#ineptitude in the kitchen

[anonsally]

Ineptitude in the kitchen

It's been a while since anything went dramatically wrong in the kitchen, so perhaps we were overdue.

Wife was baking some fish wrapped in paper, which is a trick she learned a few months ago that reduces the problem of the fishy smell permeating the house. Usually she does it on a small metal baking pan, but it was a larger piece of fish than usual, so she put it in the pyrex (glass) baking dish I've had for probably about 30 years.

About 2/3 of the way through the cooking process, I heard what sounded like a small explosion in the oven. The baking pan had shattered! Fortunately, the fish was sealed up well in the paper and we could still eat it, but cleanup was a big project.

Wife had the oven at a bit over 450. I don't know whether the antique (all-caps) PYREX pans can handle a higher temperature or if they're just better with abrupt temperature changes, but in case anyone besides us was unaware of this important fact about the lowercase pyrex kitchenware:

PSA: The maximum temperature for pyrex is 425F (218C)!

[akkivee]

we’re getting the cast interviews for hyped up 02 and today we just got mtc’s lol where rio said he spotted a bat while at the venue and was really sad he didn’t get to catch it and cook up a feast for the audience (🥺🥺🥺) so juto and samatoki cheered him up by saying there wouldn’t have been enough for everyone with just the one bat and his actions would have treated the audience just fine

which prompted samatoki to start laughing as he remembered someone else’s actions to get the crowd fired up and juto knew it was about him without samatoki saying a word about it and was sweating lmao

[seilon]

gsghshhggg job interview at Big Fancy Hotel in like 8 hours………… fear

[1-800-beef-it]

da hell goin on ova here ...... (i have no cheats on)

[redtsundere-writes]

sukuna and servant!reader is so good!! looking forward to rescue more of them <33

Eyes On Me | Sukuna Ryomen

king!sukuna ryomen x femservant!reader

Sypnosis: Uraume can't play chess with the king right now, you must step up. Contents: Obsession, pining, kinda fluffy, mentions of blood and body parts. Uraume uses they/them pronouns. Word Count: 2404 words. Author's Note: I love writing this ship. People have been asking me to make this a series. I'll try my best lol I think you can still read them individually, but there's a preferred order.

Beginning. ← Previous |

AO3/WATTPAD VERSION

Sukuna hates humans. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue, roses are red and Sukuna hates the disgusting creatures that humans are. He has so many reasons to hate them that he doesn't even know where to begin. Humans are annoying, weak, clumsy, but most of all, stupid. They make decisions without thinking through the consequences. They prefer to spend their money on temporary pleasures and end up bankrupt by not prioritizing their survival. They worry about unimportant things such as social status, religion, and traditions. Sukuna hates humans, but boy, are they entertaining. 

Sukuna tends to study his servants very carefully. Even though they only clean, cook and obey his orders to a tee, it was fun to watch them interact with each other. He finds it fascinating how the servants gossip in whispers, how the gardeners concentrate to prune the bushes well despite their hands shaking, or how the cooks taste the food several times so that it’s up to their majesty's standards. It was like watching dozens of filthy lab rats in the middle of a social experiment. Although… There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what they were doing. 

You had finished all the chores for the day and decided to help the cooks prepare dinner because you had nothing better to do. Your muscles were exhausted from having spent all morning cleaning the porcelain sculptures, the large frames of the paintings in the great hall, and the king's jewelry so they could sparkle in all their glory. You had been assigned the task of peeling potatoes, so there you were. Sitting at a table with a small knife, peeling potatoes while listening to the chaos going on in the kitchen. Uraume was busy preparing a special passion fruit tea for the king. The special coming from the water that was inked with human blood. Sometimes you wondered if Uraume had always agreed to cook with humans or was it something they got used to because of Sukuna's orders, but since they never talked about themselves, you never asked. 

“Fuck!” A cook yelled when the frying pan caught fire. 

Your eyes widened at the flashy flare. Uraume put the tea set aside to attend to the emergency. With some ice from their magic hands, they put out the fire in a jiffy, but left the kitchen a mess. They began to berate the cook with smacks in the head and curses for his ineptitude. The cook just apologized over and over again, but that wasn't enough for the head chef. 

“You!” Uraume called. You put your task aside to attend to their orders. “Take the tea to our king and tell him I will be with him when I settle this situation.” You nodded and took the tray carefully to go in search of him. 

After Sukuna gave you permission, you entered the library with the golden tray in your hands. The library was the coziest room in the entire castle. Its high walls were covered with huge bookcases filled with books, maps, and scrolls. There were long desks of works and hundreds of candleholders everywhere to enjoy reading during the evenings. He was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the game table, a small wooden table with a chessboard on top. The king was surprised to see you there despite having specified Uraume's presence. 

“I didn't ask you to come,” Sukuna said chidingly as you served him tea at a small table next to him. 

“Uraume had to attend to an emergency in the kitchen. They'll be here once everything is under control,” you replied as you set down the fragile cup of blood tea, adorned with small pieces of eyeball floating on the red surface to give it texture. 

Your gaze traveled to the chessboard, it had been a long time since you had seen the king playing. You knew from the other servants that he was a good player and only plays with Uraume or some brave guest. This was no ordinary board. You could see that each piece was handmade and had luxurious detail. The pieces were made of white quartz, the eyes of the horses were rubies and the crowns of the kings were made of jade. It was the most beautiful board game you ever saw. 

“Do you know how to play?” Sukuna asked out of curiosity. 

Being a servant, you surely had not received the same education as he did. Well, almost no one was on his level when it came to education. Sukuna was a master mathematician, a skilled debater and could threaten his enemies in 5 different languages. You hadn't been as lucky. You're good at cleaning, cooking and taking orders, but what else can you do? 

“Yes,” you answered with a smile. 

That answer surprised him quite a bit. Although chess was a game that was rapidly gaining popularity among the middle class, it was not a game for women. It was a game that required intellect, always thinking two moves ahead and knowing how to read your opponent. You didn't look like a girl who could do all that. 

“Sit down,” Sukuna ordered you. 

“I warn you that it may be a short game. It's been a long time since I've played,” you warned him as you sat down. 

Sukuna watched you with great attention. Your eyes scanned the board as if it was the first time you had ever seen one, your hands rested gently on your thighs and you smiled nervously. You may have known the rules of the game, but you didn't know how to play. The king took your word for it. 

“Ladies first,” he asked you to start.

“My pleasure,” you said as your dominant hand moved over the pieces to decide what your first move would be. 

Your father had taught you how to play. He always wanted a son to inherit the family business, but your mother only kept giving birth to women, so he had to resign himself to you. Your mother taught you how to be a lady so you could get married as soon as possible and your father taught you about the business so that your future husband wouldn’t take advantage of the family money. You used to sit in front of the wooden board and talk for hours after dinner. Your father may not have been the wisest or the most astute man, but he had left you a very important lesson: Always look people in the eye to know their true intentions. 

This was one of the few times you came face to face with Sukuna. Because of his title as king and the great difference in height, you were always beneath him, physically and psychologically speaking. You were a simple human, while he was a king with the power to get rid of whomever he wanted with a simple movement of his fingers. Although his presence made you feel vulnerable, you didn't resent him. You had a relatively comfortable life serving him, but sometimes there was a need for you to show him that you were more than a servant. This was a good opportunity to do so. 

Sukuna's eyes were not on you, they were on the board. His gaze denoted boredom. He was waiting patiently for you to make the first move. If you waited a little longer, maybe he would yawn. He overestimated you, you had to use that feeling against him. You moved a pawn to the C4 square, a common move among beginners.

“Finally…” He said in a monotone voice before quickly moving the knight to the F6 square. 

Each of you took turns to move the pieces quietly as time went by. You took your time with each move, while the king only needed to look at the board from time to time to know what to do next. You could take all the time in the world, but he would still eat all your pieces. Even though it didn't seem to be an interesting game, you could at least keep up with him. Sukuna's queen advanced towards yours, standing face to face. One false move and your king was in trouble. 

“Check,” you said as the queen retreated two squares diagonally, leaving her free to begin the attack on the king. 

At that announcement, Sukuna woke up from the trance he was in to concentrate on what he was doing. He smiled with satisfaction as he noticed the change in your body. Your hands had relaxed, your back was straight, and your eyes were glued to his. You knew exactly what you were doing. You didn't need to tell him verbally that you would destroy him at his own game, your eyes told him clearly. It was as if you were dissecting his soul bit by bit until you left him completely naked.

Your hands were interleaved with each turn. You moved quickly as you realized that Sukuna had already noticed your active presence on the board. Sukuna returned the queen to his side. An interesting move. It was wise to know when to back away, but you noticed one thing in his eyes. He had no plan, he just acted based on his understanding of the game. He moved like in real life, using only his killer instincts. 

“Check,” you announced again by moving a knight up. 

“Not so fast,” Sukuna told you before taking the horse that was threatening his king using a queen. You smiled as you saw that his majesty had fallen into the trap. By moving his pieces like that, Sukuna had fully exposed his king. 

“Checkmate,” you announced the end of the game as soon as you moved the white queen close to the black king. And only then, the poor maid defeated the almighty king. 

“Well, well...” Sukuna sighed in awe as he looked at the board with extreme curiosity. He couldn't be mad at you. He had let his guard down. You were playing even before the game started. 

There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what you were doing. Sukuna would always hyper fixate on you whenever he noticed your presence around him. You could be cleaning, chatting with your companions or eating some dried fruit in the garden, and he would still only notice you as if nothing else in the world existed. You were the most interesting human he had ever seen. Sukuna tried to look for a logical reason for his obsession with you, but he couldn't do it. You looked like a simple being with clear goals, but he was sure you were hiding something behind your perfect facade. 

Someone knocked at the door. Sukuna sighed, he wanted to be alone with you longer, but now was not the time. Uraume entered the room and was surprised to see you sitting with his majesty. Something strange had been going on between the two of you for months. They had even debated the idea of asking the king directly about you, but hadn't worked up the courage to do so.  

“There was an inconvenience in the kitchen. Sorry to keep you waiting, your majesty,” Uraume bowed in apology. 

“Lucky for you, you sent a good replacement,” Sukuna said before smiling at you in satisfaction. 

Uraume instantly understood just by glancing at the board. You had beaten the king, something even they could not easily accomplish. They could tell that he was looking at you like no one else. It wasn't a look of disgust or boredom, it was a curious look. Like that of a child looking at a group of kids playing in the playground, wondering if he could come over to play with them. 

“If you'll excuse me, I have to go,” you said as you got up to give the seat to Uraume. “Good game. It was a pleasure to play against you, my king,” you bowed. 

“Good game,” Sukuna whispered so you could leave the room. 

Sukuna and Uraume started a new game as soon as you returned to the kitchen to peel potatoes. They quickly noticed that something was occupying her majesty's mind. Their white pieces were eating his black pieces easily and his moves were slow compared to previous games. Uraume could tell that the game against you had changed the way he played.

“What do you see in her?” Uraume asked him after a move. 

“Am I too obvious?” Sukuna asked them before getting up from his seat to start prowling around the library to clear his mind. “What do you think of her?” He asked her as he stopped in front of the window to admire the land. The large green lawn stretched all the way to the intimidating entrance of his wonderful castle. 

“She is a dedicated servant and a perfectionist. She does all the chores in a timely manner. She is as good a servant as any other. The real question is: What do you think of her?” Uraume asked as they watched him from their seat. 

“She has potential.” 

“Potential? Potential for what?” Uraume arched their eyebrow at the confusing statement. 

“She has the potential to become a queen,” Sukuna replied confidently. 

Sukuna Ryomen was known among the kingdoms for being an unorthodox king. Not only because he took kingdoms left and right as if it were nothing, but because he has a strange way of ruling his people. He did not care about social classes, behavioral labels or unwritten codes of human coexistence. Everyone was inferior to him regardless of gender, race, or religion. He was the god of this new world and everyone had to obey him, just like that. 

The fact that he wanted to have a queen went far beyond just following the established patterns of classical monarchy. Sukuna must have a reason why he wants to have a queen other than just because, but there was a more important question on the table. 

“Your majesty, you can get any woman you want. You can get a beautiful woman, with more training and presence, why would you settle for a servant?” Uraume asked in confusion. Sukuna smiled. It was a good question. 

“She has something much better than that,” he answered before continuing the game as if nothing happened. Uraume looked down to see that Sukuna had checkmated them.

Author's Note: I poured my poor knowledge on chess for this lol I hope it makes sense.

Order your own fanfic!

Masterlist.

[nhlclover]

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 | 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

— cozytober masterlist !

summary: you convince luke to bake with you despite his ineptitude in the kitchen.

warnings: sweet fluff! mentions of food + baking, also a joke about a diet

word count: 0.96k

notes: fic number two in cozytober! love my sweet boy luke, so i hope you guys enjoy this as well

The kitchen was filled with the warm scent of spices, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves all blending together as you gathered the ingredients for your latest baking project: chai pumpkin spice cupcakes. The golden afternoon light streamed through the window, casting a cozy glow over the countertops. Luke stood beside you, his brow furrowed as he eyed the stand mixer with a wary expression.

“Alright, babe, this is gonna be easy,” you said, splitting the ingredients into the wet and dry. “You’ll be handling the wet stuff—eggs, milk, oil. I’ll take care of the dry ingredients.”

Luke let out a small laugh, running a hand through his hair in that endearing, slightly self-conscious way you loved. “I still don’t know why you trust me near anything that requires precise measurements.”

You laughed. “Because everyone can learn, and besides, you’ve got me here to make sure nothing catches on fire.”

You handed him the recipe card, nudging him towards the eggs. Luke cracked an egg into a bowl, watching it slide down with a satisfying plop. But as he went for the second, you saw his eyes widen in panic. “Uh, I think I got some shell in there.”

Sure enough, tiny shards floated in the mixture. Luke fumbled to fish them out, his fingers hovering over the bowl with intense concentration. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him so focused.

“You’ve got this,” you encouraged, watching as he managed to extract the last piece. He breathed out in relief, grinning at his victory.

“Crisis averted,” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

“Good job, babe,” you said, giving him a playful nudge. “Now just measure the milk and oil, and we’re good to go.”

Luke nodded, his expression serious as he measured with the precision of someone about to perform surgery. Meanwhile, you whisked together the dry ingredients — flour, sugar, baking powder, and spices. The excitement bubbled inside you as you worked; there was something magical about baking in the fall, and sharing it with Luke, even with his shaky kitchen skills, made it even better.

Once Luke had his wet ingredients ready, he looked over at you, a proud gleam in his eye. “What’s next?”

“Just pour the wet stuff into the stand mixer and then add the dry ingredients,” you said, moving to line the cupcake tins. “Oh, and make sure to turn the mixer off before—”

Before you could finish, Luke, with a little too much enthusiasm, dumped the dry ingredients into the running mixer. A cloud of flour, cinnamon, and nutmeg exploded into the air, enveloping everything like a powdery storm. You gasped as the flour coated the countertops, the floor — and, of course, Luke.

Luke scrambled to shut off the mixer, the cloud of flour settling around him. Luke slowly turned to you, his face a comical mix of shock and regret. “Fuck…”

For a split second, you stood there in stunned silence, and then a laugh bubbled up, uncontrollable. Luke’s startled face, combined with the mess, was just too much. He started to laugh too, shaking his head as he wiped flour off his nose.

“Babe, I’m so sorry. I-I’m hopeless,” he groaned, though his grin betrayed him. “You should just take over before I somehow set off the smoke alarm.”

“No way,” you said, still giggling as you grabbed a spatula. “We’ll scoop up what we can, and it’ll be fine. Besides, you’re not getting out of this that easily.” Luke sighed dramatically, but the playful spark in his eyes told you he wasn’t really defeated. Together, you salvaged what you could from the countertop, adding the flour back to the mixer with no further disasters.

“See? Easy fix,” you said, brushing off your hands.

“Easy for you,” he mumbled, though there was something soft in his expression—an unspoken warmth that made your heart skip. Moments like this, the small messes and shared laughs, were what you loved most.

You handed Luke the cupcake tin, insisting that he scoop the batter into the liners. “This part is foolproof,” you said, “Just fill each one halfway.”

Luke took the task with the utmost seriousness, carefully spooning batter into each tin. To his credit, not a drop was wasted, and soon the cupcakes were in the oven, the kitchen returning to a peaceful calm as the scent of spiced cake filled the air. When the timer dinged, you both glanced into the over, and Luke grinned as the perfect golden cupcakes came into view.

"Not bad, huh?" you said, proud of the teamwork.

Luke nodded, partially surprised that something he had made turned out so good. “They look amazing.”

With the cupcakes cooling, you worked on the icing — cream cheese, butter, powdered sugar, and more spices, blending together in a sweet, velvety mixture. Together, you spread the spiced cream cheese frosting over each cupcake, the final touch to your masterpiece. Once the cupcakes were frosted, you both sat down to taste your handiwork.

You took a bite, closing your eyes as the flavors hit. “Oh wow,” you mumbled, “These are so good.”

Luke took a bite, and for a moment, you saw his eyes light up, the deliciousness taking him by surprise. But then he frowned, feigning seriousness. “Oh man, these are so sweet…I think just destroyed my diet with one bite.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Please, like one cupcake is going to ruin you.”

He grinned, licking some frosting off his thumb. “Yeah, but I blame you if I can't skate as fast tomorrow.”

You reached over, brushing a bit of flour from his cheek. “Well, if cupcakes are your downfall, I’ll gladly take the blame.”

Luke laughed, his hand finding yours by your side. “As long as you're there to bake more.”

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Short Frank Drabble

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank is a sweetheart when you aren’t feeling well.

warnings: swearing (I guess?), Frank being sweet, chronic pain mentions

a/n: my chronic pain has been so bothersome this week so I wrote this as catharsis. I hope you all like it!

w/c: 1.2k

Standing barefoot in the sun-streaked kitchen, you let the soft breeze waft over you as it drifted through the open window. The sounds of the city were carried to you atop the wisp of air–the beeps of early morning traffic, the distant sounds of machinery from the nearest construction site. Louder than the Manhattan ambiance, the pair of songbirds nesting on your balcony chirped and twittered. It was beautiful, serene.

Yet, from your place in front of the sink, your teeth ground together as you sluggishly scrubbed at the pan in your loose grip. Every joint in your body was pulsing with agony–a consequence of an injury you never incurred. This wasn’t a new experience. In fact, it was quite common, which was why you were frustratedly washing dishes until your painkillers kicked in.

You had tried to hold out, but after three irritating days and two sleepless nights courtesy of this renewed pain, you’d caved and thrown back a pair of ibuprofen on top of your prescription. There were a handful of reasons that could have contributed to a flare-up, but that didn’t bring you any consolation. Your flare-ups were usually short, and you tended to have a better handle on them than the ineptitude you’d displayed this week.

Sighing heavily, you narrowed your eyes at the charred mark on the frying pan you were holding, setting it atop the sink’s lip to apply more pressure. Vigorously scouring dishes was probably only going to make your existence less bearable, but sitting down and wallowing as your body ached ferociously wasn’t an activity you wanted to partake in. Well, not for the third time in 24 hours.

Finally making some headway on the patch of burnt material on the pan, your face was firmly twisted with a scowl when you heard the deadbolt unlatch. As the door creaked open, you listened to your partner’s heavy footfalls down the hallway towards you.

“You’re home early.” You forced out a huff of a laugh, strained smile across your lips.

Striding over to you, Frank’s broad shadow landed on the sink as he wrapped his arms around you from behind. Squeezing you close, your back pressed flush against his chest, his chin tucking over your shoulder as he planted a kiss on your cheek.

“So? Last I checked, it ain’t a crime to run home to my girl.” He rasped deeply, tilting his forehead so it rested against your temple.

Shaking your head fondly, you leaned into Frank’s solid weight, allowing him to hold you upright. “You didn’t need to do that, Frank.”

“Who said I needed to? I wanted to, doll. Missed ya.” His voice quieted with the confession, your heart clenching with affection over his earnest tone.

“I missed you too. Always do.” You murmured, turning your face to kiss the bridge of his nose before turning back to the dishes.

“How long ya been outta bed, sweetheart?” Despite his best efforts, you spotted the concern bleeding into his words immediately.

Smile faltering, you gave a tiny shrug. “A bit. Wanted to get these done so I could cook something.”

“Shoulda told me you were hungry,” Frank frowned, stroking a thumb over your hip. “Woulda picked somethin’ up on my way back.”

“If I don’t cook the bacon in the fridge, I’ll forget about it again and it’ll go bad, so…” You trailed off, stifling a grimace at how weak the argument sounded.

Frank hummed softly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, thumb still tracing patterns into your soft skin. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch and let me finish these, yah?”

Blowing air through your nose, you felt a small burst of annoyance in your chest. “I’m almost finished. It won’t take much longer.” Your voice was tight as you tried to keep your aggravation from coloring your words. It wasn’t Frank’s fault you were in a shitty mood. He was being sweet. But the suggestion still rubbed you the wrong way.

“Hey, look at me, dollface.” Using a strong finger to draw your chin upwards, he moved his hand to cradle your jaw when your eyes met his. “I’m not askin’ to take over because you’re takin’ too long. You shouldn’t be dealin’ with this crap if it ain’t gonna help ya feel better.”

Chewing at your bottom lip, you felt the telltale prickle in your throat and tear ducts. Shying away from Frank’s intense gaze, you buried your face in his firm chest. “I can do it.”

“I know ya can, darlin’. You’re the strongest girl I know. I just don’t want ya to hurt yourself over some stupid shit like the dishes.” Cupping the back of your head, Frank held you close, shielding you from the world.

Clamping your teeth onto your lip to keep the tears welling in your eyes from falling, you didn’t respond. Frank’s jaw rubbed over your crown as he spoke again.

“Can’t feel good to be standin’ here, usin’ your hands, can it?” Lashes fluttering, you felt your cheeks grow damp as your emotions overwhelmed you.

“No.” You muttered, flexing your hands to lessen the throbbing of every joint within them.

“I ain’t gonna force ya to do anythin’, sweetheart. But these can wait until you’re feelin’ better.” Rocking you ever so slightly, Frank’s hands splayed over your back, rubbing gentle circles as he patiently waited for your decision.

“What about breakfast?” You pulled out of his embrace slightly to scrub at your face.

“I know I ain’t a genius, but I can cook a pan of bacon.” Frank chuckled, swiping a lingering tear from your chin.

“But you just got home,” You pouted, wrapping your arms around him again, nuzzling into his soft t-shirt.

“Exactly. I’m starvin’. Go sit down and I’ll make us some food.” With one final kiss to your forehead, Frank jerked a nod toward the living room. You didn’t protest when he withdrew his arms, stepping out of your embrace and towards the fridge, but you didn’t move either.

Raising an eyebrow at you, Frank cocked his head. “Did I say somethin’ wrong?”

Shaking your head fiercely, you dropped your gaze to your feet, bashfully shuffling in place. “No, just…”

“Just what, doll?”

You shrugged, insecurity churning within you. “You’re still in here.”

Smiling knowingly, Frank pulled the package of bacon and a carton of eggs from the ancient fridge, setting them next to the stove before holding up a finger. “Good point. Wait right there, sweetheart.”

Your eyes trailed after Frank as he paced towards your small dining room table. Lifting a single chair with ease, Frank carried it into the kitchen as if it was made of cardboard—setting it down to the right of the stove. “Better?”

Nodding sheepishly, you sank into the chair. “Thank you.”

Bending at the waist, Frank drew you into a kiss. “Always, sweet girl.”

Pulling your knees up onto the chair, you lay your chin atop them to watch Frank putter around the kitchen as he made breakfast. Though, this time, the smile on your face was genuine.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): explicit language, suggestive themes

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Part Five of Ink & Needle

You and Evie stake out 141 Ink. Amelia forms a plan. You and Ghost reunite.

Chapter Four // Chapter Six

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Sticky.

Sweaty.

Chest heaving.

Legs shaking.

And none of it the pleasant kind.

Your coffee is gone. It is somewhere down the street, splattered across the pavement, and likely creeping toward a storm drain. Whatever didn’t land on the ground spilled on you. It is in your hair. On your face. Smeared over the front of your coat.

The entryway floor of Amelia’s home is your refuge. You’re seated on the linoleum with your back against the door and legs outstretched in front of you. With shaking hands, you reach above your head to double-check the deadbolt. It’s locked, and yet it doesn’t smother the racing of your pulse.

How could it? You’re seeing things. Hallucinating. Who you saw simply isn’t possible. Of all the people in the world, how could it be him? How could it be Ghost? Your wraith. The man you took a risk on. The man who worshipped your body as if you were the only thing he’s ever wanted.

For a second time, you ran. Turned tail. Bolted.

Why? Why do you always run from everything? Why do you dart away the moment you start to get close? That’s the reality of your ineptitude to figure your shit out. When Ghost held you in his arms afterward, when those large, veiny hands of his caressed and squeezed your thighs, realization came charging toward you like a herd of stampeding animals. Yes, it was sex, but there were smaller moments—flashes of emotion—that you felt within yourself and radiating from him.

After it was done, you knew. The look of rejection and determination in his eyes when you glimpsed him through the cab’s rear passenger window only confirmed what you already understood. Your wraith claimed you in Riot Room’s green room. He branded you, inked your skin, took you within himself and then etched his essence into your flesh.

You told yourself in that moment that you would never be free of him.

And you were right. Unequivocally correct.

Not only did you run a second time, but he chased after you again. That realization is almost as earth-shaking as the fact that he’s just two streets over from Amelia’s home. Your wraith is within reach, and he still wants you, even after three goddamn years.

No, you say to yourself. It’s not possible.

Now you’re just making shit up to feel better. He can’t want you—can’t desire you after all this time. Ghost must have thought you were someone else, or he wants an explanation on why you left him hanging.

Is he someone who holds grudges? Will he threaten you like way he did that man who puts his hands on you?

I’ve killed men over less.

Unlikely. That wouldn’t make sense. While a pillar of darkness, with you, Ghost was anything but. The very idea of him being rough with you is immediately dismissed.

“Fuck,” you whisper at the ceiling. You blink rapidly and realize you’re crying.

One tear rolls down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away with the back of your hand. It’s the hand that held the coffee, and the sticky residue rubs against your skin, causing you to flinch away from your own touch.

Evie’s laugh startles you out of your stupor. You hear Amelia’s gentle chuckle as well. Their voices drift toward you from the direction of the kitchen. They can’t see you on the floor like this. You need to pull yourself together. Covering up the spilled coffee that stains your face and your clothes isn’t possible, but you can easily pass it off as a slip up. It’s these fucking tears you need to control.

As you shift forward in an attempt to try and drag yourself off the floor, the brown sack with the croissants scrunches under your fist. You glance down at it and wince. It’s smashed. Croissants are delicate, and they’re probably nothing but crumbs now.

You want to laugh but you’re afraid it might sound like you’re drowning. This entire situation is fucking awful. Ridiculous. You have no idea what to do about Ghost. And should you even care in the first place?

There is no debt owed. There are no strings with a hookup. Why are you spinning this idea that you are required to do anything about any of this? Ghost is not your responsibility, and a one-time hookup does not make you obligated to be his…anything?

The phantom of Ghost’s hands upon your thighs comes creeping up to the forefront of your mind. The slow drag of his fingers over your skin is so tangible that for a moment you almost believe that he’s really here, touching you, wanting to be closer.

Evie laughs again and that solidifies your resolve. You came to England for her. Evie’s husband is dead. He is in the ground and she is eight months pregnant. There is only you and Amelia here to take care of her. Evie is your priority.

Not Ghost.

Not your wraith.

“Fuck,” you repeat. Somehow, that one small word makes you feel a little better.

Peeling yourself off the linoleum is like removing a stubborn book cover sticker. It’ll either be perfect, or a straight up mess. You fall somewhere in between that spectrum.

As you enter the kitchen, Evie and Amelia don’t appear to notice you at first. They’re in deep conversation, and it isn’t until you’re nearly at the small breakfast table that they both realize you’re in the room with them. Evie’s stunning smile falters when her gaze falls on you. It’s a slow transition as she begins to take in your appearance.

Her eyes widen in concern. “What happened? Are you okay?” Evie starts to stand but you hold up a hand.

“I tripped,” you answer. It’s not exactly a lie. You did trip in your efforts to outrun your wraith.

Evie doesn’t need to know that information just yet, especially with Amelia sitting right there. You’ll have to tell Evie what happened, even though the very idea swirls the anxiety in your stomach around until you think you might puke what little coffee you did manage to consume before it met the pavement.

Evie settles back in the chair but the concern hasn’t left her face. “Hurt?”

Not physically.

“I’m fine,” you reply, setting the brown bag on the table. “But I’m a little worried for the croissants.”

Amelia grabs the bag and peers inside. “Oh dear. Well. At least you’re uninjured. That’s the most important thing.”

Using the table as a support, Amelia pushes up from her chair, and heads for the kitchen counter. Reaching into one of the cabinets, Amelia produces a large plate. Returning to the table, Amelia gently opens the bag and slides out the croissants onto the plate. An avalanche of broken golden pastry and crumbs follow.

You wince at the sight of the crushed croissants. “I’m going to change.”

Amelia arches an eyebrow. “Perhaps a shower?” She gestures toward your head, indicating the remains of the latte that have dried in the strands.

“That too,” you mutter, removing your coat and heading for the stairs.

After you shower out the coffee in your hair, you’re left with the final crushed croissant, and the rest of your day is spent making various phone calls on Evie’s behalf. By bedtime, you’re still working, but this time on actual paid work.

Evie sits up, propped against the headboard as she reads a book. You’re spread out at the end of the bed on your stomach, scrolling through emails.

“Evie?” you ask into the quiet.

“Yeah?” she replies, not looking up from her book.

You rest your chin on your elbow. “Can I talk to you about something?”

Evie marks her page in her book and sets it on the bedside table, resting one hand on her bulging belly. “What’s on your mind?”

Your work email pings and you briefly glance at it. Sighing, you turn back to Evie, ignoring the new email. After breakfast and the ridiculous amount of phone calls, you spent the rest of your time editing an instructional manual for a furniture company. The deadline is approaching, and you thought work might take your mind off the morning’s events.

But it didn’t. And your mind is still a swirling storm of anxiety that just won’t abate. You cannot stop thinking about Ghost and the intense look in his eyes when he realized it was you. The brief surprise became hardened determination, and that is what pushed you to bolt. Couple that with him chasing after you, and you’re an overflowing pot of boiling water.

Closing your work laptop, you push it to the side, sitting up until you’re fully facing Evie.

“Is it about this morning?” she asks softly.

How is this woman so goddamn intuitive? That kid isn’t going to get away with anything.

“Yes,” you reply slowly, drawing out the s a bit.

Her brows crease, and suddenly, Evie looks ready to fight God. “If someone hurt you—”

“No,” you say quickly, holding up both hands. “Stop. I’m fine. I’m just…” You trail off and then sigh heavily, rubbing your face with both hands as you try to figure out what it is you want to say.

Evie doesn’t speak. She waits until you’re ready.

Your hands drop to your lap. “I saw him this morning.”

Evie frowns. “Saw…him?”

You nod and lean forward a bit. “Him.”

Evie blinks, her lips parting slightly as her brain starts to piece the puzzle together. As it all starts to fall into place, Evie shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re having a laugh.”

Groaning, you throw yourself down on the bed, face-first. “I wish that I was,” you say, turning your head so your voice isn’t muffled.

“Are you sure it was him? Absolutely sure?”

“You don’t believe me.”

“That is not true,” says Evie with a bit of bite to her tone. “I’m just trying to process how it’s possible.”

“You and me both.”

Evie adjusts on the bed, and sits up a bit more. “But where did you see him? And more importantly, did he see you?” You wince, and Evie groans. “Tell me from the beginning. All of it. From the moment you left the house to when you returned. Every. Detail.”

Rolling onto your back, you tell Evie everything, all of it rushing out of you like water moving out of a tipped glass.

“Oh shit,” murmurs Evie as she absently rubs her belly.

“No kidding.”

“And it’s the same one from Riot Room? Ghost? That guy?”

You nod. “I am one hundred percent sure on that.”

Evie stares off into space for a few seconds while she absently rubs at the underside of her belly. She turns toward you abruptly as if yanked from her thoughts. “I need to see this man for myself.”

You bolt upright. “Absolutely not.”

Evie shrugs. “Then tag along if you’re that concerned.”

“That is not the point, Evelyn Green.” You throw one arm out to emphasize your point. “Ghost is in the past. We had sex—”

Evie interrupts. “According to you, it was,” she raises both hands, creating air quotes around the next words, “best sex you’ve ever had.”

“We had sex once,” you continue. “What more is there to say? I don’t need to dwell on him.”

Evie rolls her eyes. “Please. After that night, you changed. We all saw it. Even if none of us said anything to you at the time.”

You pause, pulling back a bit. “What do you mean?”

Evie sighs heavily. “I saw Ghost chase after you. I saw him standing on the curb. I saw him watching the cab drive off. And I saw your face when you turned away from staring at him.” Her head tilts to the side a bit. “The emotion on your face. It was like…it was like you knew you had just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

“Evie—”

“Shut up and listen to me.” She takes a breath. “Sorry. It’s the hormones. I’ve been moodier lately.”

And your husband is dead.

Evie winces as she adjusts on the bed. “When we arrived back to the hotel from Riot Room, did you realize you were smiling like an idiot in love? I know who you were thinking about. You told us every detail in the cab. And as you talked, you couldn’t stop grinning.” Evie removes her hand from her belly to rub at her lower back.

You stare down at your hands.

“A man doesn’t chase after someone he doesn’t want. Then you tell me that this morning, he ran after you? It’s been three years, and he still tried to catch you.” Evie shakes her head. “What isn’t clicking here?”

You open your mouth and Evie points at you. “Don’t make an excuse. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Then what’s your plan?” you sigh, playing with the hem of your shirt.

Evie’s lips purse and she taps the top of her stomach. “There’s a little café across the street. We can camp out. Watch the shop.”

“So we’re going to stalk him?” you ask skeptically.

“Yes!” Evie holds out a hand. “Give me your computer.”

Reluctantly, you do so. Evie rests it on her stomach. Opening it up, she starts clicking and typing away at the keyboard.

“What’s the name of the shop?” she asks without looking away from the screen.

“One-four-one ink,” you reply, scooting up beside her.

The tip of her Evie’s tongue is between her teeth. She taps away at the keyboard, entirely focused. She looks like Jade right now who always knows all the loopholes in finding shit out about people.

“Ha! Look at that.”

You lean closer and glance at the screen. You meet those dark eyes framed by pale eyelashes that look like halos. It’s Ghost on your computer screen. There is no doubt.

“That’s him,” you whisper.

Evie clicks through the various pages on 141 Ink’s website. Most of it contains information about services, ways to contact the shop, and a gallery of Ghost’s work. There is a very small “About” section that vaguely describes the start of 141 Ink, but nothing jumps out at you. It’s only two sentences worth of information. Other than that, the site is fairly normal.

All of this is right in front of you, and yet you still don’t have any additional information about this man. Ghost is just that. A ghost. A stranger. And yet, when you were in his arms, it felt so natural and comfortable.

Evie grabs her phone off the bedside table and opens Instagram. She enters 141 Ink into the search bar and taps on a result. She grins and hands you her phone. “Look at this. The guy has some serious talent.”

The photos and videos on 141 Ink’s Instagram are a lot more personal than the ones on the website. While many show pictures of completed piercings and tattoos, there are some that are much softer. Like the black German Shepard you noticed basking in the sun on the shop’s floor. There is a photo of him snoozing next to a waiting customer.

It’s personal. Sweet. And you can’t help but smile at it.

And Evie is right. Ghost is incredibly talented. Some of the work is simple and straightforward, but there are many more artistic pieces. They’re gorgeous, as if you’re looking into someone’s fever dream. The color, highlights, and dimension are all unnaturally realistic. Ghost certainly as an eye for this.

It’s such a strange thing to look at all this work, and think about Ghost. When you first met him, Ghost was a haunting shadow. A creature out of hell. Tattoo artists don’t have that same kind of aura to them. At the time, the possibility seemed out of the question. Ghost oozed danger, and you were certain he was going to snap the man’s neck who put his hands on you.

I’ve killed men over less.

It doesn’t make sense.

“Fine,” you finally concede. “We’ll scope the place out from the café across the street. But I am not talking to him.”

Evie rolls her eyes and laughs. “Sure thing.” She closes up your laptop and you take it from her, placing it on top of the nearby desk.

You slide in under the covers, and Evie returns to her book.

The following morning, you and Evie head for the little café across the street from 141 Ink. The sign outside the café says The Bird, and the logo is a blackbird on a branch. The inside is warm. Cozy. It’s early enough that you and Evie snag a corner table next to the window. Not knowing how long you’ll be there, Evie over orders as compensation for the server’s lost time.

When the food is delivered, the table is covered without a spare place to set anything down. It’s an absurd display, but Evie has money to spend, and the two of you will likely be here for several hours.

You fill up your coffee cup and the server tops off your mimosa glass. Evie stuffs her mouth full of pancakes. When the server turns around to leave, Evie grabs her backpack, digging around inside.

“Have some spy gear in there?” you joke, not expecting Evie to remove a pair of binoculars. You set your mimosa flute down on the table and cross your arms. “What is that?”

“It’s for research,” says Evie, shrugging her shoulders. She scans the café with narrowed eyes and then twists toward the window, holding the binoculars up to her face.

“I don’t know you,” you mutter, picking the flute back up to take a long sip. The bubbles in the champagne tickle your tongue, and you decide to swallow down the rest. It’s not like you’re driving. The two of you walked here.

Evie drops the binoculars from her face just as the server comes back to the table. You politely set the champagne flute down and the server uses their pitcher to refill your glass.

“Thank you,” you reply as they nod and turn to leave.

“What time does the shop open again?” asks Evie as she munches on a mouthful of pancake. “You said it was early.”

“It’s way past time now. I’m guessing the time I saw him wasn’t the actual opening time.”

Evie frowns and then holds the binoculars up to her face again. “I don’t see any movement inside.”

“This is absurd,” you say, waving your hand in the air.

“Wait!” Evie lowers the binoculars and you glance out the window.

Your eyes narrow slightly, gaze focusing in on the door of 141 Ink. There is movement. A shadow. A brief pause, and then, the door is opening.

Ghost is standing right there in the doorway as he guides the doorstop with the toe of his sneakers. He wears black joggers, a black t-shirt, and a zip up hoodie that’s open in the front. The hood is down but he’s wearing his signature balaclava. Beside him, the German Shepard appears momentarily before disappearing back inside.

Evie sighs appreciatively. “He is so large. Was he like that when the two of you hooked up? I never really got a good look at him.”

Maybe it’s the space between you and Ghost that makes you feel safe in your observation of him. He is the same, perhaps a bit softer in a few places where the muscles aren’t nearly so defined anymore, but you couldn’t really say for sure. From this distance, Ghost appears the same, but then again, you didn’t actually see all of him.

“He hasn’t changed,” you answer. “Not that I can tell.”

Evie chews around some pancake and then swallows. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Absolutely not, Evelyn Green.”

Evie points her fork at you. “Listen, bitch.”

“Evie,” you hiss, glancing around the café to see if anyone heard.

“I am trying to help you,” she says simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world to go talk to this man. “And since you’re not going to do it. I’m going.” Evie stands up and cradles her belly, nearly waddling to the door.

“Evie,” you call out, but she ignores you.

You watch in horror as Evie crosses the street and strolls up to the open door of 141 Ink. She knocks on it, waves—likely at Ghost or the dog—and then steps inside. You itch to reach across the table and snag the binoculars to see what Evie is up to in there.

“Oh my god,” you murmur to the air, tossing back the rest of your mimosa.

Several minutes later, Evie reappears in the doorway, and you sigh with relief. But when she steps outside, Ghost follows her. He offers her his arm, and she takes it. The black German Shepard stands guard in the doorway as Ghost escorts Evie to the edge of the road.

When Ghost glances to the left, Evie looks up, sees you, and eagerly points at him with a big grin on her face. Ghost glances to the right, then the left again, before helping Evie across the road. When they make it to the sidewalk, they keep walking as Evie gestures at the door to the café.

Ghost opens the door for her, and when Evie steps inside, her grin is downright smug when she notices you. You can’t run this time. There is no escape from this.

“Thank you,” says Evie as she slides into her seat, her hand on her belly.

“People drive fast on that road,” he replies.

Ghost turns to leave and freezes when he sees you sitting there. You watch as his pupils dilate. Science says that when human eyes dilate like that, it’s because they see someone they love. It’s also a sign of the biological need to reproduce. And you’re watching it happen in real time with Ghost.

Your mouth does not form words. Instead, you simply stare, and Ghost stares back.

Ghost blinks and then he’s almost shaking his head like he’s not sure of where he is. “Enjoy your meal,” he says.

Your gaze drops, noticing the way his hands clench and unclench. You’ve seen him do it before. At Riot Room. When he hesitated in the seconds before touching you.

Ghost exits through the door, and your gaze follows him. He pauses right outside The Bird’s large window. Ghost pushes up his balaclava to his nose and lights a cigarette.

You follow him out the door where he pauses to push up his balaclava and light a cigarette. Then he’s jogging across the street, leaning against his tattoo shop to smoke. Ghost is looking directly at you, and you cannot stop staring back.

Those dark eyes are stones that crush your bones, and no one can pull you from your torment expect him.

It isn’t until he puts his cigarette out and goes inside his shop that you release a deep sigh. Turning back to Evie, you groan at the sight of her feral grin.

“How could you?”

Her grin only widens. “You’re going to be thanking me once you talk to him.”

“What did you say to him?” you ask, exasperated. Evie shrugs, and stuffs more pancake into her mouth, saying nothing. “Evelyn Green, I swear to God.”

Evie stuffs another mouthful of pancake into her mouth. The server reaches out to snag an empty plate and you address them, needing something strong. “Can you leave the mimosa pitcher?”

“Sure,” she laughs, bringing it back a minute later. You immediately pour yourself another glass and stare down at your own breakfast which is entirely untouched.

Evie points to your plate with her fork. “Are you going to eat that?”

“No. I’m getting drunk instead.”

The moment you and Evie return home, Amelia is already in the kitchen with a kettle on for tea.

“How was breakfast?” asks Amelia as she starts setting everything out on the table.

“Amazing!” beams Evie, nearly bouncing on her toes.

“Fine,” you reply, voice monotone.

Evie grabs your arms and gives it a good shake. “We should tell Amelia.”

“Absolutely n—”

You don’t even get your words out before Evie is charging forward. “Do you want to hear who we ran in to at breakfast?”

“Amelia doesn’t need to hear that.”

“Hush,” says Evie, waving you off. “Amelia, are you familiar with the tattoo parlor just a street or two over. Across from the café we went to?”

Amelia nods. “Oh, yes. I’ve chatted with the young man that owns it. Very nice. Very,” Amelia holds her arms wide. “Large. Those muscles on him always impressed me.”

Evie grins and you slouch into a seat. “During my bachelorette party, this one ran off with him for a bit.” Evie points at you over her shoulder.

Amelia tilts her head slightly in confusion and Evie makes a gesture with her hands replicating intercourse.

“Oh,” laughs Amelia, turning in your direction. “Did you?”

The kettle shrieks and Amelia takes it off the burner, carrying it over to the little table, setting it down on a neatly folded towel. Evie takes a seat to your left while Amelia sits across from you.

“I need every detail.” Amelia starts assembling the tea and you slouch further in the chair.

You leave out the act itself, not wanting to detail to Amelia exactly how good Ghost was in that green room.

“And you ran from him?” ask Amelia slowly.

“Twice!” says Evie and Amelia shakes her head in disappointment.

“It’s done,” you reply sharply. “It’s in the past. We need to let this go. I need to let this go.”

Amelia leans back in her chair. “This sounds like a second chance to me. Why don’t you go talk to him? At least find a bit of closure.”

Evie places her elbows on the table. “Or get it on in the tattoo parlor.”

“That too,” nods Amelia.

The alcohol sits heavy in your stomach. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Suit yourself, but tomorrow we’re all going to the pub. On Sunday’s I go to the Dancing Faun. The owner always puts on American baseball on the telly for me.”

“You watch American baseball?” you ask skeptically.

“Oh, yes.” She leans forward as if she’s passing on a secret. “It’s the uniforms.”

Evie cackles, and you roll your eyes.

The next day, near lunchtime, you, Evie, and Amelia all head to the Dancing Fauna. It’s on the same street that The Bird and 141 Ink are on. Amelia assured the both of you that it’s usually an older crowd and that people around your age typically don’t venture inside unless everything else is packed.

Which means you won’t see Ghost. You can cure your headache with more alcohol and call it good.

The outside of Dancing Faun is a deep, forest green with gold accents. The door is solid black. Amelia pushes on it and Evie follows behind with you bringing up the rear. It’s fairly dark inside. The only light comes from a few hanging lamps above the bar and along the wall. Several televisions display various sports including rugby and soccer.

“Amelia! Usual spot?”

You glance to the right and notice the bartender. He’s roughly middle-aged, likely leaning toward the higher end of forty.

“You know it, Ben,” replies Amelia.

“Already have it on. And you brought guests.” Ben’s voice is gruff but his smile is kind.

“Just the two. And only one is drinking.” Amelia gestures at Evie. “This one will need some tea and perhaps something to eat?”

Ben nods and wipes his hands with a bar towel, already moving into action.

Your gaze takes in the rest of the bar. There are only three people taking up seats. Two sit close to each other but with one chair between them. The third person is at the end of the bar, closest to the door and what looks like an entryway that leads to a flight of stairs and perhaps a back room.

As you focus on the man sitting at the end of the bar, you squint, confused at first. Then you notice the black German Shepard snoozing at his feet on the floor. Then the man is turning toward you, his balaclava pushed up to his nose, a beer glass lifting toward his mouth.

He stops. You stop.

Ghost is here. Your wraith. Yet again, the two of you are meeting in unexpected places.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Looking away quickly, you stare at the back of Evie’s head, following Amelia as she starts to introduce you to everyone in the pub. You smile when prompted, but you hear nothing of what is being said. You sense Ghost’s gaze on your back, and the very idea of his eyes on you sends a rippling heat of pleasure down your spine.

It’s not right. It’s not fair. Your body is betraying you.

Amelia turns and you follow her, nearly clinging to Evie in your desperation. Amelia pauses and introduces you and Evie to the two men sitting next to each other at the bar. Then you’re right in front of Ghost and Amelia is beaming at him.

“This is Simon,” she says casually. “Runs the tattoo parlor just a few shops down. He’s the only young one we allow around here.” Amelia grins and you want to flee all over again.

Ghost—or rather, Simon’s—gaze is fixated on you. Unmoving.

Amelia pats your shoulder. “I know the two of you know each other, but it’s been a while. How about you two catch up and Evie and I will go enjoy the game.”

“Amelia—”

“Sit,” insists Amelia, quickly ushering Evie away.

You’ve been betrayed.

Slowly, you sink down on the stool next to Simon—Ghost? What should you call him now?

“What will it be?” asks Ben, his gaze expectant.

“I’ll take whatever he’s drinking.” Ben shrugs and grabs a glass, filling it up before sliding it over to you. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Ghost sits up straighter, and shifts in his stool. He keeps one arm on the bar top, but the other rests against his leg, his hand poised on his knee. Your knee is touching his, and the very tips of his fingers brush against your jeans.

You have all his attention, that is very apparent.

“Hello,” you say weakly, unsure of where to begin.

“Hello,” he replies, and the sultry purr in his voice breaks something in you.

There is no going back.

Ghost—Simon? Is all there is.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @lialacleaf @sharkbitesblog @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @creamwhxre @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @bbyfimmie

[blythings]

Tom blyth birthday smut if you can?

it's the 2nd of feb in australia so hbd to the loml!! thank you for sending me this req anon, perfect timing with this one 💞 this is super self-indulgent since the reader is a corporate girlie like me. also this is unedited and super rushed but hope you enjoy anyway!!!

CAKE | TOM BLYTH

— pairing: tom blyth x fem!reader — summary: when the birthday cake you had planned to make for your boyfriend doesn't go according to plan, he comes up with an alternative gift to salvage the celeberation. — content: mdni, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, very minimal dirty talk —word count: 958 words

requests are open for tom and his characters!~

As Tom steps into your shared apartment, he’s greeted by the inviting aroma of rich chocolate, tinged with the simultaneous smell of something burning, which only intensifies with each step he takes.

He calls out your name as he leans against the entry into the kitchen. It’s two pm on a Friday afternoon — normally, you would still be at your office during this time, fending off the mid-afternoon fatigue by drinking too many cans of Coke Zero and texting him some of the ridiculous items that would land in your inbox. 

That said, it doesn’t take two seconds for him to know why you would be home so early. You had been apologetic all week about not having enough time to plan something more elaborate for his birthday and while he had tried to reassure you, he still sensed the faint trace of guilt behind your expression.

At the sound of his voice, you look up from the mixing bowl, filled with a chocolatey concoction. “You’re home early,” you say — ironically — before you return to mixing, your frustrations from the week seemingly being beaten into the side of the bowl. You had rolled up the sleeves of your blouse though powdered sugar still dusts the fabric. There is a brown lump by the sink that Tom can only assume had been your first attempt at baking a cake, and the reason why his kitchen smells like a hazard site at that moment.

He pads over and wraps his arms around your frame. He asks, “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

You sigh, your shoulders sagging. “I had to at least get you a cake,” you answer, “and I didn’t want to just grab one after work. I’m gonna make you a cake even if it kills me.”

“It looks like it might.” Tom mumbles under his breath, kissing the side of your head.

It isn’t like you didn’t have plans for his birthday during the weekend. But between Tom’s acting career taking off and your own job picking back up after the holiday break, the chaos that had followed is enough to eat away at your time and energy. You had been too caught up in work to plan anything special. You recall Tom’s words, his easy-going reassurance that he didn’t mind if you had a more lowkey celebration that year. Even so, guilt had been gnawing at your insides all week, fueled by the knowledge that you haven’t been as attentive since you had returned to work. 

But as the two of you stand in your cluttered kitchen, it is obvious that you might’ve miscalculated your own culinary ineptitude.

“I even got this stupid cake mold for this.” You huff, lifting the heart shaped cake mold that you had picked up on your way home. “But even when I try to read the recipe, I’m not getting it right. It’s stressing me out.”

He kisses your cheek. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I don’t want you stressing over this. We can just buy a cake from the bakery. I assume you don’t have to go back and finish any work, right?”

You shake your head. “I said there was an emergency.”

“Tell your work that something was burning. That way, you wouldn’t be lying.”

“Clever.”

“I have my moments.” He says, trailing his lips down the side of your neck. A hand trails lower and you drop the spatula into the mixing bowl as he turns you around, his mouth slotting against yours. 

You’re prepared for his kiss, the years you’ve been together bringing about a level of ease that you’ve never had with any of your previous partners. He moves the mixing bowl to the side, lifting you up to rest on top of the counter. You scrunch your nose at the thought of having to do a deep clean of the kitchen later in the afternoon.

But your thoughts don’t stray from Tom for too long as he licks into your mouth. His hand moves down to your knee, tugging your legs open as sinks to the floor between your spread thighs.

“Still wanna give me something sweet?” He murmurs, pushing the hem of your skirt up. You can only offer a nod as he loops his fingers around the sides of your underwear, pulling it down your legs.

“I should be the one who — ” You start to say but he shakes his head, running two fingers up your throbbing core. 

“Couldn’t even get me a proper cake,” He cuts you off, teasing, “let me taste you instead.”

You’re about to reply before he’s burying his mouth between your thighs, your mouth releasing a string of whimpers and gasps as he mouths over your clit. You cry out in pleasure as he begins nudging your bud around his tongue, his eyes watching your reactions intently. He pulls away with a lewd pop, leaning back. “This cunt is mine, isn’t it?” He asks, placing a kiss on your inner thigh. You want to bask in his touches, but the drag of his fingers and the feel of his lips sets your body ablaze.

His fingers trail down your slit before he slips two digits deep into you. You cry out when he shoves his fingers deeper inside, a warning for you. “Yours,” you manage to choke out.

Your thighs quiver around him as you cry out his name, the tightness in your belly snapping apart as your body spasms from your orgasm. 

“That was fast.” He teases you, chuckling as you push him off your thighs. “Want me to help you clean all of this up?” He asks as he gestures around the kitchen, and you shake your head.

“Later. We’ve got a birthday to celebrate.”

[anonsally]

Ineptitude in the kitchen

Today we tried to bake lemon crinkle cookies. We baked them with friends a few weeks ago and thought they were delicious, so we've been meaning to bake them again for the past couple weeks, and today we finally did it.

Only... we didn't read all the instructions. When we started trying to form the cookies and put them on the baking pans, we couldn't figure out why the batter was so wet and sticky, and we kept saying "this is really weird, it wasn't like this last time!" We speculated about whether we had used more liquid this time somehow...? or what...?

Only after we had fully put the globs of batter onto the trays and eaten the large amounts stuck to our hands did we figure it out:

We were supposed to chill the batter for 2 hours in the fridge to make it into more of a dough before forming it into cookies.

How did we not remember this from last time!? They still taste very nice, but we felt very silly!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Web of Lies.

Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep any from you.

Pairing - Spiderman!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count - 3750

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. mentions of violence and blood. potentially smut in the next chapters.

Author's Note - i am so excited to share this with all of you!! i saw a tiktok comparing marvel characters to criminal minds characters, and couldn't get the idea of spencer as spiderman out of my head. this will absolutely have more than one part, but i'm not sure how many just yet. please let me know what you think!! as always, reblogs, comments and feedback are always immensely appreciated <3

Masterlist. Requests.

Series Masterlist.

You probably should have noticed something was wrong way before you did.

That's the thing about elusive people - and Spencer Reid is one mysterious man.

In many ways, he wears his heart on his sleeve. He doesn't filter his words like most people do - he'll tell you exactly what he thinks, exactly what he feels. He doesn't sugar coat, he doesn't exaggerate. You can always count on Spencer to tell it to you straight.

But he's not exactly an open book. You know he had a difficult childhood - you've pieced some of it together based on anecdotes and passing comments. You know he's the youngest person to ever work for the FBI, never mind the esteemed Behavioural Analysis Unit. You know he's gentle, kind, loving, supportive, and the best friend and colleague you could ever ask for.

It's just that some days, it feels like there's still so much you don't know. Which is why you never really saw this coming.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Monday.

Spencer Reid has a black eye.

It's not unusual for you to show up to work on Monday with Fridays injuries. Bruises, scrapes, broken bones. They all come along as a part of the job. But the last case you worked didn't involve any physical altercations. No, in fact, it was a surprisingly easy arrest. So why is Spencer black and blue?

He sits down at his desk and turns on his computer, unaware of the way you're watching him like a hawk. Reading him like a book. You're replaying the events of the last case, trying to piece together exactly when Spencer had gotten hurt without you knowing.

"Hey, Spence?" you call, making your way over to where he's sat cross legged in his chair.

His eyes flick up and meet yours, and something in you churns. An alarm bell goes off somewhere in your distant mind, but you silence it, perching on the edge of his desk.

"Are you okay?"

He smiles at you gently, enamoured with the care you reserve just for him.

"I'm good. How are you? How was your weekend? Did you go to the new farmers market in the end? Did you start that book I got you?"

It's not unusual for him to ask you twenty questions at once, so you try to answer them as best as you can, eyes still glued to his shiny bruise.

"Yeah, I'm good. It was good, despite all that rain we had. Luke took me to the farmers market, and we tried these new grapes. Did you know they made grapes that taste like cotton candy? I saved you some, they're in my bag. I'm on chapter three of the book, so nothing has really happened yet. Where'd you get the bruise, Genius?"

You're hoping that your rambling will catch him off guard, and he'll answer without thinking. He looks at you carefully, considering his reply. No such luck.

"Fell in my kitchen. Tripped over my own damn shoes, smacked my face straight into the counter," he chuckles.

It does sound like Spencer. He's clumsy on the best of days, always dropping something or stumbling next to you. It's not far fetched that his own feet have caused him an injury.

You drop the issue, and laugh along with the team when they tease him about his physical ineptitude.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Tuesday.

Spencer Reid is a bad liar.

You're both settled into the cushions of your couch, eyes glued to the television screen. You're watching reruns of a 90s sitcom, the laugh track echoing around the apartment.

"That paramedic was totally checking you out today," you tease gently, poking him with your foot.

A blush instantly rises to his cheeks, the rosy tint a familar picture.

"No she wasn't," he counters, tripping over his words. "She was just doing her job."

"If by doing her job you mean undressing you with her eyes, then yes, she was doing her job."

You're both laughing - you at Spencer's bashful expression, him at your obliviousness.

"Are you jealous?"

He means to tease you, but it comes out more serious than intended. Your smile drops into a surprised smirk, eyebrows raising in shock.

You sit in silence for a minute, before you confess quietly.

"Maybe a little."

Spencer tries to process your words, but his brain doesn't want to work, apparently.

"Wait... you are?"

"I guess," you mutter lowly. "I just... forget I said anything. She was really pretty. Maybe I was just a little intimated."

You jokingly nudge him with your shoulder, and go back to watching the TV. Spencer's brain finally reboots and starts running a mile a minute, thoughts flying around like comets shooting through the night sky.

You sit together for hours, slipping into sleep gently. It isn't unusual for the two of you to doze off on the couch. Sleepovers happen regularly, both of you completely comfortable with the other person.

It's 3am when Spencer shoots up, pulling on his converse frantically.

"What's wrong?" you panic, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.

"Nothing. I just, uh, I have to go."

He grabs his bag and beelines for the front door without so much as stopping to explain himself.

"Spencer!" you call after him, willing him to slow down for minute. "Has something happened?"

"No, it's fine. I'll, uh, explain some other time. Just... just get some sleep. I've really gotta run."

And with that, he's out the door, leaving you bleary eyed and confused in the middle of your living room.

You fall asleep on the couch, head resting on the sweater that Spencer left behind in his rush to leave.

You're half convinced you've dreamt the events of the evening.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Wednesday.

Spencer Reid isn't at work.

Spencer Reid is always at work.

Emily regularly has to remind him to take time off. Luke teases that he'll steal his vacation hours if Spence doesn't use them. He's always sat at his desk, waiting for everyone else to arrive every morning.

Which is why his absence is making you worried.

The occurrences of last night are still replaying in your head like a stuck video tape, repeating over and over again. You're over analysing every word he said, every move he made. Leaving in a hurry without reason is so unlike Spencer. You consider supernatural forces, or possession, or Freaky Friday style body swapping. There's no logical explanation for his behaviour, you're convinced. Monday's black eye floats back into your mind, and your heart rate rises ever so slightly.

You march up the stairs and knock on Emily's office window with a bit more force than originally intended.

"Come in."

You swing the door open and slam it shut behind you, anxiety coursing through your veins.

"Hey, hey. Are you alright?" she asks, watching the way your eyes are flicking around the room, looking for clues.

"Where's Spencer?"

"What?"

"Emily. Where's Spencer?"

She gets up from her chair to stand in front of you, placing her hands on your shoulders.

"He's sick, some sort of flu, he thinks. I've told him to go back to bed, and to call if he needs anything."

Her words don't reassure you like she thought they would.

"Did he sound sick?"

"Huh?"

"Did he sound sick, when he called?"

"I don't know, really. I guess so."

"You're a profiler, Emily. You should be able to tell if he's sick or not," you snap.

"Woah," she counters. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

You sit down in the nearest chair, and run your hands over your face.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she reassures, kneeling in front of you. "Tell me what's going on, and I can try to help."

"It's nothing, I'm sure," you rationalise. "I'm just worried about him. Something's off, but I have no idea what it is."

You take a deep breath, Emily rubbing soothing circles into your knee.

"You know, if he were to talk to anyone about what was wrong, it'd be you."

"You think?"

"I don't think, I know."

It's no secret that you and Spencer are close. You've been best friends from the minute you joined the team, forming a connection instantly. As the years have gone by, the feelings have gotten stronger, but the both of you are too scared to admit it to yourselves or each other. You'd do anything for him, and he would do anything for you.

"Maybe you're right. I'll go over there after work and talk to him, see if I can get him to open up."

Emily leans down and gives you a hug, squeezing you a little tighter than usual.

"I'm always here for you. Both of you."

"I know," you smile gratefully. "I appreciate it, boss."

Just as you're leaving her office, Penelope calls you all into the briefing room, giving you no time to think about what could potentially be going on.

You look at the victims faces on the screen, and every single one seems to look like Spencer Reid.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Thursday.

Spencer Reid is having a panic attack.

He's back at work, making a seemingly miraculous recovery from his short lived illness. You went to his apartment last night after work as promised, but your knocking went unanswered. You don't know where he was, but you're worried.

You've been watching him across the bullpen all morning. You're surveying him carefully when his breathing becomes rapid, eyes flickering around the room. He stands up abruptly, practically running from his desk. You follow him instinctively, all the way into the men's bathroom. He's leaning over the sink, hands gripping the porcelain, knuckles turning white. His eyes are locked on himself in the mirror. He looks as if he doesn't recognise who he sees.

"Spence?" you urge gently, careful to keep your voice low. "Are you alright?"

His gaze meets yours over his shoulder, and he tenses even more. A wave of anxiety rolls through you. Usually, Spencer sees you and relaxes - you're like a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, you're not sure where you stand with him.

"Spence, please. Talk to me. I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," he snaps.

He's never taken that tone with you before. It doesn't make you as sad as it probably should. No, it makes you angry.

"Don't you dare speak to me that way," you hiss, pointing your finger at him. "I am trying to help you. Don't push me away."

"What's it gonna take for you to leave me alone?" he asks viciously.

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, shock painting your features.

"You know what? Fine. Message received."

You turn on your heel and stride towards the door, stopping when you've swung it open. You look at him over your shoulder, and shake your head, a humourless laugh escaping you.

"Fuck you, Spencer Reid."

You slam the door behind you, leaving him alone, chest heaving and hands shaking.

✵

You're marching back to your desk when JJ calls the team together. You take a deep breath and try to release the anger from your body, but it proves difficult. It's tangled itself around your bones, running through your blood like a flash flood. You paint a smile on your face, and take your seat in the briefing room.

Spencer joins a couple of minutes later, choosing to sit across the table, rather than in his usual chair next to you. Luke takes the place instead, and reaches over to rest a hand on your thigh.

"You okay?" he murmurs lowly, careful to not make a scene.

"Yeah," you whisper back, fingers tangling with his where they rest on your leg. "I'm okay."

JJ pulls up the case details on the screen, and Luke doesn't let go of your hand.

"Where are we jetting off to today?" Matt asks, all eyes on the blonde at the front of the room.

"Nowhere, actually. Local, this time."

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, glad to stay close to home.

"Okay, the nearest PD have just sent this case through, and it's... weird."

"Weird how?" Tara enquires. It's not often that JJ comments on a case before she's shared all of the details.

"It's a man hunt, of sorts. They're calling him a vigilante."

"Ooo, like a supervillain?" Luke chuckles.

When JJ doesn't laugh, he doubles down.

"Wait, we're not actually catching a supervillain, are we?"

Everyone turns to JJ, who looks just as confused as the rest of you feel.

"Well... kinda?"

You allow your eyes to flick to Spencer, who's still breathing heavily, hand gripping the edge of the table. JJ clicks the remote in her hand, and a picture of a man in a red suit appears on the screen.

"This is the guy they're calling Spiderman. He's been spotted at multiple crime scenes over the last few weeks. He's making a hell of a lot of people very suspicious."

"Spiderman? Why is his costume red?" Tara asks, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Aren't there red spiders?" Rossi counters.

"Reid, are there red spiders?"

All heads turn to look at Spencer, who's gone completely pale. He tunes into the conversation, clearly not listening.

"Hmm?"

"I said, are there red spiders?"

"Yeah," he replies shortly. Everyone waits for him to spit his facts, to explain the different species, but he doesn't. His head drops slightly, a signal that he's done talking.

Everyone watches him in puzzlement, confused by his sudden silence.

"Anyway," JJ starts, "he's been linked to a number of local crimes. It started off as battery, assault, GBH - but last night there was a murder downtown, and he was spotted at the scene. He's prime suspect."

"Apart from, we don't know who he is," Matt adds.

"Exactly. That's why the police department have called us in. They can't handle it on their own."

Penelope starts to pass around case files, everyone flicking through at their own pace. Spencer doesn't even open his, just stares at it where it sits on the table.

"Reid, are you alright?" Emily asks, concerned.

"I'm fine. I just need some air," he replies quickly, taking his papers and striding out of the room.

You watch him go, squeezing Lukes hand a little harder.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Friday.

Spencer Reid is in trouble.

He's in too deep.

He can't remember the last time he took a deep breath.

His shoulders are so tense, it's a struggle to pull his sweater on.

His hands shake as he reads the case file from yesterday again.

Spiderman. Male. Mid twenties to early thirties. Slim build. Tall. Local - knows the area. Must have a connection to the police - perhaps his own radio.

Spencer accidentally knocks his knee into the desk, and winces. The wound he haphazardly stitched throbs beneath his corduroy trousers, and he prays he's not about to bleed through the material. People are asking enough questions as it is.

"Reid, Alvez, grab your jackets. You're going to the crime scene," Emily calls from up the stairs.

You watch as Spencer rises from his chair, making note of the way he's carefully putting more weight on his right leg. He rolls his shoulders once, twice, three times, before picking up his bag and heading out the door. Luke shoots you a wink as he follows him out, making you smile gently.

You decide to take a trip to see Garcia. She always knows how to take your mind off things.

You cruise into her office, instantly sitting in her spare chair, twirling in circles.

"God, you and Genius are like the same person," she giggles. "He does the exact same thing when he comes in here."

You smile instinctively, and then remember the way he spoke to you yesterday. The way he's treated you this week. The way he's acted as if you didn't exist all day. Your smile fades, and she notices.

"Is everything okay with you two?"

You sigh, and take a deep breath to try and prevent yourself from crying.

"I don't know."

"Oh, honey."

Penelope rolls over to you in her chair, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

"He won't tell me what's wrong, and pushes me away when I try to ask. We had a fight yesterday, and now he won't even look at me. I don't know what I've done to make him hate me all of a sudden," you sob, tears running down your cheeks.

"He doesn't hate you," she murmurs soothingly into your hair. "He loves you more than anyone in the entire world."

"I'm not so sure that's true," you whisper.

"It is. I promise you. He's never been good at talking about his feelings. I'm sure whatever it is, he'll tell you soon enough. You'll work this out - you always do."

You let her hold you for a little longer, sinking into her embrace. Maybe she's right. Maybe it'll all be alright.

✵

After work, you try to relax.

You cook dinner, run yourself a bubble bath. You watch a cheesy movie, eat the good chocolate you've been saving. You snuggle into the couch, pulling a blanket over your legs. But you can't settle.

Usually, a Friday night would mean a sleepover. You and Spencer order takeout, tangle your legs together and fall asleep, chattering about nothing and everything. But tonight, you're alone. You can't stand it anymore.

Throwing on the sweater that Spencer left on Tuesday, you slip on your shoes and get in your car. You drive on autopilot, mind zoned out completely. Before you know it, you're parking on the street below Spencer's apartment building.

You're met with silence when you knock on the door. You try again, and still, nothing.

A choked sob escapes you, and you rest your forehead against the wood. The tears flow freely, forming a puddle on the welcome mat.

The welcome mat.

You pull it back roughly, and find the spare key that he irresponsibly leaves there. Letting yourself into his apartment, you inhale deeply. It smells so distinctly like Spencer. The familar scent used to bring you comfort. Now, it just makes you cry harder.

You collapse on his kitchen floor, letting your head fall back against the cabinet. After an hour or so, you allow your eyes to drift closed, knees hugged tightly to your chest.

✵

You're abruptly awoken by a door slamming shut.

You jump to your feet, and let out a startled sound. Running into the living room, you expect to see Spencer, but he's nowhere to be found. You tune in to the sound of running water, and assume he's in the shower. You perch on the edge of the couch and wait.

"What are you doing here?" Spencer asks as he makes his way into the room.

He doesn't sound scared, or confused, or shocked. It almost feels like he knew you were here.

"I couldn't sleep," you reply cautiously. "Where have you been? It's 4am."

"I couldn't sleep either."

"Yeah? Then why are you bleeding?"

He turns towards the mirror on the wall, and lays eyes on a gash across his cheekbone. He definitely didn't see that before.

"Slipped in the shower."

You jump to your feet, rage fuelling your movements.

"Stop fucking lying!"

Now he looks shocked. He's taken aback, stepping away from you slowly.

"I... I'm not," he says meekly. He doesn't even believe his own lie.

"You're doing it again! What did I do, Spencer? What did I do to lose all of your trust?!"

He tries to calm you down, but it just makes you angrier.

"Tell me!" you scream at him. "I'm going insane, Spencer! I'm going fucking insane!"

"It's not your fault," he tries to explain. "You haven't done anything wrong, I promise."

"Then why don't you love me anymore?" you sob. Your knees give way, and you fall to the ground, cries wracking your exhausted frame.

Spencer's heart breaks so hard, he's convinced he can hear it shatter.

He strides over, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he can. The contact makes you cry more, tears soaking into his t shirt.

"I could never stop loving you," he whispers. "Nothing in the world could ever make me stop loving you."

You pull back to look at him, astounded by his confession.

"I'm trying to protect you," he continues quietly. "I'm doing this because I love you."

You thread your hands through his hair and pull him towards you, pressing your lips to his urgently. He cradles your face and kisses you back, ignoring the way your tears drip down his face. You tug him closer, desperate for this moment to never end.

He's finally here. Back in your arms, where he belongs.

Eventually, you pull away, gasping for air. He looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and his eyes well up with emotion.

"Hey," you soothe, stroking his cheek with your thumb gently. "It's okay. You're okay. We're okay."

"I feel like I'm drowning," he whispers.

"Whatever it is, Spence, we'll figure it out. We always do."

"What if we can't this time?"

"Then we come up with a plan B. And a plan C. And a plan D. We've got at least 26 plans before we run out of letters."

He chuckles, but there's no laughter in it. You tilt his chin towards you, so your eyes are locked.

"I'm not going anywhere," you murmur. "No matter what it is, I'm not going anywhere."

He takes a deep breath, and releases it shakily.

"Promise?"

You smile gently, and take a deep breath to mirror his.

"I promise."

He nods slowly, and moves to sit in front of you cross legged. You match his movements and do the same, facing him assuredly.

"I have to tell you something. And you can't tell anyone, ever," he begins. "It's going to change the way you look at me. It's going to change the way you love me. It's going to change everything."

"You can tell me, Spence," you reassure. "You can trust me."

Spencer takes a deep breath - and then a second, and a third. His eyes bore into yours, and he inhales again, before uttering the words that will undoubtedly change both of your lives completely.

"I'm Spiderman."

@twsssmlmaa @evansflowers @sourskywalker @butterflylilacsverse @acornacreacure @yourrrrrprefffffect @shadowhuntyi @valenftcrush @n3x5t3rra29 @wittlewowa @slay-hamster2006 @ceruleanrainblues @sad-ass-hoe19 @dezibou @starksfavouritedaughter @lexie0037 @beautyb1ade @spencerzakwrites @thataltdisabledgirl @wannabecoolakid @cassiestars777 @min-jianhyung @lazylexiiii @convolv0 @laurenofatlantis @golden-guide @olive-gb @thebiggestscamislife @wyrdxwitch @rizosrizos26 @whore-of-the-pumpkin-patch @frogers @sun-fiower-seed @dancinwyourghost

[autumnmobile12]

My Hero Headcanon: Rei

When I think of Rei’s childhood, I think of Yuki from Wolf Children.

Just not at all being the lady her parents probably wanted her to be and living her best life collecting bugs, feathers, and small animal bones.

And just like Toga, those interests were suppressed because they ‘weren’t appropriate for little girls,’ and she was made to conform.

I mean, look at her expression and tell me she wasn’t told to sit still and be quiet too many times when she was a child.

I think she was a weird kid.

And that's why I play with the snowboarding theme when I do fanworks involving Rei, as well as the idea that Touya’s inability to sit still when he's agitated/excited comes from Rei. It's also why I have the headcanon there was never a point where Rei and Endeavor loved each other. They already have two extremely different personalities in canon, and the high-energy headcanon just highlights a further personality difference.

I’ve already gone into it in more detail with an Endeavor analysis that I made, but here’s an excerpt that illustrates my point:

...what I think shows here is they weren’t really talking all that much. Specifically, he is not ‘talking down to her.’  He is not treating her with any particular disrespect or putting her down as inferior.   He doesn’t have the arrogance he later exhibits. This also isn’t him being aloof and ignoring her either.  Look at his face, specifically his eyes.  That is the same blank, deer in the headlights, “I have one brain cell dinging around in my head that is struggling to find a way to interact with people,” stare he shares with Shouto.

He has no idea what to say to her. 

So finally, Rei turns off to the side to admire the garden, and he asks, “Do you like the flowers?”  It’s a small thing, but it does show that in some capacity, he did show some interest in Rei and making her happy.  He’s just stupidly awkward about it at this point. (Even if his ultimate goal was…well, we’ll get into that.)

...

The long and short of it is if you remove the violence/temper aspect of Endeavor's character, you basically have Shouto: An awkward dork who doesn’t entirely know how to interact with people and he probably doesn’t understand sarcasm or euphemisms either. The main reason we can’t see that side of Endeavor’s character very well is because he’s weaponized intimidation/violence to cover it up. (Dammit, dude, this it not how you patch a character flaw.) So I don’t think Shouto’s isolation and childhood training caused his social ineptitude so much as exacerbated a character trait that was already there. He got it from Dad.

So referring to the earlier pre-kids part of Rei and Endeavor's relationship before the violence actually started, imagine the awkward personality-type paired with a partner who is, by all accounts, weird and has too much energy to be contained. Arranged marriage aside, I like the idea that Rei reverted back to her odd personality after she left her parents’ house. I like to think she danced in the kitchen when there was no one home, hoarded feathers and skulls and other odd keepsakes, and looked for places where she could snowboard. She was a housewife by herself for long periods of time, so who was going to stop her?

There is a short story I absolutely love called Ink, Water, Milk by Catherynne M. Valente. The plot's not relevant to this post, but there is a scene where a bored housewife buys a bunch of those cube-shaped watermelons and just stacks them in her fridge to admire them.

And for some reason, I can picture Rei doing this.

Like Endeavor just comes home to find her sitting cross-legged in front of the open fridge and smiling happily at the nine cubed watermelons stacked neatly inside. (Keep in mind, these things average $100-$200 a piece and are inedible/decorative.) No explanation for why she's done this, she just has a big, ecstatic smile on her face and pointing into the fridge. You know, Touya energy when he's a kid and excited about something. And Endeavor, in true Shouto fashion, is baffled by what she’s done, has no idea why she’s done it, and wondering if there’s a joke he’s not understanding.

I like to mirror this behavior in Touya and Shouto when I can in writing for Ambush Simulation. Underneath the trauma, they are at their core the brother with their mother’s high energy and the brother who is socially awkward and doesn’t quite know how to deal with the unhinged behavior but doing his best.

...

Edit because I just found this gif.

Young Rei:

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

11:11 - Charles Leclerc

<word count- 624>

The sound of the kitchen clock ticking was all you could hear as you sat at the table, staring off into the distance. You had all the curtains and blinds drawn, completely inhibiting any light to spill into the room.

That way, you could just be left to your thoughts and didn't have to look at what a state the apartment was in right now. Thankfully, you had the day off, so you could just spend it wallowing in your own self-pity. 

Another pro to your ineptitude to see was that your eyes couldn't drift over everything that could remind you of him. The one man who you never thought would hurt you. The one man you loved more than anything else in the world. The one man who you'd give your life to have the ability to have him by your side. 

Charles. 

The second boyfriend you had ever had, but the other guy paled in comparison to how brilliant he was. He was everything you had envisioned in your dreams as the perfect man, but nobody can be truly perfect. Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

The facade of flawlessness that he had managed to keep up had slowly started to chip away, revealing the fallibilities and infirmities that he had. Every human had them, but he had somehow managed to keep them at bay for as long as he could. 

He was irritable when he was tired - snappy, even. He said things he didn't mean when he had had a bad day. He kept his problems to himself and get mad when you'd try to fix it based off of the little information that he had let seep through the cracks. 

But you didn't care. And he never realised that. Despite how he made you feel sometimes, how he'd be short, how he was sometimes awful at communication, you still loved him. It never made him any less perfect, never tainted your view of his integrity.  

Yet somehow, he had decided that he'd be better off by himself for a bit. Then, that illusively undisclosed period of time that constituted as 'a bit' never really ended. It still hadn't. You were both still living your separate lives, both sleeping alone at night. 

You longed for him every day, always hoping that he would reach out and say that he wanted to be back with you and that it was the biggest mistake he had ever made. However, the longer the time dragged on, the less the chances became that he would want you back. 

Squinting at the clock, you could just about make out the time. Eleven minutes past eleven. What a coincidence. 

It took you back to when you and Charles would stay up late, talking about everything and nothing. He'd always ask you what you were asking for, what you desired, what you were dreaming of. 

"I asked for you," was what you would always say, as he always cringed at the cheesy lines. Even if you meant every word of it, you always brushed it off as something just to get him blushing. Deep down, you always hoped that he knew you were being serious. 

Through the darkness of your apartment, you mumbled the words to yourself again. "I asked for you, I'm asking for you." You hoped that whoever was out there would hear and grant this one wish you were making at the sacred time.

There was nothing else in the world that you wanted, or would ever want. There was always the miniscule chance that you would in fact get him back, and all you could do was reinforce your chances with wishes. 

Meaningless wishes, asks, pleads to have him back. Anything to have him back. 

|masterlist|this made me feel something|

A/N - Hey loves! A reblog on this would be really appreciated, since I still think I've been shadowbanned. Love y'all 💖

[onesidedradiostatic]

Vox trying to impress/buy Alastor’s affections by installing a surprise microwave (with a big ribbon) in Alastor’s kitchen, and I don’t know what would be funnier- Alastor immediately dropping it into the void the moment Vox leaves, (and changing the locks) or accidentally killing it with technical ineptitude and blaming it on the faults of modern technology (probably put a tin can or a whole head in it for 2 hours. insert “so no head?” joke here)

Based on: I got a heap of vintage “cooking with your ~new microwave oven~” cookbooks from my grandma, there’s some crazy things in there.

Alastor vs microwave oven would be interesting because the microwaves it uses are a step above radio waves (used by both radio and tvs, aw, maybe they shared signal towers??) on the electromagnetic spectrum and do plenty of other stuff besides heating food. Maybe he’d dissect and repurpose it to mess with Hells telecommunications. He would use a microwave for evil.

(KIND OF follow-up to this)

HELP WHAT?? A MICROWAVE??G?F?HS? did he decide it'd be a good idea because of the electromagnetic spectrum thing?? LMAOOOO. I mean I guess that would go along with introducing new tech to him along with tv but like. a fucking microwave as a gift to alastor. I'm crying

[redtsundere-writes]

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Part 4: Eyes On Me

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst.

Word Count: 2571 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

Sukuna hates humans. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue, roses are red and Sukuna hates the disgusting creatures that humans are. He has so many reasons to hate them that he doesn't even know where to begin. Humans are annoying, weak, clumsy, but most of all, stupid. They make decisions without thinking through the consequences. They prefer to spend their money on momentary pleasures and end up bankrupt by not prioritizing their survival. They worry about unimportant things such as social status, religion, and traditions. Sukuna hates humans, but boy, are they entertaining.

Sukuna tends to study his servants very carefully. Even though they only clean, cook and obey his orders to a tee, it was fun to watch them interact with each other. He finds it fascinating how the servants gossip in whispers, how the gardeners concentrate to prune the bushes well despite their hands shaking, or how the cooks taste the food several times so that it's up to their majesty's standards. It was like watching dozens of filthy lab rats in the middle of a social experiment. Although... There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what they were doing.

The annoying bell rang, letting the servants know it was time to wake up. You got dressed, washed your face and served yourself breakfast, preparing for another hectic workday. You almost did the same thing every single day. In the morning, you set the table for the king to eat breakfast and then wash the dishes. In the afternoon, you cleaned the common rooms such as the king's hall, the bathrooms and the dining room. At night, you sometimes had to guard the hallways in case an enemy dared to attack in the dark. You made sure everything was in its place and sparkling. You constantly polished the gold and silver wares until you could see your reflection, you washed the white sheets by hand until your knuckles hurt, and you didn't eat until you finished harvesting the carrots that were ready. Being a servant was tedious work, but rewarding at the end of the day. 

You had finished all the chores for the day and decided to help the cooks prepare dinner because you had nothing better to do. Your muscles were exhausted from having spent all morning cleaning the porcelain sculptures, the large frames of the paintings in the great hall, and the king's jewelry so they could sparkle in all their glory. You had been assigned the task of peeling potatoes, so there you were. Sitting at a table with a small knife, peeling potatoes while listening to the chaos going on in the kitchen. Uraume was busy preparing a special passion fruit tea for the king. The special coming from the water that was inked with human blood. Sometimes you wondered if Uraume had always agreed to cook with humans or was it something they got used to because of Sukuna's orders, but since they never talked much about themselves, you never asked.

“Fuck!” A cook yelled when the frying pan caught fire.

Your eyes widened at the flashy flare. Uraume put the tea set aside to attend to the emergency. With some ice from their magic hands, they put out the fire in a jiffy, but left the kitchen a mess. They began to berate the cook with smacks in the head and curses for his ineptitude. The cook just apologized over and over again, but that wasn't enough for the head chef.

“You!” Uraume called. You put your task aside to attend to their orders. “Take the tea to our king and tell him I will be with him when I settle this situation.” You nodded and took the tray carefully to go in search of him.

After Sukuna gave you permission, you entered the library with the golden tray in your hands. The library was the coziest room in the entire castle. Its high walls were covered with huge bookcases filled with books, maps, and ancient scrolls. There were long desks of works and hundreds of candleholders everywhere to enjoy reading during the evenings. He was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the game table, a small wooden table covered with a carpet with a chessboard on top. The king was surprised to see you there despite having specified Uraume's presence.

“I didn't ask you to come,” Sukuna said chidingly as you served him tea at a small table next to him.

“Uraume had to attend to an emergency in the kitchen. They'll be here once everything is under control,” you replied as you set down the fragile cup of blood tea, adorned with small pieces of eyeball floating on the red surface to give it texture.

Your gaze traveled to the chessboard, it had been a long time since you had seen one.  This was no ordinary board. You could see that each piece was handmade and had luxurious detail. The pieces were made of white quartz, the eyes of the horses were rubies and the crowns of the kings were made of jade. It was the most beautiful board game you ever saw. You knew from the other servants that the king was a good player and only played with Uraume or some brave guest.

“Do you know how to play?” Sukuna asked out of curiosity.

Being a servant, you surely had not received the same education as he did. Well, almost no one was on his level when it came to education. Sukuna was a master mathematician, a skilled debater and could threaten his enemies in 5 different languages. You hadn't been as lucky. You're good at cleaning, cooking and obeying orders, but what else can you do?

“Yes,” you answered with a smile.

That answer surprised him quite a bit. Although chess was a game that was rapidly gaining popularity among the middle class, it was not a game for women. It was a game that required intellect, always thinking two moves ahead and knowing how to read your opponent. You didn't look like a girl who could do all that.

“Sit down,” Sukuna ordered you.

“I warn you that it may be a short game. It's been a long time since I've played,” you warned him as you sat down.

Sukuna watched you with great attention. Your eyes scanned the board as if it was the first time you had ever seen one, your hands rested gently on your thighs and you smiled nervously. You may have known the rules of the game, but you didn't know how to play. The king took your word for it.

“Ladies first,” he asked you to start.

“My pleasure,” you said as your dominant hand moved over the pieces to decide what your first move would be.

Your father taught you how to play. He always wanted a son to inherit the family business, but your mother only kept giving birth to women, so he had to resign himself to you. Your mother taught you how to be a lady so you could get married as soon as possible and your father taught you about the business so that your future husband wouldn't take advantage of the family money. You used to sit in front of the wooden board and talk for hours after dinner. Your father may not have been the wisest or the most astute man, but he had left you a very important lesson: Always look people in the eye to know their true intentions.

This was one of the few times you came face to face with Sukuna. Because of his title as king and the great difference in height, you were always beneath him, physically and psychologically speaking. You were a simple human, while he was a king with the power to get rid of whomever he wanted with a simple finger movement. Although his presence made you feel vulnerable, you didn't resent him. You had a relatively comfortable life serving him, but sometimes there was a need for you to show him that you were more than a servant. You wanted him to see you. This was a good opportunity to do so.

Sukuna's eyes were not on you, they were on the board. His gaze denoted boredom. He was waiting patiently for you to make the first move. If you waited a little longer, maybe he would yawn. He overestimated you, you had to use that feeling against him. You moved a pawn to the C4 square, a common move among beginners.

“Finally…” He said in a monotone voice before quickly moving the knight to the F6 square.

Each of you took turns to move the pieces quietly as time went by. You took your time with each move, while the king only needed to look at the board from time to time to know what to do next. You could take all the time in the world, but he would still eat all your pieces. Even though it didn't seem to be an interesting game, you could at least keep up with him. Sukuna's queen advanced towards yours, standing face to face. One false move and your king was in trouble.

“Check,” you said as the queen retreated two squares diagonally, leaving her free to begin the attack on the king.

At that announcement, Sukuna woke up from the trance he was in to focus on what he was doing. He smiled satisfied as he noticed the change in your body. Your hands had relaxed, your back was straight, and your eyes were glued to his. You knew exactly what you were doing. You didn't need to tell him verbally that you would destroy him at his own game, your eyes told him clearly. It was as if you were dissecting his soul bit by bit until you left him completely naked.

Your hands were interleaved with each turn. You moved quickly as you realized that Sukuna had already noticed your active presence on the board. Sukuna returned the queen to his side. An interesting move. It was wise to know when to back away, but you noticed one thing in his eyes. He had no plan, he just acted based on his understanding of the game. He moved like in real life, using only his killer instincts.

“Check,” you announced again by moving a knight up.

“Not so fast,” Sukuna told you before taking the horse that was threatening his king using a queen. You smiled as you saw that his majesty had fallen into the trap. By moving his pieces like that, Sukuna had fully exposed his king.

“Checkmate,” you announced the end of the game as soon as you moved the white queen close to the black king. And only then, the poor maid defeated the almighty king.

“Well, well…” Sukuna sighed in awe as he looked at the board with extreme curiosity. He couldn't be mad at you. He had let his guard down. You were playing even before the game started.

There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what you were doing. Sukuna would always hyper fixate on you whenever he noticed your presence around him. You could be cleaning, chatting with your companions or eating some dried fruit in the garden, and he would still only notice you as if nothing else in the world existed. You were the most interesting human he had ever seen. Sukuna tried to look for a logical reason for his obsession with you, but he couldn't do it. You looked like a simple being with clear goals, but he was sure you were hiding something behind your perfect facade.

Someone knocked at the door. Sukuna sighed, he wanted to be alone with you longer, but now was not the time. Uraume entered the room and was surprised to see you sitting with his majesty. Something strange had been going on between the two of you for months. They had even debated the idea of asking the king directly about you, but hadn't worked up the courage to do so.

“There was an inconvenience in the kitchen. Sorry to keep you waiting, your majesty,” Uraume bowed in apology.

“Lucky for you, you sent a good replacement,” Sukuna said before smiling at you in satisfaction.

Uraume instantly understood just by glancing at the board. You had beaten the king, something even they could not easily accomplish. They could tell that he was looking at you like no one else. It wasn't a look of disgust or boredom, it was a curious look. Like that of a child looking at a group of kids playing in the playground, wondering if he could come over to play with them.

“If you'll excuse me, I have to go,” you said as you got up to give the seat to Uraume. “Good game. It was a pleasure to play against you, my king,” you bowed.

“Good game,” Sukuna whispered so you could leave the room.

Sukuna and Uraume started a new game as soon as you returned to the kitchen to peel potatoes. They quickly noticed that something was occupying her majesty's mind. Their white pieces were eating his black pieces easily and his moves were slow compared to previous games. Uraume could tell that the game against you had changed the way he played.

“What do you see in her?” Uraume asked him after a move.

“Am I too obvious?” Sukuna asked them before getting up from his seat to start prowling around the library to clear his mind. “What do you think of her?” He asked her as he stopped in front of the window to admire the land. The large green lawn stretched all the way to the intimidating entrance of his wonderful castle.

“She is a dedicated servant and a perfectionist. She does all the chores in a timely manner. She is as good a servant as any other. The real question is: What do you think of her?” Uraume asked as they watched him from their seat.

“She has potential.”

“Potential? Potential for what?” Uraume arched their brow at the confusing statement.

“She has the same potential as a pawn turning into a queen,” Sukuna replied confidently.

Sukuna Ryomen was known among the kingdoms for being an unorthodox king. Not only because he took kingdoms left and right as if it were nothing, but because he has a strange way of ruling his people. He did not care about social classes, behavioral labels or unwritten codes of human coexistence. Everyone was inferior to him regardless of gender, race, or religion. He was the god of this new world and everyone had to obey him, just like that.

The fact that he wanted to have a queen went far beyond just following the established patterns of classical monarchy. Sukuna must have a reason why he wants to have a queen other than just because, but there was a more important question on the table.

“Your majesty, you can get any woman you want. You can get a beautiful princess, with more training and presence, why would you settle for a servant?” Uraume asked in confusion. Sukuna smiled. It was a good question.

“She has something much better than that,” he answered before continuing the game as if nothing happened. Uraume looked down to see that Sukuna had checkmated them.

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