#oven but didn’t so I had to clean it for the first time myself while I was alone in the store and was also supposed to man the front

[fuumiku]

It was Maid Day today yesterday a week ago so I got struck by inspiration to draw the worsties, and it ran away from me into a whole AU where they’re coworkers at a maid cafe. She’s a med student & this is just a part time job, and this is his depression job while he gets his life back together. He needs something he can be workaholic about to forget what it’s like having a personal life and personal issues. He’s actually the accountant, but the new hire janitor (Izutsumi) doesn’t show up for half her shifts and is a sloppy worker, so he gets the extra work of doing her job on top of his because he’s undervalued and overworked. Of course, janitors also have an uniform to keep the aesthetic cohesion as they go about cleaning the place, of course.

Senshi’s the part time cook you only see slivers off, he’s kind and warm when you do see him and have a chat but most shifts he’s in and out the kitchen without a trace. Laios and Falin are regulars because Falin and Marcille are besties & in the same med school, Laios accompanies Falin as she visits her friend at work and gets hooked on the food. Chilchuck has to remind Marcille to work instead of chatting with Falin for an hour, and next thing he knows she’s distracting him from work too. That’s it that’s the AU. Inspired by this idol AU fanart a bit <3

This was not meant to be birthday gift but well…… Happy bday Chil!!!

Read from left to right

[1d1195]

Honey II

Read Honey here | ~6.2k words

Warnings: Angst, fluff, pining, maybe a daddy-kink if you don't blink. There's a shitty guy, some jealous Harry (from said shitty guy as well as NIALL 😍) and some mentions of self-care 😉

Summary: You cannot flirt with my nanny. He texted Niall while Cece ate.

Someone should, Harry. By all means YOU should. But I’ll handle it if you cannot.

Harry scowled and threw his phone aside. “Sorry m’gonna kill Uncle Niall, Cece,” he told her. “But he’s stupid.”

The routine became easy. Breakfast with Harry, tummy time with Cece, cleaning during naptime, laundry at lunch time. At eleven in the morning, she sent Harry three pictures of his baby regardless of what she was doing which he didn’t respond to other than reacting with a heart to each of the pictures.

Cece loved Miss Honey. Her smile was bright when she saw her and her giggle was coming easier and easier while she played with her.

Niall is stopping by to grab something I left. He was already out. You can let him in.

Okay, thank you for the heads up.

Other than delivery drivers, people didn’t really come by. She hadn’t had friends over not that she necessarily wanted to have them over... not after her first family. From then, it was always kind of weird to have people visit someone else’s home to hang out with her. She preferred dinners or going to their houses. If Harry were to throw a party or cookout at his extravagant pool, she would invite her friends—at least that’s what she did with her previous family—but Harry didn’t seem much like a party-thrower.

“Hello?” The Irish voice sang into the house. “Miss Cece, where are you?” He called.

She smiled and brought the baby toward the front door holding her in front of her stomach. Cece giggled at the sight of Uncle Niall. “Who’s that, Cece?” She asked pressing her lips on to the top of her soft hair. “Is that Uncle Niall? Did Uncle Niall come to see you?” She kicked her feet and Niall looked like he was melting as he took her from Miss Honey. “Is it this folder?” She asked. “I found it in the garage,” she said. “It must have slipped out of his bag. When I took Cece to the store, I was going to swing by myself."

Niall was in awe. The house was clean—to be fair, it almost always was, but it was different now. Plus it smelled like the citrusy fall candle she was burning on the counter; only adding to the fresh clean feeling of his friend’s place. Whatever was cooking in the oven smelled delicious. “Do you... cook for him?” Niall asked.

She blushed. “Well, it’s mainly for me, but obviously there aren’t a ton of recipes for one person, so I always have extra,” she rationalized. “I cooked for my old family.”

Niall bounced Cece as he looked around. There was a throw blanket on the sofa adorned with leaves and it’s fall y’all patterned across it. that wasn’t there before. Along with some fall pillows. It matched the little pumpkins on the side tables and the leaf and flower centerpiece on the coffee table. Harry had decorations? “Did Harry buy those throw pillows?”

“I... I have this tendency to fall asleep on the sofa watching movies and wanted something softer than the sofa arm,” she felt weird explaining all this to Niall. “I should probably get them out of here and back in my room. Did Harry say something? He doesn’t like it?”

Harry hadn’t mentioned it. Which was insane because when Cece’s mom wanted all new living room furniture in the middle of her pregnancy, Niall wasn’t sure Harry was going to let her live at his house after all. Harry was very particular and liked things to be his way. “No, no. He’s fine. It just looks...cozy,” he said. “It’s nice he’s got a woman’s touch that he likes,” Niall said encouragingly.

Her phone vibrated on the counter and she glanced at her watch reading the message. Can you tell Niall to let go of my daughter and get his ass back here before I fire him?

She smiled sending a thumbs up in response. “I believe you’re going to be fired.”

“What a drama queen,” Niall muttered. “I love you more than Dada does,” he cooed and kissed Cece sweetly on the cheek. “You should decorate the outside, too,” Niall said as he handed the baby back to her. “Harry would like it,” he smiled. “If you have a ton of leftovers, send them for lunch with Harry tomorrow. With the way it smells, I bet it would taste delicious reheated as well... Bye Cece!” He waved and blew a kiss at her.

“Say bye Uncle Niall,” she cooed shaking her head at Harry’s best friend.  She waved Cece’s hand for her. “Bye Uncle Niall.”

*

His office door slapped open against the wall, and he looked up from his desk even though he didn’t need to.

“Niall’s here,” his secretary called. He rolled his eyes.

“You love her,” Niall gushed.

“I do not,” Harry scowled defensively at his paperwork in front of him. “Love who?”

“Your nanny obviously.”

“I absolutely do not,” he shook his head. “I am not in love with someone I employ.”

“So we’re not in love either?” Niall frowned.

“Do you have something you need, Mr. Horan?” Harry deadpanned.

Niall rolled his eyes. “Harry, she’s sweet, funny, and intelligent,” he listed. “Not to mention your house has never looked cleaner nor cozier and she can cook.”

Harry used to order out each night since he was too tired to cook when he got home. Then with Cece, it made even more sense. But now, since he was very much glued to his schedule of coming home on time for dinner so he could see Cece before bed and relieve Miss Honey of her duties for the evening.

He hadn’t anticipated her making dinner for him. In fact, he hadn’t anticipated much of anything she did for him. He thought taking care of Cece was going to be it. The cleaning and cooking was beyond what he expected.

He ignored Niall.

“And hello? She’s good with Cece.”

She was great with Cece actually. But he wasn’t going to give into Niall’s teasing. He continued looking at his computer screen ignoring all the reasons Harry thought she was perfect as well but had to ignore because he would rather die than ruin what he had with her for the sake of his daughter. There was no one better to trust Cece with—even after a month or so of her working, it was obvious. He was so sure there wasn’t anyone better. “Also, she was going in the pool when I got there, so she was in this itty, bitty bikini—” Harry’s gaze snapped to Niall and his eye twitched as he scowled again. “I was joking, but I think I’ve proven my point.”

“I’m not in love,” he grumbled. Harry didn’t love anyone beyond his baby girl, his company, and his family.

“Say it all you want. But I’m not the one that got his underwear in a twist over the thought of seeing her in a bikini when it’s not summer anymore." Harry ignored him still. "You let her decorate," he reminded him.

"We have similar tastes," Harry mumbled not wanting to let on that he didn't give two shits if the house was decorated but when he came home from work watching her sip hot apple cider on his sofa and reading a book to Cece, he wanted to move to a place where it was fall all year round.

"Are you going to let her decorate the outside of your house for Halloween?”

He was not in love. “It’s a holiday,” he reminded Niall. “I want Cece t'have a—”

“Uh-huh. Sure. It’s definitely for Cece... by the way, make sure I get the leftovers from dinner tomorrow. I already asked Miss Honey,” he said. “Here’s your folder,” he laid it on his desk and left with a wave and mischievous smile. "She found it in the garage and was going to swing by herself. Because in case you haven't noticed, she's perfect."

If there were leftovers of whatever delicious thing she had decided to cook, Harry was going to throw them in the middle of the road on his way to work just to spite him.

*

The weekend was unfortunately eventful.

Cece fussed a ton. Harry sighed when the monitor alerted him to her waking. He got up and headed to her crib where he spent several minutes rubbing her little belly as he watched her. “Y’need t’sleep, Miss Cecelia,” he smiled at her tiredly. It was nearly one in the morning, and he had been fortunate enough to have Cece sleeping soundly overall for the last couple months. But for whatever reason, her little cries woke him up today.

He checked his phone and noted there was an alert from the front door camera. He saw two people standing under the entrance. His favorite nanny and a man that he didn’t recognize.

Given the situation, this was suddenly and very much her house as much as Harry's. As evident by the pumpkin décor on the steps visible in the video as well. So she could do what she wanted. Even if that meant going on a date.

Even if that meant Harry was painfully aware of how upset that made him.

Her arms were wrapped around her stomach and Harry felt something painful ache in his stomach. She looked completely uncomfortable. The guy leaned closer toward her, forcing her to step back until she was against the side of the entryway. Harry’s blood boiled. She pressed a hand against his chest, maintaining distance between them. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the screen and briefly noted he forgot about Cece’s waking. But Cece was asleep again. Therefore, Harry was able to worry about the other woman that lived in his house. He quickly sent her a text before he kept his eyes glued to the camera. If this was some kind of flirting thing, fine. He would confront the boiling jealousy in the comfort of his own bed. But Harry had a sister, female friends, female employees and now a daughter. He knew when someone was uncomfortable.

The camera signaled someone was outside, so I checked the feed... Are you okay?

He didn't want to listen in. There was a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross. Fortunately, she pulled her phone from her pocket and read the message--clearly looking for a distraction and further fueling his worry. Without answering, she tucked her phone back in her pocket and Harry thought that he was overreacting. She was fine. He just needed to go to bed.

But then, she shook her head repeatedly, slowly.

Harry dropped his phone on Cece’s floor where it landed on the rug with a quiet thud. He took off downstairs nearly missing the last step before he was at the front door, yanking it out of the way blindingly fast. She jumped at the sudden movement in the middle of the night—even though she only saw Harry’s message seconds before. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he lied. He was very grateful to interrupt. “Cece has been awake, and I’ve tried—”

“No problem,” she rushed out not even glancing at the man. She brushed passed Harry hurriedly.

The guy blinked in surprise at her quick departure. He tried to peek behind Harry’s frame that blocked most of his view. “I’ll call—”

Harry smacked the door shut and waited for him to leave—watched him walk to the end of the driveway where he waited for an Uber for three minutes. She sighed, putting her hands on the back of her head, breathing heavily. “Harry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She began pacing behind him, but Harry’s eyes didn’t move from the end of his driveway. “He was completely fine and then I needed to Uber and—”

“I told you not t’Uber,” he scowled at the window beside the door waiting for the man to disappear.

“Well, it was one in the morning, and I don’t know how your driver situation works—”

“Then you call me,” his voice was rougher than he wanted it to be. The thought of something happening to her hurt. Hurt a lot.

She ignored him, feeling guilty but trying to explain her side of things. “My friend had left with a guy she met, and she was my ride. I didn’t even know she left,” her voice cracked. “I Uber all the time, Harry. Alone at night, I don’t care...it’s... whatever... But he was insistent. He wanted to make sure I made it home safely. Which didn’t set off any alarm bells and I pride myself on having a good gauge of that kind of thing. So, I didn’t think anything of it. I thought he was just being a gentleman. When he got out of the car and the driver took off...” she shook her head. “I’m just so sorry. I didn’t know—” Her voice cracked again, harsher this time. Then she pressed her lips into a line as she looked down. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered trying to force the tears to stay behind her lids.

The man was gone from the edge of his driveway. Harry shook his head confused how she could be apologizing for literally nothing. She didn’t do anything wrong. “What are y’apologizing for?”

“For him coming back here! I don’t bring people back to the house I’m living in for free. I would never want to put someone like that within a three-mile radius of Cece. I was just trying to get him to leave and I—” her voice choked off again.

“Love,” he said gently. “S’okay,” he promised reassuringly. “Y’can invite friends over. I wouldn’t really want him, but it sounds like we’re on the same page.”

She sniffled, breaking Harry’s heart. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

“Did he hurt you?” Harry asked. She shook her head. “I need a verbal answer, love.”

“No, he didn’t hurt me,” she whispered. Barely loud enough for him to hear.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded. “I was just trying to think of a way to get inside without him following me,” she whimpered. “He just wouldn’t shut up about how nice it would be to...” her tears started to flow. She shook her head. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed.

Harry didn’t think. He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed up and down her back. “S’okay,” he promised. “You’re okay,” he repeated. “You could have banged on the door or something,” he assured her.

She sniffled. “I didn’t want to wake the baby.”

He smiled softly. Of course she didn’t. “Please call the driver next time. Day or night. I should’ve told y’that,” he murmured. “It would make me feel better. And he’ll only let y’have someone else in the car with you if y’say so,” he promised.

She nodded. “Okay.”

“You’re allowed t’have a life here, love,” he promised. “Friends, dates, whatever y’want.”

“Well, I’m not dating for a while,” that was fine by Harry. Gently, she pulled from Harry’s embrace, and he felt completely cold. It wasn’t from his lack of clothes either.

She wiped her eyes. “Do y’want me to...get y’anything?” He asked.

She shook her head of the thought. “No, I’m sorry to have interrupted your sleep—”

“Don’t be. But y’didn’t. Cece was up, I was checking on her when I saw m’phone’s notification,” he explained. “But even if she wasn’t up... I wouldn’t have minded,” he promised. “Really.”

Her eyes trailed over Harry’s body. It hadn’t occurred to her that he was wearing nothing but boxers. His shoulders were broad, his arms were taut with lean muscles that didn’t bulge massively but were still beautifully sculpted. His hair was in disarray, probably from his pillow. His stomach was flat, ridged with muscles, and covered with tattoos. “I didn’t realize you had so many tattoos.”

He smirked. “Yeah, um...guilty pleasure of mine.”

Harry really shouldn’t say pleasure around her. It made her think of things that would give her immense pleasure. Like the boxers that outlined a plump dick (which wasn’t even fully hard it seemed. Jesus Christ, she wondered if she was going to get pregnant just from looking at it) and showed off his muscular thighs. She shook her head trying to keep her eyes focused on anything other than Harry’s groin area. “I um... thank you,” she whispered. “For getting me.”

“Of course, love. Any time,” he promised. “I know y’work for me and I respect your commitment and seriousness t’your job. It’s something I value in m’employees at the office too. But Niall also works with me too and he’s m’best friend and he’s very comfortable asking me t’bail him out of dicey situations. So if y’need something, y’jus’ have t’ask.”

She nodded. “Okay... thank you,” she repeated. “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Miss Honey.”

*

Harry was frustrated. It was a busy time of year, so he had been staying an hour, sometimes two later than he was supposed to. He ate reheated food that she had cooked (which was still delicious) but mostly he was upset because he wasn’t getting to see Cece before bed. The pictures she sent in the afternoon and just before bed helped but didn’t make up for the real thing. He missed his daughter.

And honestly? If he was real with himself, he missed eating dinner with the pretty woman that was kind enough to make dinner in the first place. He missed watching an episode of whatever show she liked before she went for a swim in the pool and then to read in her room. Up until Harry had started staying late, she had gone for a swim every night and Harry was in awe. The pool was heated sure, but the air was cold. But she was insistent—all to get her laps in so she could work out. Now, when he got home, she was already in her room. Only coming out to say hello, give the lowdown on bedtime and making sure he knew which food was for Niall the next morning.

It seemed she wasn’t dating, so at least Harry had that. Even though he told her she could, he was glad she wasn't. It wasn’t right or fair of him to feel that way, but he couldn’t help it. The few times he saw her out in the pool in a bathing suit (that was not an itty-bitty bikini like Niall had described) he felt possessive. If she had an itty-bitty bikini, Harry thought he might lose his mind--the pretty one piece with a cutout created by a crisscrossing bow around her middle was tantalizing enough. He didn’t let his gaze linger for long (he didn’t want to be creepy) but he thought back to the guy that followed her home and terrified her. No one deserved her kindness. No one deserved to see her vulnerable and alone in anything less than what she wanted. She made Cece feel safe. She made Harry feel safe.

“Why don’t you go home?” Niall suggested. “You’ve been staying late all week, and I know you miss Cece. Take a half day, go spend some time with your daughter. Or even Miss Honey,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

Harry shook his head. “I already took a ton of time off—”

“For a very good reason! Harry,” Niall sighed. “You have an adorable baby daughter. She’s only going to be little for so long. You need to enjoy it.”

With that thought, Harry couldn’t get out of his office fast enough. He entered the house using the keycode. It didn’t even faze her. If someone used the code, then she assumed it was someone who was allowed to be there. But also, the sound of the vacuum cleaner was humming and creating more noise than she could have heard with the door opening and closing. But she must have sensed it because she glanced over her shoulder and smiled finishing the spot she was working on. Harry could make out the wrap around her body while she vacuumed. Wearing Cece like a body ornament. It was adorable. “I could hire someone for that, y’know,” he called over the droning noise.

She turned the vacuum off and turned around showing off the little babe at the same time. She kicked her feet. Harry thought his heartstrings were going to snap with how much love flooded him. Someone that loved him so unconditionally. It felt like he didn’t deserve it.

“You’re home early,” she smiled and loosened the wrap around her and pulled the headphones off her little head to keep her ears safe from the vacuum sound. “Is Dada home to play, Cece?” She smiled excitedly. “Is Dada here to play?” She repeated, passing her to Harry. Cece immediately settled into his embrace, making his heart hurt. Niall was right, this was well worth it.

“I was just going to do laundry,” she said. “Do you want anything to eat?” She asked.

“I have people who could do your laundry,” he told her, his lips attached to the crown of Cece’s head. “And y’don’t need t’do my laundry either,” he frowned. “Or Cece’s.”

“Yes, but you are saving money by letting me do it. I’m all about coupons. I’m like a BOGO sale, you know? For a business owner, you don’t see a good deal when presented.”

He rolled his eyes. Niall listed a lot of great qualities about her. But he didn’t list how stubborn she was. Especially when it came to things like using the driver or doing his laundry. Harry wanted to shake her sometimes.

“Niall said you have a business trip next weekend?”

His eyes snapped to meet hers. “You talk to Niall?” Like regularly? Casually?

He was so going to fire him.

“Yes,” she smiled and then laughed to herself, a private joke Harry wasn't privy to.

“What?”

“It’s nothing. Niall’s just funny.”

Harry was going to kill him. Then fire him.

“Oh?”

“He just he tells me he’s going to marry me if I keep making such good food for him to eat.”

So fired.

“Speaking of,” she continued while Harry let that linger in silence. “Little miss needs to eat,” she said. “I can do it if you want—”

“Thank you,” he was sincerely appreciative. “But I have it covered,” he smiled. “You can take the rest of the afternoon to yourself if you’d like.”

She smiled. “That would be great. I just have a few more things to do but I’ve been dying to go to the bookstore. They’re having a sale on all paperbacks,” her eyes glowed.

Harry smiled. “Sounds lovely.”

“Just shout if you need something.”

Harry went to the kitchen, took the bottle that was warmed and ready on the counter (she must have just put it out while she was vacuuming nearby).

You cannot flirt with my nanny. He texted Niall while Cece drank from her bottle.

Someone should, Harry. By all means YOU should. But I’ll handle it if you cannot.

Harry scowled and threw his phone aside at the pretty fall throw pillows. “Sorry m’gonna kill Uncle Niall, Cece,” he told her. “But he’s stupid.”

*

Harry often found himself defaulting to her and all her knowledge. She had a background in psychology, as that was what she studied in college—a concentration in child development. All of which he knew from her application. Harry was well educated, but he would never feign to have more knowledge that he didn’t have.

Which is why when Cece continued to fuss and fuss more than she had since she’d been born, Harry didn’t know what to do.

“Love?” He knocked on the door. It was two in the morning, and she was obviously well off the clock. Harry battled for several minutes trying to decide if it was worth it. He didn't want to bother her, but frankly, he was exhausted. But she answered anyway, hurriedly.

She was wearing a pair of leggings and a blue tank top. One that was thin and made Harry’s stomach ache with desire. Something lower ached with desire too. But fortunately, he had enough foresight to put on a pair of sweats before waking her. She rubbed her eye looking like a toddler coming to their parents’ bedroom. Her hair tie had fallen from her braid letting the strands fall haphazardly out of the twist.

He thought about kissing her. God he shouldn’t have allowed himself to be alone in the middle of the night with her.

Gratefully, Cece called out. Reminding him of why he had woken her up in the first place.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can you check on her? She’s so fussy. I don’t know if m’doing something wrong?” It killed him that the baby was fussing. He hated to wake her almost as much. However, she didn’t even bat an eye to it and hurried to Cece’s room. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“Don’t be,” she yawned. “I was... actually reading,” she smiled. “I shouldn’t be, but I can’t put the book down.”

How was that so hot sounding? It shouldn’t have been. He had watched her read on the couch a hundred times. But it was hot. So hot he was glad there was an extra layer to hide how it made him feel.

Harry was glad he was going away for the weekend. He needed to clear his head of the pretty girl that was invading his every thought when he had no right to think of her that way. “Oh yeah, Miss Cece just wants to party, huh, sweet girl?” She smiled and pulled her from the crib and hummed. “Daddy has to work early tomorrow, Cece. can have our own party tomorrow, okay? But Daddy’s got to sleep,” she whispered. “I know you’re a party girl,” she cooed. “But you can’t party when you’re sleepy,” she reminded her.

Harry was not thinking of it like that but the way she said Daddy (twice) made his chest ache with something he wasn’t used to feeling. It probably didn’t help that her tank top did little to hide two hardened, protruding bumps on her chest that made Harry want to lick his lips (and her). He was going to turn the heat up before bed because it must have been chilly.

Harry tried to keep his gaze PG, but she was so pretty, he was thanking himself for the moment of clarity he had that made him put on pants because he wouldn’t be able to hide the way he felt about seeing her sleepy and beautiful.

Fuck Niall and his stupid observations. He is so fired when I get back from my trip.

After a few more hums and coos, Cece fell back to sleep. She kissed her hair and gently laid her back in the crib. “She’s almost four months, of course—she might be hitting a little sleep regression. It’s perfectly normal. I’ll do some research and see what I can do to help alleviate—”

“Thank you,” he felt exhausted. Sleep deprived and sad about leaving—even if it was just for the weekend. “Seriously. Thank you.”

She smiled. “Of course, Harry. That’s what I’m here for. Probably a good time to stop my book too,” she reached out and squeezed his arm. “Get some sleep. I’ll have breakfast in the morning before you fly out,” she promised.

“I didn't mean t'interrupt your book,” he said softly. “Y'don’t have t'get up earlier, she can lay in bed for a bit,” he offered.

“Oh no, it’s fine. I’ll just nap when she naps,” she shrugged. "Cece will want to see you before you leave," she smiled so effortlessly. Like Cece would really know if he was gone. But the way she said it made him believe it. She squeezed Harry's forearm. “Goodnight, Harry,” she said sweetly.

*

Harry was staring at Cece like she was going to disappear while he fed her. She gently pushed the cup of tea she made him (with three sugars) in front of him. “I haven’t left her once for this long,” Harry reminded her.

“I know,” she frowned. “She’ll be fine,” she assured him.

“I know.”

“Really, Harry. I won’t let anything happen to her. I love her beyond belief,” she promised.

But Harry felt something creep into his stomach. Something that felt like an overwhelming urge to kiss her. A way that had him aching to make Cece a sibling and he thought that maybe he could shift the real estate in his heart that was reserved for his company and open it for someone else. He shook his head as if a bug had flown in his eye. Ridding himself of the unrealistic thought that was wriggling it's way into ever inch of his mind.

No, he didn’t love her.

That would be ridiculous.

It took her two weeks to figure out what Harry liked to eat for breakfast most. As stubborn as Harry was, she was more so. Every day she made something new: omelets, waffles, French toast, everything he could think of, she tried. But when she told him she was going to make crepes, he stopped her and told her: just scrambled eggs and toast.

So, she made him scrambled eggs, toast, and sliced up some avocado on the side. “Thank you, love. Y'really didn’t need to.”

“I have it on good authority you rarely eat until like two in the afternoon if I don’t feed you,” she smiled. “Happy to help,” she promised. Because that’s what she did. Helped and helped and helped.

“Why don’t y’tell your friend m’going t’fire him if y’don’t stop talking t’him.”

She laughed and Harry enjoyed the sound more than he thought possible. “Niall?! Shouldn’t you fire me?”

He shook his head. “No way, love. You’re the best there is for Cece, you’re stuck here,” he smirked. Her heart fluttered and she realized she hadn’t spoken as Harry glanced at her. He cleared his throat. “I mean... as long as you like it here,” he attempted to recover (poorly).

“I love it here,” she nodded excitedly. That beautiful smile that Harry had honed in on during her interview spread across her beautiful face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you,” he smiled. Genuinely.

It took every ounce of Harry’s shaky control to keep himself from saying he would miss her too, while he was gone. Maybe as much as he would miss Cece.

*

It was only a two-night stay. But the first night was hardest. He called as soon as his last meeting finished. He watched her play with Cece through the video call. When her phone died, it took five minutes for her to get rebooted. She grabbed her laptop to continue the call and set it up on the floor for Harry to see Cece during her tummy time.

Cece didn’t seem to notice much that Harry was on the computer screen. In fact, she didn’t pay much attention to either of them while they chatted at all. Even when Cece fell asleep, he found himself asking her all kinds of questions about school and work. How she decided to become a nanny and the like. He asked about her family and if she missed them. Her family was still hours and hours away from her, so he was confused as to why she wouldn’t move with the previous family she nannied for.

“Truthfully?” She sighed. “I love this coast so much,” she smiled fondly. “I grew up here and I went to school here. I loved my nanny family, but there’s just something about it here,” she explained. “My family kind of... they don't..." she sighed. "They don't visit much and I think they would come up to visit even less if I lived across the country. I adore my family. They mean so much to me. It would have been hard to be even further away from them.”

Harry wanted to hold her and never let go. This woman loved hard. Harder than anyone he knew.

Eventually, when it was so much later than it should have been to be chatting on the phone with someone he was employing to take care of his daughter, without talking about said daughter, Harry said goodnight and got ready for bed. As he brushed his teeth, he opened his text messages.

Niall...

Yes, Harry? It’s eleven and I’m in bed.

... she’s perfect.

Who Cece?

...

No shit, Harry. You’re an idiot.

When Harry closed his eyes, he couldn’t help but think of her.

*

When Harry returned home, he rushed through the door, dropping his bags and hurrying to the living room. Harry was on the floor beside the coffee table where he showered Cece in kisses all over her little face. The only pause he had was looking at the lovely girl giggling on the couch at their reunion. “Ugh, Cece, you’re making me jealous! I wish someone would be that happy to see me when they get home,” she giggled.

But Harry couldn’t let her think that for a moment longer. He crossed the room, pulled the book from her hands and straddled her, locking her in place. He cupped her face before she could question anything and kissed her. Kissed her long and hard. Eventually he nestled his hips between her thighs. “I like you so much. I’m so happy t’see you when I get home,” he groaned peppering her face and skin with more kisses. “I trust you with everything. You have my whole world most of the day. And... when I get home m’so happy t'see Cece. But love, m’thrilled t'see you as well”

“Harry,” she whispered. “She’s right there."

“She's not looking,” his voice was husky as he pulled on the neck of the blue tank top that stared in all his dreams. He tugged it down her chest a bit hoping to see those pretty, hardened—

The phone call waking him up for the day put him nearly in a cold sweat. “Ugh,” he moaned reaching blindly for the nightstand for the phone. He pulled the phone to his ear. “Hello?” He grumbled.

“Hello, Mr. Styles this is your wake-up cal—”

He smacked the phone back into the receiver and begged for the dream to come back before it went away. What was underneath that tank top? He glanced at the clock. If he fucked his hand, he wouldn’t have time to shave. That wasn’t very business owner of him. Or maybe it was. He was CEO, the meetings wouldn’t start without him.

“Fuck it,” he muttered and wrapped his hand around his hard dick. Maybe he shouldn’t have, but he pretended he knew what was hiding beneath the thin tank top of the woman who lived in his house.

*

The weather fucked him royally. He was supposed to be home that evening. Supposed to be eating dinner with his little baby and the pretty nanny. It felt completely unfair that the weather had made it so he would be stuck in a stupid airport, and he would have to go directly to work in the morning.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she promised. “Maybe you can take the day off later in the week,” she suggested. “Actually... I was going to ask you if it was possible for you to do that anyway, so maybe this works out. Or maybe your mom—” He knew she was trying to distract him. Which he was grateful for but he was still so frustrated.

"What do y'need?" He asked, his voice stiff. He didn't mean for it to be. He was just upset.

She cleared her throat. “I just have some appointments I’ve been rescheduling over and over trying to find a day that's best for them. I don’t want to make you take the day off, but I know you’ve been nervous about your trip. I’ve been waiting—”

“Of course,” he said hurriedly. “Which day?”

“Wednesday, if possible. If not I can reschedule again.”

“Sure,” he’d take the whole week off if she asked. Cece time and helping the perfect angel? She didn’t need to say anything else.

“Thank you, Harry," the gratitude in her voice made him ache.

“You’ve worked nonstop for almost two months, love. Y’do more than I ever expected. S’least I could do. Plus, staying home with m’daughter isn’t a bad thing.”

She smiled. “She misses you,” she promised. Harry was pretty sure Cece wouldn’t know if he was away or not; work or overnight stay irrelevant. But it was nice she was saying it for his benefit. “She does, I swear,” she continued, somehow understanding his silence. “Especially at bedtime and when she wakes up. Little Miss doesn’t sleep well without you here,” she cooed. Harry imagined her holding the baby on his couch looking utterly comfortable and natural.

“Well tell her I miss her, love her, and kiss her for me too.”

She pressed a bunch of kisses to her skin loud enough for Harry to hear and that soft little giggle as well. Harry smiled, feeling marginally better about his cancelled flight. “See you tomorrow, love.”

“Can you say, bye bye Daddy,” she whispered. “Come on you can do it,” she encouraged. It was much too early and of course she knew that, but Harry loved that she tried anyway.

He wanted to tell Cece to give her a kiss from him as well.

--

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[sadhours]

See You Again

billy hargrove x female reader

a/n: I exist guys. requests are open!

contents: 18+ minors dni, smut, oral (f and m receiving), reader thinks she might be a prostitute, p in v

summary: you’re a house keeper, and a hot professional surfer pays you to come clean his house

When you accepted the house keeping job, you hadn’t expected the guy to be sex on legs. But here you are, wearing leggings and a loose white t-shirt, buckets of cleaning supplies in each hand while you look up into the icy blue eyes of Mr. Hargrove. He’s in a sleeveless t-shirt, golden arms on display and board shorts, his hair is wavy and long. His house was huge, you knew he was a professional surfer from your quick phone calls but seeing his house, he must’ve been really good at it. Famous maybe. You didn’t know much about surf boarding, had no clue you could make this much money from it.

“Come in,” he says, opening the door wide, “Sorry. My plans got canceled but I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

“Oh, no,” you gush, looking around at the vast foyer as you walk in, this might have been a crew job. You curse yourself for not asking about the square footage of the place. “Don’t even worry about it.”

The house is already clean, so maybe you don’t need more people. It’ll take you a little longer than anticipated but the guys gorgeous so you don’t really mind.

“Here,” he motions towards the hall, “Let me give you a tour.”

The house was decorated pretty minimally. There’s prints of what you assume are him riding waves all over. Tall surfboards line the back wall of the living room. It’s pretty much spotless. A handful of dishes in the sink and a light film of dust on things, but it’s very tidy.

“Your house is beautiful,” you tell him, to which he waves his hand.

“Ah, thanks. It’s a blessing I get to do what I love to afford a place like this. Anyways, I’ll let you get started. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” you nod and set down your buckets.

Billy disappears and you get started with the kitchen, washing the few dishes in the sink and then tackle the stove, oven and fridge. The fridge is pretty empty, but it’s interesting to see what he’s got in it. A six pack of beer and a ton of fresh fruits and vegetables.

Eventually you make your way to the bathrooms, first the guest one which is very obviously unused and you can’t help but think that maybe he’s lonely in such a big house. You push the thoughts aside, you’re here for work. And he might be hot as all hell but you’re professional and besides, a guy that good looking has to have a girlfriend. You finish up the guest bathroom and the half bathroom before starting on the master one. It’s huge. A shower with two nozzles, two vanities, a rather large toilet room and huge bathtub with jets. You’re bent over the bath tub, scrubbing away at the dirt caked on the sides. It’s clear he uses the tub every day. He’s got candles all around it, along with a variety of epsom salts and soaps. As you bring the sponge along the dip of the tub, you feel two hands grabbing at your hips. You crane your head to see Billy standing behind you, biting his lip as he peers at your ass.

“Sorry,” he apologizes but doesn’t move his hands, your thighs start to warm. You’re absolutely frozen, speechless as he smoothes his hand over the curve of your ass and then squeezes. “Couldn’t help myself…” he muses, his breathing a bit labored.

You can tell him to get his hands off of you. Stand up, turn around, slap him across the face with your sudsy glove and storm out. But you can’t recall the last time a man’s been so forward with you and you liked the way his hands felt on you. And god, he’s so fucking gorgeous. He bends over, using the hand that’s not on your ass to move your hair back and whispers in your ear, “You have such a nice ass.”

A moan slips from your lips, causing Billy to squeeze your flesh again. His teeth catch your earlobe as he presses his strained erection against your ass.

“Is this okay?” he asks lowly, nuzzling his nose against the shell of your ear.

“Yes!” you squeak out, throat tight as you struggle to catch your breath.

Billy growls, maneuvering his hand underneath you to grope your tits as he kisses against your jaw. It’s happened so quick, you can’t believe it. Your body is aflame with arousal, your center soaking through your underwear and most likely, your leggings. His lips are soft yet firm, hungry as he litters kisses against your sensitive skin. His fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings, pulling them over your ass and taking your thong with them. He sits back on his heels, grabbing your ass with both hands and squeezing. He chuckles lowly, “You’re dripping.”

“Mhm,” you mumble out, dropping your head as he dips his head and licks up the slick coating your thighs. “Fuck,” you exhale, squeezing the sponge in your hand.

“Tastes so good,” he compliments and then circles his tongue around your eager hole. The action pulls a desperate whine from your chest. You feel trapped against the edge of the tub, his hands holding you in place as he spreads your cheeks and licks at your glistening folds. His tongue is strong, has all your nerves screaming out in ecstasy as he rolls it expertly up and down, finally prodding at your hole. Billy penetrates you as deep as he can with his tongue, his thumbs holding your lips open for more access. It’s excruciating. Not quite as deep as you need but incredibly pleasurable. He pulls back and then you feel his fingers pressing at your eager cunt. You can hear him spit and before you know it, he’s entering you with the digits. It pushes a moan from you, satisfied yet surprised. Billy pumps his fingers in and out, groaning as he watches.

“You’re gonna take my cock so well,” he forebodes, making your spine tingle in anticipation.

He angles his thick digits just right, hitting the pads of them against your spongy spot and you cry out, eyes crossing and doubling your vision. Suddenly, his thumb finds your clit and he’s rubbing it in tight, quick circles while he pushes repeatedly against that spot deep inside you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp out, squeezing your eyes shut.

Billy works quick and relentless. The pressure at the pit of your stomach is building at an alarming rate. You can’t even make yourself cum this fast. The man knows what he’s doing. And it’s something you don’t know how to do. It hits you like a ton of bricks. A rush of pleasure tearing through you as you spasm against the tub, voice wrecked with how loud you moan out. Vision goes white, a ringing in your eyes as you ride the waves. You’re panting hard and his fingers are still shoved deep inside you when you come to. Then you feel his tongue, licking up the mess you’ve made and you whine out, squirming while the grip on your hip tightens.

“Billy,” you whimper out, “too much.”

He doesn’t let up, instead moves his mouth down and sucks at your clit. You yelp, your body moving upright. You pull your gloves off, turning your body and pushing him down onto the tile floor. There’s a cocky grin on his face, looking up at you as you grab the hem of your shirt and pull it off, tossing it aside and then unhook your bra. You shimmy out of your leggings next, kicking your shoes off and make quick work of peeling Billy’s clothes off his body. When you tug his briefs down, his stiff cock pops out. The tip leaking as it slaps up against his abs. His mouth falls open as you circle your fingers around the base, squeezing slightly. His cock is beautiful. The prettiest one you’ve ever seen. Thick shaft, pulsing vein up the side of it and a plump, shiny tip. Billy lets out this breathless laugh when you squeeze him again.

“Come on,” he drawls, “you can stop staring and get your mouth on it.”

You don’t have to be told twice, lowering yourself and wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, peering up at him. Billy exhales, hand knitting into your hair while he tells you, “Atta girl.”

You swallow around him, taking him a bit deeper in quick succession until he’s prodding at the back of your throat. Breathing through your nose, you hold still as you peer up at him. He’s propped up on his elbows so he can watch, eyebrows knit together while he chews on his lower lip. His blue eyes are dark with lust and they widen just slightly as you begin to bob up and down on his pulsing cock. It’s thick, makes your jaw ache but you’re determined to give him an orgasm he’ll remember. You pull off and give kitten licks to the tip, fingers stroking his with ease thanks to the drool coating his shaft. He moans out, lips parting slightly as he rolls his hips up at you. Next, you swirl your tongue around his tip before taking him back in your mouth, humming at the salty but wonderful taste of him and absolutely loving the weight of his cock on your tongue. You lower your hand down and cradle his sack, rolling his balls in your hand which produces a particularly delicious moan from him. The timbre of his voice is intoxicating, makes you work even harder to make him cum. He knits his fingers in your hair and holds you still, jerking his hips up and forcing you to take it. A man that takes what he wants. Something you’d been needing and you didn’t even know it.

Billy chokes out another moan, “I’m close, baby.”

You don’t stop and he whines, “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. Gonna swallow every drop, huh?”

He releases, his hot spunk covering your tongue and it’s abnormal how good it tastes. You swallow it with ease and pull off, licking your lips as you peer up at him. He chuckles softly, raising his hands above his head as he catches his breath. The pair of you dress and you tuck your hair behind your ear, “I’ll uh, just finish up then.”

“Alright,” Billy smirks, a twinkle in his eyes. He leans down and kisses you softly on the lips, you try not to melt into it but ultimately fail. But he pulls away first, smacks your butt teasingly and saunters out of the bathroom.

All you have left is sweeping and mopping the expansive house. On shaky legs, you get it done before trailing to his home office. He’s at the computer, typing away when he notices you.

“All finished?” he asks as he stands, grabbing his wallet.

You nod, “Yep. It’s uh… all done.”

Billy smiles, places his hand on your waist as he guides you back to the front door. “We agreed on $250, right?”

“Uhm, yes.”

Billy opens his wallet, pulling out the bills and hands them to you, “Same time next week?”

“Absolutely,” you blush, pocketing the money. You carry your supplies out to the car and get in the front seat before you burst out in giggles, covering your face in utter disbelief that just happened.

***

Next week, you do something embarrassing. Well, you didn’t think it was embarrassing at first but when you actually show up to clean Billy’s house, you realize how foolish it was. You decided to wear an obscenely short skirt and a tank top to clean. But when you knock on the door, an angry looking redhead opens it.

“Uh, hi,” you flush, almost as red as her hair, “Is Mr. Hargrove here?”

“Mr— ew,” she cringes and then opens the door wider, “Billy! There’s a lady asking for you.”

You stand there, feeling ridiculous as you look at the girl. She’s pretty, looks a little too young for Billy but apparently that’s not any of your concern. He jogs up to the door, resting his forearm on the frame as he leans over the young girl and looks you up and down with a seductive smirk on his lips.

“This lady, is my house keeper. Come in,” he steps aside to let you in. “This is my kid sister, Maxine.”

“Max,” she corrects him with a roll of her eyes.

“Hi, Max,” you offer a polite smile. “I’ll just get to work, then.”

“We’ll be out of your hair,” he tells you, “I’m gonna go drop her off.”

You nod and walk further into the house, getting started on the kitchen. You’ve cleaned almost the entirety of the house by the time Billy returns. You’re dusting his bookshelf when you feel strong hands snake around your waist and lips on your ear.

“You usually clean houses dressed like this?” he purrs in your ear.

“No,” you admit, melting into his touch. “Didn’t know you’d have company.”

Billy snorts, “Either did I. Kid showed up on my doorstep. She does that a lot and then acts like she hates me.”

“You two seem close,” you turn to look at him.

“Getting there,” he shrugs, “Didn’t get along when I lived at home. It’s not important.” He smoothes his hand over the swell of your ass, kissing against your neck and then continues, “Wear this just for me?”

Your body ignites with desire but you don’t show it, not that easy. You continue dusting away, but you can’t help tilting your head just enough to give him more access to your skin. “Maybe,” you admit with a sigh.

Billy hums, grazing his fingertips along your bare thighs as he sloppily kisses at your neck. His touch almost has you melting, but you just keep on dusting the same row of books. He bites at your earlobe before he says, “Think you did. Want to drive me insane, don’t you?”

You whimper at the bite, eyes fluttering shut as you drop the feather duster. Billy presses his hips against your ass as he continues in your ear, “It’s working. Can’t wait to stuff you full of my cock.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, gripping onto the sides of the bookshelf as Billy grinds against you.

He mouths at your pulse point, moving his hands around to grope your chest. Your head falls back to rest on his broad shoulder, hand snaking up to lace through his sandy curls. His broad tongue licks up your neck, erection apparent through his shorts against your inappropriate skirt. Suddenly the thought hits you, this is prostitution, right? You’re going to let him fuck you against his bookshelf, mop his floors and take a handful of cash. Sounds a lot like prostitution.

“You can’t pay me,” you gasp out but make no moves to stop him from groping you.

“And why’s that?” he laughs, pinching your perked nipples through your thin top, “You’ve done such a good job. Place looks spotless.”

“Because I’m about to let you fuck me against your bookshelf,” you insist.

“If we move to the bed can I still pay you?” he teases and you whip around.

“I don’t want you to pay me for sex.”

Billy blinks at you, a curious notch in his brow as his lips twitch upwards, “I’m not paying you for that part.”

“But—“

“We agreed on two fifty for cleaning, yeah?”

You nod.

“And what did I give you?”

“Two fifty,” you reply.

His face looks pensive now, tilting his head, “Don’t ya think I would’ve gave you more if I was paying for the sex?”

You hadn’t really thought of it like that. That’s a good point, you figure. Because you really did clean and you would’ve charged the same price had you not sucked him off.

“Okay, fine,” you relent and turn back around, “you can still pay me.”

“Atta girl,” he praises as he spanks you playfully before pulling your skirt up over your ass and hooks his fingers in your panties. He peels them down and you kick them off your ankles. Then you feel the swollen head of his cock rubbing between your cheeks. You sigh out, holding onto the shelves as you spread your legs a little further. His lips are back on your neck as he swirls his tip around your eager hole. He groans, muffled against your skin while he slides the head in. It’s so lovely, stretches just right and he’s huffing the deeper he goes. His breath is hot on your face, fanning against your cheekbone and the slight minty scent raids your senses. You blink up at him, drunk on attraction. God, he’s so pretty. More than pretty. Beautiful, angelic. Golden curls against soft, clear skin and his lips are so pink. He thrusts his hips languidly but deep, holding onto your waist for leverage as he pants against your face.

“Billy,” you whine as he bottoms out, feeling wonderfully full. “Fu-uck…”

“Yeah? Feel good, kitten?” he asks, flicking his tongue against the corner of your mouth, “So perfect, taking me so well.”

“God,” you gush, rocking your ass back against his thick thighs. “So fucking good.”

“Pussy’s so tight,” he growls, low and guttural.

Billy snaps his hips harder, dragging you along his cock as he fills you so deep you feel it in your throat. It’s exhilarating. The fact that you know nothing about this man but there’s this intense, animistic connection between you. The pair of you just cannot control yourselves and that’s why you’re letting this absolutely beautiful stranger fuck you raw in the middle of your cleaning duties. It seems foolish; he’s willing to fuck you without a rubber, how many any women get the pleasure? Because it it’s a pleasure. The heat of his cock, the veins not being cushioned by thin rubber is amazing. And it feels incredibly intimate. Passionate— because it’s so rushed and desperate, that neither of you even thought about a condom.

Billy’s fingers dig into your hips while he pounds into you, panting against your face. He slides his hand down and starts working the pads of his fingers in circles against your clit. It’s over for you. If this doesn’t become a routine, you are absolutely doomed because there’s absolutely no way another man is ever going to fuck you like Billy is now. Books are tumbling down to your feet, his thrusts so powerful that your spine tingles.

“I’m coming,” you gasp, tossing your head back as your orgasm crashes through you.

“Good girl,” he purrs in your ear, “Cum all over my cock. Just like that.”

You whimper, riding out the waves that seem never ending because Billy doesn’t slow down or go easy. He grabs tighter on your hips, driving his cock in deep as he pants against your ear. Billy pulls out, painting your ass cheeks with his hot spunk. He groans as he does so, then spins you around and grabs your jaw, pulling you in for a deep kiss. You’re completely lightheaded from it and you almost collapse when he pats your thigh and asks, “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

[waywardxwords]

Hallelujah

Summary: While cleaning up after dinner one night, you hear the most beautiful sound coming from the oldest Winchester's room. You can't stop yourself from moving towards the sound. Dean doesn't enjoy singing in front of people, but he might just make you the exception. Word Count: ~1.2k Warnings: Fluff - lots of fluff

A/N: I saw this video the other day and I just couldn't help myself. Jensen starts around 3:23 mark.

While it wasn’t the first time you heard Dean Winchester’s voice echo off of the walls of the bunker, it was the first time you heard him sing this folk rock classic. The verse traveled to your ears, just barely peeking through the sound of the running water from the sink faucet as you washed the dishes from dinner. 

“Well, maybe there’s a God above,” he started softly at first. So softly, your hand reached up and turned off the water. You stilled your body so your ears could focus on the sound. “As for me, all I’ve learned from love is how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya.”

Dean would never sing in front of you, besides the random jam out sessions in the Impala on the way to a hunt. But those were mostly songs from the likes of AC/DC, or Zeppelin…and there was that one Survivor song he loved. Never like this; never with such emotion. 

“But it’s not a crime that you’re here tonight, it’s not somebody who’s seen the light,” his voice began to travel as his words became clearer. There was no way he knew you could hear him; he wouldn’t have continued if he knew. While Dean was, well, Dean–he had less confidence about himself than he would lead others to believe, but you saw through that. 

“No, it’s a cold and broken Hallelujah,” he belted. “Hallelujah, Hallelujah.” The sound of his voice sent a shiver through your body to your core. You couldn’t help your feet as they moved towards the sound of his voice. You grabbed at the dish towel that hung on the rack of the oven and dried your hands on your way. You didn’t have to go very far, Dean’s door to his bedroom was open as he gently sang the remainder of the chorus. 

As you stood in his doorway, you saw him through blurry eyes. You hadn’t realized before that moment that you had tears in your eyes, but the conviction of his voice—full of pain, but also peace—was overwhelming. 

“Shit,” he breathed as he saw you. He moved to put the gun down that he was cleaning before you startled him. His brows knitted together in concern when he saw your face. “Hey, you okay? What happened?” In two long strides, he was in front of you. His hands gripped just above your elbows. Through the tears pooled in your eyes, you watched his green gaze study you. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m fine,” you quickly moved your hands to swipe away any droplets that threatened to fall. “Your voice…”

You watched the reddish pink hue start under his stubble on his neck and climb up to his cheeks. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone could hear me…” he removed his hands from your arms and you noticed the room suddenly felt cooler without his touch. He brought a hand up to pull at the back of his neck, clearly a little embarrassed. 

“No, Dean,” you reached for his arm before he could turn back from you; your fingers delicately on his forearm. “Your voice is beautiful.” The words fell in a whisper from your lips. His eyes watched you, and that’s when you noticed all of the feelings Dean could sing, but couldn’t say. “Would you…would you sing for me again?” 

“Oh, darlin’,” he chuckled and ducked his head to glance at his boots. “I don’t think I can do that…I don’t sing if I have an audience.” His eyes found yours again. You nodded once, not willing to push it if he wasn’t comfortable. 

“Well, just know,” you started softly. “You have such an incredible voice. It was…comforting.” It took you a moment to find the right word. 

“Thanks,” he chuckled gently again. You turned from your place in his doorway and headed back to the kitchen, hopeful that it wouldn’t be the last time you heard his beautiful voice. 

The darkness was overwhelming. Even in your sleep, you knew you were dreaming but as hard as you tried, you couldn’t wake yourself up. It felt as though the walls were closing in on you as you fell into the darkness. A whimper fell from your lips involuntarily as you tumbled down, down, down…into an abyss of nothingness. You didn’t know what you were running from, but your heart thudded quickly against your rib cage—so quickly that you thought it might break out. 

You couldn’t be sure, but you thought you felt a gentle touch on your bare arm just below the sleeve of your short sleeve cotton t-shirt. And then you heard a low hum—so low you thought you imagined it. 

“Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord,” the words sounded far away at first, but as you came to you realized they were just beside you. “But you don’t really care for music, do ya?” With your eyes still closed, you felt peace fall over you as the voice calmed you. “It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor falls, the major lifts. The baffled king composing Hallelujah.” 

As the chorus began, you blinked your eyes. As you squinted against the darkness of the room, you saw Dean’s green gaze staring back at you. “Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah…” his whispered singing trailed off as he reached his hand up to brush a dampened strand of hair off of your forehead. 

When he looked back so his eyes found yours once more, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Dean?” You asked as you blinked the sleep away and focused in on the way his eyes examined your features. It was then that you realized he had positioned his body just next to yours, his face only a few inches away. 

“Yeah, it’s me, sweetheart,” he said gently. “You had a bad dream.”

A pause of silence fell between you before you realized something. “I thought you said you don’t sing for an audience?” You eyed him conspicuously, which elicited a breathy chuckle from him. 

“Yeah, well, you were thrashin’ and weren’t waking up when I tried talking, so…” his voice trailed again. 

Your eyes darted between his once more. In the glow from the light of the hallway you noticed the way lines crinkled at the corners, and how tiny freckles you had never noticed before dotted around his nose and his cheekbones. It was almost as if you were truly seeing him for the first time.

“Thank you,” was all you knew to breathe. Your eyes fell closed and a gentle hum rumbled from your throat as you felt the pads of Dean’s fingers swipe at your hairline once more. 

Just as you opened them, he made eye contact with you once more–as if asking if this was alright. Your head managed the smallest nod before your eyes closed once more and felt Dean’s lips on yours, soft but purposeful. As he pulled away, all you could manage to say was, “Hallelujah…”, causing the green-eyed man to snort in laughter.

[spankingwishes2]

The Slippering of My Life

@badgnome929

Last night I got the first spanking of my adult life - in fact, the first since I can remember.  And true to her word, my girlfriend Zoe made it a good one!  As she promised, she had me in tears and didn’t stop there!  I think it’s fair to say it was ‘the slippering of my life’!

Nearly twenty-four hours later I was still sore - and she quite happily suggested we do it again!  My first reaction was ‘No way!’ but, fortunately, ‘Are you crazy?’ came out as, “Well…”

You see, I’d waited a long time (at least it seemed like) to find someone who would spank me.  Now that I had someone, I definitely didn’t want to discourage her - and I (nearly as strongly) didn’t want another already.  If I said ‘no’, would it be a month, a year?

“Wow,” I said at last, “Glad you enjoyed it.  How about tomorrow night?” I suggested this with a shiver, but it was an excited shiver.  I wasn’t sure I’d be ready - that is, I didn’t know if my butt would be - but it was thrilling to think that I’d be spanked again.

“Okay,” she agreed easily, “but you have to be good until then.”

“Define ‘good’,” I questioned.

“You have to obey me, keep me happy, and do everything I say,” she supplied in the simplest terms.

“Or?”

“Or you get your spanking now.”

This was a kind of sexy suggestion - though not something I’d want as a long-term arrangement.  “Just this once, right?”

“We’ll see,” is all she’d say.  “And these things I’ll have you do, they won’t all be sexy.”

That was disappointing.  Everything she’d had me do last night - or done to me - was definitely ‘sexy’.

“Okay, agreed.”

“Oh”, she retorted, “this isn’t an agreement - it’s information.”  I could tell she was sorta-kidding - and again, I knew we wouldn’t be doing this long-term.  “Now, I suggest that you check the bathroom, the kitchen, and the carpets - before I do.”

I did that - they didn’t need much, we keep up with things around here - folded a few last pieces of laundry, put some stuff in the hamper.

Other stuff was better - make her a dessert - in the oven - with whipped cream topping - that got a little sexy - while I was only half-dressed.  Re-watch a movie of her choosing without looking at my phone or anything (at least it wasn’t one I hated) - and I painted her toenails during it, though not to her satisfaction.

“That’s going on your spanking,” she claimed, which, again, was thrilling and worrisome to hear.

Coffee in the morning and a further warning for not knowing how to make it (I brought her sweetener and creamer rather than putting in the right stuff myself).  “This is all adding up!  Your poor bottom!  Or should I say, your poor, poor, poor bottom!”  This was soon followed by my ‘one warning’ for cheerfulness!

The fact was, I was pretty cheerful - this is what I’d wanted, the spanking part anyway, and some bossiness on her part, and I knew that we’d either set up some ground rules or play it by ear.

After work it was largely similar - she had me run an errand on the way home, then get her wine, rub her feet and ‘put her in a good mood’ with my tongue.

“Your bottom will definitely thank you,” she told me.  “As do I.  Me and your poor, poor bottom!”

When I cleaned up after dinner I had to strip because ‘you’ll be getting spanked on the bare’, she said.  Despite her dire threats, I was pretty aroused, while she seemed disturbingly ‘enthusiastic’ (she had just had a climax).

“Despite all your lovely pampering, I’m still in the mood to spank you,” she informed me as she sat waiting for me to bend over her lap.  Last night when I suggested it, I really had nothing to spank you for - but you’ve managed to add a few.  Little ones…”

“Oh good,” I said.

“But then there’s all this arousal!  Ow!” she added as she slapped the slipper against her palm - hard.  “It’s very naughty.”

“It is?” I asked hopelessly.

“Don’t you think so?  Well, it is!” she insisted, while using the toe of the slipper to stroke me in (I admit) about the naughtiest way possible.  “I really must spank you for all this naughtiness!”

What could I do?  To say no would end my dream of having a spanking girlfriend…

Once over her lap, I jumped reflexively in response to a couple of light smacks.

“Oh, come on,” she said.  “I know you’re not still sore…” and she gave me a very hard smack on each cheek.

“Whew - ow…” I breathed.

“That’s better.  Maybe a little sore, no surprise.” 

And with that we were off.

After completely roasting my backside, she remarked, “Even more tears than last time - maybe you really were sore.

“Now, just be good until bedtime, unless you want another one.” (I didn’t)  ‘Until bedtime’ turned out to be not very long at all (about as soon as I calmed down and was allowed out of the corner) because she was so anxious to ‘reward’ me for ‘being so good’ - including being so good at ‘pampering’.  She was quite very good at pampering, herself.

“Now that you know what they’re like, I’ll let you decide when you get your next one,” she told me and we drifted toward sleep.  “I’m ready anytime.”

Decisions, decisions…

[graneymar]

it’s really rainy outside so u and neymar decide to have a nice warm and cozy day inside!!

baking face masks movies cuddling etc

#8. NEYMAR: SWEATER WEATHER

SUMMARY: above

WARNINGS: none, pure fluff

PAIRING: Neymar x fem!reader

Neymar was still asleep when I dragged myself out of the bed and took a look outside. It was Sunday, the only day Ney didn't have to work this week. We decided we would go shopping and eat outside today, but watching the grey clouds above Paris, I already had a feeling it would be a lazy Sunday.

Nevertheless, I took a quick shower and put on some decent make up. Entering the bedroom to pick an outfit for the day, I heard the first raindrops crashing onto the window. I sighed in disappointment. Neymar finally woke up due to his alarm going off. He rubbed his eyes, yawned and stretched before turning his head to look at me. "Good morning meu amor", his lips formed a soft smile, "Already got ready? When are you planning to go?" I sat down at his side of the bed. "It’s raining and just keeps on getting worse", I replied, my lips in a thin line. Neymar tried to hide it, but I saw the relief in his face. He smirked at me and intertwined both his hands with mine. "Does that man we can just stay in bed all day and not go out?" I shrugged first, then nodded. Grabbing my arms, he dragged me back into bed and placed kisses all over my face while laughing provocatively. "We can still do some fun activities at home", I said.

"Fun activities? As in…?" Thinking about it for a second, I got all excited again, jumping onto his lap. "How about we'll bake some cookies, do some skin care, together!, take a warm bath, watch a movie…" He rolled his eyes the moment I mentioned skin care, raised his brows when I talked about bathing. "Okay, so skin care together, but are we also bathing together?", he winked. I tried to hold back a smile but miserably failed. "Under one condition", I answered, "Let me put a face mask on you." My grin got wider as Neymar inhaled deeply, "Fine. I swear if the bath won't go as I expect, you'll get your ass spanked madam." I jumped out of the bed, slowly making my way out of the bedroom. "Maybe that’s exactly what I want?!", I laughed and sticked out my tongue as he was slowly getting up, smirking at me.

Some minutes later, I was already in the kitchen, preparing everything for the cookies, when I suddenly felt two arms wrapping around my waist. "Fuck Ney, you scared me!", I shouted out, "I didn’t even hear you." He chuckled and gently slapped my butt, earning one of my warning looks. Honestly, Neymar wasn’t motivated to bake at all, but I had fun torturing him. "Babe! Y/N!", he almost screamed out as I put the cookies into the oven. "What?", I exclaimed and turned around to face him, just to see his hands full of flour, ready to throw it right into my face. "Don't. You. Fucking. Dare", I said, taking a step back, but his cheeky smile got bigger, "I swear to God Neymar, don't you dare!" I started running around the kitchen island as he was moving towards me. He chased me around until I realised the flour was all over the ground already. "You are going to clean this shit up", I said pointing at the chaos. Neymar remained silent and, faster than the speed of light, he took the pack of flour and I felt my freshly washed hair getting covered in it. Neymar seemingly had the time of his life, losing his voice due to his hard laughter. I was unable to say a word, I simply gave up. "So", he started as he calmed down a little, "Wanna take a bath now?" I glanced at the oven. "Okay, but hurry up, the cookies will be done soon."

"What movie do you want to watch?", Neymar asked, mouth full of cookies. "Nah nah", I raised an eyebrow at him, he rolled his eyes, "You promised me!" He looked at me, his facial expression empty. "Please", I whined pouting with puppy eyes. "Why do I have to do it? Can’t you just put all that stuff in your face and be happy by yourself?"

"Babe, skin care is important! Trust me, you’ll love it once you do it right." He sighed out loudly, but gave in at the end.

At the beginning Neymar was quite annoyed, but from time to time, he started feeling more comfortable with putting creams and face masks on. He even end up taking pictures of us in our bathrobes in front of the mirror, both having a white face mask on, and posted it on his instagram story with a laughing emoji.

"How long does it have to stay on?", he asked as we dropped ourselves on the couch, sipping on our wine. "Twenty minutes", I replied, him just nodding in response. We cuddled up as we started watching '50 First Dates'. Slowly dozing off, I felt Neymars lips on my forehead, "Te amo, minha maluquinha [I love you, my crazy girl]."

[killercooksblog]

KillerCook Baking Challenge

Howdy - In celebration of starting this blog, I present a challenge! If you've read the book, you'll know the first chapter was about BROWNIES! AKA the best dessert ever, probably. I'll post it below so if you have no idea what I'm talking about you can catch up and participate!

I love a good brownie, and I think everyone has their own unique way of baking goods that makes the recipe special in its own way! Yes, even box mix, cause I know not everyone is following those instructions all the time. If you're a raw batter eater, you're amongst safe company!

The challenge: I want you to make a pan of brownies with you're own secret ingredient that makes it *chef's kiss.* To participate, you gotta submit a pic of your brownie platter to my submissions or ask box by 3:00 PM EST Saturday, June 8th. Additionally, you need to submit a summary of the flavor and texture of your recipe, without saying the name of your secret ingredient.

For example: in my double mint chocolate brownies chapter, I would summarize it as - a dulcet double layer of cacao richness that's not too cakey and not too moist, that will leave you with a fresh and happy ending.

Or something like that. Get creative! I wanna rate your brownies! I'll be playing along too and for the sake of it, I won't be doing mint chips so I can leave y'all guessing too ;)

With the camera set in place, Killer dusted his apron and straightened his helmet one last time before pressing the ‘Go Live’ button, muttering a quick, "It's show time," under his breath.

“Hello, Killer here,” raising a hand in the air, the quarter sleeve of his dress shirt rolled neatly on his forearm. “Time for another day of relaxing vibes and delicious desserts. Today, I’m making Double Chocolate Mint Brownies. I love a goody, gooey brownie, especially when there’s mini chocolate chips and ganache involved.”

As he spoke the well-rehearsed introduction, Killer wandered around the kitchen pulling out mixing tools and fixing himself a glass of bubble milk tea, congregating on the island countertop. Oven already preheated, eggs and butter on standby and at room temperature. Slurping up a tapioca ball, he paused for a minute while he chewed.

“Mm, ‘scuse me, didn’t expect that one to come up all the way. Tasty. Moving on, you know my number one motto: A clean and sterile working environment is best when dealing with things you intend to eat. And please, enough with the Jason Vorhees jokes, my mask looks nothing like his. I’m trying to make a name for myself as an independent serial killer……of hunger and all your hearts,” he brought his hands together to make a heart shape for the audience.

The ping of a microtransaction being made caught Killer’s attention, leaning close to his phone. Someone had bought and redeemed a highlighted message, and it was one of those moments he wished he hadn’t added that incentive, now being forced to read and answer it live.

“MurderinoSquadAssemble has this to say – ‘a serial killer of hunger and OUR hearts? Seems sus but ok. #redflagbehavior.’ Calm down armchair detective. For the record, I haven’t been caught yet and it won’t be to the likes of you.”

Biting down a chuckle, Killer stepped back to put on plastic gloves, a baking hat, and his favorite apron. It was a faded blue color but what really made it endearing for him, was the print.

That’s Hot

It had a small whisk and measuring spoons sprawled on the bottom, and the capital T had a baker’s hat falling off it. Underneath the text, a stovetop on fire. A gift from Kid on his 25th birthday.

Smiling privately, Killer turned to give the audience his side profile as he tied the apron strings. His dress shirt clung to his muscled arms, threatening to burst if he flexed too hard. His ass looked firm and thick in the dark chino relaxed pants he wore.

Prepping the baking tray, Killer explained the ingredients he was using and his choices for alternatives. He preferred to use ethically sourced chocolate and tapioca flour instead of all-purpose flour. He used vegan butter but liked to brown it first to caramelize a bit before combining it to the batter.

“This flour is what I used to make the tapioca pearls for my milk tea in my 14th video. It’s still up if you want to check it out and give it some love,” he poured the batter into the pans.

Turning around completely, he walked to the oven to place the pan on the middle rack. Killer didn’t need to bend down as much as he did to place the pan inside. He also didn’t need to jut his hips backwards a little to make his butt look bigger on camera, but it was nice hearing the pings echoing in the kitchen as he was gifted with tips and praise. Not that he’d admit that to anyone of course.

Killer turned the volume of his Bluetooth speaker louder, enjoying the lofi channel playlist he chose for the day’s stream. It was hard to find good music these days, not with a DMCA lawsuit one flagged video away.

“You can find where I use the same ingredients for the pre-made mint filling layer in my 20th video, when I made my homemade No-reos.”

Underneath the kitchen island countertop was a small red button that Killer pushed. That was the alarm indicator Kid had installed to notify the redhead that it was time for him stop what he was doing, get dressed, and join the video for the taste test.

Hoping beyond hope that Kid would be wearing the clothes Killer laid out for him, the masked man entertained the audience. Acknowledging the redeemed gifts, answering comments and questions and taking a much needed bathroom break. Letting the ads run a bit longer to milk the revenue, Killer stood at the doorway waiting for Kid to make an appearance. Asshole was running late, unbelievable. HE WANTED to be in the live streams, Killer didn’t ask him to be a part of it.

Shaking his head, he sat down in front of the camera, preparing to be KillerCook once more. The oven had three minutes left on the timer and the smell of chocolate wafted. The stream continuing, he began whisking the ganache to pour over the brownies.

Killer heard Kid walking through the hallway as he whisked. Bursting through the door, shirtless, his golden piercings that littered his nipples, nose bridge and ears shined from the open kitchen windows that showed a beautiful sunny day outside.

Timer going off, Killer fumbled to the back while hissing out, “Put a fucking shirt on! Why do you do this every time?!”

“C’mon Kill, they’re not gonna ban you for male nipples, be real.”

“Not risking it, we’re already on thin ice for using copyright music after 2 warnings. Remember? That’s how you lost Your Job as the video editor. Put on a shirt or I pull the plug.”

Angrily swearing, Kid walked back through the door to find a shirt.

“The last step is pouring the ganache over the mint layer and spreading it evenly for a smooth coating. Then you’ll want to store it in the fridge to let the top layer set. This will take up to an hour or you can keep it in longer until you’re ready to eat.”

Cutting into the pan to prepare a square for Kid, the masked baker placed both the pan and the taste test piece in the fridge. Killer once again entertained the audience for the 5 minutes it took for Kid to come back, in a ruffled black vest that was unbuttoned. Killer pulled out a chair for him and went to retrieve the taste test square, placing it on the table in front of Kid.

Coming into view of the camera with an annoyed pout on his face, Kid shot a sneer at Killer before tightening his jaw and looking directly into the lens.

“Alright, now the reason you’re all really here. To watch me eat shit you can’t have and look hot doing it.”

Standing straight, he stuck out his right arm and flexed, slowly moving it down with deliberate motions that further focused on his bulging muscles instead of the baked good. Bringing it to his face, Kid licked his maroon painted lips before taking a bite with a grin. Letting out an approving grunt.

“How’s it taste?”

“Tastes damn good, brother,” Kid responded, biting into the brownie again.

“Can you uh elaborate some more for the audience?”

“It’s chocolate, tastes like chocolate,” he grunted out in between bites.

Sighing deeply, “Does the texture feel balanced? Is it too dry? Can you even taste the mint I added with the chocolate chips?”

Licking his fingers clean and wiping his mouth with the back of hand, Kid shrugged. “Tastes perfect. Like any good brownie should be, it’s moist,” devilish smirk on his face and he faced the camera.

Feeling Killer’s serious as fuck glare through the mask, “Yeah yeah you can taste the mint. It doesn’t overwhelm the chocolate but it wasn’t overstated either. Like a little nudge wanting acknowledgment.”

“And there you have it, moist and acknowledged. Tune in next time when I make one of my favorite dishes, Spaghetti aglio e olio. It’s simple to prepare and like everything else I make, slays. This has been Faffaffaffa-Food with Killer.”

End Livestream.

Killer lifted his baker’s hat, helmet and took his hairnet off, pulling his hair from the tight wound rubber elastic he’d put it in.

“One of these days you’re going to get me banned, dickwad. Think about that the next time you want to fuck around. All those comments of praise and validation gone just like that,” he snapped his fingers, “Because you can’t stop being a dumb whore for 5 minutes.”

“I’m a whore?! Oh stuff a brownie in yer mouth and calm down. You’re not you when you’re hangry,” Kid snickered, ducking out of the kitchen to avoid the stainless-steel bowls flung at him.

Bonus: The comment section

ICantEven101: Killer-san, why won’t my sauce stick to my noodles? KillerCook: You may be using too much oil or butter. A good trick is to add in pasta water to thicken the sauce. Corn starch is a good binder as well.

VanillyExtract: PunkNeverDied69 can I take you on a date? 🥺 PunkNeverDied69: You can’t afford my tastes.

GimmeDa’Za: Day 15 of asking for a Heat cameo and dutch oven pizzas. FlamingHot420: Why are you people obsessed with me? I walked into the kitchen ONE TIME.

[gay-dorito-dust]

How about a jealous reader when George spends more time with Flo and one night he comes home late to a smoky kitchen with reader sleeping on the table with a plate of burnt cookies in front of her because he missed their cooking date night, just something angsty to very fluffly!

“Hey babe, are still up for-“

“Sorry to cut you off sweetheart,” George said as he rushed to shrug on his puffer jacket over his shoulders, “but I’ve got to help Flo out with a few things but I should be back before noon so we can have our date.” He then presses a kiss to your forehead before legging it out of the door faster then you’ve ever seen during the duration of your relationship as the sour feeling within your stomach you’ve had for a while began to feel like corrosive acid. Eating you from the inside out.

You could only watch helplessly as the door shut behind him and you were left to your own devices in mending the fractures of your heart. At first you didn’t think much of it but the more George chose to cut your time together short to help Flo, it only worsened the thoughts within your head that your relationship with the speckled male was coming to an abrupt end and there was nothing you could do about it. You adored Flo, you truly did, and you couldn’t blame her for something that wasn’t any of her fault; You couldn’t blame her for how George seemed to act like a excited puppy dog every time she visited for it wasn’t her doing.

Flo wasn’t responsible for George’s emotions and neither were you and you knew that that you were in no position to tell George what he’s meant to feel purely because you were suffering from the effects of a certain green eyed monster. George was his own responsibility and you were certain he was more then smart enough to understand himself better then anyone for he had to live with himself.

However what you were allowed to do was be human and feel out your emotions as and when they decided to come. You knew it was unhealthy to keep them withheld within yourself, to repress your feelings as it would only prove to be increasingly difficult task to upkeep without suffering the consequences in the form of a breakdown. Yet somewhere deep down inside you seemed to find the appeal of repressing your emotions, feeling as though it were the better route then to be an adult and sit down with George to talk about this in a civil manner.

You knew this course of action would only end up hurting you both even further, to the point where your abilities to trust one another with your most vulnerable selves would cause rifts in your relationship until it capsizes and fall into the abyss. You really don’t want to loose George, you really don’t, he means so much to you and you weren’t about to loose him because you were too scared of the possibility of what would be said in that situation which would only reinvigorate your insecurities, your fears and your nightmares of loosing him; like he was the sand slipping through your fingers.

‘I can’t keep doing this to myself every time he goes to Flo. It’s not healthy! None of this is!’ You thought to yourself as you lifted yourself from the staircase that you’ve blockaded with your body from the moment George left earlier that morning, suddenly thankful of the fact that Lockwood and Lucy had left prior to finding a simple case, leaving the responsibility of holding down the fort to you. One of the many things you’ve noted in your relationship with George was that whilst he has the habit of stress cleaning, you developed an offset habit of stress baking.

You hadn’t noticed that you were doing it until Lucy pointed it out one day and from then on you became more aware of how some of George’s habits had became your own. At the time you found to sweet that you were developing the habits of your loved one but as you placed the baking tray of vanilla and raspberry cookies into the oven, you found yourself hurting even more. It seemed that no matter what you did, George was somewhat apart of your every action and it only made the ache in your heart grow bigger at the fact that he was spending the time he used to spend with you with someone else.

Which was ironic and a tad silly considering the fact that you never felt this way whenever Lucy and George were in the same room. Maybe because you didn’t feel threatened by her in due to the heart eyes Lockwood had been throwing her way, that seemed to be more then reciprocated. If that was the case, then that only made you feel even more worse for ever thinking like that towards Flo, you’d never wish these thoughts on her, never. Yet humans were a weirdly complex species and every emotion ever felt by mankind was some of the times tied to subconscious or conscious thinking.

Whilst you were waiting for the cookies to finish, you sat yourself down in one of the chairs at the table, where you gradually found yourself coming down with a heavy dosage of fatigue and within minutes, your asleep on the thinking cloth.

George cursed under his breath when he checked the time, only to see that he was incredibly late for your date by the time he had gotten back from helping Flo. He knew it was bad to keep stuff from you but he was doing this for a reason, the anniversary of your first date was coming up, and he wanted to do something nice for you for putting up with him after all this time. So as he unlocked the door, he was greeted by a wave of smoke that burned at his eyes along with the ear piercing sound of the smoke alarm blaring all the way from the kitchen.

Worried and concerned of your well-being, George rushed to the kitchen only to see you fast asleep on the table with a plate of burnt cookies in front of you, smoke emerging from the charcoal treats, which he was right to assume must’ve set off the alarms; of which he was quick to grab a tea towel to disperse of the smoke whilst also having a couple of windows open. “Oh sweetheart,” George said in a hush voice, “I’m so sorry for being late.” He then looks over at the burnt cookies and couldn’t be but chuckle.

“An attempt was made but next time let me deal with the baking, the cooking and well…everything,” he then proceeded to sit himself in the chair next to you, rubbing your back gingerly before pulling you to his chest, “because I promised the moment we started dating that I’d treat you like royalty. Yet you refused because you wanted to treat me like royalty also. God your a fucking handful.” George chuckled as he reached a hand to rub up and down your back soothingly, his heart melting when you snuggled deeper into him as though you weren’t close enough for your liking. “Yet your my handful and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I promise my disappearing acts recently will make sense but for now, let me get you to bed before you get a crocked neck.”

Unknown to him, you had awoke the moment you felt his warmth against you, silently hearing him out and suddenly you weren’t jealous anymore. George Karim was truly a godsend and you weren’t about to loose him, not if you could always end up back in his arms as he whispered sweetly into your hair. You’ll have to save that talk you feared for tomorrow as for right now, his arms were all you ever wanted to be within right now.

[letsquestjess]

Something Sweet (Wrecker x GN!Reader)

Summary: While waiting for Wrecker to return from a mission, you decide to use your baking skills to make him a cake. Needless to say, he's delighted when he sees it.

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: Little kisses.

A/N: Finally got it done, my first Reader fic. I don't think I included any references to anything specific about the reader's appearance so I've labelled it as gender neutral but please let me know if you spot anything. Also, if you'd like to be added to the taglist for future fics, feel free to send me a message.

-- -- -- -- --

With a click of the latch, the final cluster of cupcakes finally made it into the oven, leaving clouds of flour, chocolate powder and splotches of butter in their wake. You set the timer and scoured the mess from your hands. Droplets of blue and silver seeped into the running water. By the sink, a stack of bowls and utensils teetered perilously close to toppling as they waited to be cleaned. How you managed the colossal order in such a short amount of time, you didn’t know, but the brunt of it was done. 

“What are you still doing here?” Mica chuckled as she freed her coat from the hook and draped it over her shoulder. “You should have clocked out ages ago. If you need extra hours, you can just ask.”

“Massive order came in this afternoon,” you replied. You gestured to the monitor beneath the cabinets and your boss examined the extensive list, her cheeks bloating and deflating with a lengthy exhale. 

“They want all this by tomorrow morning? Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have helped.”

“Because you have been busy with the bank,” you told her. “And it’s not like I couldn’t manage it. I’m almost done. Just need the last lot to finish and get some icing on them.” 

“I can help now,” Mica said, swapping her jacket for an apron and carefully dislodging the used bowls from the top of the unruly mountain. “You keep an eye on those cakes and I’ll sort these dishes.”

“Yes, boss.” 

For a while, the kitchen settled into a symphony of foamy splashes and metallic clangs. You removed the last batch from the oven and set them down to cool, getting started on the dozens of others that demanded their dab of icing and cheerful sprinkles. 

“So,” Mica drew out. “When are you going to see your admirer again?” 

You hesitated in your intricate work, the nozzle of the piping bag hovering centimetres above the delicate cupcake. “I have no idea what you mean. Who says I have an admirer?” 

“Stop avoiding the question. You know who I mean. The big guy who always comes in here with that love-struck grin on his face. The one who has you floundering every time you see him.”

“It’s nothing,” you insisted, sounding far more guilty than you intended. 

“Oh, okay.” Mica hummed, pausing for a fraction of a second before adding, “is that why there is a cake decorated like a missile in the pantry?” 

Closing your eyes and cursing yourself for not taking the gift home to finish, you rose from the worktop. You had planned to take it to your apartment, encase it in a pristine cardboard box with a ribbon to prepare for Wrecker’s return. But time had run away from you. Again. 

“I bought all the ingredients myself,” you assured her. “It’s just there’s more room here and the temperature in the pantry is better for this kind of thing, but I did plan on finishing it at my apartment, and-”

She cut you off with a wave of her soapy hand and removed the bright yellow gloves, tossing them onto the empty draining board. “Don’t panic yourself, I wouldn’t be mad at you even if you had used the stuff here,” she smiled. “You have more than earned it.”

As the tension drained from your shoulders, you noticed her playful glance transform into a satisfied smirk. “He’s been on mission after mission with no break and no letup,” you explained, “and I thought this would be something nice to cheer him up.” 

“I think it’s cute,” Mica said. She wiped her hands on the wet dish towel before searching the drawer for a new one. 

“If you wanted to head to the bank before it closes, I can finish the rest of this,” you offered. 

“You sure?”

“There’s not a lot to do. I’ll let those dishes dry and lock up once everything is done.” 

Mica grabbed her jacket and gave you a grateful beam before she bounded down the steps and out into the evening. Left to the tranquil hum of the ovens cooling down after a long day of work, you finished the last of the cakes and neatly stacked the full boxes by the hatch for the morning. 

You padded into the pantry once everything was cleaned and manoeuvred Wrecker’s cake from its spot at the back of the shelf, slowly walking it into the kitchen and setting it down on the decorating board. With a few more tweaks, it would be perfect. 

The icing paste squished between your fingers as you blended two blocks with the black and red food colouring, intricately moulding the shapes. After what felt like hours of meticulous work, you finally placed the little sculpted tooka doll onto the cake, rotating the board to admire your creation. Dark shades seamlessly merged into the lighter hues, giving the spongy projectile a whimsical, cartoonish appearance.

When Wrecker had first come into the bakery some months ago, he had looked at the enormous selection in wonder and guided his sister to the pastries. A few days later, he’d returned, and you’d happily shared your knowledge on the delicate art of baking until the oven timer had summoned you. Eventually, after many visits, the conversation shifted, and you both began to share small stories about your past, your interests, and hopes for the future. But you could tell there was more to him than the soldier, something sweet and abundantly kind. 

He had been off-world for the best part of three weeks on a mission for the dubious parlour owner nearby, and your thoughts of him had grown. Initially, you’d managed to push your contemplations aside and focus on your work, but as the days stretched on, you found it harder to ignore them. 

While you washed away the vivid dye from your fingertips, you picked up a distinct pitter patter tapping on the shop’s front door and peeked around the partition. Most of the lights in the display cases had been switched off, casting a murky darkness over the empty shelves. For a brief second, you froze in fear, thinking it could be one of the more dangerous residents of Ord Mantell, but you quickly realised that someone wishing you harm would be unlikely to be so polite. 

Tentatively, you tip-toed through the shop. The figure at the window shifted from foot-to-foot. As a landspeeder zoomed down the road, the headlights illuminated the man lingering outside and you flung the door wide. 

“Wrecker?” you breathed. He looked up, and you swore you could drown in the affectionate smile lighting up his features if he let you.

“I didn’t know if you were still open,” he said as you eagerly ushered him inside, flipping the sign in the window to closed. “I went to your apartment, and you weren’t there, so I figured you might be here.” 

“Guilty as charged,” you replied. “I wasn’t expecting you back so early. When we last spoke, I got the impression you’d be away for a while.”

“Thought I would be, but the job wasn’t too complicated.” 

You bit your lip and gestured for him to accompany you into the kitchen. “Since you’re here, I may as well show you your surprise.”

His eyes sparkled with anticipation as he followed you, a faint flush spreading across his cheeks when he caught sight of the cake. “Did you make this for me?” he asked in a mixture of awe and disbelief. “It’s incredible!”

“Of course I did,” you chuckled. “Unless you know any other ammunition experts with a particular love for missiles and an adorable tooka doll.” Searching through the cutlery draw, you retrieved a knife and cut him an ample portion. He took a large bite and hummed in approval. “Good?” 

“Delicious.”

“You can share it with your siblings if you wanted.”

“No way, this is all mine,” Wrecker insisted as he swallowed the final slivers. 

Your bright smile reached your cheeks, and you gently brushed away the crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth. He held your hand in place, and you traced the bumps of his scar, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I missed coming in here,” he said, so softly it was almost a whisper, a secret only the two of you shared in the fading heat of the kitchen and the faint air smuggling in through the open window. “I missed talking to you. Seeing that smile.”

“I missed you too, Wrecker,” you admitted. 

His eyes flicked to your mouth, and you answered his unspoken question with a barely perceptible nod. He cupped your face, sweeping his thumbs over the warmth and leaning down to press his lips to yours. Brief yet intoxicating, he drew back. “You’re going to have to teach me how to bake cakes,” he said, nuzzling his nose to yours and revelling in the sweet grin you gave him in return. 

“There’s no time like the present,” you sighed, melting into his arms. “But first I want to kiss you again.”

TAGLIST (Message if you'd like to be added, 18+ only)

@skellymom

[giddlygoat]

an interesting thing about being alive that no one really prepared me for was just how easy it is to be physically changed by my surroundings.

like, being raised on a farm i didn’t think much of my farmer’s tan. it just happened to me, gradually and over time, and then i realized one day “huh, my arms are orange and my torso is white.” and there’s nothing to be done about that but let it fade over the years.

i first got my ears pierced when i was a young teen, but the holes would grow over very quickly and when i forgot to wear studs i would have to unofficially re-pierce my ears. for years i did this and it wouldn’t be agitated more than a few minutes, but recently i did and my ear got very agitated so i had to give up on earrings in my right ear all together. now i have somewhat of a knot of scarred tissue in that area that won’t ever go away and didn’t really occur to me until now.

i have matching scars on both my wrists from pulling the same skillet out of two separate ovens in two separate states, years apart. i have scars on my face from picking at acne. the feeling in my right third finger is a bit messed up from when i accidentally stabbed myself with a paint scraper while renovating a kitchen, and i doubt it will ever go back to normal at this point.

i spend a lot of time obsessing over my hygiene and feeling clean and comfortable, because the thought of my body somehow feeling ‘impure’ icks me out. and that’s probably not the best word to describe it, because i’m perfectly happy with my body, but it’s hit me lately that a ‘pure’ body just doesn’t exist.

i remember when i was very small and my feet were as soft as my hands. now neither are particularly soft on a good day, even though i constantly moisturize. it’s kind of a given, but these things seem to happen right under my nose, and next thing i know i’m witnessing my evolution.

[late-to-the-party-81]

Loving you means loving myself - Chapter 1

AN: Here is my first offering for Hot Bucky Summer, organised by @buckybarnesevents. I will be completing the first three weekly prompts with a little three chapter story.

For the Week One prompt “What should I wear?”, I have chosen Lingerie.

Thank you to @cableknitsweater for cheer-reading and @linnahiell for beta-ing

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist | Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Summary: After a tough week, Bucky prepares for Friday night with his partner, Steve.

Relationship: Beefy Bucky x Small Steve

Word Count: 1.8k

CW: Indulgent fluff, implied sexual content, domestic Bucky, Bucky accepting himself, small amount of feminisation, small amount of dirty talk, light D/S tones, everything is soft and nothing hurts

It had been a stressful day; a stressful week, even and Bucky had barely seen Steve in between the pull of both their jobs. He knew that his partner would be feeling the same frustration, but now it was Friday night. Their night. A night for reconnection, as well as for decadent pleasure. 

Just the thought of it made Bucky shiver with anticipation. He wondered what Steve would have in store for him? Would Steve tie him up? Use him like a toy to slake his own lusts? Or would he treat Bucky sweetly, wringing orgasm after orgasm from him, before finally succumbing to the pleasure himself? Both sounded like equally good options to Bucky. 

Although neither had had to go away on business this week, they’d both been so busy that apart from some cuddles, a few make-out sessions and one quickie in the shower mid-week, they hadn’t had much time, or energy, for sexual intimacy. Yes, sex wasn’t the be all and end all of a relationship, but it was an important part of theirs.

Which meant it had been a full working week since they’d been able to fully indulge. Five days of subsisting on teasing touches and heated looks. One hundred and twenty hours filled with decadent thoughts of how Steve would go about taking him apart and putting him back together again, being remade himself in the process. However, before it was time for the main event, Bucky had some preparations to make. 

He was home first today, so as well as getting himself ready, it was his turn to organise dinner and sort out the bedroom. Bucky turned the oven on to heat, and then went to tackle the bedroom. He stripped the bed and carefully remade it, with Steve’s favourite set. Crisp white sheets and a coverlet with accents of red and blue on it. He folded the coverlet down to the base of the mattress and got out their ‘play’ blanket - a fluid proof, soft, lilac mat, which covered the entire bed, and made for an easier clean-up at the end of their night. No-one wanted to come out of a post-coital haze just to change the bedsheets again.

He smoothed the blanket out over the bed, tweaking the corners to ensure it lay perfectly flat - he didn’t want any annoying folds or creases under him later. Next he set out the candles along the flat surfaces, and dug out the lighter - he would light them later at a more sensible moment, but having it all ready, gave him a sense of calm.

Next it was back to the kitchen. He’d decided to make lasagne, because then he could get ready while it was in the oven, and it would be the work of a matter of minutes to prepare the salad to go with it and toast the ciabatta. Bucky hummed to himself as browned off the onions, garlic and ground beef, and whipped up a white sauce. He added tomatoes and seasoning to the beef, and at the last moment decided to add some chopped mushrooms. Steve liked mushrooms.

He layered it all up, adding a hearty sprinkling of cheese over the top, and then popped it in the oven. He now had about 40 minutes to get himself ready. First stop, a shower. 

He stripped out of his workwear, and it felt cathartic, as though he was taking off the old Bucky before making himself anew. He carried them through to the bathroom, placing them in the laundry hamper before turning on the shower.

Oh, how he loved this shower. It had definitely been  worth the money he and Steve had spent on it when they’d renovated the bathroom. He stepped in, letting the water flow over his body for a few moments, basking as the heat suffused his entire being, but he couldn’t linger for too long - he had a timetable to keep. He reached for his shampoo, inhaling the scent of jasmine from the bottle before he lathered up his hair and piled it on top of his head.

Next it was hair removal, but luckily he’d had a wax a few days ago, so really, all he had to do was look for strays and exfoliate. He rinsed the shampoo from his hair and applied conditioner, finger combing his hair to make sure all of the ends were coated. His light curls were prone to split ends if he didn’t treat his hair right.  The next course of action was the ‘all over’ scrub and clean, while trying to ignore his cock, that was starting to wake up between his legs. His brain only had to start thinking of how Steve might touch him, and the bloody thing would perk up with interest. He willed it to behave, but that was difficult when he started to clean up between his ass cheeks, and by the time he stepped out of the shower he had a raging hard-on.

With a sigh, and a promise to himself to pay a certain part of his body no more mind for at least the next ten minutes, Bucky briskly towelled himself dry and sat down at the dressing table so he could apply his favourite lavender body lotion, smoothing and softening his skin, as well as lightly scenting him. He’d worked hard for this body and was determined to treat it well. 

He swept his hands up and down his legs, over his defined calves and his muscular thighs. Steve loved his thighs, loved how they got wrapped around him, and how beautifully they marked when the mood took them both. Next he added a thin layer of moisturiser to his ass - obviously Steve loved that - coated his arms and then worked up his abdomen and chest, or tits, as Steve called them.

Look at these perfect tits, baby. Could spend hours worshipping them, playing with them. One day I’m gonna see if you can cum, just from me touching them, sucking on them. I think you could…

Shaking off the thought, Bucky wiped his hands on the towel and opened the drawer to get out his hair dryer, hair protection spray and round brush. Sectioning off his hair, he turned the dryer on low and began the process of drying his shoulder length. chestnut locks, using the brush to create loose waves so that his hair tumbled artfully around his face.

When he’d been younger, people had mocked him for his long hair, calling him a girl. He hadn’t cared. He loved his hair, loved how pretty and delicate having it like this made him feel, despite his height and build. Then, when he’d met Steve, the older man had been unashamed in stating how much he liked it. He loved to tangle his hands in it when he kissed Bucky, loved to put it in a ponytail and use it to control Bucky when having his cock sucked, and he loved to brush it out, with Bucky sitting between his knees, as a sign of his love and adoration for his younger lover.

Hair finished, and with a frivolous swish and smile in the mirror, Bucky added a dab of concealer, a quick dusting of foundation and a slick of eye-liner. Nothing too much, but enough to give him a little confidence boost. There was nothing wrong in wanting to feel his best. Now to get dressed.

From the back of the closet Bucky pulled out a bag. Work might have been a nightmare this week, but his lunch hours belonged to him, and he’d been able to indulge in some retail therapy with tonight in mind.

First out of the bag was the piece de la resistance of his shopping trip - his new lingerie. Having unfolded the tissue paper the store clerk had lovingly wrapped it in, Bucky trailed his fingers over the lilac lace. 

Due to the rest of his outfit, he’d decided not to purchase the matching garter belt, but, depending on how Steve liked this set, he might be tempted to go back to the store and get it. For now, however, he carefully slipped on the matching panties and bralette. He did it slowly, reverently, wanting to enjoy the sensation of the garments sliding over his skin, the juxtaposition of such delicate fabric encasing a body like his.

His cock, which had settled down as he’d done his hair and make-up, started to perk up again, but this time Bucky allowed himself to enjoy the sensations as the lace caressed his skin. He imagined how Steve’s hands would roam over it, making him feel small and fragile. Bucky’s eyes closed as the images took over his mind, only breaking out of his self-imposed erotic spell when he let out a little whimper.

With a shake of his head, he pulled the rest of his outfit out of the bag. Dark lavender silk pooled over the dressing table; a pair of wide legged, lounging trousers and a sleeveless top with a v-neck. As with his underwear, Bucky allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the feel of the indulgent material as it slipped between his fingers, before sliding it over his body.

In some respects this was his favourite part of his and Steve’s date evenings - the build up, the anticipation. This time, where it was just him, where he could indulge himself, mind, body and soul and be the Bucky he was inside, and not the carefully created facade society expected him to be based on his outward appearance.

Ding!

Bucky’s phone alarm went off, signalling that the lasagne was now cooked. He smiled to himself, a little self-congratulation at his timing skills, as he got up and padded back through to the kitchen. 

With an apron covering his precious outfit, Bucky turned off the oven, - dinner would keep beautifully warm for the next 10-15 minutes in there - opened and decanted a bottle of Steve’s favourite Chateau Neuf, and got out the vegetables to put together a little garden salad for the side. Everything was ready. Now all he had to do was wait.

Unfortunately this was not his forte.

Removing and hanging his apron back up, Bucky checked his phone, pulling up the ‘Find my phone app’ so he could see how close to home Steve was. As the little green dot pulsed on the screen, Bucky felt an echoing pulse of excitement in his blood. 

Steve was only a block away. 

With a lack of grace he was glad that Steve couldn’t see, Bucky ducked back into the bedroom and put his phone away - he wouldn’t need it for the rest of the evening and wanted nothing that would distract him from Steve, if that were at all possible. Then he returned to the main room and knelt down on the soft rug, about 10ft from the door. He rested his weight back on his heels, placed his hands on his thighs, lifted his head and waited.

Chapter 2

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @sidepartskinnyjeans @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel

[youwishyouwasme1234]

The Assassin and The Monster. (Chapter 5 & 6)

If anyone has any questions about the story or if I used a word wrong or something, please let me know and ill fix it. I'm trying to improve my writing skills, and I love to hear from you guys.

Chapter 5: Much Needed Rest.

For some reason, even though the Angler when by, the lights in the room stayed on. “It seems I’m in an office of sorts.” I moved away from the door and over to the office chair. I settle down in a chair and prop my feet up. I look at my scuffed up black knee-high boots and my ruffled up black uniform. “I look terrible. So much water around me but none of its clean enough to bathe in. Just my luck.” I pull out what looks like a harmless black metal tube. The one thing that Urbanshade had graciously let me keep and bring down here.

“If only they knew the things I could do.” I push a button on the side of the nondescript pipe and in the blink of an eye, it turns into a massive mechanical scythe. “As an assassin, I should not be down here doing a job like this. If only I hadn’t let myself get caught.”

I get up to heat up the packet of food I was given by Urbanshade in a nearby microwave. To my delight, the microwave turns on and I’m able to heat up what looks like a TV dinner. “I guess its better than nothing.” Once my food is warm, I take it back over to the desk. I sit down and dig in, not realizing how hungry I truly was until now.

After thinking about what the Eyefestation said about being reunited with my loved ones, I spent a good while in thought. I don’t have any family or friends. At least, not anymore. I was an orphan since I could remember, my parents and sister had died in a car crash. I’ve always been a small, quiet girl.

The only person that I could consider family was my husband, but… I immediately shut those thoughts down. I put my scythe away. I relax in the chair, letting myself fall asleep for the first time in days.

Chapter 6: Flashback.

                “Hey, Babe!” Said my husband excitedly. He was playing Subnautica on the couch while waiting for me to get home.

                “Hi, sweetheart!” I say back in a cheerful tone. I settled down next to my husband. My husband, a man with fair skin, blue eyes and beautiful curly black hair looked at me with a loving smile. What’s for dinner/

                “I’m making chili. It’s in the oven baking right now.” he says, flashing his signature charming smile. “Do you like my new piercing?” he asks, motioning towards his eyebrow.

                “I love it! It completes your metalhead get up.” I say giggling happily.

“How was your day? I know I’m not allowed to ask because you work for a super-secret assassin cult and stuff, but I want to know.” He said, hoping I’d answer.

“I had a good day. I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t. If I did then you might get hurt, or worse.” I respond back.

And got hurt my husband did. More than hurt. He was convicted of something he didn’t do. Something I did, and he paid the price for and that’s something he’ll probably never forgive me for. But that’s neither here, nor there.

[detective-giggles]

Flufftober 2021: Domestic Fluff

And with this fic, I think all my 2021 flufftober plans are complete. I fought with this one a little- I wanted to write all the boring domestic bits that we normally skip in fic but that are totally part of real life, you know? @chaotictarlos, thank you for the beta and thank you so much for the edit! It’s perfect! And to you and @noxsoulmate, thank you for letting me blow up your messages over this fic! 

Beeeeeep…beeeeeep…beeeeep…

 TK groaned and reached a hand out, attempting to smack his phone into silence.  He missed, his hand hitting the table with a dull thud.  He groaned again, but didn’t attempt to open his eyes until he felt fingers running through his hair, scratching his scalp gently.

 “Hmmm?”

 “It’s not your alarm, babe. It’s the oven timer,” Carlos explained gently, a smile evident in his voice.

 “Hmmm.” TK hummed and closed his eyes again.  Carlos chuckled fondly and TK’s eyes flew open as he sat up quickly. “Sorry. How long was I out?”

 “Twenty minutes or so,” Carlos shrugged.

 “Sorry,” TK repeated.

 “It’s okay,” Carlos stood and pressed a kiss to the top of TK’s head.

 “Gimme two minutes, and I’ll be in to set the table.” He stood and made his way toward the bathroom.

 “Take three minutes and wash your hands,” Carlos teased. TK was halfway to the bathroom before his sleep-addled brain processed the remark but he was too tired to think of anything clever to add.

 “Ha.” TK splashed some cold water on his face in an attempt to make it through dinner without falling asleep on his plate and then joined Carlos in the kitchen.  He pulled some plates out of the cabinet and placed them on the counter before gracefully moving around Carlos to grab their silverware. 

 Their shifts had kept them apart a fair amount of nights, but they ate meals together whenever their schedules aligned, and TK found comfort in the familiarity with which they danced around each other.  Carlos dished up their plates while TK grabbed some bottles of water, and they met at the table at the same time. 

 They both sat and Carlos waited, as he always did, for TK to take his first bite.  

“This is so good!” TK murmured, as he always did.  Carlos beamed and then dug into his own serving, and the two ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. 

“Sorry I fell asleep again.  We only had one night off together this week, and I had to ruin it,” TK said after another bite, only feeling mildly guilty about it.

 “It’s okay, I’m glad you’re finally getting some more sleep!” Carlos reached for TK’s right hand with his left and gave it a squeeze.  “I know your overnights have been extra busy lately.” Carlos gave him a sympathetic smile and turned back to his plate, gently rubbing his thumb over TK’s knuckles while he ate.

“Yeah, and the overtime has been rough too. I hope they replace that paramedic on B shift soon.”  TK started to pull his hand away and frowned when Carlos didn’t immediately release him. “I’m going to get more food. Are you coming with me or are you going to let me go?” He asked with an amused laugh. “This is the first time in a week I’ve eaten something I didn’t have to cook myself, I’m going to enjoy it.” 

 Carlos gave TK’s hand one last squeeze and then let go.  “Bring me back a piece of garlic bread when you come?”

 “Of course. You want anything else while I’m up?”

 “No, thanks.” TK served himself a bit more chicken and returned to the table, holding Carlos’ garlic bread behind his back in exchange for a kiss.

 “It’s a nice night, want to go for a walk after dinner?” Carlos asked.

 TK looked thoughtful and then shook his head. “I’m still tired. I’m thinking we could head to bed early. You cooked so I’ll clean up,” TK offered, collecting both empty plates and carrying them to the sink.   

 Carlos shook his head as he quickly packaged up the leftovers and tucked them into the refrigerator.  “And by go to bed early, you mean…”

 TK grabbed the soap and a sponge and sighed, defeated. “I think I actually mean go to bed.” 

 “Well, we’ll finish faster if we both help,” Carlos pointed out.  He grabbed a clean towel from the drawer and hovered near TK as he started washing the dishes.  He stepped closer, pressing his body up against TK’s back, playfully pinning him against the counter.  “Hey, babe?”

 “Hmmm?”

 “You, uh, missed a spot,” he teased.

 TK rolled his eyes and splashed some water in Carlos’ face. “You can wash them if you want.”

 “Nah, you go ahead.” Carlos tossed the towel over his shoulder as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. He only let a few dishes stack up before he hurried, humming softly as he worked.

 TK only grumbled a little, he despised washing dishes, but with Carlos singing softly in the background, it wasn’t as bad as he remembered.

“One last chore before bed,” Carlos whispered, pressing a soft kiss to TK’s temple. “I can get them if you want to sleep.”

 Shaking his head, TK collected their boots from the laundry room and set them on a chair near the table, and then went to grab the shoe polish and rags.  Carlos spread out a few pieces of newspaper over the kitchen table and set their work boots up side by side.  TK returned after a minute and handed Carlos a spare rag.  They both got to work and eased into a rhythm, taking turns dipping the rag in polish and shining their shoes.

 They had just finished their first boot each when TK paused. “Oh my God, we’re actually adulting, aren’t we? Is this what being an old married couple is like? We get a place in downtown Austin, and we consider doing dishes and shining boots a big Friday night.”

 “TK, baby… We can go out next weekend if you want. But right now? I’m perfectly content here, in the loft, with you by my side. Even if we are just getting ready for tomorrow’s shifts. We’re doing it together, and that’s all that matters.”

 “You big softie,” TK turned and booped Carlos’ nose, getting just a little shoe polish on his face. “You, uh, missed a spot.”

Carlos rolled his eyes fondly and leaned in, trying to give TK a kiss. TK laughed and tried to dodge, but Carlos caught him and managed a kiss, making sure to rub a little of the shoe polish onto his cheek. 

TK grumbled again, playfully this time, as they finished their boots and cleaned up their supplies.  They did a cursory check of the loft; Carlos made sure the door was locked, while TK checked the stove. They turned off the lights and TK slipped his hand into Carlos’ as they walked a few feet to the bedroom. 

Carlos pulled off his shirt and tossed it in the hamper. When he looked up, TK caught sight of the smudge on his nose and let out a giggle. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned a few seconds later with a damp towel and carefully cleaned off Carlos’ nose.

TK followed Carlos into the bathroom to brush their teeth. “Big spoon or little spoon?” Carlos asked, his mouth full of toothpaste. 

“You pick,” TK replied. 

Carlos climbed into bed on his side. TK shut off the light and joined him, curling his body around Carlos’, and draping his arm over Carlos’ middle. “Every night you ask, and every night we sleep the same way.” TK pointed out.

“I’m just making sure you didn’t change your mind.” 

“Never,” TK promised. “I’ll be your big spoon forever.” Carlos reached for his hand and TK grabbed it, linking their fingers together, and together, they drifted off to sleep.

[trivialbob]

When drinking a fancy beer, I like a fancy glass.

The other night I did a Target run. With fewer than three new filters next to the furnace, I was a bit uneasy. If the zombie apocalypse arrives I still expect clean air.

On my way home I stopped at the liquor store by my house. Signs taped to each cooler door apologized for a broken refrigeration system.

No prob, as the kids say. I was still in prepper mode. This beer wasn’t for immediate consumption, so it didn’t matter if it was as warm as a slice of toast.

For me there was a four-pack of a fancy, bourbon barrel aged IPA. For Sheila I selected a traditional American light beer in clear bottles with twist-off caps.

My beer is sold unrefrigerated anyway. It has to be cooled at home. Sheila’s beer is supposed to be sold cold, probably so you can have one in the car on the way home. Right?

The store manager gave me 10% off of Sheila’s beer because it wasn’t cold. A discount! That made me want some warm, light beer for myself, but I stuck with my first choice.

Last night we stayed in and made a frozen pizza while enjoying some of that now-cooled beer. A good steak should sit for several minutes before serving, while it cooks a little more away from heat. Don’t rush things. The same idea applies to frozen pizza, though instead of cooking a little more, it needs to cool. I think of  all the times I burned the roof of my mouth, too impatient to wait for the pizza sauce to be a reasonable temperature. Not fun.

We had Home Run Inn pizza, my favorite frozen brand. It sat for ten minutes after coming out of the oven. It was perfect.

[ramenaddicted]

Nice and warm

synopsis: I cook soup for my man and reminisce about how we met, also recipe included.

an: So this little ditty is part of the @love-and-lore autumn self-ship collab, so if you are not into that feel free to skip this one.

The stage is set. My boyfriend won't know what hit him. I chuckle to myself as I continue to dice my yellow onions. The strong scent of onions stings my eyes and they start to water slightly. It’s September; that means soup season, and I aim to introduce different soups to my boyfriend through the fall and winter. My boyfriend is so picky. He only likes to eat foods that are easy to cook and easy to eat like chicken tenders and mac & cheese. There’s nothing wrong with those foods. I love a good bowl of mac & cheese every once in a while. However, I also like to get my daily intake of veggies so to increase his intake of veggies, I’m going full throttle.

As I finish chopping my onions, that’s when I start peeling and mincing my garlic. The delicious yet pungent aroma of garlic is a promise of the delicious soup that is to come. My kitchen is on the smaller side with its light green walls and the awkward color countertops. I have zero space so I have to mince all this garlic by hand. 

I turn my attention to a bowl of potatoes sitting in water, soaking and cleaning, the last of the prep for the heavy load of soup. With all of my fresh veggies neatly prepped and put into bowls, I start on the potatoes. Taking my peeler, I swiftly peel each of my potatoes and then cut them in halves. To make sure I don’t get early-onset arthritis, I bought a little gadget to help me easily dice my potatoes. I transfer them into a large bowl with cold fresh water to keep them all nice and white. 

I take a step back and marvel over my work. Wow! All of my items have been perfectly prepped, but now here comes the fun part: cooking! I decide to take out my beautiful butternut squash-colored Dutch oven and turn the fire up high on the stove.  As I feel a tiny bit of heat radiating from the pot itself, I layer the bottom half of the pot with bacon slices.

The bacon does its job and slowly cooks. I decided to take time out and measure my wet ingredients: 4 cups of chicken stock and 2 cups of milk. 

As the bacon slowly cooks, the scent radiates throughout the kitchen. It’s a wonderful smell. Hopefully, my boyfriend likes it. I had decided on a soup that was easy to make and very pleasing with the accouterments such as the bacon in the cheese.

Cooking bacon takes a while, especially when it’s still in its strip form and not chopped up like I should’ve done it. Still, who cares? As I slowly drift off into La La Land, the bottom of the pot with the bacon starts to turn brown. I am reminded why I am doing this. I'm doing this because I love my boyfriend and I want to eat soup; two birds. one stone.

My boyfriend and I have been dating for about two years. Within those two years, I found out so much about him; I know he’s a picky eater, a hard-core gamer, and I know he has a selective group of friends whom I affectionately call the ragamuffins or the little bastards. Anywho, when I first met my boyfriend, Tomura Shigaraki, I was a bit put off by him just because he didn’t traditionally approach me.  I was just minding my business when I heard a cheery feminine voice call out to me.

“Hey! You’re Yasmin, right?” A cheery voice called.

I turned around to see who was calling me. It was a short blonde girl wearing a dark hoodie and sneakers. I could feel an invisible pair of eyes staring at my dark skin from the shadows. A small chill ran down my back.

“Yes, who’s asking?” I balked at her question.

“So my friend over there likes you and would like to get to know you,” she stated while turning behind to point at a shadowy figure trying to conceal himself by a nearby tree.

The figure in question was a tall lanky man dressed in a dark hoodie and dark sweatpants. Blazing ruby red eyes with deep bags under his eyes, chapped lips, and the aura of an enraged Discord mod*.

“Why does he look like that?” I inquired while physically taking a step back. The man wasn’t even in my personal space and I felt like I was gonna get stabbed.

“He’s just shy,” she tried to assure me.

She was not doing a good job, plus with his intense staring, he was also shooting himself in the foot.

“Naw, I’m cool.”

Afterward, I got hounded by other people in his friend's circle. The blond girl introduced herself as Himiko Toga. We hung out more just because she was approachable and not stalking me from the shadows. A week after the informal meeting, I was approached by another man with tall dark spiky hair, turquoise, blue eyes, and a bad attitude: Dabi.

Dabi’s method of persuasion was terrible. He was more annoyed than anything as he tried listing off the non-redeemable qualities of his friend.

“Stop please,” I begged. As I would come to find out, Tomura truly has some odd friends. Dabi didn’t do a good job of painting Tomura in a good light. The heavily tattooed stranger emphasized the other was a hardcore gamer with mommy issues.

With friends like these, who needs enemies? I collected myself and turned away from Dabi.

“Listen here, if your friend wants to talk to me we can sit down at the campus coffee house and talk.” Dabi could feel my frustration as I spoke.

I turned on my heels and went in the opposite direction of the campus coffeehouse. “Otherwise I’m going to the campus police and reporting him for stalking!”

The scent of freshly ground espresso was a welcomed scent inside the coffee house. The campus coffee house was a nice and quaint place; pastries, coffees, and teas were their game, and serving espresso and other caffeinated delights was their cash cow.

The jingling of the bell alerted the barista to my presence. They greeted me warmly as I made my way to the counter to order. I ordered my usual – a London fog tea latte and a vanilla bean scone. After paying for my goods, I went to find a nice and secluded area for me and hopefully my stalker.

After my items were done, I quickly took them and sat at the very back of the cafe with a window seat. The coffee house doorbell jingled harshly as the perpetrator entered. Lo behold, it was my skrunkly stalker. Tomura was dressed in a gray hoodie and sweatpants. His hair at the time was blue-tinged. His striking red beady eyes stared straight at me. I waved him over, and he ran towards me like his life depended on it.

"So you want to tell me why you have been stalking me from the shadows?" I asked, cutting to the chase while sipping my latte.

The silence was deafening as I sipped on my latte loudly. The poor boy was sweating bullets while trying to concoct an answer.

"Because you smell nice," His answer stunned me as he continued to explain. 

"We have some connecting classes so when I sit behind or near you…I sniff your perfume." He admitted as his cheeks blushed a furious shade of red.

"That is so creepy."

The smell of cooked bacon pulls me from my daydream as I go to collect my bounty of cooked bacon. Swiftly picking the bacon strips out of the Dutch oven with my tongs, I put the bacon on a paper towel-clad plate and then turn the heat to low.

With the bacon secured, I quickly move on to building the soup base. Next, I add two tablespoons of butter, diced onions, and minced garlic. With those ingredients, the kitchen quickly becomes more fragrant and delicious. My onions cook down and are thoroughly translucent, and the garlic is browning in color: not burnt, but beige. 

I measure my liquids: chicken broth and heavy whipping cream. Then once the vegetables look nice and golden brown, I add half a cup of flour.

As much as Tomura’s friends would tease him about our initial courting, I wouldn’t have traded the experience for the world. After our impromptu date at the campus coffee house, Tomura went out of his way to talk to me. He still stalked me from the shadows but that kept the real creeps away from me. So a win is a win…I guess.

With the veg and flour mixture fully turned into liquid goodness via the six cups of chicken stock, I quickly add my chopped potatoes and herb mixture: rosemary, thyme, salt/pepper, and a couple of dashes of Montreal steak seasoning.

Keys jingling and the lock turning makes a smile spread across my face.

“Babe, I’m home,” Tomura calls as he waltzes into our shared apartment.

“I’m in the kitchen!” I yell.

“Smells good in here, what are we having for dinner?”

“Loaded potato soup.”

Slender arms wrap themselves around my waist and I feel slightly chapped lips kiss the side of my cheek. I giggle at the affection my boyfriend dotes on me in private. I tell him to go wash up and that dinner will be ready in a minute. I took the time to crumble up the cooked bacon for garnish. Along with shredded cheddar cheese, chopped green onions, and the crumbled bacon on top of the piping hot soup dinner is complete.

Once back, the table is already set, and the man of the hour is wearing his at-home sweater. Dressed in a white t-shirt with a black sweater with cream lining, it gives off an academic vibe.

“Someone looks fancy,” I tease.

“I can’t help it, it's comfortable,” he playfully pouts while taking his seat across from me.

I hand him his bowl of loaded potato soup. My gremlin doesn’t even set the steaming bowl on the table before he begins chowing down on the cheesy and bacony goodness. I laugh at his antics; the man is acting like this is the first time he'd ever had my cooking.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, acting like a starving kitten.”

He blushes furiously at my taunt and looks away from me before going back to eating his soup, this time less comically.

“I’m glad you like it though,” I beam at the praise. “I thought about you while making it.”

Tomura stops eating for a moment and looks at me. Carnelian eyes glow with amusement as he reaches out for my hand on the table.

“Yaz, I don’t care if you served me those abominations from the 50’s,” I giggle at his words. “I will treasure anything you make.”

He quickly stands the both of us up, and I point to his sweater.

“I didn’t make that, but I bought it for you.”

“Doesn't matter, this was bought with the intention of making me happy.”

“And warm,” I mock him.

“And warm,” he repeats.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

the skeleton key | chapter one: jigsaw pieces

now this is a fic that’s been sitting in my repertoire for years, almost decade now. it was one of those things i just kept visualizing every now and again, and yet i never had the chops (or the courage for that matter) to come out with it. i thought about bringing it to life in late 2017, when i was offline, but i had other things happening. i tried resurrecting it in summer 2019, and then again during quarantine, to the point i had actually written down the first chapter, but then now it’s dark came along and i couldn’t resist that one and thus, i shelved it for two years (and summer of quarantine, as we all know, was… that). i tried it again in november 2021, but then almost immediately, i thought of dead man walking so i had to put it aside a third time. i just didn’t know what to do with it, like i had the story inside me, but i never knew who was featured in it.

hopefully, fourth time is a charm.

i like to say that my testament fics are the stories i’ve always wanted to write (and they are), but this unquestionably is that.

“I've got about five minutes left on my shift—could you wait a bit for me as I clean up?”

It had been a long day at the bakery and my feet were in utter agony and I had a headache from looking at price tags all day long. I knew I was going to have to go to the show smelling of fresh bread out of the oven as well as vanilla, but it was more than worth it in my eyes. If nothing else, we could possibly go to the show and meet up with those guys backstage by some random as hell chance. Marcy had come to the bakery to pick me up, all bright eyed and bushy tailed no less, and I was more than eager to clock out and head on over to the House of Blues to go and see Metal Allegiance.

She had suggested I make a drawing for those guys, and yet I needed the money to buy it all first. If nothing else, I could find myself in the odd chance that I struck up something with them in the meantime and I could do something down the line.

I was the artist, after all. The artist with the bakery at her helm.

I could do both if I so wished.

“You should whip up some brownies or something really quick,” she suggested to me as I tucked the cookie sheets under the display case. At least I didn't have to put up any day olds right then.

“Well, we're going to have to meet them first,” I told her as I switched off the light in the case; she blinked a few times and showed me a smile. She continued to smile with the little chai symbol around her neck. “You know how these things usually go at shows now.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a nod and a tucking of a curled lock of hair behind her ear.

It was my second concert after quarantine had ended: I had seen Eddie Vedder the year before not too far from there over at the Greek Theatre, and all the while, I was keeping my distance from people with that thick, heavy mask over my face. But I still managed to enjoy myself.

This was also going to be my very first metal show, as I usually frequented the alternative side of things: Marcy was the metalhead and she was the one taking me as a treat of sorts for being a good friend.

I took off my apron and hung it up on the rung in the next room, where I washed my hands. I glanced up at the clock which read two fifteen.

“What time does the show start?” I called out to her over the rush of the water.

“Eight o'clock,” she replied.

“Oh, we've got hours upon hours of time,” I assured her, and then I stopped in my tracks. “Is there a reason why you picked me up so early, besides the traffic obviously?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, you know.”

“I don't know,” I said as I dried off my hands. I doubled back to the front room of the bakery, and I treated her to a chuckle. “Don't tell me—”

“Don't tell you what, Al?”

“You know. All your little suggestions and the fact that I had been tiptoeing my way around it all. I know what this is.”

“Do you now?” She raised her eyebrows at me and treated me to that little cherubic smile. “Oh, Marcy Playground, what do I do with you.”

“Marcy Playground and Alison Chains, that's how we do,” she quipped. I signed myself out and switched off the light: some day, when I have my own bakery, I'll open the door at eight in the morning and close at dinner time, and I'll have an art gallery next door that'll be open until ten o'clock at night. A dream of mine, and yet it felt so out of reach.

“When do you get paid?” she asked me as we strode outside to her car: it was a cold day there near the beach, colder than either of us had been acquainted with, but the sun greeted us with a good day that day. Marcy adjusted her jacket to hide her pendant, even though we were the sole ones on the street at that moment.

“Tomorrow,” I replied. “Fridays, remember? Why?”

“Do you have money?” she asked as she unlocked the doors for us.

“Yes, of course. Again, why?”

“I'll explain in a bit.” We climbed into the car and she drove me out of Pleasant Valley Village, all the way up towards Ventura Boulevard. She drove me over to Ventura, right to the center of town: I was amazed that she had remembered the way there, given she hailed all the way from New York City and I was the California girl. But we reached the parking lot there, and she took the spot dead center of it all so we could look on at the art store there as it overlooked the beach itself. I leaned back in the seat with my head tilted back and my mouth agape.

“Marcy...” I groaned.

“You should!” she insisted. “You should totally draw them something. If you can't bake them something, you should at the very least draw them something instead. Remember? We talked about all of this?”

“Yeah, it was just a one time thing, too,” I recalled to her. “I also remember going to see Alice in Chains before the pandemic and I knew right away that I wasn't going to reach Jerry from where I was sitting. Like I said, Marce, the chances of it happening are so far out there, that it almost feels pointless to even think of doing it.”

“Was it pointless to make the drawing of Jerry?” she asked me, to which I paused for a moment.

“No. If anything, that was one of the drawings I was most proud of.” I paused again as I thought back to that big bright psychedelic drawing that I had made for Jerry, of him with Chris and also Lars. I still had it stashed away in the back of my desk drawer to keep it safe. “Yeah, that drawing was one of the highlights of that summer. The summer before quarantine.”

“Okay, now... do you think it's pointless to even try it out?”

I stopped again, that time with my thoughts going into making those artworks. I couldn't bake something, even with as much as I wanted to, but I could share art. I had to keep it with me at all times until I found a chance, and up to that point, I had often heard and read of stories of fans going to meet people like them, and it seemed to happen like a jigsaw puzzle falling into place. It had happened to me as well, but it was lightning in a bottle, though, and it always was with everyone else who had a story like that.

I had my doubts and my questions, but somehow, even through it all, I still held out a tiny ray of hope.

“Okay, well...” I began again, “before I go in there and spend the rest of my money on art supplies, what do you think I should I draw?”

“The four of them,” she insisted. “Mark, Alex, Dave, and Mike. You've got four hours, and I've watched you draw in a shorter amount of time, Al. You can do it.”

“You want me to go in there and get some paper and nice markers, and work on something here in the car?”

“Yes! Yes, you should!”

I pursed my lips. “I really don't know, Marce. I mean, like I said, we talked about this a few months back when they announced the ten year anniversary show. When I met Chris, it was such a one in million occurance that I really don't think anything like that could happen again.”

“Okay, but what if I helped you remember your thought process back then, though?” she asked me as she leaned in closer to me with her elbow rested upon the center console. “Do you remember what you were thinking back then before you made that painting? And also, before you made that drawing of Jerry?” I paused for a second: I sat there in a brief moment of disbelief that my meeting Chris had been nearly a decade ago at that point, a decade since I had gotten face to face with Chris. But I remembered it all, though. I still pictured it on the back of my mind as if it had just happened.

“Do it anyways,” I recalled in a low voice. “Because you never know.”

“You never know, exactly,” she assured me. I sighed through my nose and peered out the window to those front doors. We were down the parking lot from them, but I swore I could see my own reflection there.

I hoisted my purse off the floor from next to my feet, and I climbed out to the gray afternoon sunshine.

I closed the door behind me and strode up towards those big glass front doors. My mind fell blank from that point forward as I was guided by nothing more than my own heart. I never spent all of my money on the nice paper and that little set of alcohol markers as well as a new pencil, and it never registered in my mind until I found myself in the parking lot once again with Marcy next to me.

Four A3 sized sheets of paper for the drawings. I had their likenesses stuck inside of my mind. We had the ocean at our backs and the sun over us, and I let her watch me all the way until I was finished with all four of them.

It was days like that when I missed him. I was going to a show and yet, I knew in my heart that there was no way I could see him again. It was all too real when I saw Eddie, and more so at that very moment. I was going to a show, and I knew I was going to have him with me the entire time as well.

Once I had completed the drawings, I leaned back in the seat and signed them on the backs.

The one of Alex, a scene of him walking on the beach with the sunrise behind him, stuck out to me, because I never put so much thought into that one, that is until I took a good long look at him there with his shoulder length hair and the fact that I remembered his being a bit on the soft side, even while long and thin.

Almost like Chris.

Mark meanwhile reminded me of another ghost from the past, one that had slipped through my fingers without my realizing it until it was too late. Mike brought me back to another moment in time, one that I wished to forget, and Dave reminded me of someone who had fallen somewhere around the same time Chris had gone away as well.

They all reminded me of someone whom I used to know, and I never realized it until I signed my name on the back of the drawing of Alex. I sat there in silence with my hands rested upon my lap, whereby Marcy leaned into my face again.

“Are you okay?” she asked me in a low voice.

“Yeah,” I duly replied. “At least, I think I am.”

She raised her hand and turned the key, and we saw the time displayed on the dashboard. Three hours before we could even go into the venue, but we had to move things along to beat the evening rush hour. This was something that I definitely did not want to miss out on, even if it meant digging up some memories.