast or lunch tomorrow, he could have a leftover slice after dinner.

He busies himself in the kitchen, packing up leftovers and wiping down the counters, while the men say their goodbyes. As expected, moments after the door shuts, Brock appears in the kitchen. “You need to clean the floor,” He says, as if that hasn’t been the only thing on Bucky’s mind all evening.

“I will,” Bucky promises earnestly. “Did I do good tonight?”

“Well, darling,” Brock corrects with a little chuckle. “Yes, you did very well. Such a lovely hostess,” he teases, which makes Bucky’s cheeks go a bit pink, he never does like when Brock makes such a point of calling him a woman, but he knows he meant it as a compliment so he doesn’t protest.

“Thank you,” Bucky grins.

“Come to the bedroom once this is all cleaned up, alright?”

“Alright,” Bucky parrots nervously. He’ll have to hurry up his cleaning, Brock gets mad when he thinks Bucky is procrastinating sex. Bucky doesn’t want to be punished tonight. Having to see so many people already exhausted him, and he narrowly escaped a punishment for dropping the sugar all over the kitchen floor.

But still, he presses a polite smile onto his face and nods and Brock leaves him alone to clean. After two passes with a mop, there are only a few sticky streaks left behind. He’ll really scrub it clean tomorrow, but Brock probably won’t notice in the interim.

Bucky reluctantly shuffles up the stairs to the bedroom. Brock is laying down on the bed, laptop balanced on his thighs. Bucky resists the urge to remind him not to wear outside clothes on the fresh comforter, just barely, Brock gets annoyed when he gets all obsessive about that kind of stuff. Bucky perches delicately on the end of the bed and waits for Brock to finish whatever he’s typing up. He rushes Brock, sometimes, because he’s selfish with Brock’s time. He’s trying to get better, though.

Finally, Brock closes his computer and places it on the side table. He looks at Bucky for several tense breaths. Bucky fidgets anxiously. Is something wrong? Is he doing something wrong? He glances down unsurely at what he’s wearing. “I noticed you were doing it again,” Brock finally states.

“Doing what?” Bucky whispers.

“Scratching your arms.”

“I haven’t been,” Bucky defends quickly. His hands immediately go to circle his forearms, he crosses them over his chest protectively.

“I saw you doing it tonight,” Brock says slowly. “Take off your sweater, Jamie. And roll up those sleeves, too.”

Bucky pulls his knit sweater over his head, then bunches up the long sleeves of his dress to his elbows so his forearms are visible. All along his arms, blanketed by a sheer layer of iridescent scars, soft violet bruises blossom alongside irritated-looking scratches, some newer than others. He looks away, embarrassed. He truly didn’t notice he was doing it, it’s been a habit for so long that he rarely registers it. Brock coos with mock-sympathy and sits up a bit, gesturing for Bucky to scoot closer. He does.

“Baby, you need to stop doing that, look how ugly they are. You’re just making it harder for the scars to heal.”

“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles. Brock takes him by the wrists, turns his mottled arms this way and that. After a few moments of inspection, Brock drops his arms again and reaches his hands for his belt. “No, please, I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers desperately, shrinking away from his fiancé as discreetly as he can manage.

“Hands out.”

Bucky lifts his hands up, facing the palms toward Brock. They’re trembling, but he knows better than to refuse. Brock carefully folds his belt in half and strikes Bucky’s palms, ten times, in close succession. Bucky flinches, but he never takes his hands away. Brock is right to discipline him. He’s right, he needs to break this habit. It is ugly. He’s ugly. Brock deserves better than that. “Thank you,” he says quickly, as Brock tosses the belt to the side and leans back against the headboard.

“I’m just trying to help you, darling, you know that.”

“I do,” Bucky nods, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. Brock always keeps the house so freezing. Bucky usually doesn’t mind, but he always feels so shaky when Brock makes him get undressed. His fingertips turn all blue.

Brock undoes his pants, spreads his legs to either side of Bucky so he can crawl forward and situate himself on his stomach. He takes Brock’s dick out of his pants and strokes at it a couple times, but it’s already erect. He takes it into his mouth and sucks gently at the head, he wants to prolong this part to hopefully avoid having Brock fuck into the back of his throat for too long. He hates that. One time he got sick, and Brock got so mad, even though Bucky kind of felt, deep down, like it was Brock’s fault. Since then, every time Brock starts gripping onto his hair and thrusting down his throat, he feels panic tugging at his lungs and nausea pooling low in his stomach.

Thankfully, he leaves Bucky in control for most of the blowjob, he lets him wrap his hands around the length left out of his mouth and stroke at it, which keeps him mollified, even if Bucky should try a bit harder to deepthroat him. Before he can come, he lifts Bucky off of his dick. Bucky blinks and sniffles unsurely as oxygen floods into his lungs. He didn’t–

Bucky flinches as a string of come lands over his eye. Another one, in his hair. He breathes shakily and retches shallowly and waits for Brock to be done. Thankfully, Brock isn’t very chatty after sex. He just throws a few tissues at him and starts scrolling through his phone, dick still hanging out of his undone fly. Bucky used to crave intimacy and conversation afterwards but nowadays he’s just so excited to run off to the shower and have a few minutes to himself.

He starts running the shower in the conjoined bathroom before he even starts undressing. He usually likes to let the mirror steam up so he doesn’t have to look at himself more than necessary. It’s not that the dresses and lipstick and frilly blouses don’t make him dysphoric, and he can still see the contours of his body, his chest, his waist, even through the thin layer of steam collected on the mirror, but it makes his evenings just a bit easier.

Sometimes he dares to use Brock’s body wash, the one that smells like, according to the bottle, a volcano, which makes Bucky giggle a bit. Brock rarely notices when he does, and Bucky can usually pass it off rather easily, oh, we’re almost out of mine, if he mentions it. But tonight he doesn’t. Tonight, he scrubs himself down with his apricot-sweet gel and lathers his hair until it’s sleek and shiny with coconut shampoo and conditioner. Sometimes, he tries to buy nice girly things, scents that make him happy, in some lame attempt to convince himself that he can be happy as a woman. That he can embrace it, embrace the delicate femininity Brock so desperately wants him to embody. So far, he hasn’t had much luck.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

hi! (im honestly not sure if this will break any of your rules, so if it does please let me know! I tried clicking on your rules multiple times but it keeps saying that the page isn't available for some reason? sorry!)

can I get a no crash au lottie x fem reader?

sort of a domestic feel where lottie and reader pretty much live alone at readers cozy house

I've seen like 3 or 4 of domestic aus for her and they are actually the best things I read (and I constantly reread them😭) and the fandom needs more🤭

THANK YOOOOOOOU !

YESSS also i updated the link for the rules thing ,, my masterlist has been acting up ever since i changed my username for whatever reason

-

PAINTED IN PINK AND GOLD

pairing: lottie matthews x reader

word count: 903

summary: you surprise lottie with breakfast in bed <3 not proofread

The sun rose steadily over the horizon, shades of pink and gold painting the sky. It was ethereal from where you sat in the sunroom, among your plants and crystals, completely content.

The sunroom was your favorite room of the house — it hadn’t been much before, but when Lottie had moved in with you she had completely redone it. Now the room was filled with herb plants and macrame wall hangings, and crystals were placed in random corners and tables around the room.

You were almost asleep on the sofa when a wave of hunger rolled over you, and for a moment you considered merely ignoring it and trying to fall asleep on the sofa when you considered how long it had been when you’d had breakfast, a real breakfast, not just a half hearted slice of toast or a bagel in the morning. You thought about eggs, bacon, sausage, all things you couldn’t usually have in the mornings being busy with work.

But it was the weekend, and Lottie was still asleep, and what better way to start off the weekend than surprising your wife with breakfast in bed?

You ignored the exhaustion resting in your body as it pleaded for you to stay on the sofa, and you made your way into the kitchen. You didn’t have sausage, but you had enough bacon and eggs for the both of you, and you had just bought orange juice the day before.

You began to get incredibly excited about the whole thing. You and Lottie almost never had time for this, and both of you tended to wake up rather late anyway, so mornings were relatively non-existent. Nighttime was where the both of you thrived.

You started the eggs and bacon on the stove, fumes of the food rising up gloriously and overtaking the kitchen. It was going to be perfect, and as you began sipping a cup of coffee, you began to relax into the comfort of the morning, the stillness that came with sunrise. You closed your eyes, the dim light of the kitchen almost lulling you to sleep as you stood against the kitchen counter.

The soft padding of footsteps filled the relative silence, and you opened your eyes to see Lottie coming quietly into the kitchen.

You smiled softly, beckoning her over, and she pulled you into her arms. She was clad in just a black floral robe, and you took slight advantage of it, pressing soft kisses down her neck and collarbones.

“You’re up early,” she said quietly, voice still slightly hoarse from sleep. Her hands found your waist, and your arms looped around her neck. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged, looking back to where the eggs and bacon cooked on the stove. “I wanted to make you breakfast. And it was supposed to be a surprise, by the way, it was supposed to be breakfast in bed.”

She chuckled, looking over your shoulder at the food before pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “It’s still a surprise, my love. It’s perfect.”

She reached to get her coffee cup from the cabinet but you stopped her, taking her cup.

“Let me do it,” you said. “Go sit down at the table, I’ll be over in a second.”

“Are you sure? I can help if you want, I want you to be able to relax, too.”

“Helping you relax is relaxing to me,” you assured her, pouring her a cup of coffee, adding two sugars and a bit of cream, just how you knew she liked it.

You handed the full cup back to her, shooing her away to go sit down.

The food was finished, and eagerly you plated it, stealing a piece of bacon while readying your plates. You poured both you and Lottie glasses of orange juice and topped off both your coffee cups, determined that at this you were meant to be an overachiever.

The two of you dined at your kitchen table. It was nothing special, so small your knees kept bumping against Lottie’s every time one of you would move, but it was comforting just to be able to sit and eat with her. You had burned the bacon a bit, and the eggs were slightly underdone, but it didn’t matter, because to you it was perfect. Any troubles seemed miles away.

You could tell Lottie shared your same contentment. She gazed tranquilly out the window, watching the sun as it rose, sipping at her coffee and trying to look inconspicuous as she stole a piece of bacon off your plate.

“I saw that,” you said, and she shook her head.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” she said, and bit into the slice of bacon. “This is mine.”

“It is now… but just for that I’m leaving the dirty dishes for you.”

She scoffed, standing and taking your empty plates to the sink. “You never do them anyway.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” You laughed, and she shrugged, smirking. “You want me to prove myself by washing dishes?”

You stood, making your way over to her, beginning to wash the dishes as she watched you in amusement. “I feel like a medieval woman trying to prove to a noble that he should court her.”

“So dramatic,” she muttered, coming up behind you and wrapping her arms around your waist.

“You love it.”

“Maybe. Just a little bit.”

And as the sun rose, the tranquility of the morning scared away every anxiety, every fear of the day ahead. Peace enveloped the two of you, painted in pink and gold.

[nohoney]

im lit so here’s something with keigo

tw: drug use (weed), some spice and some fluff

you and your boyfriend love to get high.

you and keigo have a small cabinet dedicated to your smoking habits. little bongs, a few pipes of cool or unique designs, your stash box of course, some novelty grinders, and flavored papers for rolling. it’s funny because you guys have more things to smoke weed out of than the actual weed.

“i can’t wait to try the peach one! i hope it’s as good as the strawberries!” you express from the kitchen as you pour two glasses of pineapple juice. keigo picked up an eighth on the way home along with new flavored rolling papers to try out. you’d been stuck on the strawberry flavored ones for a bit and wanted to try something new.

keigo is carefully packing the ground up flower into his perfectly rolled cone. you were decent at it but he was definitely better so he’s the designated joint roller between the two of you. “i still really like the cookies one, those are my favorites.” he comments as he finishes up packing the flower into the cone.

coming to join him on the couch, you set down the glasses of juice onto the coffee table and watch your boyfriend finish up rolling the joint. you look at the cute design of smiley faces on the paper, a little surprised that there weren’t pictures of peaches for a peach flavor. that was the case for the strawberries and cookies paper the two of had tried before.

“alrighty, all good to go!” keigo finishes off the tip to the joint and presents it in front of you. “pretty right?”

“oh me? thank you baby.” you giggle as you put away the rolling tray and grinder into its designated spot.

like the gentleman he is, Keigo always gives you first turn. he places the joint between your lips and lights it for you, his eyes trained on the flame of the lighter before pulling it away. he begins to tell you about his day as you take your first few hits from the joint. you can taste the subtle peach flavor and smack your lips with a happy hum before handing your boyfriend the joint for his turn.

back and forth the two of smoke and make conversation about each other’s day or over gossip you heard recently. when there’s only the roach left, keigo stubs out the rest of it on the ashtray before leaning back to get comfortable on the couch and pulling you in to join him.

you’ve got a roster of things the two of you like to watch while high and your favorite are cooking asmr videos. specifically baking and watching bento boxes get made, it’s just so satisfying to watch. and luckily keigo is also the chef between the two of you so even when he’s high, he makes note of certain recipes that you point out and say you’d like to try.

sometimes you smoke to sleep, smoke to make the time pass by, smoke to paint when a creative mood strikes, and you smoke to fuck also.

keigo’s eyes are trained on the video of custard cream donuts being made when your hand sneaks beneath his gray sweats and carefully cups his balls through his boxer briefs. he doesn’t mind making the first move but he loves when you do it first. it’s just so cute how you’re so casual about it now when he remembers fondly how shy you were at first. without being asked, he spreads his legs a touch wider as you massage him in the palm of your hand.

his dick slowly starts to swell and his mind swims through a dreamy cotton as the video shows the prepared dough being fried into donuts of a beautiful golden brown. he’s half hard when you move from massaging his balls to carefully stroking the outline of his cock through the material of his underwear. keigo only sighs through his nose as you idly pet him, his arm remaining curled around your waist while your head is tucked under his chin.

“off please?” you ask simply when you tug on the hem of his t-shirt. keigo obliges you and also pushes down his underwear and sweats. your own clothes join his on the floor, leaving the both of you naked in your own living room. “can i suck you off kei?”

he gives you a dopey smile and jerks his cock in his hand, feeling how hard he is in his own palm and excited to get your cute lips wrapped around his cock. “all yours dovey.”

keigo loves when the two of you are high and decide to fuck. he loves how much more slower it feels and there’s just more appreciation when the two of you take your time while the high stays with you. he shuts his eyes and forgets all about the queue of videos lined up the entertain the two of you. how could he care about watching macaroons being made and the pleasant sound of baking utensils and ingredients recorded into a microphone when the best sounds he hears are how sloppy you get on his dick?

“aw yeah baby, get fuckin’ sloppy down there. take me all the way and gag on this dick—fuck!” keigo groans as you deepthroat him and make his eyes roll to the back of his head. sometimes he’s torn between just closing his eyes and feeling everything or watching just to memorize how beautifully you suck his cock. sometimes you overwhelm him with your skill, when you show enthusiasm and you hold all the power while he’s helpless to the drowning pleasure you’ve learned while with him. sometimes he overwhelms you by being a bit forceful, fucking hard and fast into your mouth that it brings tears to your eyes and leaving you a drooling mess.

his dick is soaking wet with your spit when you decide to sit on his lap. “wait wait, baby i want your pussy on my face.” keigo wants to return the favor but you whine that you want him in you now, gasping when you carefully push the tip inside yourself. he couldn’t deny you when he craves your wet and tight warmth just as badly as you want to be filled full of him. “no dovey, i’ll take care of you. ride me another time.”

you don’t get much argument when you’re manhandled onto your back against the soft cushions of your couch. but you can’t find it in you to argue when keigo sensually moves his hips to fuck his cock into you. it feels good and it feels like heaven when the two of you fuck when you’re high. time slows down around you and you only become aware of each other, engrossed in one another that’s so sickeningly sweet you’d think the two of you are still in the honeymoon phase.

“kei, feels good… really good.” you croon into his ear and cherish how he moans. one hand is tangled in his hair and the other one slowly scratches down his back to leave red trails into his skin. it’s a pleasant sting that doesn’t take away from the high but makes it better instead.

his face is tucked into your neck, your soft tits are pressed against his own chest as you have your arms hugged around him, he’s moaning and panting as he gets closer to his finish. keigo doesn’t even need to look to know that you creamed on his cock because you’ve become dumb and incoherent anyway. you can barely form two words together, only capable of those cute whimpers and moans that he’s loved to hear since the first time the two of you fucked.

but you’re not as gone as he thinks you are because he feels one of your hands grasp the back of his neck and all you do is whimper, “so close baby, fill me up please…”

it drives him crazy and he desperately fucks until he’s given you what you asked for. keigo gasps and groans as he fills you up with his cum, and then he’s practically putty when you whisper against his ear, “thank you baby.”

keigo only lets you lay back and be comfortable as he cleans you up. his high has waned off a little but it’s nothing that another joint can’t fix. you’re naked underneath the soft throw blanket and still watching baking videos while he fetches snacks from the pantry, also naked. when he returns, he can still see how the high remains with you and follows your finger when you point to the screen and tell him, “try making that one!”

he agrees, bookmarking the video to follow the recipe another time before joining you underneath the blanket. but even as the videos move on from baking to potato croquettes being fried, keigo’s mind still thinks of those custard donuts he was watching while you were between his legs. he caught a glance at one of the donuts being piped full of the custard and overflowing with cream.

just like he did with you.

“hand me my phone dovey.” he asks of you since his phone is on your side of the couch. he’s scrolling through a food delivery app and searching for a specific bakery that he knows will deliver. when you ask what food he wants delivered, he answers with a big smile and eyes still red from the high, “custard donuts.”

[twistedmindtales]

The Stench

She found herself standing at the threshold of what she had hoped would be a new beginning. Kate’s new apartment, nestled in an older part of town, was a bit rundown but held a quaint charm. When she stepped inside, she first noticed the dull peeling paint. The wooden floors creaked with every step, and the windows let in more draft than light, but to Kate, it was a blank canvas, a chance to build something anew and start over. 

As she moved in, the apartment's peculiar familiarity offered her a flicker of hope, a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time. She had become depressed over the past few years due to her recent failed relationship and began pouring her energy into fixing up her home, channeling her emotions into every stroke of paint and every nail she hammered. The living room, once draped in faded wallpaper, came alive with warm hues of yellow and cream. She polished the wooden floors until they shined, reflecting the newfound light in her life.  

Amidst the apartment’s renewal, a subtle, peculiar smell began to make its presence known. At first, it was barely noticeable, a fleeting whiff that Kate would catch as she moved from room to room. She thought little of it, assuming it was just a quirk of the old building. Maybe it was the mustiness of aged wood or a lingering scent from a previous tenant. It was easy to dismiss, lost in the aroma of fresh paint and cleaning products. 

As days passed, the smell began to evolve. It was no longer a mere background note; it became a persistent, underlying stench that seemed to grow stronger with each passing day. Sometimes it was a faint, putrid scent in the morning, like a whisper of something rotten hidden beneath the surface. Other times, it would catch her off guard in the evening, a sudden gust of foul air when she opened a closet or passed through the living area. 

Kate tried to combat it with scented candles and air fresheners, but they only masked the odor temporarily. She cleaned obsessively, scrubbing every inch of the apartment, hoping to eradicate the source. But the smell persisted, growing bolder, more oppressive. It started seeping into her newly hung curtains and the upholstery of her refurbished furniture, an unwelcome intruder in her sanctuary. 

The stench became a constant companion, a reminder that not all was well in her idyllic retreat. It hung heavy in the air, a tangible presence that seemed to watch her as she moved through her daily routines. What once were sporadic whiffs had now become a suffocating cloak. 

Determined to uncover the source of the smell, Kate examined each room, starting with the living room where she had first noticed the smell. She moved furniture, looking for any hidden mold or forgotten trash that might be causing the odor. She cleaned the carpets and drapes, hoping to wash away the scent, but it clung stubbornly to the fabric. 

In the kitchen, she scoured every cabinet and appliance, checking for spoiled food or a dead rodent perhaps trapped behind the refrigerator. She poured bleach down all of the drains and kept all of the windows open, even at night, but her efforts yielded nothing. With each unsuccessful attempt the stench seemed to mock her, growing stronger, more pervasive.  

Her search eventually led her to a small, unnoticed storage area above the furnace. It was a cramped, shadowy space, easily overlooked. With a sense of foreboding, she pried open the locked door, steeling herself for what she might find. 

The sight that greeted her was something out of a nightmare. In the dim light, she could make out the form of a human body, grotesquely decomposed. The shock of the discovery sent a jolt through her. Once she caught her breath and gained her composure, Kate leaned in closer to take a look at the body which revealed features twisted in an expression of horror, and eerily reminiscent of her own. 

Her eyes began adjusting to the dim light and a horrifying realization dawned on her. The body, though decayed, bore an uncanny resemblance to her. The face that stared back at her was her own. It was a ghastly version of herself, but unmistakably hers. The eyes, though lifeless, seemed to hold a mirror to her soul. In that moment, time stood still, and a chilling silence enveloped the room. 

The air held a heavy sense of solemnity as the building superintendent led a group of police officers into Kate's apartment. The visit was a grim affair, precipitated by a harrowing confession that had recently come to light.  In a moment of conscience-stricken turmoil, Kate's ex-boyfriend had confessed to her murder, revealing details that had eluded everyone until now. 

With measured movements, the officers opened the small storage area. There, amidst the darkness and the now-overpowering stench, lay Kate's mortal remains. The sight was a stark reminder of the brutality she had faced, a jarring contrast to the memories of the vibrant, hopeful woman she once was. 

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Wow, look at the size of this kitchen. Group member Jamie painted her formerly cream-colored cabinets and walls a deep teal blue.

I don’t know why this photo came out looking gray.

To have a kitchen large enough for statuary like this. 

Moody maximalism group member’s photo

[sweetestofchaos]

Blackthorn Modern Day Teaser | K.NJ

summary - Welcome to Kim's Flowers & Apothecary! Did you need a bouquet or spell today?

pairings - namjoon x jungkook

warnings - sol, mentions of a past life, crying, hybird familiar!jungkook, warlock!namjoon

wc - .8K

a/n: Someone (@kokosg) wanted to chose violence yesterday, so I had to retaliate. Here's a little sneak peak of Blackthorn!Namjoon during the modern era. Also, Namjoon's outfit is shared at the bottom, if you would like to see what mans is working with now.

The modern day version of Blackthorn hasn't been started yet. I am still working on the Min dynasty half of Blackthorn. If you haven't read it, please do! Yoongi is a prince and Agust is his dragon spirit!

taglist: @thickemadame @loisje123

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The sign out front read Kim’s Flowers & Apothecary. The store itself was right out of a novel, a building that stood out on the street. The building was massive, built in an earlier time that had seen better days. The stone was darkened by rain water and time while the wooden door jam, windows and pillars were a deep oak with details painted in gold. It was a building that normal folk stirred clear of while those who still dabbled in magic eagerly seeked out. Plants and bottles of all shapes and sizes took up space in the large glass windows, to quip the interests of those who passed by.

Through the doorway, the room gave way to vine covered walls and an open glass ceiling that turned the inside to a grand solarium of sorts. It was magical with floating lanterns, inlaid bookshelves stacked to capacity with long forgotten text and scrolls; and cabinets filled with glass jars of Atropa belladonna, Verbena officinalis and more. The tiled floors were a lighter color to offset the darkness from the plants and blurred the reflection from the lanterns, creating a subtle glow from overhead and down below.

There is a hallway decorated in cream and green vintage wallpaper and wainscoted walls that leads to the garden; a large outdoor space with a greenhouse attached farther down the yard, past the miniature maze that was built for fun. Within the green hedges, Namjoon keeps a relic from a past life at the center of the maze. Surrounded by a magic halo, a large blackthorn tree sways gently in the breeze. Its trunk is wide and strong, showing its scares of the past to anyone who will look. A story that Namjoon will always recall whenever it rains.

Back inside a large oak cashwrap separates guests from accessing the more lethal ingredients that are kept behind an emerald velvet curtain in the backroom. A spiral staircase hidden in the back room that led to the upstairs where Namjoon and his partner resided after a long day's work. The homely apartment above is much more updated than down below.

The floor is tiled all throughout in soft grays, beiges and creams while the wooden furniture throughout is a deep purple with hints of lighter colors. The kitchen is large, the counter cabinets all a matching purple with lighter wooden butcher block countertops. There are floating shelves built into the walls, cluttered with plants and nick nacks from all throughout time.

The rest of the home is built much the same, softer tones brighten up the darkness of the purple and pull a renewed warmth into the atmosphere. The bedroom is the only difference, the walls were hand painted by Namjoon’s lover, Jeon Jungkook. Different shades of blue and pinks come together in a colorful and serene abstract mosaic that brightens the whole room on an accent wall. That same wall is where the bed is pushed up against with thick purple and blue bedding. Gold accents are littered through the room and bed, creating a galaxy like ambience.

Down stairs, Namjoon waters the flowers. A thick vine hovering nearby in case the warlock drops the watering can. Namjoon has changed through the years and yet stayed the same. His blue hair is now a striking blond and cut short, tapered close to his scalp on the sides and long around the top of his head. His skin is still dusted in a warm caramel from his time in the sun and his body has grown stronger, larger. The hanfu and hanbok of the Joseon dynasty have been updated to match the modern times, but are worn only when Namjoon is meeting with friends of his past. Namjoon now wears colorful capes, velvet robes, double breasted overcoats that have elaborate embroidery on them with simple slacks that match whatever color he wears.

Today he wears an all black double breasted suit and a black button up with a silk tie that he didn’t bother to fasten fully looped loosely around his neck. He has somewhere to be in an hour, so his long black overcoat is hanging on the hook by the garden door, with black and gold thread embroidery that swirls to create an illusion of a tiger and flowers. Namjoon speaks softly to the plants, his black shoes moving carefully as avoids stepping on any little critters that have made a home of his garden.

The door to the garden is ripped open and Namjoon jumps, his hand losing on the watercan as a green and white blur rushes at him. The vine is quick to catch the falling can but not fast enough to save Namjoon from tumbling a few steps backwards.

“Kook? What’s wrong, love?”

Namjoon’s arms wrap around his lover’s waist without a second thought, moving without his mind even telling them to. In his arms, with his face smashed into Namjoon’s face, Jungkook cries. His tears soak through the fabric of Namjoon’s shirt, the blond of his hair, tickling under Namjoon’s cheek as he rocks from side to side.

“H-Hyung!” Jungkook hiccups as he pulls his face away from Namjoon’s chest, his green triangle ears flicker around on his head as he stares at Namjoon with big, teary doe eyes. “H-Hyung….s-she’s here! She’s here!!”

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

paint it, yellow

A/N: i think this was my first steve fic back in the summer of 2022… here it is again! farmer!steve! still completely in love with him

summary: new to town, Y/n bumps into a man at the hardware store that turns out to be her new neighbour...

warnings: Steve Harrington x reader, farmer!Steve, neighbours, renovating a house (aka my fucking wet dream), sending a package to the wrong address, just a lot of fluff

word count: 1186

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | farmer!steve au masterlist

At the edge of Hawkins' vast forest, there was a house. A little cabin. And that cabin was now all yours. You didn’t grow up in Indiana, but when you felt the wind calling your name, straight away, these two stories just felt like home. 

The real estate agent didn’t understand why a pretty young thing like yourself would wanna buy a run-down sack such as this. Why not? Sure, it needed a little TLC, alright, maybe a lot of TLC, but you didn’t mind getting your hands dirty, learning a new skill or two. 

And that was precisely why you now stood in the back of the small local hardware store, buying paint. 

Some might say that starting on the outside was the wrong order to do things in, but to that, you just said screw you! I’ll do it in the order I see fit! If the first thing I wanna do is paint the outside of my house, then that’s what I’ll goddamn do!

Now, the owner of this establishment clearly had something against the colour yellow, because the massive cans were on the very top shelf. Lifting yourself up onto your toes, just the tips of your fingers barely kissed the cold tin. Giving it a small poke, it scooted forward, just an inch, but enough that it was now peeping out over the edge. 

This might be how you die, being crushed by a big bucket of paint, and honestly, it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. You’d made your bed, might as well lie in it. 

Giving the whole shelf a whack with the root of your palm did more than you were prepared for. Ready for your untimely demise, it came crashing down upon you, but just before you expected to feel the impact, a pair of quick hands came into view, catching it just above your nose. 

“Woah!” a man behind you huffed, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it!”

Turning around to help the surprisingly handsome stranger, your hands mysteriously lost all of their strength and just ended up resting against the container rather than actually aiding in lifting it. 

“T-thank you,” you blinked up into his coffee eyes. 

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, “unless you were trying to just cover yourself in, um,” looking down to read the label on the large tin, “banana cream dream paint, then I’m sorry. You can just stand there, and I’ll gladly help pour it over you.”

“What, like a wet t-shirt contest but with paint?” you jested through a breathy laugh. Seeing his eyebrows shoot up, you quickly shook your head, looking down, deeply regretting your humour, “I’m sorry, that was a joke…”

“It’s okay,” he smirked, then nodded up towards the high shelf, “you need help getting anymore down?”

“Just like, um, 3 more, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course not,” he placed the one in his grasp down in the shopping cart by your side, then proceeded to reach up, making his shirt ride up a bit, flashing you just a sliver of skin. “So, what are you painting?”

Trying to cover up your staring as just looking at the shelf closest to his body, you blushed, “my house.”

“A yellow house?” the idea seemed to make him smile… that or he was just a very polite person. 

“Yeah, with white details and stuff…”  

Placing the last bucket down in the cart, he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, “I hope it turns out well. I’ll keep an eye out for a yellow house.”

The rhythmic knocking at your door was nearly impossible to hear over the loud banging you were creating, tearing down the old orangey cabinets in the kitchen. 

Taking a moment between swings to catch your breath, you finally heard it. Eyes growing big, you dropped the large hammer to the floor, “oh… oh!” and scrambled down the narrow hallway, “I’m coming, just a second!” you bellowed just as you reached the white front door, “I’m so sorry about that,” you swung it open, not yet looking up to see whom it was, but down at yourself for just a second longer as you brushed some of the dust and such off of yourself, “I couldn’t hear you over the-,” your eyes finally flicked up to meet the faintly familiar pair of brown ones, “hi…”

“Hey,” the stranger from the store smiled, tearing his eyes off the fresh paint job, he shifted a large beige package on his hip, “the yellow really turned out great.”

“What are you doing here? How did you…”

“I believe this is yours,” he jutted out his hip, drawing your attention down to the box, “if your name is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“Oh, it finally came! Are you the mailman?” you looked him up and down, “you’re not dressed like one…”

“No, no,” he chuckled lightly, “I’m not, but this was sent to my address.”

“No, really?” you felt the heat rise in your cheeks. 

“It’s fine, your name was still on it, and I know the rest of my neighbours pretty well, so the process of elimination was easy enough.” 

“I am so sorry.”

“Y/n, it’s fine. I get it, it can take a while before a new address clicks in to place and you remember it correctly.” 

“Yeah, evidently…” you breathed out. 

“So,” he shifted the package once again into a more comfortable hold, ”this is like really heavy, can I come inside and set it down?”

“Oh my goodness, yes, of course,” you stepped aside for him to shimmy past, “just here in the hallway is fine.” As he gingerly placed it on the wooden floor, you suddenly became very grateful that the urge you’d felt this morning was to attack the kitchen and the hall, “I’m sorry about the mess.”

“Ah, it’s not that bad,” he straightened back up, “considering.”

Eyeing him maybe a bit inappropriately as he ran his fingers through his voluminous mane, you took a deep breath, “so, you said you live around here?”

“I do,” he smiled, “you know that orchard you drive past right before swinging down this road?” The countless apple trees had been hard not to notice, so you nodded in affirmation. “That's where I live.”

“Waow, and here I thought you were just the dude from the hardware store.”

“Hey, who said I can’t be both? Dude from the hardware store, but also your new neighbour,” he reached out his hand to shake yours. 

Wiping your now slightly clammy palm against your thigh before grasping his, “and does this dude perhaps have a name?”

“Steve Harrington.”

“Well, Steve, it’s very nice to meet you, I’m-”

“Y/n,” he filled in with a smile, letting go of your hand, “I know.”

“Right,” you breathed out, looking back down at the package, “thank you again for bringing over the tiles. I have been just itching to get on with the bathroom, but I kinda needed those before I could move on with anything else, so thank you.”

“Tiles?” he exclaimed, “that’s why it was so heavy…”

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