#open the fridge— you get one soup can

[sadlynotthevoid]

Oshi no Ko silly prompt:

After the visit to the doctor, Ai gets a system that gives her random missions with pretty much random, not always useful, prizes.

The prizes and consequences are always listed and she isn't obligated to complete them, but sometimes she does it anyways for fun and giggles.

Then, one day she gets a mission [Survive the stalker!] and the consequence for failing it's a date many years in the future with [Aqua commits suicide] next to it.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ the "dying" wolverine ]❜

ft. logan howlett x gn! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ taking care of logan when he’s sick┊0.8k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: fluff, established relationship

➤ author's note: i’m feeling like shit so i’m making him suffer with me

what part of regenerative healing don’t you understand? it’s impossible for him to get sick in any capacity as his immune system is stronger than the adamantium in his body, so feel free to read any of the other logan fics written by all the amazing writers on this platform!!

but let’s say that he somehow contracted a special bug that managed to get past all that and managed to make him fall ill, requiring you to take care of him while wade goes on a mission to figure out what’s wrong with him…

this headstrong two-hundred-year mutant who can take stab wounds without flinching and is an invincible tank in battles will be the whinest son of the bitch. he always lets his guard down around you, but he’s the most vulnerable and immature that he’ll ever allow himself to be around anyone since he can’t remember the last time (or if he has ever in his life) felt so shitty. shivering despite being feverish and covered up in blankets which just made him sweaty and uncomfortable, an itchy nose that wouldn’t sneeze when he needed it to, coughing his lungs out every two minutes— it’s so alien to him.

when you finally show up to look after him, he’ll have uncharacteristically big puppy eyes as you gently place your hand on his forehead to gauge how bad it is. “how are you feeling, lo?”

“i feel like i’m going to fucking die.” there are several discarded tissues and water bottles overfilling the nearby trashcan, but it was clear that he had no idea how he was supposed to make himself feel better and suffering.

“i can tell,” you chuckle at how dramatic he sounds and it makes him frown, but he’s just so thankful that you’re here to take care of him (he doesn’t exactly trust al to do it, that woman is a bit too mysterious and cryptic for him, and the medicine she offered smelled funny even to his dulled senses). “let me go make you some soup.”

he doesn’t want you to leave at first because your cold skin feels so good against him, but he’ll lightly doze off for a bit now that he’s more comfortable and feels safer. don’t expect him to stay asleep for long though, he’ll get up from his little while you’re in the middle of cooking chicken vegetable soup to wrap his arms around you and rest his head on top of yours until you finish.

“why are there barely any vegetables in the fridge? i could only find half a carrot and wilted celery.”

“i don’t think anyone here eats that stuff.”

“logan, you need to eat your greens— all you guys do, how are all three of you in such good shape then?!”

“eh.”

he can’t make anything more complicated than butter noodles, wade sets nearly everything on fire, he feels slightly guilty eating the food made by an elderly blind lady when he’s already freeloading at the moment, and constantly ordering take-out becomes expensive. you’ve given some food in tupperware for him to eat up, but it isn’t quite the same. as if being sick didn’t make him miserable enough, he’s so fucking pissed that he couldn’t properly taste your freshly-cooked food and will make it known.

you scoff that it’s just soup and pour it out in a bowl for him to eat, but you’ll quickly find yourself spoon-feeding him. yes, his hands still work with perfectly fine motor functions. no, you’re not passing up the opportunity to baby him while he rolls his eyes (he’ll grunt at most and doesn’t say a word of protest, claiming that he’s merely allowing it since he’s too tired to fight with you over it and very glad no one could see it happening).

“here comes the airplane~”

“i’m a grown-ass man, don’t be ridiculous.”

“a grown-ass man without an ounce of whimsy in his life, open your fucking mouth and eat.”

this is one of the lower points in his life where he doesn’t quite understand why this is happening to him yet, so you obviously have give him as much affection as possible! keeping a cold glass of water nearby and a wet rag to dab on his face, he rests his head upon your thighs and you swear that you can hear him purring like a kitten. there’s not better pillow than his lover, soft, warm, and full of love as you hum a song to lull him to sleep.

“let’s get married one day…” he not sure how that slipped past his lips, it might be the fever talking for him, or the fact that he’s completely relaxed without any tension in his muscles and feeling himself falling in love all over again when you smile so sweetly at him

“okay, but you need to sleep and get better first.” you place a gentle kiss on his forehead until his eyes slowly drift shut, “i love you, logan.”

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — KATSUKI BAKUGOU. the art of aftercare, love and food.

about. to katsuki bakugou, aftercare is just as important as making you feel good. and nothing beats aftercare more than a home cooked meal, made with love.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw? characters in their 20s, suggestive, fluff, aftercare sessions, bakugou cooks for reader, established relationship, mentions of sex, afab!reader, pro hero!bakugou. i haven’t written him in 4ever go easy on me </3!! wc: 400+

no matter how fucked out or pussy drunk he is, katsuki always makes you a meal after sex.

bakugou’s first instinct is to get you water, kiss your head and tell you what a good little thing you’ve been for him. his baby always takes him so well. his baby deserves a treat.

once you’ve calmed down enough, and he’s cleaned you up, he carries you to the kitchen with his infamous skull shirt draped over your twitching frame. he likes the way you sling your arms lazily over his broad shoulders and the way you nuzzle into his neck too — as if you can’t get enough of him or need the blonde for comfort.

he’s careful when he sets you down on the counter — grabbing you a water bottle from the fridge and holding the cool plastic rim against your cherry bruised lips. “drink,” he says, though it’s more like a caring command. “need to keep you hydrated.”

katsuki keeps his touch gentle when he uses two fingers to tilt your head up, making sure you swallow down enough water to make him satisfied. he’ll praise you, call you his good little baby and ask if he can leave you alone for a second to get your dinner started.

silence with katsuki is always comfortable, never awkward or weird after being so intimate and open with one another. the slight clang of ceramic cooking ware against one another fills your kitchen along with the scuff of his house slippers against your laminated floors. every so often, a kiss is delivered to your forehead, nose or cheeks as the blonde reaches up to grab spices from the cabinet above your head.

he lets you know that he’s still there, in small little ways.

bakugou knows not to spend too long on a meal after ravaging you. you’re always impatient and the food smells a little too good, making your tummy rumble and an adorable pout form on your lips. “such a brat, huh? even now,” he coos, flicking your nose as he slips between your legs. “taste this f’me. wanna know if you think it’s ready.”

like a baby, he scoops a spoonful of broth or soup or stew or whatever you fancy that night, into your awaiting mouth — watching for that spark in your eyes or a brightened expression spreading across your face.

“good?”

“great.”

he shares you out a portion, spending a good amount time feeding you before he has some of his own.

because katsuki bakugou’s love language is cooking — putting the perfect amount of time into creating the perfect meal is how he shows that he cares for you. and as you scarf down every bite, you know that each one was made with katsuki’s love for you.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[luveline]

hi jade! I remember a while back you wrote a drabble about hotchner!reader having a really bad panic attack and Spencer and Aaron helping her at the hospital, and it gave me a lot of comfort to read it. would you be interested in writing something about Spencer and Aaron taking care of hotchner!reader as she adjusts to her new meds?

—Spencer and your brother, Aaron, take care of you when your new prescription gives unexpected side effects. fem (adopted) 2k

When things got quiet at home, you’d get tense. 

Your apartment is silent. No whir of the heating, no washing machine clatter, no voices. You sit on the couch with your legs pulled up, turned to the armrest with your cheek pressed to the seat's backing. Your phone is in your hand at a low percentage. You’ll get up to charge just as soon as you can remember what you’d wanted to be doing in the first place. 

Spencer was going to call you. He’s sweet, really. You didn’t expect for love to feel easy; you never thought someone could like you without allowances. You’re quiet sometimes, your nerves are shot. You ask for reassurance too much, too often, and you don’t believe them when they’re given. 

You aren’t smart, or funny, or particularly hard-working. 

But Spencer loves you, you’re almost certain. Or maybe he’s just content to be half happy. It wouldn’t surprise you if he called you to break up with you —what use have you been to him lately? You’re tired everyday. You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you never want to go out. You can barely make it through the working day. 

Your phone beeps in your hand. 

Outside, it says. If Spencer’s there, please make sure he’s fully dressed.

You manage to smile weakly. Aaron saw Spencer once getting out of the shower, and he was dressed, thank you very much. You hadn’t done anything salacious as he might’ve assumed from the situation, just showered together, but Aaron always lets you know before visiting now. 

Doesn’t ask, by the way, but you don’t actually want him to. He’s like, the only good thing in your life beside Spencer. 

Aaron lets himself in and finds you immediately. “Hey, honey,” he says. 

He slipped into the affectionate older brother role not long after meeting you, and he’s been worse since you were in the hospital. Which is to say, gentler with you. 

He slips a bag of groceries onto the counter. He pans around the room. It’s cleaner than usual here, but none of the lights are on, nor the TV. You can see him notice it. 

“You okay?” he asks, pulling groceries from the bag. He’s brought milk, bread, eggs, and fresh soups from the nice store nearby. “It’s quiet in here.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah? Any wobbles?” 

He’s asking if you’ve had a panic attack or anything like it, but for the last few days you’ve felt veritably numb. “I’m okay,” you say. 

You should bring up your symptoms. Clearly, lexapro either isn’t right for you or the dosage is too much; you’re a zombie these last couple of days. Medications don’t always work straight away, so for a time you’d felt like your script was useless, serving only to make you nauseous, but the sickness has finally gone away. 

He opens the fridge to put away the groceries. He’s sliding the bread into your bread box when he says, “Honey, aren’t you gonna answer that? Your phone?”

You blink down at your phone. Spencer’s contact glows in front of a green background. 

You click answer and pull it to your ear. “Hello?” you ask softly. 

“Hey, angel. How are you feeling today?” 

You clear your throat. “Fine.” 

“I was thinking I’d come over?” 

“You’re outside?” you ask. 

“How’d you know that?” 

“Must be something in the water.”

“I’ll come up now. I brought some things for dinner.” 

You manage your first laugh that dreary day. It’s nearly normal. “Okay. I might not have room.” 

Spencer promises to be up quickly and disconnects the call. You lift your chin to find Aaron already looking at you. “Do I look okay?” you ask. 

“Beautiful, don’t worry.”

“Is this an ambush?” you ask. 

“Not an intentional one. Can I make you something to drink?” 

He’ll make you something you like, you trust. You try to sit properly on the couch before Spencer gets here, rubbing under your eyes, checking there’s nothing on your t-shirt and sweatpants. It might not matter if there were, you know Spencer thinks you’re pretty without makeup or fancy clothes, but he doesn’t necessarily have to be truthful about it. 

“Aaron,” you say, before you can forget, “did… was Jack’s soccer okay?”

He passes you a mug, squeezing your shoulder lovingly. “It was great. I’ll show you the photos.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t go.” 

You were supposed to. Spencer even drove to pick you up, but he got here and your meds weren’t working and your heart was beating wrong, so you stayed home. 

“It’s okay.” Aaron looks like he wants to hug you, but he doesn’t. “Nobody’s mad at you for that.” 

“For other things?” 

“Nothing.” 

Your door opens again. Spencer bursts in with two things, a brown paper bag of groceries and a bouquet of flowers. It’s a pretty huge bouquet, as they go, white and pink flowers, cornflower blue chrysanthemums spotted throughout, the end of his scarf stuck in the flowers and his coat unbuttoned in the struggle. “Hey. Hi, Hotch.” 

“Spencer,” Aaron says, which is strangely warm. 

Spencer shoves the bouquet aside to see you. “Hi, you okay?” 

You force yourself to stand. It’s obvious you’re not feeling right, your head whirring, but you have to make sure he still wants you. “Spencer.” 

He puts the bouquet down. The groceries next. “Angel,” he says, meeting Aaron’s eyes quickly, then back to you, where he smiles sympathetically, “How long have you been feeling like this?” 

You’ve only taken a few steps toward him when he catches you for a hug. It’s nice and polite, but not without tenderness. He doesn’t pull your weight in like he would if you were alone, but he holds your back and sits a quick kiss against your cheek as he pulls away. 

“I don’t really know, a few days?” you suggest. 

“You could’ve told me. Or Hotch, you know?” 

“I know, I was going to, just–” You press your hand to your eyes. “Didn’t really notice it was happening.” 

“Don’t get upset,” Aaron says, coming to join you both in the kitchen. “It’s alright. Spencer isn’t scolding you, he just wants you to know we’re here for you no matter what happens.” 

“I don’t feel like myself,” you say.

“That’s okay,” Aaron furthers, holding you by the shoulder, his hand settling behind the nape of your neck, “we can talk to your doctor again, this isn’t permanent. We’ll talk to them today, if it’s what you need.” 

“I’m sorry. Not many people have such an adverse effect to lexapro, I was hoping you wouldn’t be an exception,” Spencer says. 

To your surprise, Aaron answers for you, “You couldn’t have known. This is just something we’ll have to keep doing together.” 

Someone sits you down. Aaron warms his fancy soups and toasts the bread he brought, making a plate and bowl for each of you without asking. Spencer barely balks. You manage another laugh, for which you’re rewarded with two smiles. 

Aaron can’t stay much longer, having to pick up Jack from Jess’, but he offers to come back. You decline, not wanting Jack to see you feeling as depressed as you are. He promises to call the doctor tonight and leaves in a rush. He must’ve stayed longer than he should’ve. 

Spencer is more forthcoming with soft touches once he’s gone. He didn’t eat much but neither did you, pushing the plates across the coffee table. He’s still wearing his coat. 

Fond, you reach for his chest and begin slipping buttons from the eyelets. “You’re staying, right?” you murmur. 

“If you’ll have me.” 

You open his coat and push it away from his shoulders. He dressed fancy even when he’s not going anywhere, it’s so strange, the button up and the tie and the sweater vest, all of it, but you love it. You run your hand down his vest. He lets his head dip forward. Not for kissing, just to be near. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Just feel wrong.” 

“It’s not really a good idea to stop taking the lexapro now. It’s technically an antidepressant, and your body won’t adjust well.” He holds your waist as you hold his. “But this is weird, huh?” 

“Feels weird.” 

“Short term, uh, I think we should just try and make sure you feel alright today. Is there anything you need?” he’s murmuring, rubbing his thumb into the soft of your stomach. “I can get anything. Or we can do anything.” 

“You don’t have to… worry about me.” 

“Are you kidding?” he asks softly.

“We haven’t been…” You trail your hand to his stomach, where it stays. “I just don’t expect you to deal with this, you didn’t sign up for this.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. I had no idea what I’d find out about you or what you might go through when we first met, but I wanted to find out. I wanted to take care of you then, and I do now,” he says simply.

“It’s not good timing for me to be like this.” 

“Stuff happens all the time. I wouldn’t want to wait for you to be perfect before we met.” He smiles genuinely. “Not that you’re not perfect.” 

“I really feel like I’m not even me.” 

“You’re you,” he says, dipping so close to you that you can’t see his face anymore, just his skin.

You slouch into his chest, coaxed by long, lithe arms cradling you, as kind as anyone’s ever touched you. He smells clean, your nose finding its way to his stiff collar. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“You don’t have to be. Nobody wants you to be sorry, okay?” 

It’s a new feeling. Spencer spends the night with you on the couch and doesn’t for a moment seem like it’s something he doesn’t wanna do. You end up laying on his chest, his fingers drawing lines like a meandering figure skater up your back. Twirls and loops, long laps around your spine. When your phone rings, he’s nice enough to click answer and hold it to your ear. 

“Aaron?” you ask sleepily. 

“Hey, honey. I’ll be by tomorrow to take you back to Dr. Chester’s office, alright? If you don’t want to keep taking your lexapro, don’t. But if you can manage it, take another tonight, and we’ll figure out the new plan after your appointment.” 

“Okay,” you say, feeling very small. “Thank you for doing that for me.” 

“I’d do anything. Jack says he loves you, he’s making you a painting of yourself. He’s very good at the colours.” 

“I bet he is,” you say loudly. In the background, you can hear Jack’s pleased little thank you. 

“Do you want to talk a while?” he asks.

“That’s okay, Aaron, I’m half asleep on Spencer right now.” 

“Good, that’s good. Tell him to take good care of you, okay? Or I won’t be happy.” 

Spencer laughs above your head. “When is he ever happy?” he jokes in a whisper. 

“Shh,” you say, giving Spencer a light shove. “He says he will.” You swallow a lump, as you’ve had to do all day, but it isn’t rawness that colours your voice now. “I love you. Thank you for, uh, calling the doctor. Thanks.” 

“I love you too. I’ll leave you to sleep now. I’ll come at eleven, alright?” 

“Alright. See you tomorrow,” you say. 

Your voice is weak. Spencer pulls the phone away and hangs it up, tossing it without force onto the coffee table, before wrapping his arm around you snugly. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” Spencer says. “You’ll see, things aren’t going to be like this forever. It’s statistically impossible.” 

“Ooh,” you croon, pressing your tired face back into his chest, “I love when you talk statistics to me. Tell me more.”

He draws shapes into your back, his voice a murmur as he starts to talk. 

[with-my-calamitous-love]

I HAVE A LOT OF REGRETS ABOUT THAT

osamu dazai x reader, 18 dark ages! dazai

you take care of dazai while he’s ill and in a rare moment of vulnerability.

for 🚬 anon! thank you for supporting 🤍

inspired by this is me trying

he didn’t think it was possible to be so ahead.

he was only 18, and had committed hundreds of crimes. he was a young man, and yet the star pupil of the mafia boss. he had only been in the world for less than a few decades, and yet knew the world better than anyone.

so was he ahead, or was he behind? perhaps he was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere.

his head is pounding, feeling the ache in his eyes. his body feels slack, like its giving up on him despite only just growing it itself. he’s weak, and hiding out in his apartment like a coward. if someone wanted to kill him, now would be the time to do it.

luckily, thats not what you’re here to do. much to his dismay.

he was wary at first, letting you in. he says the usual- that he’ll get you sick and that he can handle himself. but the man who’s wrapped in bandages clearly can’t take care of himself, even if its just a simple cold.

so you trudge in anyway, sighing at his empty fridge with only a few expired contents. how he was surviving was a mystery to you.

so you put together what you can, forging a soup with crab meat so he’ll actually eat it. you don’t know, but he’s watching you from his bedroom.

he’s not used to being taken care of.

truthfully, he could follow his fears all the way down. he could let his shiny wheels rust, and succumb to the realities of life. its what he always preaches about, anyway. he says he wants death, but more so just a reason to go on. whether there was one for him was a different question.

he sighs wearily when you bring a bowl of soup to him, only realizing how hungry he is when he can smell it wafting towards his nostrils. “thank you, darling.” he hums, not caring for the way it slightly burns his fingertips when he takes it from you.

normally, he’d call you an angel for taking care of him, and ask you to commit double suicide holding his hand. you know he’s tired when all he can manage is a thank you before he’s eating the soup like its his first meal in days. honestly, it might have been.

“how are you feeling?” you ask, sitting next to him on the bed. he almost smiles when you put hour hand against his forehead, feeling his temperature. maybe he loves your cold hands against his burning hot skin, or maybe he loves you. probably both.

he resigns to remain strong. because he doesn’t want to be an open wound. its hard to be anywhere these days when all he wants is you, but he can’t admit that. what would happen if he trusted? if he let himself be saved? who would he lose?

“i’m okay.” he says, curving his dehydrated lips into a smile.

you sigh.

his lies are a flashback in a film reel. you’ve seen them before, but they still hurt.

“don’t give me that.” you say, clutching his bandaged hands. “let me care about you, ‘samu.”

for just a moment there, his smirk falls.

he’s used to being told that all his problems are mental. he’s used to getting wasted at bars, like all his potential. he’s used to downing everything he could have been, had he not been exposed to evil at such a young age.

evil expects evil from others. dazai himself was evil. so why weren’t you?

he doesn’t know. but he knows he’s anything but okay right now.

“i’m… tired. and my head is killing me.” he whispers, setting aside his near empty bowl of soup. he looks tired.

you don’t say anything, but he does let you gently push him onto the bed. his heart flutters when he feels you tuck the blankets around him, and end with a kiss on his forehead.

“you rest.” you hum. “i’m gonna go do your groceries. you need more than just instant food, ‘samu. but you are paying me back.”

he’s too tired to protest, and maybe he loves being taken care of. this is him trying.

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 6

WC:1288 Masterpost CW: Self-esteem issues, past abuse, past experimentation, past starvation

“Hey Kid,” Jason said after he knocked on the door. It may have been left open a crack for safety reasons, but Jason still wanted to give the kid as much privacy as they could with all this.

The kid looked up at him from the bed with wide, startled eyes.

Right.

“I’m the one with the helmet.”

“I, yeah, same outfit,” the kid mumbled but didn’t look any less wide eyed.

Jason held back a sigh “Can I come in?”

“Sure, yeah,” the kid said as he forced himself to sit up against the wall with shaky arms.

Jason took the seat that Tim had used and kept a careful distance between them, even as he leaned forward and clasped his hands. “I want you to be honest with me, Kid, because you feeling safe here is the most important thing. I’ve made some soup and I’d like you to eat it and some bread, but if you don’t feel comfortable eating something I made we can do am MRE instead. That way you can know it’s still sealed.”

“No. I mean, no to the MRE. Soup sounds…” the kid had to stop and swallow. “That sounds really good.”

“Okay, Kid,” Jason said with as gentle of a voice as he could manage right then. “It’s only going to be a small portion to start, just to give your body time to adjust, but you keep it down and are still hungry there will be more. Whenever you’re hungry there will be food, I promise, and you don’t have to do anything to earn or deserve it. You can just ask whoever is around. Hell, when you’re well enough to walk around you can get anything you want from the fridge or pantry, okay?”

The kid nodded slowly, but that wide eyed look was back. Jason was going to have to warn the others about making sure that the kid ate and knew that he had free access to the food. They should get some granola bars, chips, and bottled drinks for the kid’s room too, but only once they knew the kid wouldn’t gorge himself.

“And just to check, any allergies or restrictions? I made the soup vegan, just to be safe, but it’s got some corn starch as a thickener.”

The kid shook their head.

“Good. After you eat, if you feel up to it, it would be good for you to take a bath or shower. But if you can’t,” Jason gave a little shrug, “that’s fine too. It can be another time.”

The kid shook his head. “I want to. I mean, if I can, I want to. A shower sounds… really good.”

“Yeah, I bet it does. I’ll go get you that soup and a sports drink. I know it’s going to suck, but we’re going to want to track you staying hydrated so you’ll be drinking lots,” Jason warned to another answering nod. He closed the door most of the way behind him again as he left the bedroom.

“He was awake then?” Dick asked softly when Jason moved to fill up a bowl.

“Yeah. Hey, can you start a log? I want to track what the kid eats and drinks and when,” Jason said.

“What’s the starvation concern?” Dick asked with a little frown as he tapped on the tablet.

“Right now I’m worried about the kid not believe he can eat whenever he’s hungry, so we’ll have to keep asking. But we need to watch for gorging. Lots of small meals often right now.”

Dick nodded. “Okay. I’ll make the log and set a silent alarm for whoever’s with him every hour. Did you talk about moving safe houses?”

Jason shook his head as he place two bowls and a plate of buttered bread on a lap tray. “We’ll let him get fed and through the shower first, maybe even another nap.”

“We don’t want him to get too settled here,” Dick pointed out.

“But we also don’t want to spook him,” Jason countered.

Dick just sighed. “Fucking timing.”

Jason opened his mouth—

“And if you make a dick joke right now I will throw something at you, little wing, I am not kidding.”

Jason help his hands up in surrender for a moment before he picked up the tray and headed back to the bedroom. He knocked with his foot before he pushed the door open.

The kid had fixed the bed while Jason was out of the room. He even straightened up the mess of tools that Tim had left.

It made Jason’s stomach turn over.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” Jason said, hoping to let the kid know he didn’t have do work to stay. “Red leaves a mess wherever he goes.”

The words had the opposite effect and the kid ducked his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Jason soothed. He’d have to mention this to the others too. “It’s nice not to accidentally step on a screw or something, just that you didn’t have to. Can I set the tray on your lap?”

The kid nodded and scrambled to straighten back up. Jason was careful not to touch him as he set the tray down and made sure it was balanced.

“So I divided the veggies up differently. Which bowl do you want?”

The kid’s eyes darted between the two bowls and then up to Jason, as if trying to find the right answer.

“I don’t mind either,” Jason added, casually as he could, and sat on the bed next to the kid. “I can get more if I want it. Hell, I probably will. Spoiler always says I’m a bottomless pit with how I eat.”

Slowly, the kid reached out to scoot the bowl more more potato chunks closer to him. He glanced up at Jason from under the messy white bangs. Jason just smiled and took the other bowl for himself. He blew on a spoonful of soup before starting to eat. A beat latter, the kid did the same.

Jason ate steadily, setting a rhythm for the kid to follow, and the kid was mimicking him. It was almost like the other didn’t even know how to eat any more. For a moment, Jason had to close his eyes and breathe. The Pit Rage wasn’t what it used to be, but there was a still an anger that could burn inside him and when it did, it burned so fiercely hot. Right then, it wanted to burn whoever did this to the kid to ashes. Jason didn’t much want to stop it, but he wouldn’t risk scaring the kid for vengeance.

Not when this was his new little brother.

(He wasn’t going to mess up this time, not again.)

The sound of the spoon scraping softly against the bowl next to him trailed off. Jason kept eating, focused on his own bowl, so not to call note to it. He’d like the kid to eat a little more, but he wouldn’t push it. He’d push so little with this kid, not outside of keeping him safe.

When the barely there weight settled against Jason’s side, he froze.

Slowly he turned his head as little as possible.

The kid was tipped over, head pillowed against Jason’s arm, sound asleep.

Jason reached up with his other hand and tapped his comm twice. Dick was at the door in a flash, silent despite having obviously run. The alert bled out of Dick as he took in the sight and his face split into a grin. Silently laughing, Dick raised the tablet still in his hands and started taking photos.

Jason flicked him off for the next shot.

Damn brothers.

---

AN: Another mostly soft Trauma Tuesday! But my is poor Danny messed up... at least he has his big brothers looking after him! (Even he doesn't know that part yet.)

I no longer tag, but you can subscribe here!

[miss-celestial-being]

jake peralta going on a blind date that boyle set up but she’s actually completely his type

literally the love of my life tysm for the request

-

"No. No. No. No. No. No. No. And did I mention, no!" Jake says exasperatedly. "You see, I knew you would say that which is why I already set up the date with her." Charles rebuttals. He tells him your name as he taps rhythmically on Jake's desk. "She's thirty-two, she loves herself some Tay-Tay, and her favorite soup is crab bisque. I met her in my hot goat yoga class." "Ew, what." "Yeah, I'm hearing how that sounds now. But still, I think you'd like her. Who knows, by the end of the night you may just be smushing booties." Jake groans, "God, Boyle, don't say smushing booties." "Right, yeah, yep," He picks up the file from Jake's desk, turning to the man as he walks away, "Shaw's Bar, 8 o'clock."

Charles turns back around and bumps into Terry as he walks to his desk. He groans as he crushes his yogurt cup in his hand, "Damnnit, Boyle." "Sorry," He says as he backs toward the exit of the bullpen. He rapidly clicks the close button once inside the elevator, evading Terry's angry gaze. "Jake sighs as he looks back at his computer.

"So, hot date tonight, huh?" Amy asks as she leans around their computers to smirk smugly at him. "Uhm, no. I'm not going," He says, his eyes not leaving the screen as he types mindlessly. "What? Why not? Charles says she's perfect for you." "Exactly: Charles thinks she's perfect for me. Knowing him she's either some hot goat yoga-loving freak, or-" "Or actually perfect for you. I think you should give it a shot. I mean, you're constantly complaining about how horribly dull your love life is," Jake frowns, "Hey, now, I wouldn't say horrible dull-" "Yes you would, and you have. Now no more fighting, you have a date to get ready for." Jake looks at the time at the bottom right corner of his monitor and sighs, "All right, fine. But when this all goes to total shit, I'm blaming you." Amy rolls her eyes with a grin and opens the next file from her stack as Jake makes his way to the elevator.

-

The bell rings as Jake opens the door to Shaw's Bar, his free hand shoved in his jacket pocket. The warm, boozy bar air fills his nostrils as he steps toward the bar, the glass door closing slowly behind him. He looks around the bar, hoping to instantly recognize the mystery woman, to no avail.

The bell rings again as Jake asks Hank for an orange soda on the rocks. The bartender sighs exhaustedly as he pulls the Crush can out of the mini fridge from behind the bar. "Jake?" A voice asks as someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns around, and his mouth opens and closes like a fish as his brain short-circuits. "Or not?" You laugh awkwardly, "I'm really sorry about this, I was told someone would be here, but it looks like he stood me up." You sit one chair over at the bartop, sighing as you rest your chin on your fist.

"Hi," Jake says as he hold out his hand, "I'm Jake." "Oh," You breathe, "Sorry. You didn't say anything and I just thought- Y'know what, never mind, I'm probably not what you were expecting." Jake smiles, "Well, you're right there. Charles told me he met you in a 'hot goat yoga class'." You cringe slightly, "I honestly didn't even know his name, I walked into the wrong building and he started talking to me about his friend Jake." "Sounds about right." You both laugh and he moves to the chair between you.

"So, my weird friend tells me you like Taylor Swift," Jake starts and the conversation lasts hours, the orange soda on the countertop left completely ignored. "All right, time to wrap it up. The bar's closing." Hank says as he wipes the counter. "Oh my god, how long have we been here?" Jake asks him, surprised. The bartender ignores him as he moves on to another part of the bar. You look around to find the bar completely empty.

You laugh quietly, "This was fun," You say softly as you exit the bar, "We should do this again-" You're cut off by a sudden surprising kiss, Jake's hands holding your cheeks gently to keep you close. Your eyes flutter closed and take the collar of his shirt in your fists. He pulls away, mumbling out a quick 'noice' before getting pulled back into a kiss that leaves him gasping for breath.

-

ik this ended abruptly but its a school night and i have to go to bed so this is as good as we're getting today

i really hope you liked this bc jake has been on my mind for ages and i couldnt find many fics here sadly

dont hesitate to request more

[fuckingrecipes]

My biggest hangup with cooking vegetables with my dinners is that it’s impossible to purchase one portion of most veggies. Like, eating by myself, I’ll never need an *entire* sliced onion, or whatever number of veggies get bundled into one purchase, like a bag of green beans. How can I work around this so I’m not wasting money by using half a product and then letting the rest go bad?

2 things.

First: Do you have access to refrigeration?

If you have a fridge, you can put the green beans in the fridge to prolong their life.

If you have a fridge, you can cook enough food for 3-4 meals and then before sitting down to eat your portion of dinner, put the extra meals in an airtight-sealed storage container in the fridge so you can eat it for lunch tomorrow & dinner the next day.

Most cooked food is good for like, 4-5 days in the fridge. Having leftovers available means I don't have to cook tomorrow, I can just scoop some into a bowl, put the rest back, and reheat what's in my bowl using a microwave or stovetop pan.

If you don't have access to refrigeration, come back and we'll talk about options.

--

Second: "I’ll never need an entire sliced onion"

..... wwwwwwhaet? Hi, my name's bewilderment, nice to meet you. What on earth are you talking about?

Eating an entire onion is fine. You're allowed. Onions are tasty. You can also eat raw onion on salads, tacos, & various other shit.

I've never encountered a casual dinner recipe that could be ruined by cooking a whole onion instead of half of one.

You're allowed to eat a meal that's just a huge pile of cooked onions & green beans with spices on it. It's great. There are no food cops that will materialize at your door to stop you.

You're also allowed to eat just an entire can of green beans as a meal, or just a whole bag of carrots.

You're also allowed to cook your whole sliced onion, and use some of the cooked slices in tonight's meal, and store half of the cooked onion in the fridge to drop into a noodle dish tomorrow night.

You can also cut the onion in half, use half of it tonight, and half of it tomorrow. Leftover raw ingredients are also an option.

--

I guess I'm a little confused why you're holding on to produce and not eating it - or you're buying so much produce that you can't eat it all in 1 week.

Fresh produce should get priority when choosing what to eat. If there's fresh veggies & fruit available, every meal should include some.

Stir Frying uses a lot of fresh veggies all at once, so is a good option if you need to quickly use it up.

There's loads and loads and loads of vegetable-heavy recipes available online. Write down what ingredients you have a lot of and look for recipes that include them.

Making SOUP can also use basically ALL your remaining veggies, if they're reaching the end of their lifespan. Soup broth can be frozen for months.

You can also chop a bunch of veggies into itty bitty bits, dump the whole pile into pan with some oil, fry until they start to change color & soften, then dump in a can of diced tomatoes & a shitload of herbs and spices to make Sauce to use.

For the rest of the week, all you need to do is cook some noodles, meat, or hell - bigger chunks of vegetables!

--

If you have a hard time remembering when a vegetable might go bad, or keep forgetting you have a vegetable so it sits in the fridge till it rots - stick a whiteboard to your fridge, with a dry-erase marker.

Write the NAME of the veggies and the DATE you put them in, and the DATE you need to eat it before.

When figuring out what to cook check that list and pick 1-2 of the oldest veggies so you can use them up before they go bad.

--

If the problem is forgetting your veggies exist when they're out of sight in the bottom drawers of the fridge, then don't put them in there!

For a long time, I put most of my veggies in the little shelves on the fridge door, and put all my sauces in the bottom drawers, so I could immediately see all my produce every time I opened the fridge.

--

My advice boils down to:

Eat larger amounts of vegetables.

Eat vegetables with more meals.

Seek out recipes that use them, if you don't know what to do with what you've got.

Use refrigeration to prolong the life of both raw ingredients and leftovers.

Make and Eat Leftovers.

Keep track of your produce better so you know what's more likely to spoil soon & can eat it before the bacteria do.

[cloudcountry]

Ruggie and reader (platonic) where Ruggie is comfortable enough around Yuu to fall asleep <3

Just something sweet and soft please!

SUMMARY: ruggie had a rough day. thankfully, he has you.

COMMENTS: this is so cute i'm going to sob.

You nearly jump out of bed when Ruggie bursts through your door, laughing his classic shishishi! It’s obvious you look frazzled because he only laughs harder when he sees you, kicking off his shoes and hopping on your bed just like he’s done for years now. You’d think you’d be used to this by now, but even after being in Twisted Wonderland for so long your best friend still surprises you.

“Guess what” he grins, shoving his fists towards you. Clenched in them are the handles of two plastic bags, stuffed to the brim with what looks like sandwiches.

“You got some Leona money again?” you ask, blinking owlishly.

You’ll never get used to Ruggie’s boundless energy.

“Sure did! Plus, Sam was doing a buy one get one free for his three thaumark sandwiches.” he beams, shaking the bag in his right hand, “Go on.”

You raise your eyebrow, looking at the clock.

“Ruggie, I already brushed my teeth...” you protest weakly, and he places the bag in your lap anyway.

He giggles, flopping on the bed next to you. Hyenas believe in sharing spoils. You share your food with him all the time, why can’t he do this one thing for you?

Your internal Ruggie wins.

“Thank you.” you whisper, deciding thanks is far better than protests. His ears twitch up and his grins at you, big and toothy.

“Course.” he tears open one of the sandwich packages with his teeth, taking a big bite of the sandwich.

“I’m going to put these in the fridge, okay?” you grab the handle of the bag and get up, making your way out of your room and into your kitchen.

The fridge door creaks when you open it and place the bags inside. You gnaw on your lip when you see your options for meals—the sandwich Ruggie got you, a bundle of apples from Epel, some vegetables you were able to bargain for after being hired at the Mostro Lounge, and a few packages of broth in your cabinets.

You had things now. It was such a stark contrast from when you just got here and were dependent on Crowley for food—and sure, it wasn’t anything fancy, but if you got your hands on some meat you could make a really nutritious soup...

Someday you won't be dependent on him anymore.

By the time you get back upstairs, Ruggie has absolutely knocked out. You take extra care to make sure your footsteps are soft and light, flipping the covers over so you can slide underneath them. Ruggie mumbles and shifts in his sleep, turning over on his side.

He’s facing you now.

You’re so lucky to have him as a friend, you think. Your heart goes soft and your eyelids fall, drifting off to sleep with a smile on your face.

[thebirdsandthebats]

Tim’s family thinks he can cook really well.

He didn’t mean for this to go so far. It had been a misunderstanding by a well-meaning Dick the last time he was in Gotham and stopped by the boat to visit. Tim had reheated some leftovers in his fridge from the night before, and Dick’s eyes lit up the moment Tim set the plates down.

“Wow, that looks amazing,” he’d commented. Tim, exhausted from a long patrol and preoccupied with dread of having to wake up early, had merely agreed. Of course Bernard’s cooking looked amazing. He was almost as big on presentation as he was on flavor.

“Yeah. Tastes even better.”

What he didn’t realize was that Dick had assumed he made the food. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if not for the fact that Dick loved to brag on his siblings. The next week, Stephanie stopped by unannounced to visit.

“I can’t believe how much you like it here. In a good way, obviously,” she’d grinned while Tim heated up some of the french onion soup that his boyfriend had made him. Tim laughed as he used a terry cloth to handle the hot bowl, placing it down in front of Steph.

He sat next to her with his own bowl. The random visits were odd. But on the bright side, the need to be a good host was kind of forcing him to eat on a more normal schedule. Two birds, one stone he guessed.

“Yeah. I like the marina a lot,” he blew lightly on his spoonful, the soup still steaming hot. “The atmosphere is so different from anywhere I’ve lived. I think being around the marina folk has been good for me—”

“Ohmygod.”

Tim looked over, startled by the outburst. Steph was staring at her soup with wide eyes. Her hand covered her mouth. Tim’s brows drew close together in confusion. “Are you okay? Did you burn your tongue?”

Steph grabbed his shoulder in a firm grip. “You’ve been holding out on us!” She accused.

“Wh—”

“You’ve been sticking to easy foods when you cook at the manor, but here you have the good stuff!” Tim frowned at her words. The realization was beginning to sink in. Did she think he made the soup? He knew how to cook, but he was nowhere near his boyfriend’s level. Bernard was literally in school to be a chef. He liked to practice his assignments at Tim’s boat, suffering through using his poor excuse for a kitchen all so he could leave Tim with the food when it was finished.

Tim opened his mouth to break the news to Steph, but their phones rang out with the high pitched drone that meant someone needed backup. Stephanie sighed. She lifted the bowl and downed all she could in a few swallows before leaping to her feet. “Job never ends, huh?” She offered Tim a hand up, and he took it without hesitation.

“Nope. Let’s suit up.”

After that night, Tim forgot to correct her. He was busy, and his family getting the wrong idea about his cooking abilities just didn’t make the top of his priority list. Bernard kept cooking when he spent nights over, and family kept dropping by on other nights, somehow never crossing paths. Tim’s neighbors seemed perplexed on how he’d gone from only ever letting his boyfriend in to having company every other night. And Tim just…couldn’t find the right moment to set the record straight.

Everything came to a head in the summer, not too long after Tim’s birthday. He was sprawled out on his couch, head resting in Bernard’s lap as the blonde’s fingers scratched lightly at his scalp. It was the lazy kind of day they didn’t often get to spend together, and Tim was feeling warm and drowsy. That was, until his phone dinged with several text notifications, and he dug it out with a grumble to see who needed him.

stop spamming the gc

Dick: it’s august .. here we go

Steph: birthday month babey!!

Duke: my wallet…

Cass: Dami, Jason, Steph, and Duke all get the bday cake in their contact names :)

Steph: Tim I know you’re lurking. for the birthday month we all want you to bring GOOD FOOD TO THE FUNCTION PLS AND TY

Damian: do not forget my dietary restrictions if you do so.

Steph: you text like you’re 84

Tim groaned and let his phone clatter to the floor. Bernard’s fingers paused in his hair. “Bad news?” He asked, concern painting his voice.

Tim shook his head and scrubbed at his face with his hands. “Not really. It’s just—um. You know how you always leave food here for me?” He tilted his head back to look Bernard in the face, and his breath caught for a moment when he saw that his boyfriend was already looking down at him.

He snickered at Tim’s expression. “Yeah? Do you need more?” He asked. Tim was baffled by the question. His fridge hadn’t been empty in ages, and even with his frequent guests, Bernard made such large portions that it took him days to finish a dish. He had more than enough.

“No, it isn’t that. My family…” he hesitated, wondering how dumb this was going to sound. But Bernard was waiting, watching him expectantly, and these days he’d started filling in the gaps himself whenever Tim’s words trailed off thoughtfully. If he didn’t finish speaking quickly, Bernard would have an entirely new problem invented.

“…um, they think I can cook.”

Bernard burst out laughing.

Tim’s face burned pink. “Wh—hey,” he complained at the reaction. “I know how to cook, why are you laughing?”

Bernard wiped the corner of his eye, giggling like a maniac. “Sorry, sorry! You said that like you were coming out to me, and also I’ve seen you sauté,” he managed, and Tim rolled his eyes at the memory. He had sautéed just fine…mostly.

When Bernard was finished laughing at him and had caught his breath again, Tim explained his situation and showed him the texts. He raised an eyebrow. “Jeez. Four August birthdays? And they expect you to cook for all of them?”

Tim sighed. “Yeah. I could just tell them they’ve got the wrong guy, but now it’s birthday month and we’ve gotta plan quick.” It was actually a very rare occurrence that they got together for every birthday in August. Their schedules were so unpredictable. But all 4 was the goal.

Bernard chewed his lip in consideration. “Okay. What if…you give me a list of each of their favorite foods and any restrictions, and I’ll make the food.” He proposed. Tim sat up, turning to face the blonde fully now.

That was way too much work for somebody already cooking for assignments. Plus, Tim didn’t want to pretend he was the one cooking anymore. He said as much to Bernard, who refused to look fazed.

“First off, I can cook 4 meals in my free time. Easy. And second off, I guess you’ll just have to bring me with you to clear up any misunderstandings,” he grinned.

Tim perked up instantly. That was…a perfect solution, actually. Everything would be cleared up, he wouldn’t have to show up without what was expected of him, and the best part, he’d get to bring Bernard with him. He’d been itching to start working his boyfriend into more of his family’s meetups because it was looking like their relationship was pretty serious. He wanted to be able to bring him to their holidays, parties, and dinners. This was a perfect opportunity to start.

He leaned in and kissed Bernard’s cheek. It would never cease to amuse him how a real kiss on the lips was nothing to his boyfriend, but Tim kissing his face always had him turning red.

“Oh.” Bernard touched his face. “You have a crush on me or something?” He teased weakly, and Tim laughed as he settled back down on the couch, his head resting in Bernard’s lap as his fingers found his hair again.

A week later, Tim showed up to the manor with Bernard following close behind, a pan of vegan chili noodles in his arms. Dick opened the door. He beamed once he saw Tim.

“Hey! C’mon, everyone is already inside, so if you brought the food you can…” he trailed off as he finally spotted Bernard behind Tim, who was fighting to keep a straight face. He blinked. “Oh, is this…?”

Bernard carefully balanced the dish in one hand and stretched out the other in greeting. “I’m the chef.” He said with barely contained glee.

The realization seemed to hit Dick all once. His mouth parted in surprise. He glanced back and forth between Tim and Bernard. Finally, he shook his head in disbelief. “You know, this actually makes…so much more sense. Sorry, Tim.”

“Wh—excuse me, what’s that supposed to mean?”

[dira333]

Of hearing aids and other worries - Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

This was inspired by @alienaiver and her Amethyst Haze Preview. With her permission, I created Bakugo's love story. You don't have to read her Preview first, but I would advise you to read it. It's going to be more fun that way.

Join My Taglist

You can hear the key slide into the lock before it stops halfway, your own key blocking it.

Only a fraction of a second later someone bangs on the door.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You yell, rushing toward the door. Katsuki has the worst patience.

“Jeez,” he sneers as soon as the door opens, “Why do you keep the key in?”

“So freaks like you can’t break in.”

“It’s not breaking in when I have a key.”

“You don’t have a key, you just know where it’s hidden.”

“Very poorly too,” he points out as he slides out of his shoes and marches through your apartment as if he’s got his eyes on a villain and not your stove.

“Oh yes, come in,” you tell him with as much snark as you can muster - which is a lot. “How nice having you here, what brings you over?”

“What are you making?” He lifts the lid of your pot and sniffs. “How much Chili did you add?”

“Curry and enough. I know how to cook.”

He harrumphs at that, going through your spice drawer.

“At least try it before you ruin it.”

“HA?!” He turns, brows furrowed. “I know how to cook!”

Annoyed, you hip check him out of the way. “Sure you do, now get me something to drink and get out of my way.”

“Let me-” You glare up at him. “Out of my way!”

“Fine,” he huffs, moving past you in a way that’s much too close, his hips brushing your thighs in the crowded kitchen. He smells like sweet sweat and laundry detergent, a scent so distinctly Katsuki you’ve been able to pick him out of crowds just by that. It helps to have an overpowered nose.

“Shinsou has this tea,” he adds as he stares into your fridge, trying to decide. “It tastes great.”

Ah. So that’s where he went during Lunch.

“And you didn’t bring me any?”

“I don’t know where he got it,” Katsuki huffs. He picks a bottle of Barley tea for himself and your favorite drink for you, doesn’t mention the fact that you have too many different drinks - most of them his favorites - in an apartment meant for one.

But that’s just it. 

You might be his coworker on paper, one of the three assistants that make him being the Number Two Hero possible, but that doesn’t explain all the other things.

Like cooking Dinner for two because he had an appointment during Lunch and you knew he’d show up unannounced.

Still. You’re his coworker on paper and maybe his friend, but there are still borders that are hard to cross.

Do you ask him about his appointment? Do you ask him about Shinsou? 

If he met with Shinsou after his appointment then it’s something bad, right? He only visits Shinsou if he needs to talk about something he doesn’t feel comfortable talking to Midoriya or Kirishima about.

“Food’s burning,” Katsuki points out from where he’s leaning against the fridge and you curse under your breath as you start stirring again.

You cook quietly after that, not that there’s much more to do than wait and stir and wait some more. It’s your favorite pastime, really, cooking with him. 

Sometimes you let him do the cooking, pretend he’s won the constant argument of who’s better at the stove. It’s fun to lean back and watch him focus, tease him by pretending to mess with his food when he’s busy doing something else. Like dropping a bit more salt into the soup when he’s frying the chicken for example.

But it’s even better when it’s the other way around, when he relaxes in your presence, showing a softer side of him you rarely get to see.

Right now he’s leaning heavy against your poor fridge, ruby eyes moving over your figure in that gentle way you’ve begun to crave. 

“Drink something,” he points out softly, nudging his own bottle in your direction. At first you think it’s a mistake. You don’t like Barley tea that much, especially cold, and you have your own bottle to drink from not much further away.

But there’s a Challenge in his eyes that you can never back down from so you pick up the bottle and press your lips where his have been minutes ago, taking a sip of the cold Barley tea. It tastes disgusting but it’s worth the soft pink blooming on his cheeks.

“Now,” you say, well aware that your voice sounds weirdly tight, “Set the table. Food’s ready.”

“So bossy,” he points out, his elbow nudging your side as he moves to get the bowls. That’s not accidental, you know. Katsuki has a habit of being touchy when no one else is around. 

-

It’s only after Dinner when you’ve retired to the Couch, the dishes sitting in the dishwasher, that he picks up the conversation again.

“Went to see Shinsou today,” he points out, his socked left foot tapping the underside of your bare right. It tickles but you don’t pull away. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He huffs. “He said I should retire.”

You laugh. “He didn’t.” You know him well enough to know when he’s exaggerating. 

Instead of answering Katsuki leans forward grabs your feet and pulls them into his lap. It’s not really comfortable, sitting like this, your back now too far down in the pillows, your chin digging into your chest to properly look at him.

But you don’t say anything, not even when his thumb digs into your bare skin, rubbing an anxious circle over your ankle.

“I don’t wanna retire.”

You don’t answer, just look at him. He huffs, averting his eyes. You can smell the anxiety rolling off him in waves and sigh, pushing yourself up and closer to him.

“What did the Doctor say?”

Angry red spots grow like poppies on his face and neck. “He didn’t-!”

“Katsuki,” you nudge his thigh with your feet, your legs still in his lap. “What did he say?”

“I’m losing my hearing.”

“I know,” your voice is soft. You’ve been over this before. As far as you know you’re the only one of his assistants who knows just how bad it already is. His hearing aids are well hidden, good enough that you wouldn’t know he has them in right now if you didn’t know better.

“I’m losing it faster than we thought.”

“What about protectors?”

Katsuki groans, loud and feral like a beast trying to break free. “Why are you all so obsessed with my protectors?”

“Because they’re supposed to be helping?”

“But they look stupid!”

This time you kick his thighs with enough force to push him further down the Couch.

“What the-”

“Bakugo!” You hiss, rage coursing through you. “Put your Ego in check! This is about your health right now!”

“This isn’t about my Ego!” He booms, getting in your face.

“The hell it isn’t! You’re too worried about what others think!” You bite back just as enraged.

“I don’t care what others think! I care what you think!” 

All fight leaves you as you blink, wiping his spit off your face.

“What?”

“Forget it!” Katsuki pushes your legs off his lap and gets up, trying to get away. He stumbles over one of your slippers and barely catches himself, giving you enough time to rush after him, reaching him in the hallway.

“Stop!” You sling your arms around his midriff, face pressed into his back. “Stop, right now!”

“No!” He sounds like a child. 

“Yes. We need to talk about this!”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do.” You press your face against his back, smell the sweetness of his sweat. If you press your whole face against his back, does this count as kissing him?

“I don’t care what you look like,” you blunder ahead, embarrassed by your own thoughts.

“Thanks,” he snaps, moving for the door, pulling you along.

“I’m already in love with you,” you burst out, trying to save what’s left to save. 

For about half a second, Katsuki freezes in your grip. 

But then, everything happens fast, too fast for you to react. 

He pulls your hands apart and steps out of your grip, through the open door without once looking back.

-

Sleep is evading you.

A part of you is convinced that Katsuki will be back. 

After all, there have been too many signals, too many things that indicate he likes you back. He’s said it himself tonight. He cares what you think of him.

But there’s still a part of you, a part that’s anxious and scared and desperate, that’s just as convinced that you’ll never see him again.

Better start looking for a new job now.

Something brushes against the windows of your living room. 

You sit up, listening closely.

There it is again. Too loud to be a cat or a branch.

You move to the side of your bed, pulling out the baseball bat you keep close for safety. A street lamp throws golden light through your bedroom window, almost reaching the bed. You slip out of it, hiding in the shadows, pressed against the wall as someone approaches your bedroom window.

The frame screeches as it’s pushed open.

“I’m armed,” you point out, your voice rough with anxiety, “So you better think twice before you get in here or I’ll knock your head right off.”

“Jeez!” The voice is familiar, the surprised gasp even more. “It’s me.”

“Katsuki?” You flip the light on, glare at him blinking back at you. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You took the key from me,” he points out. “Couldn’t get in through the door.”

“You could have just called! Or texted!”

“This is easier.” He slips in fully, closing the window behind him. “And how do you call that armed? I could have beaten you easily.”

“Try it,” you swing your bat and he steps back, turning serious.

“Can we talk?”

“I’m not the one who ran away.”

“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I kinda freaked out a little.”

“Kinda.” You drop your bat and walk back to your bed, slipping under the covers.

“You coming?” You ask when he eyes you from the window.

“Are you serious?”

You roll your eyes and sit up. “Talk.”

“I’m going deaf.”

“So?”

“I’m going deaf!” He yells this time. You grimace at the sound, already seeing the next noise complaint. 

Instead of answering, you raise your hands, sign three words you’ve said before. 

“I don’t care.”

All fight leaves him as if pulled out of him with a single breath. You can’t even call it standing, what he does, almost keeling over.

“Come into bed,” you offer again, this time flipping the cover back. “And just accept it.”

“Why though?” He asks, not moving an inch.

“Would you care less about me if I turned deaf right now?”

“No, of course not!”

“So why do you think I would?”

He snorts. “I know my flaws.”

“Well, if anyone asks why I love you I’ll just say your charming nature did me in.”

Katsuki laughs. “You really are serious.”

“Never have I ever been more serious. Are you coming now?”

Finally, finally, he moves, pulling his shirt off and stepping out of his trousers, slipping under the covers.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” he points out just seconds before you slide over and into his arms. 

“Don’t care,” you point out, head settling on his chest. “And if you dare move away again, I’ll bite you.”

He chuckles, his grip on you tightening. You’re pretty sure you don’t imagine his lips pressing against the crown of your head.

“Tomorrow,” you tell him, sleep coming in fast now, “We’ll talk about ear protectors.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

[ladykailitha]

Paper Hearts Part 4

I finished it!! It will have 8 chapters. I'm excited for you guys to see where this goes! I'm still working on Sweet Home Indiana and will be focusing on that until ITS done. Then we'll be back our regularly schedule WIPs.

We have Eddie's big plan and Steve gets his flirt on.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

****

Steve slipped into the kitchen and there in his mother’s neat handwriting was a note telling him that there were leftovers in the fridge and that they would be home again next Friday.

He sighed and opened the fridge. He immediately closed it when he saw what the leftovers were.

Boiled cabbage with chopped bacon and carrots. It wasn’t bad if it was made correctly, but his mother boiled any flavor and nutrients out of the poor vegetables and then tossed in cooked bacon to hide its sins.

He opened the cupboard and pulled out a small can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and made that. He was craving the sodium. Eddie’s beef was good to get his body to stop shaking, but he had sweat so much he needed to replenish the salt he’d lost.

Once Steve had eaten and drank another glass of water he went to go get a shower and get ready for bed. It was no use trying to get back to his homework now. He had managed to blow up his whole evening by getting lost.

He had no idea how he got to Forest Hills or even why his feet carried him there in the first place. He could feel the weariness seeping into his bones from running for so long.

He undressed and got under the scorching water, letting the heat carry away his pains. His mind ran through all the things that Munson had done for him. The guy had no reason to be nice to him, but he had been more than gracious.

Then it hit him. Munson had called him Stevie, and without thinking Steve had called him Eds.

Eds.

Where the fuck did that come from? They weren’t friends, they could barely be considered acquaintances. Was his brain reaching out to the guy subconsciously? Is that why he ended up at the trailer park? Everyone knew that’s where Munson lived. Who knew how many times the guy had been called trailer trash, but the older teen seemed to rise above the insult.

Steve shook his head, spraying water everywhere. Just because Munson picked up lost sheep, didn’t mean he’d be willing to taken in an injured wolf. Because that’s what he was, reformed or not, Steve would never be a sheep. He would always be a wolf. A predator.

But at least as a wolf he could protect those kids with everything he had. And he would, even if it killed him.

The water had long since turned cold by the time Steve stepped out of the shower. He completed his after shower routine mostly on autopilot as he kept going over his interactions with both Munson men. He didn’t really have good interactions with dads or in this case uncles. But Munson’s uncle Wayne treated him with kindness and he could see where the older boy got it from.

He dressed into his pajamas and slid under the covers. He rolled over on his back and tucked one arm under his pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

Steve thought back to the apology. One Munson really didn’t have to give but did anyway. He thought about the other jocks that bragged about hurting his hand. He held it up and looked at the fading bruise. It wasn’t as though he was even basketball anymore. Hurting his hand wouldn’t do anything but make it hard to do his homework and all he had to do is show his teachers his hurt hand and he’d get extensions for that. Like he had for his concussion last November.

But then again Tommy H. never had reasons for the people he hurt either. He just liked the power he got seeing the person helpless.

He placed his hand over his heart and let himself drift off the sleep, brown eyes and dark curls haunting his dreams.

****

Eddie had originally bought the red heart for himself like he had told the two juniors. But staring at it now, he had a better plan for it. Because that last wall, that last bastion of defense crumbled to ashes when he realized that despite the fancy car, the big house, and the expensive clothes, Steve Harrington was more like Eddie than he thought possible.

Wayne’s approval of the boy cemented that for him. Because if he could take one look at Steve and decide he was worth saving, then Eddie raring to go full steam ahead for a rescue mission.

Eddie could tell that the hearts were made from simple construction paper, like the kind found just about anywhere. He knew it would be technically cheating to just simply make more instead of buying them, but he had no intention of contributing to a dance he was never going to go to because one, it wasn’t his year; two, the whole gay thing; and three, the one person he would want to go with if the gay thing wouldn’t get him hate crimed, wouldn’t give him the time of day.

Well, all right, that might have changed with the whole rescuing him from wandering alone in the dark thing.

He forgave Eddie about being a dumbass, so maybe there was hope for, at the very least, a vast decrease in hostility. And he was willing to take what he could get.

He decided to wait until tomorrow after school to get the construction paper and hope that the high school hadn’t bought up the town’s supply.

On his way out the next morning, Wayne stopped him.

“You don’t have to tell me, son,” he said gently, “but you got feelings for that boy?”

Eddie froze and turned slowly to face his uncle. “What gave you that idea?”

Wayne chuckled and shook his head fondly. “Boy, when you’d go on rants about the Harrington boy, you’d describe his floppy hair, his hazel eyes and how unfairly good looking the kid was. I didn’t say anything because it did sound like he’d been a bit of an ass. Only after last night I got to thinking and was wondering is all.”

Eddie closed his eyes and opened them slowly. He let out a long shuddering breath, his bottom lip quivering.

“I–I don’t...” he closed his eyes again. This wasn’t Al. He wasn’t going to get beat for admitting it, but still it was so hard to say. So he just nodded.

Wayne came up and wrapped his arms around his nephew. “It’s a hell of a lot tougher batting for the other team, but I trust your judgment. Just promise me that if he shows signs of liking you back, you take the chance to tell him how you feel because...”

“You miss one hundred percent of the chances you don’t take,” they said together.

Eddie dropped his bag to the floor and hugged him back. “I know, old man. But I promise if there is a chance, I’ll be brave enough to take it.”

“Get going,” Wayne said, voicing cracking with emotion.

He pulled back and nodded. He reshouldered his backpack and got in his van.

He had a lot to think about and that really wasn’t conducive to paying attention in class or to his friends as they talked about their upcoming D&D session.

Gareth kicked his shin causing him to yelp.

“What the fuck, dude?” Eddie hissed.

“What the fuck is up with you?” Gareth hissed back. “You’ve been going on and on about the mind flayer for weeks and now that it’s literally this weekend, and you’re off in some other realm.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment before his brain came back on. He shook his head to clear it.

“Yeah, sorry, man,” he said around a pretzel. “Weird night last night.”

“What happened?” Jeff asked, tilting his head to the side.

So Eddie told them. “He was like a ghost, guys. If Wayne hadn’t seen him too, I would have thought I was hitting Mary Jane a little too hard, you know?”

“I didn’t realize he was getting bullied,” Brian said, frowning. “I would have thought with Hargrove giving the dude a wide berth, that everyone else would have too.”

“Untouchable,” Jeff agreed. “The fact that jocks are now splintering into factions tells you what kind of control Steve actually had on them.”

Eddie rubbed his chin. “I don’t know how true this is, but if Harrington wasn’t lying, he’s a real sweetheart, too.”

Then he leaned forward and explained about the pink heart scheme.

“So,” Gareth said, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them, “you’re telling us is that we have been seriously remiss in our duties in collecting lost sheep.”

The older teen sighed and shook his head. “I’d like to collect him, but I’m afraid the wolves might decide to rip him apart before we got him to safety if we tried.”

Jeff winced. He knew what Eddie was talking about. Steve Harrington wasn’t the usual lost sheep. He might be bullied now, but as King, Harrington had run far too long with the wolves to think that they could protect him one hundred percent of the time.

“So what are we going to do?” Brian asked. “Because if we let this slide, we’re throwing our lot in with the bullies and that’s something I refuse to do.”

A grin spread out over Eddie’s face, closed lips and dimples entrenched into his cheeks. “We’re going to make the school think that he’s just as popular as he ever was.”

The other three boys looked at each other in confusion.

“So what have you got?” Gareth asked, his own grin starting to take over his face.

****

Eddie made sure to get to class early so he could see where Steve was going to sit. He tried to tell himself it was about the dude’s hand, but it wasn’t working. He wanted to see if the former Hawkins royalty would chose to sit with his old friends or by him again.

He didn’t have long to wait. Steve walked in not long after he did, just as the bell rang. He didn’t even look at his old desk near the front and beelined it for the chair he had sat in on Friday.

The teacher picked up on the change immediately and wrinkled her nose. “I am to suppose that you are taking up permanent residence in the back with Mr. Munson, Mr. Harrington?”

Steve half shrugged as he began to pull out his things for class. “I got more work done, Mrs. Dixon and I really want to graduate on time.”

Mrs. Dixon nodded. “Agreed and as long as you continue the level of attention from last week, you are permitted to stay there.”

About half way through class while Mrs. Dixon was grading papers, Tommy H. turned around and kicked Steve’s chair. “Suck up,” he hissed.

Steve puckered his lips and wagged his eyebrows. “Why? Do you want to be next?”

Tommy turned back around, his face bright red.

Eddie raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side as he considered everything about that interaction.

A little blossom of hope sprouted in his chest and he fought to keep it down. Steve had insinuated that other people were gay for years, but to Eddie’s highly trained gay ears, that sounded like Steve was offering to suck Tommy H.’s dick and that Tommy didn’t exactly turn him down.

Curiouser and curiouser, he thought tapping his lips thoughtfully. More research would have to be done.

He pulled out a different notebook, the one he used for campaign notes and song lyrics.

He wrote girls over one column and boys over the other and began tallying what he knew about the former King of Hawkins.

A shit ton went into the Steve liking girls column, but there was surprisingly more in the liking boys column then he would have thought possible. He looked up to catch Steve smirking at him.

Eddie quickly covered his notebook and stuck his tongue out at Steve.

The other boy shook his head and went back to doing the assignment. Eddie was more careful about what he left out in the open because he didn’t want Steve teased for it nor did he want him to see that Eddie was trying to figure him out.

The bell rang and the notebook was suddenly whisked off his desk.

“Hey!” Eddie cried, looking up to see Steve dancing away with the notebook teasingly. “Stevie!” He grabbed his bag and chased after the other boy. But the other boy was a jock and Eddie was wheezing for breath by the time he caught up with him at his locker.

“Give that back,” he huffed.

Steve gave him a bright smile and handed it back. “I just made a minor addition.”

Eddie frowned as he flipped through the pages but didn’t see anything. Steve took it back and turned to the correct page and leaned close so that only Eddie could hear.

“I trust you’ll keep my secret,” he whispered and then dropped to one knee to start getting into his locker.

Eddie gulped at the sight and turned to the paper to avoid saying something stupid. There in bold capital letters under his girls/guys columns was the word BOTH.

He looked up at Steve who had stood up. Steve winked at him and then walked away, leaving a shocked Eddie behind.

****

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List:

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@spectrum-spectre @slv-333 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

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[luveline]

HI!!! so i am obsessed with your reader x coworker james first kiss fic. can we maybe get something about what came after? like how were the interactions the day or week after, how did they behave around each other, did james tell the boys or was he too nervous?

—you and James maintain a facade that Remus sees through

James wheels his chair to be as far from you as possible. He leans back, turns his monitor. Through the gap, he has a perfect window of your face without it being obvious that he’s staring. Well, sort of. 

Stop staring. 

James reads Remus’ slack message in surprise. He glances at you, finds you still snacking on chocolate covered somethings less covertly than you mean to be, and decides to grace his friend with a message back. 

Nope 

James, Remus messages. 

I’m not really staring 

You’re staring. She can definitely tell 

James looks back to you, hoping to prove Remus wrong, but you’re staring straight at him. He has the instinct to look away and the sense not to, charmed into grinning when you squint at him, your mock suspiciousness adorable. 

“James,” Remus says, clearing his throat. 

James pulls his gaze away reluctantly. “What?” 

“Can you answer my email?” 

The email isn’t an email, but another slack message. Are you serious right now? You couldn’t be more obvious if you tried 

James flicks a pen lid at him. “Obvious about what?” he mouths. 

You get up and stretch, tactically failing to meet anyone’s eyes as you pick up your empty glass of water and leave. 

“James, what’s going on?” 

“What ever could you mean, my love?” 

Remus rolls his chair toward. “Don’t flirt with me. I’m serious, what the hell is going on with you? You’re supposed to hate the girl.” 

“Hate is such a strong word.”

“Well, you’re being a bit much no matter what.” 

James bites his cheek in a hurry to straighten up. “You think so?” 

Remus just stares at him.

James has done a fantastic job at keeping your kiss a secret. He doesn’t know how, mind you —you kissed him, you kissed him, you asked if you could and you kissed him like a sweetheart with the softest mouth he’s ever had the fortune to feel pressed against his own. 

Since your kiss, he’s been feeling weirdly poetic. He totally gets all those Carol Ann Duffy poems they made him read at school now. 

One day without telling anybody is impressive, at least to his own standards. “I know what I’m doing,” he says. 

Remus frowns. “I’d love to be informed on what exactly that is.” 

“Certain events have transpired and convinced me that I was quite wrong to have judged our girl so harshly.”

“Certain events?” 

“I’m allowed some mystery,” James says, before smiling so hard it makes him squint and his cheeks apple. He rubs at his face roughly in an attempt to move forward, but he remembers the way your kiss had melded from soft and shy to hungry. Fuck, he loved it. He needs another one. He has no idea how to get it. “Ugh, I’m gonna go get my lunch from the fridge.” 

“Sure you are. Alright, well, I’m gonna find Sirius and maybe he can convince you to start acting normal again.”

James goes to the kitchen first but abandons his charade when you aren’t there. He grabs his lunch, tucking it under his arm as he makes his way through to the break room. You’re thankfully, blissfully, sitting by the open window with a shop-bought salad. 

He nods at the chair across from you. “Can I sit?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s all you're eating?” he asks. A little tray of salad is hardly enough to keep you going until the end of the day. “I have gyoza chilli noodle soup, it’s amazing.” 

“You’re gonna eat it cold?” you ask. 

He leans forward, elbows on the table, holding your gaze. “No, but I’m busy right now.” He needs time to look you over. Every time he realises how pretty you are is like another beat of his capering pulse. 

“Don’t harass me.” 

“I’m not harassing you.” 

“What would you call this?” You stab a few pieces of lettuce onto your fork. “I can’t have much more for dinner, I just had half a packet of chocolate covered strawberries.” 

“Don’t say that, like some snacks and a salad are more than you’re allowed. Here, I'll warm this up and you can share. You’ll really like it, the gyoza are amazing.” 

“So what, you’re gonna take care of me now?” you ask. You’re teasing, but there’s a slight edge of bitterness to it like you believe what you’re saying. James is swift to set that right, though he stays speaking in tongues with you.

“I’ve been trying to.” James can hear footsteps at the doorway, and besides, you’re right, he’s being too nice. He sucks in an unbothered breath. “Whatever, loser, stick to your sad salad.” 

Your eyes widen. “I don’t want your cold soup, you idiot.” 

Sirius and Remus filter in with one of your coworkers just behind them. “I thought you said he was being weird?” Sirius asks. “He seems pretty normal to me.” 

Remus sighs forlornly, prompting a side hug from his boyfriend as he shepherds him to the table where you and James are sitting.

“He’s always being weird,” you say. 

James kicks your foot gently. You pick through your salad with a poorly concealed smile. 

[plussizefantasia]

CozyTober Day 7: Fresh Baked Goods

Bucky Barnes x wife!reader

wc: 0.9k

warnings: anxiety induced baking

an: this was one of my favorites and now I have a few more ideas of what I should bake this month hehe. Reblog if you enjoyed, I'll see you tomorrow for Day 8!

Since you were old enough to use the stove unsupervised baking has been your main way to get rid of stress. The way that it captured all your focus and kept your hands busy made it the prime choice for distraction in moments of chaos. 

When finals week would roll around you would be drowning in all sorts of breads, cookies, muffins, and pastries. You had resorted to donating them to a local soup kitchen whenever you could, or forcing them off on your friends, teachers whoever would take them really.

The habit had not broken in adulthood, though you were now more mindful about other ways to cope, when the stress got to be a little too much you resorted to finding a new recipe and firing up the oven. 

And your husband going on two week-long missions where he wasn’t allowed to contact you was a great example of the stress becoming too much. Currently, the little kitchen in the townhome the two of you had bought together last year was absolutely covered in all kinds of goodies. You had some pumpkin rolls, several batches of apple cinnamon muffins, caramel apple cookies, apple turnovers, and some pumpkin and chocolate chip loaf. 

You were rolling out the four sheets of pie dough you had prepared for the various flavors of filling that are currently cooling in your fridge. Suffice to say that you had overdone it but you really had nothing else to do. 

You had finished all the cleaning there was to do the first week he had been gone, and you didn’t want to mindlessly watch the shows on your list because you promised Bucky you wouldn’t watch them without him. You had gone through your entire closet and pulled out things you could donate, you had asked for more tasks from work and then promptly finished all of those too. 

You had nothing to distract yourself, so you resorted to baking. You knew the treats would get eaten, either by your husband’s team or the people at your own work if they were left in the breakroom. But you’re not really sure how much longer this can go on before it’s considered an actual problem.

Luckily and unbeknownst to you, you wouldn’t have anything to be worried about in a few hours, because your husband would walk through your front door. 

Bucky hated blackout missions, not only did he think the whole concept was paranoid and that was a lot coming from him, but he had people to miss now. He had ties to the real world, ones he didn’t feel entirely comfortable abandoning for two weeks even if you’d talked about it before he left.

He worked hard to get the job done as soon as possible and told Ross to shove it when the general had asked him to stick around for one more day so he could complete the mission debrief. That was Sam’s job anyway, the type of bureaucratic responsibility that came along with the stars and stripes plastered across his chest. 

So he shed himself off his mission gear, changed into his civvies, and hopped on his motorcycle. He didn't wait a second before revving it up and coming home to you. 

He did not expect however to open the door and be assaulted with the smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove. He sighed and shook his head with a smile, mentally preparing himself for the sight of his kitchen being turned into a bakery.

You didn’t hear the door open, too busy humming along to the Fred Astaire record spinning on the table in the corner. You didn’t notice Bucky slipping off his boots or hanging up his jacket. You didn’t hear the padding of his feet as he made his way to the kitchen and you didn’t notice when he propped himself up against the door frame and took in the sight of your baking breakdown.

You did however hear his slightly teasing lilt of “Honey, I’m home.” 

You spin to face the voice and let out an undignified squeal. You spin around looking for a place where you can set the hot pan in your hand and give up, practically throwing it back into the oven before taking a running start and launching yourself at him

His deep chuckle blesses your ears and you dig your nose into his chest taking a big breath of something that can only be described as Bucky. 

“You’re home!” yelled muffled by his chest.

He ran a hand down the back of your head over his hand, “You baked.”

You pull back and look sheepishly at him, hoping that the kisses you scatter across his face will distract him from the abundance of carbs behind you.

It doesn’t work. The two of you eat muffins for breakfast every day for the next two weeks, Bucky takes some of the treats to the base with him and says the trainees are grateful but that the sugar makes them annoying. You bring some of what’s left to your own work and are met with a bunch of thank you e-mails and even a thank you coffee from the nice older woman who sits three desks away from you. The rest you bring to the children’s hospital the next time the two of you visit, sweets are always a hit there.

Bucky does ban you from the kitchen for three weeks after though, afraid you’ll get the urge again and he’ll have to add a few more hours of gym time to his routine to burn off all the carbs he’s been eating.

[st4rgrl4l1f3]

Stupid stuff I think the 141 would do if they all lived together

—————

Underwear. Who’s is who’s. They all have a red, black, blue and gray pair. Soap may have a pair with the Scottish flag on it.

“I FORGOT WHO WEARS AN XL” Soap would scream from downstairs.

“I DO” Ghost would reply.

“…fatass.”

“I heard that.”

—————

Most random shit in the fridge. Why is the fridge nothing but the cheese drawer and beer?…Okay, let’s check the cupboards. There’s fruit snacks and one of those gallon buckets of goldfish. Okay. Another cupboard. Four cups, four bowls, four plates…The silverware looks the same.

“Why don’t we have food in the kitchen? What happened to the groceries I bought??” Gaz is terrified. He was gone for a week.

“Soap ate it all, and Ghost followed. ‘Saw a cat outside, figured I’d feed it. Now it’s comin back with ‘er kids…” Price says, that last part more quiet than his first two sentences.

“…Is this your idea of groceries?” Gaz looks at Soap, Ghost, and Price.

All three of them in unison, “…Yes.”

—————

Sleeping in the most random places. Why is Gaz halfway on the couch, halfway on the floor? Soap is drooling all over the couch, Ghost is passed out beside his bed, and Price still has his gear on, sleeping beside his rifle, hat halfway on.

Waking up with a sore back, Gaz opens his eyes. Yawning and wincing at the ache right in the middle of his back, he gets up, holding his back like an old man, and cracks it.

“Well good Lord in Heaven, lad, ye nearly broke yer own back crackin it like that.”

Gaz turns around, Soap is holding up his head with his hand, Mohawk all outta whack. Gaz gives him a small “g’mornin.” Before fixing himself breakfast (tap water and cheese from the cheese drawer)

Ghost wakes up, crawls in his bed and falls back asleep. He sleeps like a log.

Price wakes up, oh God, his back hurts. Maybe it was because of all the gear he still has on. He strips himself of it and puts on a gray t-shirt and some sweats. (He still has his hat on???)

—————

Coming home drunk. Holy fuck. Uber loaded with grown ass men laughing about the man that was break-dancing on the table so hard that tears were coming out.

“Yaswereslads gonna make me fuckin cry you know wha I sayin I’m fuckin dead lads, oh shite—“ Soap says, all in one string of words. His accent really comes out when he’s drunk.

“‘T was like he was-wheeze-goin in slow motion when he fell-Another wheeze” Ghost cannot hold his laugh back. He wheezes.

Gaz is looking straight forward, nearly drooling.

Price is listening to Soap and Ghost shit themselves laughing as he silently laughs, gasps of air every five seconds. Even the Uber is laughing.

“Have you ever seen a breakdance?” Gaz says, chatting up the Uber who’s trying to keep his composure.

—————

Discussing pets.

“Can we PLEASE get a dog??” Soap is pleading with Gaz.

“Soap. Look at the fridge. All we have is beer and cheese.”

“The cheese drawer is a necessity. So is the beer.”

“No- listen. You get half decent groceries without me helping, we’ll get a puppy.”

“Hey, wait, can we get a snake—“

“Fuck no we’re not getting a snake, Ghost. What, make you feel at home?”

“I’m not Australian, Soap.”

Price and Gaz look at each other, wide eyed at their stupidity. They rub their temples, trying to genuinely find the brain in their words.

—————

Microwaveable things.

“Can I microwave this bowl?”

“No, Ghost.”

“Uhhh, pretty sure you can.”

“Why did you ask, then??”

“Just cuz.”

Price goes back to his dad show.

“JOHN?”

“YEAH?”

“…YOU WERE RIGHT. MY BOWL MELTED.”

“Oh for fucks-“

“Yer brain is fuckin mush, lad, how’d you not know you can’t microwave that?” Soap laughs at Ghosts misery, his soup gone to waste.

—————

[imbored1201]

Hi, can you please do a mapi x ingrid x reader where ingrid and reader are taking care of Mapi after her injury and surgery

Her Favorite Artist

A/N: Knowing Mapi is going to be out the whole season breaks my heart

Mapi x Ingrid x Reader

Word Count: 1,122

The day of Mapi's surgery was the day of the Champions League game. You two wanted to stay, but Mapi forced you guys to go. The team was already full of injuries, so you guys were really needed. 

It made you feel better at the fact that Alexia and Mapi's parents would be there waiting for her to get out of surgery, and Alexia would be taking her home. 

You called her after the game, but she was still a bit loopy, and Alexia told you guys what the doctor had told her about Mapi probably missing the whole season. 

You felt terrible for her; one moment the two of you were giggling and warming up, and the next she was on the floor in pain during a defensive drill. 

She was taken away, and you were stressing out the whole training about it. When you were finally able to see her again, it wasn’t a pretty sight. 

You had never seen Mapi so broken; it was something you wished you would never see again. 

You spent the whole day trying to cheer her up and just being there to listen and help her with what she was feeling. 

—————

You were antsy to see Mapi, bouncing up and down in your seat. You had so much energy, considering you didn’t have your other energetic buddy to help you release it, and the blow-out win did not help one bit, only making you way more energetic. 

You usually blabbered on the whole bus ride about random topics, and Mapi was the one that listened since Ingrid was never able to keep up. Now Ingrid had to force herself to keep up with your ranting. 

But when you noticed she wasn’t keeping up, you just went silent and listened to music. 

————

Now you were with your usual questions being a passenger princess. Ingrid answering them all, knowing if she didn’t it would put you in a bad mood.

“Is Mapi sleeping?” "No" You tapped on the window. “Can I sign her cast?" “No” 

“Can I push her around in a wheelchair?” “She won’t let you." You thought about that. “Maybe, would you?” Ingrid put the car in park. “No” 

You quickly got out of the car and ran to the door. Ingrid sighed and got to work, having to carry all the bags. 

————

Right when Alexia opened the door, you ran inside to find Mapi. "Hello to you too," Alexia said sarcastically. She grinned as she noticed Ingrid struggling to carry all the bags by herself and quickly took some. Ingrid smiled, hugging her, and they got into a conversation. 

Mapi smiled at you and patted the seat beside her. She was on the long part of the couch, the part where you loved to take your midday naps. "Guess you could have that part for now," you told her. "Wow, thank you for being so considerate," she said sarcastically. 

You gave her a tight hug, and she kissed your head. "How are you feeling?" Ingrid asked her, now joining you two in the living room, "Tired." Ingrid nodded as she hugged Mapi and gave her a kiss on the cheek. 

"How does it feel?" You questioned her, knocking on her cast. Ingrid quickly smacked your arm away. 

"It doesn't feel good, that's for sure," you hummed as you continued to look at it. "Can I sign it?" "No," Ingrid said sternly. 

"Why don't you go check on the soup that Ale was making" she told you as she got a pillow to lift Mapi's leg. You nodded and went to check on it.

You stirred it a bit before turning off the stove. "I think it's ready," you called out, and Ingrid came back in to make sure your judgment was right. 

She gave you a kiss on the head, and you went back to Mapi. "Did Alexia give you the drawing I made you for after your surgery?" She smiled. "It's hung up on the fridge Carino."

"Did you like it?" She nodded. "You know I like everything that's made by my favorite artist." You smiled at that. You loved drawing pictures for everyone; it was just something you did when you got bored.

Mapi patted her non-injured leg, signaling for you to lay your head there. "I don't want to hurt you," she shook her head. "You won't; come on, it's been a while since I've played with your hair."

You sighed and listened. Mapi playing with your hair brought a huge comfort to the both of you. Ingrid walked in with two bowls of soup and smiled at the sight in front of her. She gave one to Mapi and set yours on the coffee table before going to get hers. 

"What a sight," she said as she squeezed in next to Mapi. "Ale said you two played amazing yesterday." You jumped up again, scaring them a bit. "I made you another drawing," you told her as you rushed to find it in your backpack.

"She was working on it during the plane ride," Ingrid told Mapi. Again, it was a regular occurrence, and they had them everywhere in the house. Some hung up on the fridge, some hung up on the walls; Ingrid even had a whole folder filled with them. 

You gave the drawing to Mapi, and she admired it. It was a drawing of her in the blue kit. "Aitana did the coloring," she smiled. "I'll put this one in the folder." She kissed your head and tapped her thigh so you could lay back in her lap.

“Are you going to be our wag now?” You asked her again, and Ingrid nodded; she wanted it too. “Yes amor, I’ll be your guys wag."

Mapi smirked. “Only if you agree to tell Lucy that I’m a way better defender than her,” you groaned. “I can’t! She’ll kill me, and don’t you dare say you’ll protect me because we both know you won’t be able to."

“Then I’m not going to be a wag,” you looked at Ingrid for help. “Don’t bring me into this."

She secretly loved it; it was boring not having to break up a childish argument between you and Mapi during the plane ride. 

“Fine, whatever, now why don’t you be a dear and get the crippled lady a water” you scowled, but listened. 

You knew Mapi was going to be bossing you around a lot now, but you were happy to do it. Anything to help her recover.