#never needed a slow cooker

[jfk-blown-away-blog]

Blender

[adozentothedawn]

The craving for a slow cooker has me suddenly go full Marie Kondo on my kitchen.

[oceantornadoo]

dubcon, objectification, forced (?) threesome, f!reader

they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

ghost finds you ten months after your divorce, nursing a drink in a shithole of a pub. he doesn’t consider himself a good man, licking the tears on your cheeks when he fucks you for the first time, ignoring your whines of how “it’s been a while” and you’re “too tight.” he doesn’t like to keep birds around longer than a night, but something about how you wrap your leg around him in the morning makes him stay a little longer.

he lets you call him simon after you whine that you “can’t fuck him without knowing his name.” it takes a bit, but you get used to sleeping with someone who isn’t your ex-husband. he calls you bird instead of sweetheart, love instead of darling and after a while, the word honey loses its significance. when simon tells you he’s military, you try to leave his bed, only for him to pull you by the thigh, apologizing with his tongue in your cunt. simon doesn’t date and you aren’t ready for it, content to stay in your respective apartments, living for his occasional half-smiles and usual gruff admonishments. its a bit new to simon - he’s used his camera app more in the past weeks than he has in years. always pictures of you: his cum on your tits, the bruises he leaves on your hips, a rare photo of you sleeping. he even lets you corral him into taking a cheesy mirror picture, his arms dwarfing your waist with his face tucked into your neck, your jawline exposed as you turn to kiss his cheek.

it’s two months later when you promise to cook him a meal for the first time, a sunday roast he hasn’t tasted in years. “better not take too long, bird, ‘m starvin’.” simon murmurs in your ear, hands squeezing your stomach and waist as you fumble with your keys. “i’ve had it slow cooking before i left for yours last night. it’ll put us in a food coma.” you finally put the key in the lock, turning it with force before simon decides to fuck you against the door. he dips to bite your neck, sending you into your apartment giggling, swatting him off you. the weight of your divorce is finally off your shoulders, happy butterflies fluttering in your stomach formed by simon’s continuous presence.

the butterflies die when you see a familiar pair of boots at your door.

“stay here.” you order simon, a change from your usual dynamic. you can’t focus on his reaction, set on edge by the sounds of pots clanging in your kitchen. there’s no point in creeping - he knows you’re here. you turn the corner and there he is - your ex husband. “you’re just in time, sweetheart. nice ‘f you to make a roast.”

john’s standing there like he owns the place, like he knows this kitchen he’s never been in. he’s boiling potatoes on the stove, keeping an eye on the slow cooker timer. he’s even poured himself a fucking drink, a scotch he had to have brought since all you have is wine and simon’s whiskey. all smug and entitled in his civvies, commanding the room like he pays your rent. he's still as handsome as ever, darker eye bags the only indication he's been losing sleep.

“what the fuck are you doing here, john?” john doesn’t answer immediately, instead using a fork to test the potatoes. satisfied, he takes them off the burner and turns to the sink, dumping them out in a prepared strainer. “‘s our anniversary, sweetheart. thought that’s why you made the food.” you can sense simon still in the doorway, his presence unknown to your ex. it gives you strength, a guard dog at your back, and comfort that he’s letting you run this on your own. “our anniversary ended when we signed the papers. i don’t know how you got in here, but you need to leave.” he frowns at you and it almost tugs at your heart strings. your brain conjures images of his coldness and constant distance, and you shut that down real fast. unfortunately, he doesn’t get the memo. john takes a step closer, hands up like he’s approaching a wild animal. “honey, i-“ and that’s when ghost steps out of the darkness.

there’s a long pause. it boosts your ego a bit, showing john you’ve moved on, until the silence is so long that you start to worry. you chance a look at simon’s face and find it confused, not at all the guard dog you thought he was. a glance at john’s reveals the same. you’re about to ask your question when they answer it for you. “captain.” “lieutenant.” “what?”

the transformation happens in an instant. both men straighten to their full heights, wiping any emotion off their faces. their brows furrow as they flex their hands to control their instincts. how could you not see it before? simon only mentioned he was military, but the stamp of the SAS is clear as day. it was in the harsh lines he carried, a companionship with death, not unlike the one john had.

john started first, of course, always having to take control of the situation. “you fuckin’ my lieutenant, sweetheart? miss me that much?” you rolled your eyes at his cruel words, inching closer to simon. “whatever we do doesn’t concern you.” you emphasized the “you”, spitting it out with venom. john hums low, making you nervous. you turn to simon, but he's quiet and calculating, communicating silently with his captain.

"didn't know you had a wife, sir." you answer before john can. "we divorced a year ago." john chimes in. "to the day, actually. she served me on our anniversary." simon looks down at you, the man you thought you knew now gone. his eyes are black pits, targeting you like you're prey. "that's cruel, bird." you sputter, backing into the kitchen cabinets. you walk until your back hits the sink, each man on either side of you. john has his arms crossed and head cocked to the side, like you're about to get chewed out by the school principal. simon looks...no longer human. unrestrained. whatever spark you two had has gone out, replaced by sheer loyalty to his captain. "show the captain what he's been missin', love. y've been starvin' him." he moves at lightning speed, picking you up and dropping you on the island counter, sunday roast long forgotten.

"simon?" he doesn't answer, scarred hands squeezing up and down your body as john watches from behind him, arms crossed and eyes searching. your mind is telling you one thing but your body wants another. some twisted part of your brain reminds you that john came to visit on your anniversary, even though you threw him out a year ago. simon's no better, coaxing your sweater off your torso, leaving you exposed in a lacy bra. your nipples harden and john sees, making a clicking noise with his tongue. "warm 'er up, lieutenant." simon obeys instantly, pulling down the cup of your bra to suck on your nipple. he's ravenous, no sunday roast in sight, and he's decided you're his meal instead. he sucks hard, a calloused hand reaching up to pull your other tit out so you're fully exposed to your two men. he squeezes it with reverence, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he sucks hard on the other one, not minding his own teeth.

it's dirty - watching john watch you. you hadn't fucked in the last months before the divorce. he was always too busy, on base or deployed, and you were so angry you couldn't let him near you. now, your ex-husband moves closer, taking in the sight of his lieutenant feasting. "miss me, sweetheart?" you shake your head on instinct. he sighs at your attitude. you're seated on the corner of the island, perfect for john to come up on your side, one large paw making its way towards your jaw, turning you towards him. "say it." you shake your head again. john sticks a thumb into your mouth, pushing against your teeth. you try to force him out, but simon bites your tit, making you gasp and let john in anyways. you suck his thumb defiantly, gazing at him with all the emotions you can't convey.

you look so pretty like this, john decides. laid out for his lieutenant, taking his orders as well as your emotions will allow. he decides to forgive you for your indiscretions with ghost - at least it was with one of his own men. they're practically an extension of himself. john hooks his thumb into the gap between your tongue and teeth and pulls, forcing you right into his space. "i reckon your cunt's nice an' wet, though. should i check? know she's missed me even if you won't admit it." your eyes go wide, giving him an answer he already knew. simon follows orders well, manhandling you into position by yanking off your jeans. there's a wet spot on the light fabric of your underwear. john can practically see your cunt clinging to it, begging for him to say hello.

"want ya to take 'em off y'self, bird." simon's finally speaking, the glaze in his eyes fading. he looks at you, then his captain, and it makes sense. how you're used to being led but refuse it all the same. how you're desperate for affection but won't date him because he's military. you're scarred from the chains of your marriage, so it only makes sense that he's the one you seek out - the opposite of husband material. more dog than human on his worst days. simon stares at you until you follow his command, meekly lifting up your hips as you take off your underwear. your cunt is sopping, in a way it only does when you’re ovulating, practically begging for it. your ex-husband whistles through his teeth like he’s praising a recruit. “knew she’d be happy to see me. hullo, darling.” you can’t find it in you to cringe. john starts running his fingers through your folds, inspecting, and all you can do is stare. stare at the veins in his forearm. stare at simon behind him, eyes trained on his captain’s movements. stare at the counter where your juices start to gather and wonder how the hell you got into this situation.

“pinch ‘er tit an’ watch ‘er flutter.” simon’s callous with his instructions but john follows them anyway, his unoccupied hand reaching up to pinch your nipple. you can’t help the gasp that escapes you, the way your cunt flutters around john’s fingers. he hums thoughtfully. john decides you’ve been good, if not a bit quiet, and presses his thumb against your clit as a reward. he starts rubbing in that pattern that would get you off without fail during your marriage. he fits one finger into you easily as you grip the counter hard, the sudden sensation overwhelming. simon peers over his shoulder like a fucking scientist. “‘f she gets bratty, i pull back the hood til she screams.” like your cunt’s a machine and they have the two pieces of its manual. john’s movements are making you desperate, hips starting to buck against his fingers. he chuckles and adds another, not hiding a smile when you sigh in relief. simon’s hands come to your waist, helping you fuck yourself on price’s fingers. it feels so wrong, having them barely listen to your pleas, and yet being under their watch is the most right you’ve ever felt in your life. that’s what brings your orgasm - not john’s thick fingers on your cunt, his rough thumb in your clit - but two sets of hungry eyes on you, like you’re their last meal. john fucks you through your orgasm, simon not letting you out of his grasp until tears start to form, the embarrassment of your own wetness coming to the front of your mind. john slowly removes his fingers and brings them to simon’s mouth to taste, not satisfied until his lieutenant hums in agreement. the two men turn to you, naked save for your disheveled bra around your waist, somehow making the scene more depraved.

“‘ow ‘bout that roast, love?” simon murmurs gruffly.

good thing john never signed the divorce papers.

[rashomonss]

The brothers and the Human Realm

a/n: so ik ‘jealous much’ won the poll but it’s still not done yet so have this instead!

context: a part of me still finds lessons 40-43 funny because the brothers have never really been to the human world that much, and they don’t really know how certain things work. Take the slow cooker and ice cream truck for example. So these are little headcanons I have for when all of y’all are together in the beginning of their stay in the human realm.

enjoy <3 , also these are in no specific order

you all are hopeless…

Solomon and MC would so fuck with the brothers while being in the human realm.

For example they’d take Lucifer to the shadiest mexican restaurant possible then after they finished eating they would tell the waiters it was Lucifer’s birthday and watch the Avatar of Pride sit there with a big ass sombrero on his head as they sang happy birthday to him.

MC later took a picture and sent it to Diavolo who then made it his lock screen.

Satan and Belphie tried to electrocute Lucifer by throwing a toaster in the bathroom while he was in the middle of a shower. This happened after the fact you told them not to put water on the toaster because it could electrocute someone. 

Beel ate an entire bottle of ibuprofen liquid gels because he thought they were hard gummies.

Beel also ate the food and cake shaped wax candle melts you had bought for Asmo as a gift

Beel lastly ate your whole brand new container of melatonin and it knocked him out for 15 hours straight. Needless to say Lucifer was very concerned for his wellbeing, and Belphie soon questioned if you had anymore.

Belphie and his brothers were never taught stranger danger, because who in their right mind would be a danger to them in the Devildom?

So after you had explained to him what an ice cream truck was he vowed to go to one with you.

However when a creepy old man in a white van offers him candy he believes it to be the same as the ice cream truck so he gets in the van.

When the brothers relay this information to you, you begin to lose your shit explaining how that was not in fact an ice cream truck he got into but instead a kidnapper van.

The brothers don’t know how to eat certain human world foods.

Such as a banana, watermelon, mango, pineapple, kiwi, avocado, cherry, dragon fruit, papaya, onion, etc.

So when you first buy one from the grocery store and leave it out before cutting it they automatically think it’s some weird shaped human food and bite into it eating the skin or seeds and all.

After they tell you about the weird but delicious taste of it you ask if they cut it or spit out the seeds before eating it, and when they reply with a puzzled look and a no your heart drops.

Thank god they’re demons. You then proceed to buy the same thing again this time cutting it up in front of them so they know what parts to eat of certain things.

Expanding on the cherry part, did y’all’s parents ever tell you not to swallow watermelon or cherry seeds because if you did a cherry tree or whole watermelon would then grow in your stomach??

I know mine and some of my friends parents would tell us that when I was younger to make sure we didn’t swallow any seeds.

If they didn’t then oh well, anyway…

Continuing with Solomon being an ass, he would so tell something like that to the brothers. If he happened to see Beel swallow a cherry whole he would then proceeded to tell Lucifer not to let him do that.

And when the oldest asks why Solomon would then go onto explain that if he swallows cherry pit then a cherry tree will then grow inside his stomach.

Of course this freaked out Lucifer so for the next hour he tried getting Beel to spit out all the cherries he ate.

You would have to organize their fridge and pantry in the new house because they don’t know which human world foods need to be refrigerated or not.

After you arrive at the house you spent a good three hours explaining to them not everything can go in the pantry because some of it will spoil after you open it.

Then you proceed to gag when you pulled out an expired chunky milk container from the pantry.

They find the concept of drive thru or fast food places astonishing. The fact that you can just order wait in a line for a few minutes in your car then get your food is crazy. They do however all panic though when you get to the front and they don’t know what to order off the menu.

Car washes are also something they found themselves favoring. You would turn up the music as you slowly pulled in and joked by telling the brothers you were going on a ride of sorts.

Which in turn shocked you when they did believed you as the car wash stared. Each of them were staring out the windows with starry eyes as different colors of soap were thrown on your car.

You laughed to yourself as they all admired the way the soap blended together, Asmo and Mammon found themselves taking pictures of the whole thing. While Belphie was telling Beel how this looked like a starry sky.

And Levi went on to tell Satan how this reminded him of an anime scene. Lucifer also found himself sitting quietly in the passenger seat enjoying it too. (Lucifer is a certified passenger princess, fight me on that)

Each brother questioned you on how this was possible and you replied with smile. After the car wash was over and you drove through the dryers they all asked if you could do that again, to which you replied smiling “maybe some other time”.

Lucifer watered the fake succulents and plants you put around the house for two weeks straight until you said something.

They love watching true crime documentary’s to the point you’d have to physically pull them away from the tv.

It happened one afternoon while a few of them were relaxing in the living room and you were looking for a channel to watch.

Deciding there was nothing interesting on you put on an old true crime documentary and began watching it. As the brothers heard the story of the crime from the tv they each became immersed in it.

Telling you things such as “how could humans do that to each other?” or “wow humans are more brutal than we thought” or even adding in their own comments on how they could have made the crime worse.

It became a guessing game between all of them to figure out who killed who during each episode you watched.

Much to everyone dismayed Satan was the one who won every time.

Meanwhile while they were all immersed in the tv you noticed Lucifer standing behind you, arms crossed also watching tv. You told him to sit down and watch with all of you but he denied, claiming he wasn’t really interested in stuff like this anyway.

Yet he never moved from that same spot each episode.

Each of the brothers have made something explode in the microwave.

Lucifer stained it red when he went to reheat pasta, but he put it in for to long and it exploded. Mammon overfilled his ramen thus causing it to leak then explode.

Satan and Levi also happened to be reheating takeout at the same time, but both of the containers were styrofoam and exploded. Levi got annoyed and Satan threw the microwave at Lucifer.

Asmo put some skincare product in there because he found something online about a certain hack, and it exploded causing the microwave to smell like burnt strawberries.

Beel put too much food in the microwave causing it to all melt together then explode.

Belphie put a coffee in there to reheat and it exploded, but he was too lazy to clean it up so he just left it. Lucifer was then next to use the microwave and got coffee all over him.

You made all seven of them watch the entire twilight series as a joke but ironically they all actually enjoyed it.

Satan even went out and bought the books, and finished all of them in about 2 hours

Bonus

Solomon distracted Diavolo for 3 hours straight by making him watch 5 minute craft videos.

Diavolo then proceeded to break things to try these said crafts which caused Barbatos to have a meltdown.

Barbatos destroyed an entire sidewalk because he saw two rats run across it into the sewer.

[itsgivingmami]

A Long Search Ended

Part Two— Lace and Leverage

Sugar mommy!rhea ripley x reader

Rhea wants to throw her phone at the wall.

It’s been a brutal morning.

Not chaotic—worse.

Slow. Grinding. A pressure cooker with no release valve.

She’s backstage at a media event she didn’t want to attend, arguing with a third assistant over a last-minute travel change that was supposed to be locked in last week. Her mic wire is crackling in her left ear and it’s driving her to near madness, snapping like static every time someone speaks too close. Her boots are too hot. The chains around her neck feel like they’re strangling her. And every voice around her is starting to blend into one long droning buzz—same questions, same bad lighting, same meaningless press filler she could recite in her sleep. She doesn’t care what city they’re headed to next. She doesn’t care about the sponsor banner behind her. And she definitely doesn’t care about which smiling intern thinks it’s a good idea to suggest she “loosen up.”

She wants to fight something.

Wants to walk out.

Wants quiet.

Her jaw is clenched so tight her teeth ache. She can feel the tension creeping up behind her eyes, like a migraine that hasn’t landed yet but is circling like a hawk. She hasn’t had coffee. She hasn’t had silence. Someone’s asking if she can push her time slot for a partner promo she never agreed to, and the only reason she hasn’t snapped yet is because her PR rep is standing ten feet away with a clipboard and an expression that says don’t you dare.

She’s two seconds from blowing the whole set.

Then—

Her phone buzzes in her back pocket.

She almost ignores it. Almost lets it go unanswered like every other unimportant thing she’s had to tune out today.

But her body knows before her mind catches up.

That buzz means you.

She glances down. Sees your name.

Then the photo loads.

And the entire room drops away.

You.

Standing at the end of your bed, wrapped in morning light and black tissue paper. One slip of silk clinging to your hips, the rest falling soft and quiet around you like smoke. No caption. No filter. No performance. Just you: poised, grounded, real. Confident. Playful. Kind. The kind of beauty that doesn’t scream—it hums. The kind that demands attention not with volume but with gravity, and Rhea, for all her edge and steel, finds herself pulled by it instantly.

It’s the kind of photo that should be casual, maybe even staged. But it isn’t. You didn’t try to look good for her. You just do. And that’s what floors her.

The kind of beauty that doesn’t ask for attention. That owns it. The kind she’s never had before—at least not like this. Not without having to coax it out. Not without promising softness she doesn’t always have in her. Not without pretending she had space in her day to care for someone too delicate to weather her silences. But you—you don’t need coaxing. You don’t need rescuing.

You’re not needy. You’re present. You give without demanding and play without clutching. There’s no fear in your expression. No performance. Just the quiet, radiant certainty of someone who knows how to be wanted without asking.

You know what this is—and still choose to make it beautiful.

Rhea stares at her screen.

And for the first time all morning—she smiles.

At the soft joy on your face. At the way the light touches your shoulders like it wants to memorize you. At the fact that you already look so at home in her world—even when she’s not in the room.

The exorbitant amount of money she paid to have everything boxed, packed, and on your doorstep before sunrise suddenly feels irrelevant. It was never about the price tag. It was about seeing this. Giving you something that made you feel like this.

Not the usual smirk or the wolfish edge she uses in every backstage hallway. Not the bite that comes before blood and victory.

A real smile.

Warm. Dangerous. Quietly feral.

Someone says her name. Someone taps her shoulder.

She doesn’t hear them.

Instead, she types:

Rhea:

Don’t move. I want a better look when I get five minutes to breathe.

—

You’re still standing at the foot of your bed when your phone buzzes, surrounded by tissue paper and ribbon like some soft, expensive ritual. The sunlight is climbing higher now, warming the floorboards, catching the gold in your hair, the gloss on your lips, the curve of your shoulder beneath the sheer fabric. The slip hugs you like a sigh. Your smile blooms slow—victory sweet and secret, not boastful. A smile meant for no one else but you.

“I want to find a reason to breathe out.”

Her voice from last night echoes through you, a remembered murmur pitched low and reverent. She hadn’t flirted with that line. Hadn’t offered it like bait. It landed like truth. Unpolished, unpracticed.

She’d meant it.

And this morning, you’ve given her one—casually, confidently, with the same unspoken promise she gave you when she handed over this part of herself. You let your phone rest on the bed beside the packaging without replying right away. She doesn’t need instant responses. She’s busy. You’re gracious with her time and possessive with yours.

Besides, you’re distracted.

Your fingers part the black tissue again—cool silk, soft stretch lace, delicate velvet ribbons. Everything feels more decadent in person, like the screen never did it justice. You’d picked the pieces, yes—but seeing them here, laid out and real, they feel curated. Like a gift selected from memory, not wishlists. Heavier. More intimate. More hers.

You’re halfway through deciding what to try next when your hand catches on something smaller.

A velvet pouch.

You tug the drawstrings loose. A delicate anklet spills into your palm—cool metal, a fine chain, and a black charm that glints in the morning light like a wink. It shines with intent. With possession—but not pressure. A suggestion, not a claim. Your breath catches, chest tight with quiet awe.

Inside the pouch is a small, square piece of cardstock. No note. No name. No instructions. Just a perfect matte-black lipstick print, stamped dead center like a seal.

You smile. Bite your bottom lip. You’d floated the game—let’s see how well you pay attention—and she didn’t just agree. She’s playing back. Not by your rules, but by hers.

And she’s winning.

You sit at the edge of your bed and fasten the anklet around your ankle with careful fingers. It fits like it was made to be there. Already, your steps feel different. Lighter. Like something precious is tethered to you now. You don’t bother reaching for another slip. Instead, you shrug into the robe—cool silk against warm skin, fabric catching in all the right places. It slides over your shoulders like water, gives you goosebumps when it kisses your collarbones.

You stand. Spin once. Let yourself feel how it moves with you, the way it flares and settles, the way it trails heat and intention down your thighs. You smooth it over your hips. Turn toward the mirror.

It’s falling off one shoulder again—deliberate now.

The charm at your ankle flashes like a promise.

—

Rhea ducks around the corner of the venue, chest tight with effort.

The second she’s out of sight, she drags a hand through her hair and lets out a low, frustrated growl. Not the dramatic kind meant to draw attention—but the kind that scratches its way up her throat and demands release. The kind that comes from being stretched too thin in every direction. From being surrounded by noise, by questions, by people who treat her time like it’s free and her patience like it’s infinite. The kind of sound she only makes when she knows no one is watching.

She leans back and lets the back of her skull hit the wall with a dull, satisfying thud.

She breathes.

One long, slow exhale.

It barely helps.

Her fingers are already curling around her phone before she registers the motion. She yanks it from her pocket with a tight grip, knuckles pale. Any more force and she’ll crack the damn case. She opens your thread like it’s the only thing that makes sense today, thumbs hovering.

Rhea:

I hope you are where I left you.

It’s sharper than she meant it to be. A little too clipped, a little too edged. But her chest is still tight, her head is still pounding, and nothing else has managed to ground her. It’s not exactly softness, but it’s the closest thing she can offer without losing the grip she has on what’s left of her composure. She hopes you’ll hear the truth underneath. The plea behind the command. The I want to picture you there, because it helps.

She can’t stop thinking about your face. The curve of your shoulders. The silk sliding over your thighs like something sacred. And somehow, you—sitting in your own space, wrapped in the things she gave you—calm her more than silence ever could.

It steadies her. The memory of you makes everything else less loud.

Because the truth is, despite the bodies bustling around her, none of them are really seeing her. None of them are saying anything they haven’t said to a dozen other wrestlers, pressing their clipboards and timelines and agendas into her orbit like she’s just another commodity on the schedule. No one in this hallway cares what kind of morning she’s had. No one asks.

But you—you—see her already.

You don’t ask for her time like you’re trying to take it. You just… receive it. And give back. Without pressure. Without angle.

She likes that everything about you is new. Not fresh like innocent. New like unfamiliar in all the ways that matter. You’re present. Capable. You don’t pull at her. You don’t need her to babysit your confidence. You aren’t asking her to prove anything—just to be, and she hadn’t realized how rare that was until right now.

Her phone buzzes again.

She opens it fast. Too fast.

And then—everything slows.

You. Again. But somehow more.

You’re on the floor this time, relaxed and entirely unbothered. The robe has slipped down your arm, baring the smooth skin of one shoulder. Your hair is tousled—messy in the deliberate kind of way that makes her mouth go dry. The hem of the slip peeks out between your bent knees, lace tracing the edge of your thigh like a secret she isn’t meant to know yet. The anklet glints under your ankle, catching the light with every subtle movement.

You look like you know what you’re doing to her.

You:

More or less,

She stares.

Takes it in like a hit of something addictive.

She has half a dozen messages to return. A call scheduled in six minutes. Someone’s waiting on her cue around the corner.

She doesn’t care.

Instead, she types:

Rhea:

You’re in more.

But I wouldn’t be upset with less.

—

You’re still sitting on the floor, back against your bed, one hand resting on your thigh where the slip has started to ride up. The anklet catches the light again, its glint like punctuation to a sentence neither of you is brave enough to say out loud—yet. The robe drapes off one shoulder, silk pooling at your side, refusing to behave. The whole scene feels curated without effort, luxurious without trying. Like indulgence found you on accident.

Rhea’s reply lights the screen.

You read it once.

Then again.

You’re in more.

But I wouldn’t be upset with less.

Your breath flutters—low and slow, deep in your ribs, like your lungs haven’t fully settled since last night. You don’t respond right away. Part of you wants her to sit with that silence. To wonder if you’re still stretched across the floor, waiting. Or already reaching for another slip.

She’s been so careful not to make demands. Not because she isn’t used to control—but because she understands the value of choosing something without force. The power of letting someone want what you give. It’s rare in this dynamic. Rarer still from someone like her—used to having everything taken, or earned through blood and bite.

You glance down at your legs, cross your ankles. Let the robe slide higher on your thighs. You consider taking another picture. A different one. But then—your phone buzzes again.

Rhea:

I want to see you tonight.

There’s a pause.

You sit up straighter. Wait.

Another buzz.

Rhea:

Dinner. I’ll send a car. Wear the dress I left in your cart.

Your heart gives a sharp little kick. Not panic. Not nerves. Anticipation.

You hadn’t even noticed the dress.

You’d filled the cart last night—slips, lingerie, loungewear, small things that whispered pleasure instead of screamed it—but you hadn’t scrolled to the bottom. Somewhere between the anklet and a delicate robe, she’d tucked in one more piece. Silently. Thoughtfully. A suggestion made not in words, but in fabric.

You cross the room and reach for the garment bag, still waiting in the corner of the box. Unzipping it feels intimate. Like opening something private meant only for your hands.

The dress is black.

Simple in shape. Sinful in effect.

Bias-cut silk with delicate straps, a deep cowl neckline that dips low enough to make your breath catch, and a slit high enough to demand attention. You run your fingers along the hem, letting it slip through your hands. It smells faintly like vanilla and salt.

Your phone buzzes again.

Rhea:

Don’t make me ask twice, sweetheart.

It’s not aggressive. Not even impatient.

It’s just… decided. Velvet steel. A command dressed as a reminder.

Your stomach tightens. Not from nerves. From want. Want to be seen. To be chosen. To be the reason someone like her spends hours searching silk swatches just to make sure it lands at your door by morning.

You reach for your phone. Type with careful fingers.

You:

What time should I be ready?

It takes seconds.

Rhea:

7:30, baby.

You swallow. The nickname lands with weight, but not the kind that makes you shrink. It settles into your skin like something she’s allowed to use—because she’s earned the right to. You let it sit there. Let yourself want it. Then you grin.

You tap your reply—simple, intentional.

You:

See you tonight, Mami.

—

Across the city, she’s preparing for a call. Probably pacing some hallway, tension thick in her shoulders, hair half-tamed, rings cold from where they’ve clinked against water glasses and microphones all day. You picture the exact moment she sees your message. The way her eyes narrow. The way her mouth curves.

You:

I feel exquisite.

Thank you.

You send it before you second-guess the softness. Before you temper it down into something cool or clever.

Because the truth is—she made you feel that way. And it deserves to be said.

—

Her head drops forward, breath catching in her throat.

For all her control, her dominance, her undeniable command of every room she walks into—that is what undoes the knots in her shoulders.

Not praise. Not submission.

Gratitude.

Simple. Earned. Real.

She pulls the back of her hand up to rest against her mouth, hiding the smirk she can’t bite down fast enough. A quiet, private grin that spreads without permission. It settles deep, somewhere near her chest, where your words landed and took root.

There isn’t a soul in this building who could’ve calmed her like that. Not the staff scrambling for her attention, not the agents calling in favors, not the fans waiting for the match card drop. No one. It comes with a realization so soft it hurts a little.

No one else has ever made her feel so capable of doing something good.

Not impressive. Not strong.

Good.

Her thumb hovers over the keyboard only for a second. The reply is easy. It’s already there, waiting to be said.

Rhea:

You are.

She doesn’t dress it up. Doesn’t dilute it with wit or deflection. Just gives it plain. Steady. True. She pockets her phone without hesitation, but the weight of it feels different now. Heavier—but not burdensome. Weighted with meaning. With you.

She runs a hand through her hair once more, shoulders loose for the first time all day, and makes her way back down the hallway. Each step feels a little more anchored. Like she’s not walking back into chaos, but just through it. Like the storm can’t touch her if she’s already thinking about your smile in that robe, the way you thanked her like it mattered.

Because no matter how shit the rest of the day looks—no matter what calls or promos or travel delays are waiting on the other side of that door—

She knows exactly how the day ends.

—

The sun is beginning to lower when the car pulls up.

You spot it through the front window—sleek, deep black, the kind of quiet luxury that doesn’t bother announcing itself. It hums more than it idles, like it has nowhere to be except exactly where you are.

Just like her.

Your heart gives a deliberate thud.

You don’t rush. You don’t need to.

You smooth the front of your dress—black silk falling over your curves like it was poured there, thin straps warmed by your skin, neckline dipping in a soft, deliberate tease. The slit at your thigh parts slightly when you move, and you don’t fix it.

You fasten the anklet again, the tiny charm brushing your skin like a kiss only she’s allowed to give.

The car’s interior is silent. Not the kind of silence that feels cold—this one feels curated. Designed. The kind that says: you were expected.

Leather, dark as dusk. Tinted windows turning every streetlight into gold. The world outside moves past in a blur, barely able to reach you through the tinted glass. You sit back, legs crossed at the knee, fingers tracing the edge of your phone as you wait.

It rings once.

Then again.

You answer on the third. Not in a rush.

“Hello?”

A low, velvet hum threads through the speaker. Then—

“How’s the fit?”

Her voice is like heat over bare skin. Smooth. Confident. Laced in low curiosity but not need. She doesn’t pretend at hello. She says what she wants. And she always expects you to do the same.

You glance down at yourself, at the way the silk hugs your hips and skims your thighs. You smile, lips parting.

“Tailored,” you say, a soft laugh escaping with it. “Either you guessed right, or you’ve been paying very close attention.”

Silence hums gently on the other end. Then the faint sound of murmured voices and distant clinking. A restaurant, probably. Or a bar tucked into the side of something exclusive. But her attention is on you.

“I didn’t guess.”

Your lips part slightly. There’s no smirk behind it. No flirt.

Just truth. It lands like something intentional.

You shift in your seat, silk whispering as it moves. “It feels like it was made for me.”

“It was picked for you,” she says. “Quality isn’t hard to afford. Comfort isn’t either. But knowing what belongs to you before you put your hands on it—that’s a little rarer.”

You squint at her choice of words before grinning and licking your lips, You exhale through your nose. The honesty in her tone makes you press your knees tighter together. From the way she says things like they matter.

From the way she hasn’t even seen you tonight and you still feel held.

“Then I guess you’re doing something right,” you murmur.

There’s a pause on her end, one you can feel her smiling through, even if she doesn’t say it.

“Good,” she replies. “Because I want to spoil you. No games. No tests. You want something? Ask. You like something? I’ll remember. You think of something halfway through dinner? It’ll be at your door by morning.”

The car takes a turn, smooth and silent. The city outside hums on. But inside this car, all you hear is her.

You trace the edge of the charm on your ankle with one finger.

“I’ve never had it like this,” you admit, a rare moment of vulnerability peaking from behind the luxurious walls you’ve built. “Not without strings. Not without someone acting like it buys them something I don’t want to give,”

“It doesn’t,” she replies. No hesitation. “I don’t spend money to earn my way into your bed. I spend it to make sure you don’t waste your energy worrying.”

Another pause.

Then her voice dips, lower than it’s been all call.

“I want to give you the kind of quiet I’ve never had and I will never ask you for more than you’re willing to give,”

You don’t say anything at first. You let that sit. Let the weight of it settle over your shoulders like her jacket might.

“I believe you.”

It’s soft. Honest. And that’s what gets her. Not your dress. Not the risky photos or the soft flirting. The way you said that like a gift. Like you know how rare that offering is.

The silence crackles for a moment.

Then—low, just above a whisper:

“You look good in silk,” she says. “But I think you look better when you know what you’re worth. Don’t forget.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You shift again.

The city glows against the windows. But you’re already burning.

“Are you always this good at this?” you ask. Not teasing. Just wondering.

“No,” she replies. “Just when someone makes it easy to want to be.”

—

Listen I know this is mostly nothing… but we’re building up okay. Part 3 incoming soon.

Comments, likes and reblogs always appreciated💜

Taglist: comment if you’d like to be added!

@possessedmagpie

@oldmanluvr13

@starrycherie

@wwefan2002

@sincerestlove

@redrobot84

@wesbean66

@justagirl-420

[shhuuga]

im sorry but kitchen sex w lee know would be so heavenly. like you’d just be cooking dinner peacefully then all the sudden your bf just comes up from behind to scoop you and turn you around.

then it just turns into a heated makeout session next thing u know your bent over the kitchen counter being pounded into mercessily!!!

AGHJGHFHDHSHDJSSJ

[HTTPS]fuckin' mess.[.ORG]

(this is so bad m sorry, im a bit out of it but thought i'd give yall something to gnaw on while i finish up the final touches on the revamp of big barbie !!)

warning!! this url contains: [ cussin, unprotected $3X, cr3amp1ez, br33din kynk, cum 3ating, nd 0v3rstim ! you've been warned 🙀 smut under da cut! ]

it was like a scene from a movie. the rain outside was pattering against the windows of your shared house with now clear signs of letting up. you stood over the warm slow cooker, taking a spoonful of the curry you were making, trying to decide if it was too spicy for your whiny boyfriend to handle. (if you put too much pepper in his food he'll cry about it, but he'll drown his food in hot sauce) when the food hits your taste buds, you smile contently, just the way you like.

"babyyyy" minho drags himself into the kitchen, his lanky figure hunched over. "im cold."

"that might be because you're shirtless and the heat isn't on, min." you turn around to get a good look at him, wrapping your arms around his neck while giving him one, two, three quick kisses, rolling your eyes as you see his lips are still puckered and give him a fourth.

"you're so smart, my love.." lino nips, his tone sarcastic and cheeky. he lets you go back to tending to the food, thinking for a moment before pushing up behind you, kissing your neck.

"miiin, what're you doing?" you know the answer. he's trying to get you away from your cooking, trying to direct your focus to him. you push back against his cock, feeling it get harder through his sweatpants. fuck, it was working.

"i just want kisses" his voice was smooth, like it always was when he lied. his teeth started lightly grazing right over your soft spot, lapping at it like a kitten. you took a look at the timer set for the food, then at the big, veiny arms that were circling your waist and turned around, softly pushing minho into the kitchen island.

his lips immediately met yours as he picked you up, hands under your butt as he spun the both of you around, setting you on the island. he leaned in, pushing you down softly with his chest to yours until you were holding yourself up by your elbows. the brunette's hands moved from your butt to your thighs, caressing and squeezing your brown skin.

"we'll be done before the food's ready. just wanna get warm.." he leans in to kiss your neck, his hands moving to slip your sweatpants off and push your his shirt up on your waist.

"mhm, whatever you say, min." your voice is sarcastic, knowing he's just horny, not cold. when he shuffles you out of your pants, a chill hits your clit, making you clench around nothing. mim groans at the sight of you, pulling his cock out of his pants before sliding the tip up and down from your clit to your hole, whimpering a little.

"you goin soft, honey?" despite the fact that you were feeling the same thing he was, you teased him. seeing him being soft and submissive was something you almost never got to see with minho, and he hated the power you have over him.

"are you?" his eyes meet yours, his dick sliding inside you, all the way to the hilt. he didn't bother waiting, the way you moaned out and gripped his bicep telling him all he needed to know.

his pace was brutally pleasuring. his dick hitting your g-spot every time he thrusted into you, making it hard for anything to come out of your mouth but broken attempts at saying his name.

"mi..min! ohhh, fuck- don't, don't stop!" you could feel his breathing picking up, a sheen starting to cover his forehead as he started fucking you impossibly faster, his hips not letting up in any capacity. your eyes started to roll back him your head as you shut your eyes, the feeling of an orgasm bubbling in your belly.

"nuh uh, no. look at me- fuck- fucking look at me, baby. i wanna see you, open your eyes." his left hand reaches up to grip your chin softly, in contrast to everything going on beneath it. the hickeys forming on your neck, your titties bouncing in your shirt, and most importantly your boyfriend's dick pounding into your pussy mercilessly.

you open your eyes, biting your lip before letting out one more "baby!" before cumming all over minho's cock. it only takes him four more pumps before he cums too, staying buried inside you even after the fact. kissing your neck and leaving even more hickeys in his wake.

he pulls out after another two minutes, immediately attaching his mouth to your kitty to your complete surprise.

"min! oh, fuck, what're you doing?" your manicured fingers reach his hair in seconds, your head lolling back again.

"ts your fault.." he mumbles into your pussy, his nose bumping into your clit.

"you made such a fuckin' mess."

[moldychefboyardeecan]

Maybe I Do Like You..Part 2

a/n: I've never really had to tag 18+ for any of my fics, since i usually imply intimacy, but this one.. oh dear! I need to!

warning for bdsm,tying, cock pounding, penetration, both penile and fingers, oral (recieving), female overstimulation, doffy.

If you aren't comfortable with sex, but still like Doffy, part one is 16+ , and the next parts are more domestic and fluffy, with the occasional flirt and sauce.

AO3 Work Link

if you keep going after the cut, that's all you, boo.

tag list(currently): @physics-of-one-piece

please let me know if youd like to be tagged for this doffy saga :)

extra: i am bi, but with a heavy prefrence for women. I have a girlfriend, weve had sex. I know nothing about dicks, except for what i learn in anatomy and biology, and what i read in smut. so please forgive me for any inconsistencies.

credits to @anitalenia for this divider ^^

You gave in. You wore the damn necklace. It looked good, okay? Fucking shiny as hell. But still, you couldn’t believe you were doing this. Talking with your sister last night left you all over the place. Yeah, you admitted it—Doflamingo’s hot. But that’s it, right?

Nah, don’t get caught up in it. Your sister dared you to wear this stupid necklace, and you were going to prove her wrong. You weren’t that dumb. Just because he's some power-hungry king doesn’t mean you’re into him. Hell no. The guy probably has more important shit to deal with than a seamstress. You? You were just another job to him.

The day went by just fine—pretty uneventful, honestly. You cranked through the orders, all the shit Doflamingo dumped on you. Typical. Finally, though, you had a moment to breathe. You shut the blinds on the windows like you were in a damn panic room. You’d had enough of his bullshit for one day.

Time for a real lunch, not that stupid baloney sandwich shit you always settle for. You made arroz y frijoles—nothing fancy, but it was a real meal. You cranked up the speaker, letting some random tunes take over. A little peace before the storm… or whatever the hell Doflamingo would bring next.

The small efficiency kitchen was alive, full of flavor and chaos. The energy was flowing like wine, and you felt like you were on another plane of existence. You almost blew the damn kitchen up by letting the pressure cooker hiss a little too long, but what’s the pain in a little accidental rush, right? Oh, a lot. Actually, a whole lot. You yelped and dropped the lid on the floor.

CLANG!

“Great. Just great. “...

You snapped out of it, muttering under your breath as you picked the lid up. So much for a peaceful moment. You cleaned up the mess half-assed, grumbling, cursing your luck. And of course, just as you're about to finally eat, the goddamn bell rings.

The store door opens.

Fuck.

You couldn't even finish a damn meal in peace. Not only was your lunch mocking you now, but you had to go back to dealing with whatever the hell was about to walk through that door. You knew damn well who it was without even having to look.

You open the back door and walk back to the counter, the smell of your food trailing behind you.

“Fufufufu, cooking something, cariño?”

“I was,” you mutter, trying to ignore the way his voice sends a shiver down your spine. Of course, it had to be him. You glance up, and there he is—Doflamingo, all smug, towering over your counter like he owns the place, and looking way too pleased with himself.

You don’t even need to ask why he’s here—he’s already got that damn smirk plastered on his face, like he’s about to have you on a string again. “Seems like I interrupted something,” he purrs, taking a slow step forward, his presence pressing into you like a weight you couldn't shake off.

You force a smile, but it’s weak. “It’s nothing. Just trying to have a peaceful moment... you know, for once.”

His eyes glitter with that familiar dangerous gleam, and before you can stop him, his hand glides over the counter, his fingers are brushing your wrist, pulling you closer. “You’re too good to be just a seamstress, hermosa. Maybe you should let me take you out sometime. You look too good to be stuck in here, cooking for yourself.” Thank god that counter was cock-blocking him.

You almost choked on your own spit when he said that, freeing your hands. While pounding on your chest like a damn gorilla to get it out, he noticed the necklace. His eyes locked onto it immediately, and the smirk on his face only grew wider. His gaze flicked up to yours, then back to the pendant, before he slowly licked his lips.

“Fufufufu,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect his attention was having on you. “So, you did wear it.” His voice dropped an octave, his usual teasing replaced with something else, something primal. “I must say, you look even better wearing it than I imagined.”

“Thank my sister. I told her about it and she dared me.”

“Telling people about me now, huh?”

The moment you blinked, he was behind the counter.

Your breath hitched as you felt the shift in space, the sheer heat of him closing in behind you. You could feel it, the way his body radiated warmth, how the air itself grew thick with the weight of him standing so close.

His fingers brushed your waist, featherlight, like he was testing something. “You wore it.” His voice was low, rich—so fucking smug. Your body tensed as he leaned in, his chest barely grazing your back. The warmth of his breath ghosted over the shell of your ear. “Mmm. Looks even better on you than I imagined.”

His scent invaded your senses, rich, intoxicating—something dangerously sweet mixed with raw power. You swallowed hard, gripping the counter to ground yourself. His hand, large and deliberate, traced slow circles against your hip, barely there, teasing.

 “But I am serious. I wouldn't mind taking you out, or even..” his lips a whisper against your ear. He pressed into you, the vibrations of his chest massaged against your own, sending a jolt of heat and slight pleasure through you. 

“..eat you out.”

Heart racing as his words hung in the air, sending a rush of heat straight to your core. You should be angry—hell, you were angry—but all you could focus on was how his body was so close to yours, how his presence seemed to swallow you whole. 

 “You’re insane,” you muttered, but the way your voice trembled betrayed you, giving away just how much his proximity was getting to you. And it was, for sure. 

“Mami, is that a no?” His voice was smooth, every word dripping with amusement. “I like hearing it directly, you do understand…”

He did the same thing again,this time,  leaning in so close you could practically feel his lips brushing your ear. “...right?”

His laugh echoed in your head, sending a hue of heat rushing to your face. Your core tensed up, already throbbing with need, and you hated how easy it was for him to have this effect on you. Just him being him was enough to unravel you, and he hadn't even used his damn strings yet.

But you felt it—his presence was like an invisible thread, pulling you in, slowly wrapping around you until you could barely breathe.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice a velvet promise against your skin, “I can tie you up in knots without even touching you, cariño. But you’re already so tangled up in me… aren’t you?”

Your stomach flipped at his words, and you hated how true they felt. You were tangled up in him. Every word from his lips, every brush of his body was pushing you further into this mess, but you couldn’t back out. Not now. 

And, honestly? You didn't want to get out. Hell, you were into this shit. But you aren't going to let him win that easily.

“Fuck off,” you muttered, trying to shove him back, but his hand shot out, catching your wrist in the grip of his string. It tightened just enough to make you gasp, pulling you closer until you couldn’t move. His lips brushed your ear once more, and this time, the pressure of his chest against your back felt like a weight you couldn’t escape.

“I think you’ve waited long enough,” he whispered, his voice dark with satisfaction. His invisible strings tightened around you, locking you in place, and with every breath you took, you could feel the pull—the tension mounting. “You’re mine, cariño. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

His grip on your wrist tightened, and you could feel the invisible thread pulling you closer, making your heart race. “You can fight it all you want, but you’re already falling for me, aren’t you?” His voice was a low growl in your ear, and when he leaned in, his lips brushed your neck just enough to make you shiver. “No,bella. I think you already fell, no? Say it, cariño. Say you want this.” He goes down and licks your earlobe, his tongue so gentle you couldn't help but let out a soft moan,his face full with pride..and lust. He chuckled and kissed your lips. “I need an answer..and you've been doing so good.I promise you, I’ll take you out, and I'll treat you so damn well you'd think you're a doll.”

You tensed so nicely for him, the food you cooked earlier seemed disgusting compared to what he was offering you. His fingers ghosted over your skin, and every part of you seemed to come alive with just the slightest of movements. You were so aware of him now, your senses overloaded with the heat of his body, the scent of him, the way his breath made your skin tingle. All those thoughts of keeping control were slipping away, drowned by the undeniable hunger in your body.

“Yo tengo hambre para algo más que comida, mami. Y creo que tú podrías darme lo que quiero.” You mewled at his words, This tango was getting more heated as he let your wrists go from the strings, letting you move your arms with ease. Your gaze locked with his, the intensity in his eyes daring you to make the first move. But he wasn’t waiting.

Before you could make a sound, he slammed you against him, his lips crashing onto yours with an overwhelming force. The kiss wasn’t gentle—it was a claim, a mark of possession. His hand shot to your waist, pulling you flush against him like you were nothing but his to control, his strength making you feel weightless.

He didn’t just kiss you. He took you. The pressure of his body, the firmness of his grip—it was all-consuming. He guided you, his movements sharp and commanding as he deepened the kiss, forcing your lips to match the intensity of his. Every movement he made had a purpose, and you were nothing but an object for him to use. His dominance was felt in every inch of his touch, the way his arms circled you, pulling you closer, locking you to him.

Your body betrayed you, melting under the force of his kiss, your hands moving instinctively to his chest, trying to steady yourself. But Doflamingo wasn’t about to let you take control. He tugged your arms away, pinning them behind your back with a string, forcing you to feel every bit of his strength and power. His lips broke away from yours, leaving you breathless and vulnerable.

“I told you, you’re mine, mami,” he growled against your neck, his voice a dark, possessive rumble. “You don’t get to make the rules here. I do. You're in Dressrosa, and I am king. You got that?”

“What’s it gonna be, hermosa?” His thumb traced your bottom lip slowly, like he was savoring the moment. “Say it, or I’ll make you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the fire of his words burn in your chest. You couldn’t deny the pull he had on you, the overwhelming desire to submit to him. Slowly, you parted your lips, your voice shaky but obedient.

“..yes,” you whispered.

“Yes, what?”

“yes..please.”

He smirked, pleased with your submission. “Good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours once again, this time with the promise of everything he was about to make you feel.

He turned you around and walked you to the back door, which led to your efficiency, your house, your room. 

“Dime, muñeca,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you, “how do you want me to take care of you?” Nice and slow, making you beg on your knees for your own pleasure, or..” His other hand, the one not torturing your hip, trailed up your arm—slow, intentional, tracing the curve of your shoulder before curling around the necklace at your throat. He tugged—‌‌ enough for you to feel the weight of it, of him. “Hard and rough, making you scream?” 

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He chuckled against your skin, his grip on the necklace tightening slightly. “Mami, you don’t have to say it. I already know.”

With that, you opened the back door, his hand tight on your arm as you passed the kitchen, the now cold meal catching his eyes. “Fufufu, qué lo qué, mami? You made that for me?”

“Oh shut up.” you remarked, his demeanor not changing one bit, but instead, intensifying. 

“Being defiant now, are we?” he laughed as you pace into your room. “Dont worry, mi amor, I’ll take care of that little attitude when i'm done with you.”

Your room was a chaotic mess of fabric scraps, half-finished projects, and laundry you swore you’d put away two days ago. His sharp gaze flickered over the clutter, amusement clear in his smirk.

“Fufufu, coño, mami,” he drawled, stepping over a pile of thread spools, “you live like this?”

You scowled, shoving a stack of papers off your bed. “Shut up.”

He ‌chuckled, far too pleased with himself as he leaned against your dresser, letting you go,arms crossed. “Messy girl. Should’ve known.”

He gets up, from the dresser, and pushes you onto your bed, gripping your breast and massaging it, so rough that it hurts. You want more. You hold back a moan as he massages through your shirt, pressing his knee against your pants, pushing against your clit. You couldnt hold the moan in as you were already begging for more. He hasn't even started. Instead, he stops, gets up, grabs your torso, and pulls your shirt off, revealing your laced bra. He loved it.

“Hermosa, did you doll yourself up like that to show me?” He placed a hand on your stomach and teased up to the strap of your bra, while his other hand was teasing your panties. “I wonder if they match..” Both hands are teasing each side of your body, tracing your curves as if he was cutting out your silhouette, His touch fueling your soaked core. His hands instead, didnt take off your pants, but dug into them, into your panties, his fingers not even reaching your center, but instead swiped a sample of your need, and brought it to his lips, tasting it. 

“Que rico.” He didnt say anything else, only took off your pants and saw your panties.

They were matching.

He chuckled. “Que linda, mami. Matching just for me.” He got his fingers and rubbed your clothed pussy, your panties soaked. You yelped, holding back further. He noticed, and he tied your wrists, one to each of the top corners of your bed. 

“Don’t fight me, I told you, I’ll make you scream.”

With that you let loose, He smiled, climbing back on to you, and massaging your breasts. You were already over the moon with his voice, and now you were crying. His touch felt phenomenal, touching and gripping your breasts like the doll he promised. You were in too deep, wailing for him to touch you there, licking your stomach and going under your bra, teasing your already hard nipples. One of his hands trailed down to your panties again and rubbed your  clit, making you whimper and wail for him even more.

“Good girl, coma una muñeca linda, you listen. Don’t worry. I promised I’ll take care of you.” He licked your panties, tasting your soaked pleasure before taking them off, and tying your legs down after. He kept one hand on your bra, one on your clit, rubbing it so soft and nicely, while his tongue was cleaning up your mess. 

You gasped, your voice trembling as you tried to speak, "F-fuck..I’m close doff-". Your words trailed off into a soft moan, and he grinned, mistaking your pause for a term of endearment. His deep chuckle filled the room, a sound that was both comforting and unsettling. "Mi amor, you can call me Doffy, don't use my full name. It's not fitting anymore. But then again.." he mused, his voice tinged with amusement. "When were you ever one for propriety?"

He took his hand off of your clit and moved his tongue to it. “I’ll let you cum, mi amor, make sure you scream nice and loud for me.” He started moving his tongue in circles, before going directly on in, moving his tongue back and forth, while that previous hand that was on your clit goes in you now, making you scream. You were so close, feeling him pleasure all your senses, and your breaking point was when he curled his fingers in, his big fingers hitting your spot just right. 

“Louder.” He started sucking on your clit, while his tongue was still dancing on it. “I want the cops to come after you do.”

You complied, with tears streaming down your face as you screamed his name. It was too much, but it was so good. You peaked, and he felt your spasm on his fingers, and the blood rush on his hands. Holy shit. You didn't even see him anymore. You only saw stars. He didnt stop, only sped up. 

“Mami, give me a second round, I want you to be ready for me.” You meweled and screamed, with pain and pleasure. Everything was so heightened. You couldnt focus on anything else, just his touch.It was so easy for him to make you cum again, your energy already draining, and losing feeling in your limbs. He pulled his fingers out, your core already missing his touch. He shoved them into your mouth, making you gag and taste your pleasure.

Your body spasming with pleasure, draining more of your energy, made him so glad. He took off his pants,The friction of just taking off his pants against his sensitive cock made him shiver. He was big. 12 inches, at least. You had no idea how you would handle all of him. 

“Dejame mostrarte, bella. Como yo te amo.” He shoved himself in you, his moan making you even wetter. His tip was just the beginning. You started whimpering again, his cock so big it teased you as well. It was electric. He kept one hand on your thigh, rubbing it back and forth, and circled your clit with his other one. His tip against your walls felt amazing, and there was still more to come. He started getting in you deeper, feeling his shaft starting to enter you. He was thick, stretching you while he entered, the pain mixing with pleasure again. He started thrusting himself in and out, with each time he re enters, more of him fills you. Both of you start screaming with pleasure, and seeing him fall apart made you love it even more. The sounds filled the room, until he was fully into you. He didn't hold back, thrusting in and out so fast, you were spasming and shaking, quivering and screaming. You already came, but for a big man like him, he needed more. “Shhhh, querida. I’m going to take care of myself too, y'know?” He whimpered louder and louder, until he became undone, his body falling onto yours crushing you. The weight was comforting, bringing you back down to earth after you were out of this world struck with pleasure. With him knocking out, you followed, feeling the effects of his devil fruit letting you free. Before you fell into him, you muttered and kissed his chest.

“Maybe I do like you too.”

okay, one down..next is parent!mihawk & cross guild dynamics

[0mg-bird]

Cake Batter ~B Floyd x Fem! Reader

Summary: How Bob comes home to an expected mess, both of his girlfriend and the dinner.

Warnings: Just fluff and some language.

You practically danced around the kitchen, making sure all the different things you had going were turning out the way you planned. You had sent Bob off to work after a morning of rolling around in bed, apologizing that he had to spend his birthday with fighter pilots and not you in lingerie. Then, you had showered and gotten dressed and rushed off to the store. You were determined to make his favorite meal, all from scratch, so you searched the store for every ingredient needed. You never claimed to be a chef, but you were going to try your hardest to make the best dish possible for the man you’ve been in love with for six years.

Music played in the background as you danced around the kitchen, mixing things in this bowl, seasoning vegetables in that one. You truly believed there was a method to your madness.

Then, slowly, it started falling apart.

Your cornbread burns in the oven, the roast you started early somehow still isn’t tender, you forgot to add the carrots in to simmer with the broth and you start questioning if the lettuce for a side salad is rotten or not.

Panic starts to set in when the clock inches closer to the time Bob said he’d be home. You turn the heat up in the slow cooker, then try and focus on making his birthday cake instead.

While pulling another mixing bowl down, you get lost in thought. Hands wiping at your apron, you huff at the remembrance of your families doubt. They make countless jokes about all the faults you’ve been through over the years. Bleaching your laundry, locking keys in the car, forgetting to pay the water bill, and most of all, soiling every meal in some way.

It’s like you’re a bad omen when it comes to every task an adult should complete successfully.

Your father once said the real reason Bobby didn’t pop the question was because he was scared of having a wife who’d accidentally poison him.

You shake yourself free from that absurd claim, then go back to your measurements.

How much flour did you put in already? Was that too much sugar?

You shrug, humming to yourself as you turn to the fridge and retrieve some eggs.

Cracking them open, you drop half the shells in the batter, making you curse and fish them out with a spoon. Whisking away, you don’t see the initial spark of the outlet where the slow cooker is plugged into, but when you smell something odd, you see the flame coming from the wall.

You gasp and shout, hastily setting the mixing bowl down, it teeters on the edge of the counter.

You grab a towel, trying to throw it over the fire, this is when you really begin to panic. The flame burns your hand, making you cry out but continue to smother it until it extinguishes. Tears well in your eyes from the pain, but when you hear the crash of the bowl and turn to see the cake batter splatter everywhere on the floor, you cry with defeat.

What do you do now?

You’ve ruined it all.

You immediately grab a wet rag and sink to the mess, trying to wipe it up. Your hair falls in your face, tears fall fiercely.

As far as your dearest Bobby goes, he pulls into the driveway, relieved he is finally home. His key turns in the door, and he expects you to be reading on the couch, maybe watching a movie. He pictures you greeting him with a kiss, telling him about dinner reservations you made maybe. What he doesn’t envision is the scene unfolding as he comes into his small house.

“Honey?” He calls, clicking off the stereo. Immediately he hears the sound of your cries. Panic floods him.

He follows the sound into the kitchen, a brisk pace about him. There, he finds you on the floor, wiping up a mess, covered in cake batter, face red, loose hair falling against your damp cheeks.

“What happened?” He asks, and your eyes lift to him with pure sadness. You speak but your words are sobbing and broken. “I-I was making dinner and then the-the cornbread burned because I left it in too long while chopping vegetables and I forgot the carrots and I put too much flour in the cake and then the kitchen caught on fire-”

“Fire?” He panics, looking around, sure enough there’s a large scorch mark on the wall where the outlet is.

“Mhm.” You nod, getting to your feet. “And I didn’t know what to do- why don’t we have a fire extinguisher? And then the batter fell and made a mess and I was trying to clean it up before you came home and saw but I wasn’t fast enough and now it’s all ruined!”

He comes forward, not caring that he’s stepping in the residue of batter. He holds your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay, just breathe.” He shushes, but you can’t even look at him.

“I ruined it, it’s not okay! I-I had a plan, I was determined but I fucked it up.”

His arms are wrapping around you, his hand on the back of your head, he’s whispering to you to calm down, that everything’s okay.

“I’m sorry, Bobby.” You cry into his shoulder.

“It was an accident, I’m not mad at you.” He says, pulling you back. He holds your face between his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears that come. “Just breathe, you didn’t ruin nothing, okay?”

You shut your eyes, nodding. Your hands go to hold his wrists, but you wince at the pain. His eyes widen. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I burned myself.” You sniffle, lifting your hand to show him.

Bob pulls you to the sink, holding your wound under cold water to give you some relief. “It’s just been a rough day, huh?” He asks, not in a mocking tone. He’s so utterly genuine, you want to cry all over again because he’s too perfect for you.

“I wanted you to feel special, I was going to master your favorite meal and it was going to be great.” You say, feeling defeated.

“I believe you, and I bet it was gonna be great, baby.” He says, grabbing a towel and wrapping your hand.

As he guides you away, lifting you to sit on the counter top, he kisses your fingers before going to grab the first aid kit.

You feel dumb, it was his birthday and yet he was talking care of you.

He gently rubs some Vaseline over the burn, then wraps it with a bandage. “See? All better, and the world didn’t end.” He smiles at you.

You shake your head. “I’d make a terrible wife.” You say, looking down at your feet.

Bob’s brows furrow, not liking the way you talk about yourself. “Hey…” He says, rubbing your knee. “Who says that, huh?”

“Me. My family.” You admit, wiping your face.

“Well, that’s a silly thing to say, isn’t it?” He asks, coming to stand between your legs. His finger lifts your jaw, forcing your head up to look at him. “One bad meal doesn’t matter.”

“I am a terrible cook, I over season, I burn, I make a mess. I can’t even cook a frozen pizza.” You say, and he pauses.

He can’t deny it, but he won’t say that.

“You’ll get better with time. Besides, I can cook so it’s fine.” He pushes your hair back, smiling.

“I’m cursed, Bobby, that’s why you don’t want to marry me.” You huff, looking into his big blue eyes that squint a little at your accusation. “I never said I didn’t wanna marry ‘yuh.” He says.

“But-”

“But nothin’. I’d marry you tomorrow if it was up to me, honey, but I want to make sure we are settled in every aspect before I make you my wife. It has nothing to do with whatever curse you think you have. You ain’t got no curse, you’re perfect.” He means every word, cradling your head with his gentle hand.

Slowly, you nod. “I’m sorry your birthday wasn’t better.”

He pulls you from the counter. “I came home to you, my birthday was great.”

His sideways smile makes the corners of your lips lift, and suddenly you’re leaning into him, kissing him deeply. Bob grips your hips, holding you to him as he groans at the fever of your mouth.

After a moment, he pulls back. “Let’s clean up and then we’ll go out to eat, okay?”

You nod, kissing his cheek. “Okay.”

All this mess over some cake batter.

[midnight-mourning]

💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's💘

The people wanted it, I'm here to provide it, it's Valentine's request time! See below for more details :D

Requests

I will have 14 slots available for requests. Which, is much less than last time, but I don't have time to do a month full of requests, and Valetine's day is the 14th sooo, yeah. BUT, length will be the same as December, 1000-2000 words.

Requests can be anything (again)! Just ask that they relate to Valentine's in some way, be that directly or indirectly and of course DCA-related.

As most know I am an X reader writer, but as long as my general request rules are followed, I don't mind writing for ocs, canon, etc. 

fair warning though for the above, I am not familar at all with TSAMS and if you DO have a specific au, I will do my BEST to be accurate but cannot guarentee beyond that

For those who don't know my rules, no nsfw (suggestive is fine!), and if you want something specific, be specific. Besides that, it's fair game, request what you want!

Potential Issues & Schedule

If there is overlap between request ideas, they will be combined in some manner of speaking (if possible). If needed, I will reach out to you about adjusting ideas or the likes, though I don't forsee this happening. This would occur if for example, someone wants gift shopping with Sun with their oc, and someone else wants the same thing with a reader-insert. Whoever requested second would be who I reach out to. 

Requests will be posted starting on February 1st & ending on the 14th!

I will be starting writing as soon as I get the first request, and since I'm in classes again now, I need to prepare as much as I can ahead of time so to not worry about getting behind. SO, requests will be open from today (January 18th) until next week January 25th. I know it's a short timeslot, but I need time haha 😅

To keep things organized, please request in the comments of this post. This also helps to potentially keep from overlap in requests, as you'll be able to see what else has already been requested. If you request in my ask box or such it'll make things a bit more difficult, so please avoid that.

HOWEVER, there is one exception to the above, which is if you wish to request anonymously, which is completely fine to do! But please only request in my ask box if you want to be anonymous. If overlap happens in that case, then y'all may just get two responses with similar vibes on the same day (essentially a bonus lol)

Sharing & More

Please feel free to share this post around, and request if you want to! Once I hit 14 unique ones I'll reblog this post with the announcement that requests are closed, so make sure to double check they aren't closed already prior to requesting!

I'll also post updates every couple of days regarding the status of total requests as well ^_^

Everything related to this will be under the tag #MM dca Valentine's, just in case there's another similar tag out there and I'm not just taking it for myself

I'm going to try and upload these in real time to ao3 so if you prefer to read there that will now also be an option! As opposed to having to wait for edits and such

Bonus little thing, if there's any artists out there that would maybe like to make some doodles to go along with these... let me know 👀👀 I would love to do it myself (same for the december requests) but I am unfortunately too slow a cooker to manage it 😔 would just be for funsies (i do not have the money for commissions so this would be volunteer-based) and no pressure to make something overtly intensive or the likes! I've never done this kind of thing before but I would probably send you the finished request/prompt ahead of time and you would (ideally) have a week or so to make something. Again, very small simple little doodle and if something comes up there would be no pressure to finish or such ^^

General update things from me

Hoping to finish up Holiday Spirit in the next week or so! shooting for ch. 3 to post today or tomorrow ^^

DCA December is now completely edited/posted to ao3 (will be posting the last couple chapters over the next few days)

Have decided that i WILL be holding off on posting Confused Spirit chapters 36, 37, 38 and will be writing them all together to make sure the plot points go correctly/how i envisioned

Cooking up some fun things for @/divinit3a's Cafe prompts, so expect to see those throughout the rest of the month :)

Okay that's all for now, goodbye!

Tag list for the usuals :D

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay

[jintaka-hane]

Put the goggles on

Masterlist

Two idiots who don't dare to make the move

🥽 Paulie and you have been dating for three months.

🥽 A year ago, you were hired by Galley-La Company as an accountant to assist Iceburg in financial management. As part of your professional responsibilities, you had to meet with different foremen every 15 days to evaluate the procured materials, their expenses, and how they influenced the company's financial performance.

🥽 The accounts with Paulie never added up, so you found yourself forced to see him more often, which allowed you to get to know each other better. Every time you met with him he would have a stupid grin on his face, and everyone around you noticed.

🥽Two bets were made behind your backs at the company. The first, that Paulie would fall in love with you and ask you out within a year. The second, that you would turn him down. 

🥽They got the first one right, but missed on the second.

🥽 Long before he even gathered the courage to invite you on a date, you could sense his interest in you from his nervous demeanor whenever you were near and the awkward way he expressed himself. You found his shyness endearing, but you were determined that if he wanted something with you, he had to gather the determination to ask for it himself.

🥽 When he finally gathered the nerve to ask you out, stumbling and blushing like a teenager, you thought he was incredibly cute, and knowing he's a good guy decided to give him a chance.

🥽 Now, you are in a sort of relationship.

🥽 Your dates are innocent, going for walks, dinner, or to the movies, him always treating you with respect and never crossing the line. At most, you've managed to hold hands without him fainting from the embarrassment. He's so in love with you that aside from the ropes he carries hidden in his clothes, he always reserves one for you, just in case you ever need his protection.

🥽 You've never had any problems with showing your body, but knowing him, you try to take it slow, always opting for simple clothes like long jeans, and T-shirts that cover your belly. You're confident that over time, he won't get so nervous.

🥽 He believes you're not dressing like this for him, but that it's truly your style, and he respects you a lot for it, thinking he's found his ideal woman.

🥽 The problem will come later...

🥽 The first kiss comes. You decide to take the step because you know if you don't, it'll never happen. At your doorstep, just before saying goodbye, you grab him by the jacket and press your lips against his. He turns completely red, his ears burning, and his goggles fogging up, but to your surprise, he responds quite well and goes along with you. However, he keeps his hands in his pockets while you're kissing.

🥽 As the days go by, the kisses become more frequent and linger a bit longer, but he never touches you more than, perhaps, caressing your cheeks. He wants to respect you as you deserve.

🥽 The problem is that you don't want him to respect you anymore...

🥽 This situation begins to frustrate him as well, and unconsciously, his mind starts to conjure scenarios he's ashamed of, situations where you do embarrassing things to him and vice versa... sometimes involving his ropes. He feels deeply guilty for his imagination, and in an exaggerated sense of extreme loyalty, he decides to save himself for you for when the time comes, refraining from... pleasuring himself. If you're a chaste goddess, he wants to be worthy of you.

🥽 You're not a chaste goddess and you're starting to grow impatient.

🥽 Days pass, and the man is like a damn pressure cooker about to explode. He's always tense and in need of relief as soon as possible, but he won't do it. For love, he won't do it.

🥽 You know him well enough to notice that he's under a lot of tension, especially evident in his increasingly frequent rough behavior with others (never with you). You decide to take a step to address it, and one night, before he leaves after the goodbye kiss at your doorstep, you invite him in. The invitation catches him by surprise; it's late, and it might not be socially acceptable for a man to enter a woman's house at that hour, but eventually, he accepts.

🥽 Entering the living room, you invite him to sit down while you prepare some beverages in the kitchen, giving him some time to get used to the surroundings. When you return with the drinks, you see that he has taken off his goggles and has seated himself at the far end of the sofa. You sigh and sit down on the other side. For a few seconds, you both look at each other.

🥽 He's deeply ashamed to even entertain such thoughts, but he feels an overwhelming desire to suddenly grab you, tear your clothes off, and take you on the couch. Yet, he's terrified that you'll see it as disrespectful towards you. He's convinced that if you're with him, it's because of how he behaves with you, and he fears that if he acts on his impulses, you'll think of him as nothing but a damn pervert. He doesn't want to lose you.

🥽 You're consumed by the desire for him to suddenly grab you, lay you down on the couch, and take you right there, but you're terrified of hinting at it and having him think you're easy, risking losing his interest. You don't want to lose him.

🥽 You both remain seated on the sofa, maintaining a safe distance, talking about uninteresting topics, without anything happening, in an awkward and uncomfortable situation.

🥽 In a moment of tension, he stands up under the pretext of going to smoke on the balcony, stepping out into the cold night with the hope that it will clear his head and provide him with some idea of how to approach you without scaring you.

🥽 You remain seated on the sofa, watching his silhouette in the balcony window, pondering how you can get closer to him without scaring him. And suddenly... an idea strikes you. Perhaps with him, instead of removing clothing, adding more might work! Determined, you grab his goggles from the table and put them on.

🥽 He prepares to enter the living room with a downcast expression, thinking he hasn't a clue how to approach you and fearing you'll become frustrated and leave him for someone more assertive. As soon as he steps into the room and catches sight of you, he freezes in place.

🥽  You're standing on the table, smiling broadly, with both hands on your hips. Looking at him, you say cheekily: "Look at me! I'm a foreman at Dock One! Specialized in rigging, knots, and masts. What do you need, sir?"

🥽  He stands there, gazing at you without moving for a few seconds, until gradually, a blush appears on his cheeks. A shy smile begins to form on his lips, slowly widening until it transforms into a hearty laugh. You find yourself laughing too, pleased that your ice-breaking idea has worked. Then, rushing towards you, he sweeps you up in his arms embracing you tightly, and kisses you passionately.

🥽  You return the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as you feel his hands slide down your back beneath your shirt, caressing your skin. "At last!" you think to yourself.

🥽  With a determined move, he scoops you up in a bridal carry position as you gasp in surprise. "Where's the bedroom?" he asks, unable to separate his lips from yours.

🥽  "At the end of the hallway," you respond instantly, reaching for the goggles to remove them.

🥽 He swiftly grasps your hands to prevent you. "No, please..." he says with a mischievous grin on his face, "keep them on".

.

[jolapeno]

MY LOVE I AM SO SORRY YOU'RE HAVING A DAY. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

okay, let's talk about javier when you're having a bad day.

if you are sick or having a cry-on-the-couch kind of day, he stumbles awkwardly over a "uh, that, uh, sucks?" not really sure what to say, then bolts out of your apartment. you sit there totally lost, maybe thinking you've scared him off, but he's actually driving at break-neck speed to the store to get you things. except, you know, he's a little lost there? and doesn't really know what you need, or is worried he doesn't know what you like, and so ends up coming back with a mountain of supplies. if sick: every kind of cold medicine (and some allergy meds? like... javi... you ok?). three different flavors of gatorade/lucozade/similar electrolyte drink. a 10 pack of tissue boxes because IT WAS A GOOD DEAL, OK? THEY WERE ON SALE. a random box of crackers that raises an eyebrow but they were the ones his ma used to get him when he was sick as a kid. (not that he explains that to you). or if sad: four different ice cream pints. so many snacks. magazines from the drug store (probably none of them make any sense, but maybe you wanted something to read? he doesn't know.). this little plushy that's definitely for kids. he doesn't know why. he panicked.

and frankie?

LISTEN. before he had a kid, that man was a microwave meal or leftovers king. he could make the basics, definitely a fan of the grill or easy cooking on the camp stove when off camping, but he wasn't a cook. then his kid was born, and that just won't do. so all the time the kid spends off at their mom's, frankie spends his free time teaching himself to cook. he's got his mom on the phone (crushed between his shoulder and ear while he works over the stove) walking him through all the recipes of hers that he loved most when he was a kid. it's a disaster. for a long time. he burns so much shit, or everything's undercooked. but by the time the kids waddling around and a little older, he's good. comfort food for days. has that slow cooker going all day. so when you're having a shit day, he tells you to come over and when you do the house smells incredible. he's got this goofy apron on that the guys bought him in jest when he started cooking that says KISS THE COOK and it absolutely makes him blush every time someone catches him in it, but he's so focused on ushering you in and settling you on the couch that he doesn't remember to take it off. you bundle up in the throw blanket and throw on whatever TV looks good and/or trashy, and he brings you over the best homecooked meal you've had in... who knows how long. he sits on the other side of the couch with his brow all low and frowny as he watches you eat, trying to decide if it's good or terrible based on your expression, and when you roll your eyes it's so good he gets that boyish half-smile that drives you crazy and only then digs into his own plate. thank you and goodnight.

ily pal <3

BABE, how did I never see this! I love all of this so much. I love the idea of kiss the cook btw, like so much, and both of them would let me watch so much trashy tv that it’s astounding 😏 we love men who just get it.

also javi basically taking one of everything is such a mood to me. but also a gift for you:

I also like to think that javi would take you on a drive, no goal in sight just letting the road sorta take the two of you with the volume on low, so it’s just background noise, watching as you stare off into the unknown, brain ticking away until you announce that you’ve just seen a cow or do you think that cloud looks like a penis? and while it doesn’t, he can see how you got there, and it makes him smirk, head resting on a hand as the other holds the wheel, and god, he can’t believe how lucky he is to have you, even when you’re feeling a bit blue.

[everwhovian]

jun-ho eats an egg

Uhm.... sure? Jun-ho definitely eats an egg 🥚

(Yes. Yes, I did write something about this! I crave fluff after all this angst!)

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ○△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

His first day off in eight days, and the apartment was still asleep.

In-ho could’ve stayed in bed – god knew he needed it. His own place was quiet. His bed was comfortable. He’d barely seen it this week.

But something about the silence there felt… hollow.

So instead, he was here.

The spare key still fit in the lock. He’d come in before the sun, careful not to make noise. The hallway light was off, the blanket still draped over the back of the couch. No TV. No footsteps.

He didn’t mind.

The kitchen wasn’t much, but it was familiar. The rice cooker was clean and empty – something that told him his stepmother hadn’t had the energy to make anything the night before. A half-unfolded towel was still hanging on the back of the chair. The laundry basket near the hallway. A few dishes drying by the sink.

But In-ho noticed anyway. He always did. So, he got to work.

He moved through the space quietly, sleeves pushed up, steam already starting to curl from the edge of the pot. The pan was hot now, oil shimmering, and he cracked the egg carefully, tipping it into the skillet.

He watched the whites bubble and curl at the edges, the yolk sitting round and whole.

His stepmother didn’t ask for help.

She never had. Not when his father left. Not when the bills piled up. Not even when she started pulling double shifts to make it all work. But he could see it in the way she rubbed her wrist after folding laundry, or how she sat down a little slower at the end of the day.

She was still asleep, which didn’t surprise him. She’d been working doubles again. The late shift yesterday, and probably one today too.

The scent of sesame oil filled the air, soft and familiar. The rice was almost done steaming. The egg sizzled gently in the pan, edges crisping just the way Jun-ho liked it. In-ho tapped the spatula against the skillet and glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting the kid to come stumbling out in his sleep socks at any moment.

He could have stayed home. Could’ve had coffee in silence and left the chores for someone else.

But he missed this. The noise. The quiet. The smell of soy sauce and instant miso and fabric softener. He missed Jun-ho, even if the kid would probably pretend not to have missed him back. And he missed his stepmother, too – the steady presence of the only real mother figure he’d ever known.

So he flipped the egg and let the yolk wobble perfectly in place.

Maybe they’d sleep in a little longer. Maybe not.

Either way, breakfast would be ready.

 

Jun-ho blinked up at the ceiling, groggy, not quite ready to move – until he smelled it.

Something warm. Something good.

Rice. Oil. A little bit of soy sauce in the air.

He sat up slowly, hair sticking up in every direction. His stomach growled. That wasn’t instant food. That was cooked food. Someone was in the kitchen.

He heard his mother come home late last night.

The door had opened just as he was finishing his math worksheet, and her footsteps were slow. He didn’t get up – she always told him not to when it was that late – but he’d listened from his room, pencil still in hand, as she moved quietly through the apartment.

He fell asleep to the sound of the faucet running, then the soft click of her door closing.

Now, morning light stretched across his bedroom floor. Pale and quiet.

Jun-ho blinked sleepily, then scrambled out of bed, feet hitting the floor with a soft thump. He padded out into the hallway in his pajamas, following the smell like a detective on a very important case.

The light in the kitchen was already on.

And there, standing like it was completely normal to be frying eggs at barely-past-sunrise, was his hyung.

Jun-ho froze in the doorway, then lit up like someone flipped a switch.

In-ho stood there, sleeves rolled up, spatula in hand, flipping a perfect fried egg like this was his personal restaurant. His uniform was nowhere in sight – just a hoodie and sweatpants, hair a little messy like he’d barely brushed it before leaving the house.

“Hyung!” he gasped, way too loud.

In-ho glanced over his shoulder, then quickly held a finger to his lips. “Shhh!”

Jun-ho bounced in place, wide-eyed. “You’re here! You’re actually here!”

“Still trying to be stealthy, remember?” In-ho said under his breath, jerking his head toward the hallway. “Eomma’s still asleep.”

Jun-ho instantly clamped both hands over his mouth –then grinned through his fingers and tiptoed dramatically into the kitchen.

In-ho rolled his eyes but there was no hiding the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He nudged the stove knob lower.

“You didn’t even tell us you were coming,” Jun-ho whispered loudly, flopping into the kitchen chair.

“Wasn’t supposed to,” In-ho said. “Eomma would yell at me for not sleeping in. It’s my first day off in a while.”

“So you broke in just to make breakfast?”

“I missed your annoying voice,” In-ho muttered. He slid a plate in front of him: hot rice, a tiny dish of soy sauce, and a fried egg – edges crisp, yolk round and golden. “I broke in to rescue you from cereal and despair.”

“Whoa,” Jun-ho breathed. “You didn’t break the yolk!”

“I never break it.”

“You break it all the time. One time it ended up in the rice cooker.”

“That was a technique.”

Jun-ho grinned, picked up his spoon, and carefully stirred the yolk into the rice. It turned smooth and golden, a little glossy. He took the first bite and made a soft noise of approval. “Ugh. That’s so good. I’d pay you for this.”

In-ho raised an eyebrow. “With what money?”

Jun-ho shrugged. “I’ll draw you something.”

“You haven’t finished the last picture you started. It’s still taped to my fridge with no arms.”

“He’s just dramatic.”

They lapsed into quiet for a moment, the kind that felt full instead of empty.

Jun-ho took another bite, slower this time, then glanced up. “You gonna come over tomorrow too?”

In-ho raised a brow. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“If I get the good egg.”

Jun-ho beamed. “I’ll wake up extra early and guard it.”

In-ho shook his head, but he was still smiling.

From the back of the apartment, the door creaked softly. A distant yawn. Footsteps.

Jun-ho leaned in, eyes wide. “Eomma’s awake.”

“Quick,” In-ho whispered, “act innocent.”

Jun-ho straightened in his seat, folded his hands like a tiny angel, and very calmly took another bite.

In-ho chuckled quietly and poured a second cup of coffee.

It was early. It was quiet. And for once, no one had anywhere else to be.

And that – eggs, rice, sleepy smiles and all – was more than enough.

[maple-seed]

Thrown - Chapter 48: Myth and Mortal

Summary: Loki attempts to come to terms with your nature.

Word Count: 1,667

Author's Notes: We're all in this together, okay? I'm not immune to the feelings.

Thrown Masterlist Loki Masterlist

You hadn't invited Loki. You hadn't mentioned it, even. Loki wouldn't have known at all if it weren't for Thor.

"I apologize for not attending lunch yesterday. I had to be here to receive an important shipment." Thor gestured at the hall, which was bustling with the finishing stages of construction. He put on a sly smirk. "I would be available tomorrow, if you felt I needed to make it up to you." You laughed. "Maybe dinner instead? Tomorrow is Gerdy's birthday. I usually bring her flowers." Thor nodded. "Dinner it is. Please give Gerdy my regards."

That had been all that was said on the matter, but it didn't sit well with Loki, the idea of you going alone. And so the following day the waning morning found him at your doorstep. Knocking on the door was no longer something that occurred to him, and he simply stepped inside. You were in the kitchen, placing ingredients into a slow cooker. No doubt the dinner Thor had negotiated.

You offered him a bright smile as he approached. "Hey, what are you doing here?" He placed a kiss on your cheek. "I would like to join you this afternoon, if that's alright." "Yes." Your smile warmed. "I would like that, thank you."

He helped you with the rest of the preparations for dinner, the two of you had a quick bite for lunch, and then set off together down the road towards town.

The walk was typical, with light conversation and laughter. You stopped at a flower shop in town and selected a small bouquet that primarily featured forget-me-nots. The walk grew quieter as the cemetery grew near, and Loki took your hand as he followed you through the silent plots. The quiet grew heavy. It was a lovely day, the sun was bright and the grass was full and green. The area would be quite pleasant if it weren't for its purpose. Eventually you came to a stop and the both of you looked down at the headstone. Loki glanced over to you, you were wearing an expression of resigned sadness. He squeezed your hand gently, and you met his eyes with a slight smile. You sighed, then bent to place the flowers in the vase attached to the grave marker.

"Happy birthday, Gerdy." You stood and straightened. "I brought Loki with me today."

You then proceeded to speak to her about things in your life, the goings-on of old friends, pottery techniques you were working on. You spoke about Loki, and it was clear this wasn't the first time he had been brought up, which warmed his heart in a way he couldn't quite explain. You spoke to her as if he had known her. In that moment, more than ever, he wished he had. He wanted to know this woman who had been such a powerful impact in your life. Who had sheltered you in a time when you needed it most. In a time before he could. He wondered which parts of you had come from her. He would have liked to see you side-by-side, to recognize the influence himself.

Your one-sided conversation drew to an end. You stood for another moment or two in silent contemplation, then wished Gerdy a farewell. Loki offered her a hushed thanks before turning to follow you again.

The walk back was far more quiet. You hung off his arm as you walked, with your eyes distant. A thought that had been prowling the edges of his mind, held at bay by his duty to you, took this opportunity to strike. He had been fighting it off, but it grew like ice in his stomach now; some day he would be making this walk alone. Some day all too soon, at that.

Mortal. It was a word he had taken for granted, even knowing what it meant. Mortal. Mort. You were named for your death. Suddenly he reviled the word. He may never use it again. It suddenly became clear that he had been harboring a certain amount of denial. Your life was limited, he knew that as a fact, but still some part of him didn't believe it would come to bear. As if somehow, somewhere along the way, he would find some way to save you from your fate and keep you forever. This walk had cast a harsh light on the reality of the situation. He tried to push it out of his mind once more.

Apparently, in the silence, you had been following a similar train of thought.

"I'm going to get old, you know." "Yes, that is the natural order of things." He said matter-of-factly. You rolled your eyes. "What I mean is I'm going to get old and you won't. Every year I'll get more wrinkles and a little flabbier and you'll stay just as young and handsome as ever." "I'll grow even more handsome, I suspect." You chuckled. "I'm sure. What will people think, watching us walk down the street?" "I imagine they will finally question why I am with you, rather than the other way around." He glanced down at you. "It will be a refreshing change of pace." "Please. People don't question that." "Oh, I'm quite certain they do. You simply don't hear the whispers. Perhaps you are already going deaf?" You huffed an exasperated sigh. "You are impossible." He smirked, victorious.

You left it at that, for a few minutes at least, but clearly this was weighing on you. "Really, you don't think it will bother you? Years down the road?" He gave you a reassuring smile as he walked. "I will cherish every line on your face, as they will be tokens of the time I had with you." You bit back a smile. "And the flabby bits?" He clasped your hand in both of his. "A greater surface area on which to bestow my affection." You laughed. "I'm not sure I believe you." "No need. It will all be proven true in time."

The two of you passed out of town and onto the road to your home. Several more minutes passed without a word. Loki could feel something brewing in your thoughts. Your grip on his arm tensed ever so slightly. Still, you didn't say anything, and he was beginning to think it would pass. The two of you were almost to your cottage, walking alongside the low stone wall that enclosed your field, when it came to a head.

"You're going to outlive me." He deftly smothered the panic inside him. "Yes, but I believe finding a replacement shouldn't be terribly difficult. There are literally billions of humans, after all, so my-" "Loki." You came to a halt, he had no choice but to do the same. Your face was drawn into a solemn expression. "When I'm gone-" "Darling-" "Please. It's important." He clenched his jaw and looked down at your hands in his. In this moment they seemed much more fragile. You took a breath. "Promise me that when I'm gone you won't bury yourself too. None of those ideas like your century-of-isolation plan. Don't wall yourself in." He managed a half-smile as he brought a finger to trace your jaw. "Worried that all your good work will be undone?" "You did the work." You mumbled. His smile grew as his hand cupped the back of your neck. "Our joint efforts, then." "Don't do that to yourself." You whispered, clutching his shirt. "Please promise me."

His feet shuffled and he had difficulty meeting your gaze. When he finally looked down at you again he could feel tears threatening the back of his eyes. "I won't be ready." It came out weaker than he anticipated. He looked away and took a breath to steady himself. "It doesn't matter how long-" His voice cracked unexpectedly and he swallowed the rest of that thought. "I won't be ready." You shook your head slightly as you reached up to cradle his face, wearing a sad, sympathetic smile. "We never are."

He pulled you in close, and you let him. Your arms wrapped around his waist while he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You were solid and present beneath his touch, but he knew this was all too ephemeral. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to leave this moment. He wished for some power that would allow him to stretch it out across a thousand years.

He stood with you like that for quite some time. You held him patiently, made no effort to step away. Eventually, Goat had taken notice of the two of you and began making his way across the field, bleating obnoxiously. That finally broke the spell and Loki sighed, taking a step back, but clung to your hand.

"I imagine you have things to do." He murmured as he lifted your hand to place a kiss against the back of it. You nodded. "A couple things to sort out before Thor and Valkyrie show up." "Let's go, then."

Rather than walk to the gate, Loki crossed over the stone wall, then helped you do the same. He laced his fingers with yours and started toward the cottage. He let the silence rest for a moment.

"I suppose our story needed some element of tragedy." He mused quietly. "If we're to earn our constellation, that is." "Oh?" You smiled. "You think they'll put us in the sky?" "Oh, certainly." He squeezed your hand. "The stuff of legends, you and I." You laughed. "And to think I was going to settle for just a star." "The best star, mind you."

You opened the door to your kitchen. Preparations were made. Friends arrived. Dinner was shared. It was as so many nights had been before, and as many nights certainly would be again.

But perhaps on this night, when you were alone once more and sleeping in his arms, Loki held you a just little tighter.

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From @janetm74

From @janetm74 to @the-original-sineater

Dodecuplet: 12 musical notes performed in the time of the same value.

Or: 12 Christmas Eves over the years.

With much help from @mariashades

Prompts: 1) SCIENCE!! 2) Holiday in the Tropics  3)Odd family food traditions.  

One:  Scotland

Lucille Charlotte Evans met Amelia Candice Barclay on a wet and windy day in late August on the steps of a large house in St Andrews.

It was an inauspicious meeting. Lucille – Lucy to her friends – had just climbed out of a taxi and was about to drag her suitcase up the stairs when a gust of wind blew it out of her hands and she suddenly found herself racing down the hill after it.

Amelia happened to be the one who stopped it, or rather, was sent flying by it, and the two women, both strangers to Scotland, found themselves seated together in St Andrews Community Hospital Minor Injuries Unit while waiting for Amelia’s ankle to be x-rayed.

It turned out to be only badly sprained and a very guilty Lucy offered to take Amelia back to her home only to find out they were neighbours, sharing the same student accommodation only on different floors.

They quickly became firm friends by the end of the day, fuelled on the rather unusual local delicacy of deep-fried pizza, chips and cheap red wine.

Lucy was studying Astrophysics and Computer Science. Amelia was studying Economics and Social Anthropology. None of their classes overlapped but they had sections of time that did, and they often sat together in the University library or camped out in one of the museums in an out-of-the-way corner.

That first Christmas they both should have spent with their respective families but heavy snow grounded airflight and so they holed up in Amelia’s room and ate the only food they could scrounge up on Christmas Eve – haggis, neeps and tatties with  a dessert called cranachan and good whisky.

It was the weirdest feast both women had ever eaten. And the beginnings of a tradition they both tried hard to keep while in Uni together – Christmas Eve was always holed up in one of their rooms with their Scottish feast.

Two: Kansas

Ruth bustled around the farmhouse, singing at the top of her voice. The radio was blasting the top 100 tunes from the 80s and she was bopping as she plated food and wrapped them ready for the party.

‘Grant, hun, do you want a drink?’

‘Thanks, Ruthie, that would be lovely.’

She took out a bottle of root beer and watched with a fond smile as he turned the ribs in the smoker. No one cooked meat like her husband did, and while his Kansas BBQ beef was legend locally, so good that even Miss Ella had said she’d buy any leftovers off him – there were never any leftovers with her husband and son – but what Grant was really famous for was his Sweet Southern Slow-Cooker Ham.

Giving him a quick squeeze from behind Ruth returned to the kitchen to finish prepping all the cold foods they would need. It might be winter and cold here in Kansas but their Christmas wouldn’t be complete without the mounds of potato salad, coleslaw, soul food macaroni and pickles to go with the ham and burnt ends.. They’d never really been a turkey kind of family, reserving that bird exclusively to Thanksgiving.

Once Ruth had wrapped all the sides and packed them away she set about cleaning the house from top to bottom. A spick and span house she could do, cooking not so much, not unless you liked burnt as a flavour and a texture.

The day passed on and as it did so did the excitement in the household. Jeff was coming home today from NASA and he was bringing his best friends Lee Taylor and the Caseys. They hadn’t seen Jeff since the spring and as the sun began to go down the sound of a truck in the driveway heralded their guests.

Christmas Eve had become the traditional day they ate their meal and had done ever since the day they had married, with Ruth’s commitments at the local clinic they had always put other families ahead of their own, letting the workers have Christmas Day instead. Jeff had grown up knowing no different and loved having their celebrations a day early.

Arms snaked around her waist as Ruth put the kettle on and a head rested on her shoulder.

‘Ma, I swear you get younger every year.’

‘Flattery will not get you out of the dishes, Jefferson.’

‘Mmm, I’ll happily wash the dishes if Pa’s made his Ham and Burnt Ends.’

‘Stop asking stupid questions and take the coffees through.’

Jeff laughed and took the tray his Mom indicated.

Three: Kent

Lucy and Amelia’s friendship lasted long past University. It lasted the distance of the Atlantic Ocean.

NASA had snapped up Lucy once they’d seen her dissertation but despite the distance they chatted regularly and met up at least once a year, and always on Christmas Eve.

This year was going to be different.

This year Amelia had married.

It Amelia’s turn to host Christmas Eve dinner, and Lucy had brought her fiancé. They hadn’t been going out long but from the chats the two women were having Amelia knew this was the one.

She was eager to see her best friend again and hopeful that Lucy would get on with her husband. She’d laughed a good solid 10 minutes when she’d found out that Hugh was actually Lord Hugh Creighton-Ward, 11th Earl of Kent and that plain old Amelia Candice Barclay was to become Lady Amelia Creighton-Ward.

Speaking of her husband, she put down the spoon she was using to mix the swede and carrot mash and went to find him. It came as no surprise that he was holed up in his office – that Stanley the butler insisted on calling his ‘study’ – even on Christmas Eve. Her husband’s work for the Home Office didn’t stop just because it was an international holiday.

Knocking, she waited for his call before entering, and Amelia broke out into a grin at Hugh’s rueful face.

‘You caught me, Me!’

‘I did, Hugh. Are you done? Our guests should be arriving shortly.’

‘And you want me front and centre. Understood.’

‘I want you to be your usual witty self, my love.’

Hugh laughed and put his file back away in his safe before following his wife out to the kitchen. He pulled up a seat at the table and watched his wife putting the final touches to the meal they would shortly be serving.

He couldn’t believe this beautiful, amazing woman had agreed to marry him. He was ten years older, in a stodgy job and a member of the elite British aristocracy. The day his chauffeur accidently crushed her bike while parking was the day his life had changed. She’d been like a spitfire, giving first Grandy and, when she found out he was ‘just the chauffeur’ Amelia had turned to him and given him such a mouthful.

No one had ever spoken to him like that and by the time the lecture had finished he was smitten. They were engaged by the end of the month. Amelia had been a breath of fresh air to the estate. For a start off she worked closely with the staff to bring them more in line with the 21st Century and after some sweeping changes life had settled into a new routine.

Amelia loved to cook and Hugh had suddenly found that he loved to be in the kitchen, a place he’d never really frequented even as a boy. He loved watching her at work. She danced and sang unreservedly and created magic. He’d never eaten such food, and some of their meals had a distinctly Scottish flair on certain days, and his introduction to the national dish of haggis had been…interesting.

Now he was being inducted into another of Amelia’s traditions, the Scottish Feast on Christmas Eve. Amelia’s best friend Lucille was coming over from America with her partner Jeff. He’d met Lucy a couple of times but he knew Jeff by reputation.

Jefferson Tracy, first man on Mars. Everyone knew him. And now Hugh was about to have the man stay at the house with him. It didn’t faze him, he’d hobnobbed with the cream of British aristocracy and foreign diplomats, he was sure he could handle a hot-shot American.

They were going to eat relatively quickly after they arrived, it was late already and just as Amelia placed the last prepared dish into the aga a knock sounded on the door. She grinned at Hugh, grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her as they made their way to the door.

Opening it the two women may have squealed – not that either were going to admit that – and the two men shook hands before Jeff pressed a bottle of Pappy Van Winkles Family Reserve. Impressed at the gift, Hugh stood aside and allowed them entry.

‘Good evening. Hugh Creighton-Ward. Please call me Hugh.’

‘Jefferson Tracy. Please call me Jeff. Thanks for invitin’ us.’

‘My pleasure. I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for.’

‘Lucy has been talking about nothing else for weeks.’

They settled into the kitchen rather than the dining room and Amelia passed around the hot toddies she’d prepared.

By the time dinner was over both men were firm friends and a new tradition had been created, with the invitation for the Creighton-Wards to come to Kansas next year.

Four: Dibrugarh

This Christmas Eve was going to be different.

Jeff, Lucy and their four children were off to Dibrugarh in India. Hugh, Amelia and their daughter Penelope had moved out early in the year ostentatiously to take on a job overseeing a tea plantation. The heat wasn’t really agreeing with Penny, but the ten-year-old was being a trooper.

The plane ride was long but enjoyable. They had flown from Kansas to Chicago and spent the day in the Windy City before sleeping overnight and taking the longest flight the boys had ever been on, 14 hours from Chicago to Delhi. With any other children it would probably have been difficult, but all boys had grown up flying, Scott starting at two months old. From Delhi to Dibrugarh, the last stretch being a little over three hours.

Hugh met them at the airport and drove them to a large villa on the outskirts of the town. It was obviously a new build but it was light and spacious and airy, just right for the temperature.

Drinks called Sherberts were given out and rather than collapsing in a tired heap Jeff and Lucy watched in amusement when the boys got a second wind, following Penny out and exploring while it was the adults who collapsed in a heap.

‘God, Hugh, I thought it would be hot in India!’

‘Not at this time of year.’

They laughed over drinks and chatted while the children ran in and out the rooms, even Penny coming out of her shell to join the boys in a game of tag.

Christmas Eve this year was not the Scottish Feast but an Indian one in the style of a Thali. Bhaat (steamed rice), Dal, Bhendir Sarosi (okra in mustard sauce), Lau Tenga (bottle gourd), Aloo Pitika (potatoes), Xaak Bhaji and the sides Kharoli – a papaya chutney and Assamese pickle, all washed down with a drink called Khar.

None of the Tracys were expecting a mild but highly spiced vegetarian meal, but they all enjoyed what was put before them, the boys in particular loving the open nature of the food and that they not only could help themselves from the central tray but that they could eat with their fingers. The meal was finished off with a selection of Indian sweets and glasses of Mango Lassi.

Scott declared that Indian sweets were almost as good as apple pie to the laughter of all. Lucy spent time with Amelia and the two woman who had helped cook the feast, taking notes and looking forward making some of these dishes once she’d returned home.

The evening ended with presents as usual and a happy puppy pile of Tracys and Creighton-Wards wrapped up tightly in blankets as fireworks lit up the sky.

Five: Fiji

Lucy rubbed her bump. She was getting big and pretty soon she’d have to stop flying. This was going to be their last holiday before baby number five was born.

Their Christmas vacation place this year held a double purpose. Not only were they holidaying in the tropics to give Lucy and John some much needed summer sun after both had been hospitalised with severe pneumonia, but they were here for a surprise Christmas present.

Jeff had been so secretive, the only indication of what he’d been up to was the location. Lucy looked out the window of their private jet as Jeff brought them into land. The ocean was so clear and sparkling!

Fiji was hot in comparison to Kansas, and for that first day Lucy just rested on the beach and baked. And boy did she feel better that evening! John too had some colour to his cheeks and Jeff relaxed a little, seeing that he’d made a good choice.

They had three days before the Creighton-Wards would join them. There was sadness at the thought. Penny had returned to England after a year in India, citing the weather as a reason, although Jeff and Lucy had their suspicions as to the real reason, but they would never ask and put their relationship under strain. It would be the first time Hugh and Amelia had seen their daughter for two years.

The boys understood to give the family room, and after an afternoon spent swimming and exploring the beach they returned to the villa to find the Creighton-Ward’s in their own puppy pile, evidence of tears long dried on all faces.

That evening they rested and just reorientated themselves around each other after missing last year.

Christmas Eve began with more swimming and sun lounging, with a thirteen-year-old Scott trying out some waterskiing for the first time. Lunch was going to be their Lovo Feast. Plates of Kokoda, Palisami, Fish Lolo and Vakalolo for dessert.

The food was some of the strangest they had ever eaten. Gordon’s face when he saw the raw fish made everyone laugh. But soon they had eaten their fill and rested and then Jeff was chivvying them all to the airport for his surprise.

The jet had been refuelled and was ready for them all but Jeff refused to say where they were going. He banned everyone from the cockpit…and that was when the Tracy family realised that the windows had been blacked out.

They had no way of knowing where Jeff was flying them…

It wasn’t too long a journey and they had soon landed. Jeff let them out and held Lucy close as she looked at where they were.

It was an island. Behind them a mountain rose up, in front and below them was a cove and a small patch of sandy beach. There was a gasp from every individual as they stepped off the plane onto the tiny runway. Her husband pulled her close and kissed her head.

‘Jeff?’

‘Do you like it?’

‘Like it…? What have you done?’

‘Done? Why, I’ve bought us an island to holiday on and eventually retire to.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh? Is that all you can say?’

Lucy turned in his arms and kissed him soundly to the whistles and catcalls of their boys.

‘Was that enough words?’

‘Yes. Boys, Hugh, Amelia, Penny – welcome to Tracy Island.

Six: Kansas

This year Christmas was cancelled.

Scott tried his hardest but no one had the heart for it. With Alan still only a baby really at 21 months old there didn’t seem a point as he wouldn’t miss Christmas if they didn’t do it, and none of his other brothers had been able to muster up enough…drive, desire, want – Scott didn’t know what to call it – to do anything this year. And he couldn’t blame them.

They were never going to be whole again.

Seven: New York

It had been a battle Scott had lost despite fighting bitterly.

Jeff had sunk himself into Tracy Industries since their Mom and Grandpa’s death and the business had gone from strength to strength. And then earlier in the spring Jeff had hit a milestone, opening his headquarters in a new skyscraper in New York of all places as the first of many in an empire that was now beginning to go global.

This year had also seen changes at home, with both Scott and John leaving for their respective colleges and Gordon beginning to become a serious contender with his swimming. The Squid was going to go places – namely the Olympics – and he’d been pestering his Dad to let him attend a residential school that catered for Olympic hopefuls.

This Christmas Jeff had put his foot down. It was the first one since his boys had left and he was going to make the most of it.

Unfortunately, ‘make the most of it’ meant that instead of celebrating in a relaxed atmosphere at home they were all dressed up – suited and booted – and at Tracy Tower for the staff Christmas Party.

Scott had had words about dragging his brothers here, how it was unfair of Jeff to schedule the party on today of all days, but Jeff had held firm and dismissed him with a wave of his hand and the cutting remark that Scott didn’t know what he was talking about.

They had stopped talking for the last two days, but Scott was determined to give his brothers the best Christmas ever and had taken them all to Central Park that day and spoiled them rotten.

The staff party itself was actually fine, and Scott began to relax as it became clear that this was not one of his Dad’s networking meetings. A small band was playing Christmas pop tunes and people were dancing.

The food was…well, the food was delicious but there just wasn’t enough of it. Aware enough that if he ate as much as his stomach was telling him he needed to he’d probably get into trouble, Scott nibbled sadly as he wandered the room and looked out for his brothers.

John had brought a book and had curled up in a chair in the corner, resolutely ignoring all attempts at conversation. Virgil was currently under one of the tables, his sketch book out and another page being filled with whatever took the artist’s eye. Gordon was on his best behaviour, their dad making it absolutely clear that any discussion about him leaving home depended on his ability to show he was mature enough for it. And little Alan was with John, sitting under his chair and playing with the build-a-rocket kit that Scott had bought him earlier that day.

A hand on his shoulder had him freeze until a familiar voice sounded in his ear. Grinning, he turned and took in the sight of Penny, dressed in a…a…well, in a pink dress. Scott had no fashion sense; he had no idea what she was wearing.

But she looked stunning.

He took her hand and kissed it before offering her the floor, and at her slight nod Scott swept her up in a dance.

Maybe today wasn’t going to be a total loss after all…

Later that night the three eldest and Penny lay sprawled over the couch munching pizza and drinking pop as their fathers chatted over whisky in the kitchen. If Scott had his arm around Penny and if Penny was snuggling into his embrace well no one was going to mention it.

Eight: London

Penny hopped from foot to foot, much to Parker’s amusement. And he hoped that this Christmas would be a turning point for his ward.

They had buried Lady Amelia Creighton-Ward that spring and it had hit her daughter harder than expected. After spending so long apart, the news that her parents were moving back to England had filled Penny with hope for the opportunity to get to know them all over again, but they’d barely been back when her mother got sick.

The family that Penny was expecting had been instrumental in helping her through, and in particular the eldest, who would be arriving before everyone else since he was currently based in Germany.

She’d be lying if the thought of having Scott to herself hadn’t sparked something in her heart. Ever since that Christmas in Fiji they had been getting closer, and Scott had been calling her regularly since her mum…yeah, he knew how she felt, what she was going through. They would talk for what felt like hours even though each call was only around 30 minutes.

And there he was!

A head higher than everyone else, Scott strode confidently across the airport, looking for Penny. A shift in the crowd drew his attention, and Scott grinned as he saw Penny standing there, oblivious to the way the crowds parted for her – assisted in no small part from the grim expression on her guardian, Parker. He saw the moment she saw him, her smile lighting up the atmosphere.

Scott quickened up and, dropping his duffle at her feet, he caught her about the waist and swung her up and around, cherishing her laughter as she rested her hands on his shoulders.

They were staying in what Penny had called ‘the town house’. That term had not prepared Scott for the four-story house in the heart of Knightsbridge. Parker took Scott’s bag to his room and made his way to the kitchen where he prepared tea as slowly as he could. His Lady needed Scott right now.

He found them in the front drawing room, seated on the sofa. Scott was holding a sobbing Penny and he offered Parker a small smile as he tightened his hold. Parker sat the tray down and made a tactful withdrawal.

The next morning Parker drove them to the airport to pick up the rest of the Tracy family. He watched his ward and the boy through the mirror. She was looking brighter, and something loosened in his heart.

Parker watched as the boys gave his lady hugs and surrounded the pair before they swarmed through the airport to the car. They filled the space with a comfortable noise, both in the car and in the house, and they helped Penny relaxed even more.

Lil had made a light lunch so that the dinner could be the Christmas Eve feast Lord Hugh had asked her to prepare. After lunch Parker had taken Jeff to go and collect Hugh from his office and the rest settled down to watch some Christmas movies.

Scott and Penny were on one sofa, with Alan sitting on his brother’s lap and leaning back against him. John was sitting on the floor between Penny and his brother while Virgil and Gordon were curled up on the other sofa. All four brothers were asleep before the movie was even halfway through, their body clocks not yet adjusted to all the time they’d spent flying, and Scott and Penny let them snooze on so that they’d be fresh for the evening.

The smells from the kitchen soon roused the boys, and there was much amusement when Scott returned from there with red ears, red cheeks and a red hand. He slid back into his seat just as their fathers arrived home. There were more hugs and some chatting and then Parker returned to announce that dinner was ready.

Lillian had been given a very specific feast to create, a mixture of the family favourites. It was one of the most eclectic dinners she’d ever put together. It shouldn’t have worked, but for some reason it did. Lil reckoned it was because of who they all were, Parker wasn’t so sure, muttering under his breath about ‘boys’ and ‘cast iron stomachs thanks to Mrs Tracy senior’.

Haggis held court with baked ham with glazed vegetables. Plates of Fish Lolo sat next to Xaak Bhaji and sides of Kharoli and steamed Bhaat and to top it all off there were several desserts.

The families didn’t quieten down at all as food was consumed. And Parker was pleased to see his master and mistress begin to smile genuinely for the first time in a long time.

Nine: Germany

Jeff sat in the chair and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before stretching as much as possible while still sitting in the ridiculously uncomfortable chair.

He must have made a sound he was unaware of as a low moan came from the bed and Jeff sat forward carefully, picking up Scott’s hand as carefully as he could, mindful of the canula and the still-healing digits.

But Scott didn’t wake fully and after he settled back to sleep Jeff sighed.

A nurse entered with a tray and set it down on the table before pulling out her pad and recording details from the machines still attached to his son.

He took a deep breath.

His son.

His son was here.

Scott was here, alive.

Scott was alive.

Jeff still couldn’t believe Scott was there, and he gently kissed his son’s hand and placed it back on the bed.

‘Mr Tracy?’

‘Uh…yes?’

‘I brought you a meal.’

‘A – a meal?’

‘It’s Christmas Eve, Mr Tracy. We don’t have much, it is a military hospital after all, but we have a little. I don’t know what you eat but I brought some ham, turkey and some vegetables. And I’m sorry but I could only get green Jello for dessert.’

‘Nurse…?’

‘Abby. Please, sir, call me Abby.’

‘Abby, I am very, very touched by this.’

‘You are more than welcome, Sir.’

He eyed the tray, not inclined in the least to try and eat anything and turned back to watching Scott. Jeff didn’t pay any more heed to the nurse, but as she left she paused in the doorway.

‘Colonel Tracy, I just want you to know that your son is in the very best of hands and we’re proud to be looking after him.’

‘Thank you, Abby. That – that means a lot.’

‘I know you don’t want to eat, but Scott needs you to be strong so please try and eat something.’

‘I – I will.’

The door closed quietly and Jeff looked at the tray again. Green Jello had been the dessert Virgil had loved the most, fighting his brothers for it, invariably being rescued by Scott snatching it out of Gordon’s hands. Scott’s was always the red one, much like Alan. Stifling a sob at the memory, Jeff picked up the Jello and ate it slowly as he watched his son’s chest rise and fall.

Ten: Argentina

It was a heavy feeling of déjà vu as Jeff sat at another bedside and held the hand of another son who he’d believed was dead, but turned out Tracys were determined people, for which Jeff thanked his Irish ancestors.

Another bed, another military hospital, another Christmas away from the rest of his boys as he tried to keep one alive.

He’d never believed that anyone could come back more injured than Scott. His eldest had been held and tortured in a supposed POW camp for three months and had his arm and leg bones broken. Many had healed incorrectly and Scott had needed multiple surgeries to reset breaks. But that had needed to wait until he was better – if the double pneumonia, sepsis and malaria didn’t kill him first.

But Gordon, in typical younger sibling energy, had outdone his eldest brother.

The hydrofoil crash had claimed the lives of all the crew, and for almost half an hour Gordon too, but the paramedics had been able to bring him back from the dead. And when Jeff had finally managed to get someone to talk to him he had found out that Gordon had broken almost every bone, including his spine.

Even as he sat stunned at the news Scott had corralled everyone he knew to try and look for a solution to get his brother walking again, refusing to believe that their Squid could lose that ability.

Brains had come up with the solution, working closely with the spinal surgeons and physios to replace the broken sections of vertebrae and nerves with a Cahelium scaffolding framework.

Gordon had had the first surgery yesterday. He was still under; the operation had taken all day and most of the night and the anaesthesia was yet to wear off. Jeff began massaging the hand he held, humming one of Lucy’s tunes as he did in an effort to both stir Gordon and comfort them both.

‘I haven’t heard you hum that tune for a long time.’

Jeff looked to the door where Scott stood, a bad in one hand and two coffees in the other. His cane was nowhere in sight and he frowned at his son. Scott half-shrugged, completely unapologetic and Jeff sighed in exasperation.

‘How is he?’

‘Same as he was before you left for coffee.’

‘Yeah…’

Scott trailed off. Being here in these circumstances…it was bringing back unwanted memories. He’d bolted a couple of times, but he was getting better at staying. Having a younger sibling who needed him was helping him cope better with the trauma he’d been through himself.

This time he’d left willingly, for coffee. And returned with more. He took something from the bag before handing it to his Dad. Jeff wasn’t surprised to see an apple Danish in Scott’s hand and one in the bag for himself.

They solemnly tapped their cups together.

‘Merry Christmas, Dad.’

‘Merry Christmas, Scott.’

‘Do…Do you think you can keep it down? How’s a Squid supposed to sleep?’

It was the first genuine smile either man had smiled for a long time.

Eleven: International Rescue

There was an air of festivities on Tracy Island the like they hadn’t had for a long time. Everyone was here, both family and friends.

International rescue had been operating for almost eight months, and in that time their reputation had gone from strength to strength. Lee Taylor, Tim and Val Casey and Jeff had been the founders, but the last four months Jeff and Lee had been training Scott, John and Virgil to take their roles in the organisation set up in honour of their Mom.

Christmas on the island was polar opposite to Kansas where they had grown up. December was quite warm – around 70°F compared to about 25°F in Kansas – and although they’d officially lived on the island for a few years now, this was the first Christmas all the Tracys, the Creighton-Wards, the Kyranos and Brains were together. Only the Caseys and Lee were missing, Tim and Val unable to get out of work at the GDF due to some top-secret test (that Scott and John absolutely did not know about, no sir, they did not know about the Zero-X at all) about to occur and Lee because he was back on Alphie, trying to persuade NASA not to destroy their beloved base.

Virgil had been acting oddly all week, and once John had come down he’d joined him, they immediately stopped whatever they were doing every time Jeff walked into the same room. He’d caught whispers about something lost, but to be honest Jeff was just revelling in having all five boys and Tanusha under the same roof for once.

Their Dad wasn’t the only one who had noticed John and Virgil’s odd behaviour. Both Scott and Gordon had, but Scott had his hands full with Alan, the eight-year-old had clung to his eldest brother like a limpet, not that Scott minded, but that meant leaving Gordon to find out what was going on…Gordon promised that he would behave but Scott knew better than to trust that kind of promise – there were many shades to “behaving” when it came to Gordon and Scott was well versed in his prankster brother’s ability to create loopholes. Both brothers would vehemently deny it, but when it came to finding loopholes in something John and Gordon were identical. Scott himself would deny that he and Gordon were the same when it came to pranks, but he’d be lying just as much as John would be…

Whatever they were trying to do also involved Virgil’s studio. The place was a strict ‘invite-only’ place, but Virgil had taken to locking the door – both when he was out of the studio and when he was inside – and had lived up to his “bear” reputation when Scott had tried to find out what they were up to. He had backed away quickly when Virgil literally growled at him.

As the week progressed the smells coming from the studio were mouthwatering, though, and as time passed more and more Scott found himself wandering past trying to work out what the two were up to.

All anyone could work out was that it was definitely *ham* that was being cooked, but why it needed such secrecy was anyone’s guess.

Christmas Eve dawned clear, bright and hot. Breakfast was a riotous affair with so many people, an eclectic mix of traditional American, English and Malay foods meaning everyone had something they enjoyed.

Dinner was due that evening, giving everyone all day for whatever activities they had planned. Games were played, films played in the background. Lunch was a spread of finger food for them to help themselves as they so wished.

Virgil and John disappeared back into the studio. Out of the kiln Virgil pulled the latest attempt at recreating Grandpa Grant’s Baked Ham. This was their fifth attempt but, as tasty as the ham was, it was missing something. Virgil sighed despondently as John’s hand landed on his shoulder and gave him s squeeze.

‘I really wanted this to be ready for tonight but – *sigh* – it won’t be.’

‘It would have been nice, I agree, but you’re really close!’

‘Not close enough, John.’

‘We can do this, Virgil! It’s just a matter of using science and all our taste and memories to work out what Grandpa’s secret ingredient was!’

‘The secret ingre….’

The klaxon drowned out whatever else was going to be said and both men legged to the lounge where the command centre had already been engaged.

‘There’s a problem with the Zero-X launch. Scott, suit up and meet me in One. John, can you return to Five and direct us from there?’

‘FAB Dad.’

‘FAB, Dad.’

‘Kyrano, you have the command centre. Thunderbirds are go!’

Later on, when Scott finally came home, dinner had been forgotten as had all thoughts of food. Once he returned to the lounge Alan all but launched himself at Scott, his other brothers following suit. The four collapsed in a huddle in the middle of the floor, with John’s holo looking on. Pretty soon they were joined by Penny and Kayo and then the older adults surrounded them.

For the second time in their lives Christmas was cancelled.

Twelve: Tracy Island – Together Again

‘What about this?’

‘No – I’ve looked in that box. What about that one?’

‘Hang on…yes! They’re in here!’

This year promised to be their best Christmas ever!

In early spring the five of them with Brains had done the impossible. They had flown to the Oort Cloud, rescued their Father and returned home. Jeff had spent the remainder of the year in a specialist rehab centre, but now he was due home.

Due home on Christmas Eve. What could be more perfect?

So Tracy Island became a hive of activity as everyone prepared for his return. Scott got busy making sure iR and TI could survive the day without them, Gordon and Alan took it upon themselves to decorate the lounge. Brains had muttered something about snow and Kayo was busy in the kitchen with her father and Parker cooking up a feast. Even Uncle Lee had been picked up from Mars earlier in the week by Alan and John.

Virgil and John took it upon themselves to spend the week perfecting Grandpa’s Baked Ham recipe in celebration of having their family all under one roof again. The villa soon filled with the delectable smell of ham.

Every day they tried a new combination in their quest. John had suggested using science to work out what they were missing.

So they started at the beginning by asking the question – AKA ‘interrogating’ Grandma.

Unfortunately Grandma knew nothing. Her husband had been protective of his recipe, not because he didn’t trust her, but because Grant knew what a terrible cook his wife was. It had been a joke that Sally could burn water for their entire married life, and she’d proved that to be the case so, so many times. It hadn’t occurred to anyone that there would come a time when he wouldn’t be around anymore…

So the two brothers formed a hypothesis and theorised that Grandpa would have used ingredients to hand, so they thought long and hard about the kinds of food flavourings they had seen around the old kitchen farmhouse.

Based on that hypothesis they gathered groups of flavourings to try as the predictions part of the scientific method.

Testing the hypothesis had been fun at first. They had mixed flavourings like some kind of kitchen wizards, testing combinations out.

Their family had appreciated most of the ham results. At first. After three days and seven hams even Gordon had begun to complain, but Scott remained oblivious to the amount of thick-cut ham sandwiches he was consuming as he worked.

Tests complete, they analysed the data and drew some conclusions. Nothing matched. They had come close a couple of times, but there was still one key ingredient they were missing, so they tried a different method.

They began searching for their Grandpa’s secret recipe.

They tore into the storage room in the basement, looking through old boxes of stuff that hadn’t been opened since they had moved here from Kansas. They had had to stop for the rest of the day when they stumbled on the one filled with pictures of their Mom and them growing up.

John picked up a heavy box to place it on top of another to make it easier to look into. He’d been down almost the entire week and so gravity wasn’t its usual problem, but the box was heavier than he had anticipated and in manoeuvring it he caught the bottom box. It was enough to make the bottom of the box he was carrying split open, spilling books all over the floor.

A particularly heavy tome flattened his toes and John yelped. Virgil abandoned his box to come and make sure his brother wasn’t too badly hurt, picking up an old tractor manual. It was for Grandpa’s old Deere, the tractor both he and a tiny Virgil had adored both – it was a giant green machine after all…

A feeling of nostalgia washed over him as he flicked through the well-thumbed pages, some still with Grandpa’s oily fingerprints on. As he browsed a yellowing slip of paper full of Grandpa’s neat, careful writing slipped out from between the pages.

With slightly shaking fingers John bent to pick the page up and read it aloud:

Sweet Southern Slow-Cooker Ham

“Ingredients:

1 bone-in fully-cooked ham, about 5.5lb

1 cup apple cider vinegar

½ cup of dark brown sugar

1/3 cup of Kentucky bourbon

¼ cup of honey

¼ cup Dijon-style mustard

4+ sprigs of thyme”

Virgil smacked his forehead. Bourbon? The missing ingredient was bourbon?? He picked John up and swung him around. Both men were laughing before carefully packing the box and putting it back away and returning to the studio.

Several hours later and Virgil was bringing Two into land.

They were all there to bring their Dad home and Jeff was revelling in just being here. He still used a cane to walk around, but he was so much more than the husk of a man they had rescued ten months ago. He’d put on weight, had almost got used to gravity again and was looking forward to sleeping in his own bed with his own children, his Ma and his friends all around him.

Christmas Eve. What a special day to return home. There were so many Christmas Eves that had been special for various reasons, but today was going to be the best ever. As they arrived in the lounge to the cheering of those who had stayed behind and to the smells of food ready to be eaten.

Jeff watched as his children and his friend’s children orientated themselves around him and each other. Huh…interesting. He’d known Scott and Penny had a bit of a thing for each other before…before that time, but now to see Penny sitting with Gordon he realised that ship had sailed. Instead, Scott had gravitated to Kayo, an unusual pairing to be sure, Jeff thought, seeing that they were potentially too similar in temperament, but if it worked then he’d be more than happy for both boys.

Ma, Kyrano and Parker were busy laying the table when John and Virgil brought in a covered dish. There were a few groans from Gordon and Alan which had Jeff raising his eyebrows at them and they quietened down.

The ham was uncovered with a flourish once everyone was seated and ready to help themselves. Scott, recognising the smell of Grandpa’s secret Baked Ham, insisted that Jeff have the first slice and that everyone wait until their Dad and friend had pronounced judgement.

The smell hit Jeff like a thunderbolt. He’d not smelt this particular aroma for…wow, was it really almost twenty years since they had lost Lucy and his Pa? Water welled but didn’t fall from his eyes as Jeff fought to keep his composure.

And then he tastes it.

Tears fell as memories of home, of being a child growing up on the farm, of that first Christmas he’d introduced Lucy to his parents, of the time a two-year-old Scott had managed to pull the tablecloth off the table and was busy hoovering up the food that had fallen, heedless of the adults’ cries of panic over the broken glass and China.

That first time Hugh, Amelia and Penny had come over for Christmas and then Kyrano and Kayo had joined them…and Brains too vied with thoughts of the dried astronaut food he’d sustained himself on when alone out there in the Oort Cloud.

All these memories rushed upon him and Jeff suddenly realised he’d dropped his fork and was just sitting there staring into space, his family looking on with worried faces.

Jeff cleared his throat and wiped his eyes.

‘Thank you. Thank you all. This is without doubt the best Christmas Eve I have had in a very, very long time.’

[adorkastock]

Take care of your body and mind, art friends. ♥ Need help with the basics? Check out Mind. Body. Artist. It's a blogcast site @astrafauna & I started about taking care while making art. It's on hiatus right now but there's tons of useful stuff in the archive. Content breakdown below the cut ✂️

Introduction to MBA List of topics we have done and hope to do Meet the hosts: Sarah Dahlinger Sarah Forde

Mental Health 🔵Dealing with Crowdfunding Stress 🔵Define Who You Are 🔵Monthly Wrap Up 🔵Is This What You Want to be Doing? 🔵Use “And” 🔵What does a trout have to do with social media trolls. 🔵How to Take Advice to Win 🔵Do What You Need to do to Succeed 🔵Using an Alternating Schedule to Balance Both Art and Fitness (or whatever recharges your battery) 🔵One Success Metric to Win 🔵Art and Grief 🔵There Is No Time Limit for Getting Back Up 🔵Pick your Perfects to Achieve your Real Goals 🔵Can't work? Time to study! (with short exercises) 🔵Creating with ADHD 🔵How to Balance Creative Work and Day to Day Work 🔵Overcoming Self Doubt and Creative Burnout 🔵Getting Back Up After a Failure

Physical Health 🔵How to Roll Out Your Arms for Tendonitis Relief or Prevention 🔵Four Way Wrist Curls 🔵Ice/Hot Baths for Tendonitis Relief 🔵Stretch Your Wrists and Forearms 🔵Stretch Your Hamstrings: My favorite hack for eliminating low back pain. 🔵Tendonitis Flare Up: Fixed in a Few Days 🔵What I Learned from a Year of Never Missing a Workout. 🔵Let’s talk with a Licensed Massage Therapist about pain while making art.

Food Prep 🔵Recipes Intro 🔵Egg Muffins 🔵Lavish Bread Mini Wraps 🔵Five Minute Crock Pot Veggie Chili 🔵How to Make All Your Meals for a Week Without Really Trying 🔵All Week Salad 🔵Chicken with Onions 🔵Slow Cooker Pork Stew

Artist Interviews 🔵Interview with Loish 🔵Interview with Iris Compiet 🔵Interview with Doug Hoppes 🔵Interview with Heather R. Hitchman 🔵Interview with Brynn Metheney

[gendieva]

⋆˚ 𝜗 how to listen to subs. 𝜚˚⋆

✰ I see you girls who would read reddit posts about how people are getting results in days while others get them in weeks, months, years, and never. I get it, y'all. I didn't get subliminal results but I'll back that up with inconsistent listening, limiting beliefs and worst of all, low quality experience DURING listening (I kept trying to play my sub playlist overnight but I'd always wake up to ads, loud audios, or wake up peacefully to a sight of my headphones beside me and realized that I took it off in my sleep. + the playlist pauses on its own.)

✰ it is almost 2025 y'all, like it's literally christmas. we need to learn how to use subliminals properly. this is how !!

USE THIS FORMULA :: a reddit user called "embarrassed_tip_4749" made a formula for getting results and there were many people that commented their experience on it. there was one girl that listened to subs for almost a decade and she came from an abusive family and had severe health issues. she used the formula and her pain was easing up after 2 days. search it up y'all.

https://www.reddit.com/r/Subliminal/comments/1d6bvs0/i_got_major_results_full_compilation_of_all_my/ :: this is the formula.

ORGANIZE YOUR PLAYLIST :: you can add as many subliminals as you want, but I tried to keep my old playlist as short as possible (17 subs including boosters) to process it more and add repetition. make sure you only listen to subs on the same topic !! I also personally added boosters every after 1-4 videos to.. yeah. boost. now tho, I only use 2 subliminals and 1 booster and this new playlist is about 68 mins long.

FIND THE RIGHT SUBMAKERS :: y'all, I feel like the majority of submakers are safe but need to be right. some people get reversed results out of subliminals because --

the affirmations can use complicated or oversimplified phrases of medical terms that you don't understand so it is like a word from another language. when your subconscious tries to intepret the whole phrase and recognizes the term "nose" for example, it may associate or process it to a negative belief about it so you have a reversed result of your nose being bigger. your subconscious doesn't understand the command.

submakers may create the subliminals wrong. if the subliminal doesn't repeat or get layered, or it is too layered and sped up that it becomes distorted, etc. then it can be a slower process or might never change you at all.

your subconscious mind may reject affirmations entirely, causing you to have no results. I mean, your subconscious mind is more vulnerable to absorb it, but subliminals work slower with limiting beliefs for a reason. your subconscious mind is just absorbing information but not FOLLOWING command, so that's why seeking results slows you down.

⋆˚ 𝜗 how to combat this ?? 𝜚˚⋆ + submakers I trust.

(IMPORTANT) GET INTO MANIFESTATION :: subliminals are a tool for manifestation but you can't give a non-artist a pencil and get desired results, or give a non-builder a hammer and expect anything good out of it; or a frying pan to a non-cooker. stop replying on subs and get into a manifestation journey first.

VISUALIZATION :: instead of affs, use visualization to command your subconscious mind so it knows what it should follow.

BOOSTERS AND BLOCK BUSTERS :: again, I used a booster every 1-4 subliminal audios.

SCHEDULE :: yes, listen to subs as much as you can but also don't. it commands attachment and exhausts your mind so it can't process anymore. I recommend scheduling a few hours playing subs and you can play overnight too but don't seek results the next morning because that's when your brain is probably following commands to change DNA structure.

⋆˚ 𝜗 SAFE SUB SUGGESTIONS 𝜚˚⋆

✰ (TOP FAVE) ALEYA :: everyone loves her and loves her only. there are no reversed results or changes that take long, no. everyone gets fast and instant results, she constantly outdoes herself ever new subliminal she makes and apparently she's really perfessional and responds to emails instantly.

✰ (TRUSTED) IWIIGI :: the affs she uses are basic and in umbrella terms so your mind can absorb them without making reversed results. are results instant ? depends on you; ppl with limiting beliefs and new listeners must repeat

✰ (UNDERRATED) RINNIE :: she takes care of her channel with so much love like the documents, the subliminal topics, her themes are so pretty and so sweet and she doesn't even get talked about much. loop her, y'all.

⋆˚ 𝜗 booster subliminals !! 𝜚˚⋆

✰ https://youtu.be/AS9SYSJaB3o?si=SjmQmh6A3WlvW3vZ

✰ https://youtu.be/wJEaGesTcAo?si=_se50y2d-ThX-ZAe

✰ https://youtu.be/YRGs_4lB2wo?si=47rQ_aw_Qa-gvhLp