#plastic chopping board

[michellethecarnivore]

What Are The Best Chopping Boards for Preparing Meat?

The best chopping board for meat preparation is made from a durable material that is easy to clean and sanitise. Some popular materials for chopping boards include plastic, wood, and bamboo. Plastic chopping boards are generally considered a good option for raw meat, as they are easy to clean and sanitise. Plastic boards are also non-porous, meaning they will not absorb bacteria or odours.…

[boyjoan]

where would we be without huge wooden chopping boards and decent knives

[mumintroll]

i wish i'd spent the little bit extra to get a nice wooden chopping board when i moved out im stuck w my icky plastic one forever now

[gudmould]

Summary of 25 plastic reinforced modification formulas and 20 key points involved

There are many common plastic modification technologies, mainly reinforcement technologies, including fiber reinforcement, self-reinforcement, and molecular reinforcement; toughening technology; filling modification; blending and plastic alloy technology; flame retardant technology; nanocomposite technology; reaction grafting modification; aging resistance; functional modification, including…

[prokitchendeals]

Get The Right Tool For The Job: How To Choose The Best Cutting Board For Raw Meat

When it comes to handling raw meat, safety is always the top priority. The best way to avoid cross contamination and foodborne illness is to use separate cutting boards for raw meat and other foods.

There are a few different materials to choose from when it comes to cutting boards, but the most important thing is to make sure the board is non-porous. Wood and plastic are both popular choices, but bamboo and glass are also options.

If you're going to be using a Wood Or Plastic Cutting Board For Meat on a regular basis, it's a good idea to invest in one that is dishwasher safe. This will make cleanup much easier and help keep your board bacteria-free.

[weaselle]

let's talk cutting boards and butcher's blocks

Wood, even a slab of wood that is no longer a part of a living tree, has anti-bacterial properties. Mostly because the dry wood fiber absorbs water leaving the bacteria high and dry, which kills it. So don't let your cutting board soak in water and become water-logged, just rinse it thoroughly and dry it with a towel.

here is a source article

here is an excerpt from that article

"Scientists at the University of Wisconsin have found that 99.9% of bacteria placed on a wooden chopping board begin to die completely within minutes. After being left at room temperature overnight, there were no remaining living bacteria on the wooden boards the next day. In comparison, cheaper plastic cutting boards had very little effect on dangerous microbes."

plastic, on the other hand, quickly becomes knife-scarred, creating little microscopic valleys that trap water and breed microbes

NOW. You may still want to wash your wooden cutting board or butcher's block with more than water after you, say, cut raw chicken on it. I get it. What you shouldn't do is use soap, because the way wood absorbs water, you're going to wind up with a soap flavored cutting board.

What you want to do is mix up a strong salt solution. 10% salt 90% water by weight is enough to kill most bacteria if you let it sit ten minutes, but honestly i usually make something approaching a salt paste and let it sit like two minutes. You only need like 5 tablespoons of mix (so like 4 of water and 2 of salt) to do most cutting boards. Scrub it over your cutting board with anything clean, i often straight up use my hand. The salt crystals act like sandpaper, helping you scrub. Get the whole surface wet, then let it sit 2-5 minutes. Now rinse and dry your board. This will scrub off any food material stuck to your board, help ensure all the bacteria die, and your board won't taste of soap - at worst it will get a little salty.

[blindbeta]

So, I've been writing a blind character who cooks. So far, I've written him as being someone who relies a lot on routine and habit, who navigates the kitchen by touch and by memory. He's a bit rigid, and insists on using his own tools, which are color coded (he can see them up close with what residual vision he has) and marked with braille, but I was wondering what other tools a blind person might use when cooking.

A Bunch of Stuff For Blind People Who Want to Cook

I don’t know where and when your story takes place, so what is used might change depending on the character. Here are some options to get you started. There are many tools and techniques devoted to making cooking easier. I don’t know as much about the subject, so I’ll do my best. Please add any other ideas in the notes.

First, the creator @canseecantsee on YouTube and TikTok is an excellent resource. She has lots of videos showcasing how she cooks and does various daily tasks. She demonstrates the use of many tools, such as heat resistant gloves and high contrast items. Here is a video in which she demonstrates chopping vegetables.

Notice the high contrast items such as the yellow chopping board and purple knife. In the video, she demonstrates use of the towel or a place mat beneath the cutting board to prevent slipping. As she cuts a cucumber, tomatoes, and onions, she also uses a technique that allows her to feel the edge of the item so that she knows where she wants to cut and how thick the slices will be.

Here is a video by TheBlindLife showcasing his accessible kitchen. He has excellent points on the importance of contrast, from color contrast to shape contrast. The video includes

bump dots

labels

high contrast colors of tools

high contrast plates and bowls

talking scale and thermometer

heat resistant gloves

and alternatives for glass cups

High contrast is important and can be created by being mindful of the kind of countertops or tables used. For example, in the video, there is a triangular plate that is decorated like a pizza slice. Eating on this plate might cause food to get lost visually, especially food that has the same colors as the plate. Much like the plate, counters or tablecloths with busy patterns might cause items to be harder to see due to lack of contrast. Plain counters, tables, or tablecloths make items stand out more.

Additionally, creating contrast between surfaces and the items on them is helpful. The table is a dark wood? Light plates, bowls, and cups it is. The counter is plain white? The plates and bowls are a dark color.

For glass cups, the video offers solid, colorful plastic cups that offer better contrast. The fact that glasses are clear makes them even more of a challenge and colorful plastic alleviates that concern. However, if someone wants to use glass cups, they can use some that are either made with colorful glass or have color somewhere on them. This might help depending on the contrast and lighting.

In addition to memory, your character can also use labels and various markers. Sharpie, different colors and shapes, textural elements like bump dots, actual Braille or large print labels, tape, stickers, string, or ribbon. Label makers are great, but plenty of other options exist, particularly considering the aesthetic the kitchen has. He may also enjoy decorating this way since he has residual vision. Ribbons tied around containers of sugar, salt, and flour can be cute and functional.

A few other ideas after searching cooking stuff:

talking items, such as a blender, rice cooker, or microwave oven

marking speed on electric mixers or other devices

talking, high contrast, or large print timers

funnel or liquid level indicator

Braille or large print labeled measuring cups

individual bowls for portions, such as soup, rice, sauces, proteins, etc. Different shapes, sizes, or color could also indicate what food item typically goes in what bowl.

You can also come up with other ideas by thinking about what your character would use and how that might be done more easily. While I prefer characters use blindness techniques and assistive devices, people also naturally make things easier for themselves through organization and creating their own labels. A person who cooks might also be able to distinguish certain ingredients by smell or texture.

Another tip I have is to watch blind content creators on social media. Chances are, some of them show themselves cooking or discuss how they do it.

Lighting is also going to be a big deal. The kitchen will need good lighting, both overhead and under cabinets. Natural lighting is also great, although this is not as reliable or constant.

What he uses might also depend on various factors such as income; how often a character cooks; amount of available space; time period and setting; cultural practices around cooking, eating, and utensils used; access to the blind community; willingness to use assistive devices for blind people; any internalized ableism or ableism from family; and level of vision.

Hope that helps.

[sereh624]

redactedboys as uncles / babysitters hcs :3

ft . david, sam, gavin, lasko

plz link me to good dividers . and how to use them. i am no good with my aesthetics.

david shaw who's statergy for babysitting siblings/a few children at once is to fill up a inflatable pool, throw some plastic toys in it, dump a bunch of bubble soap in the water and let them go crazy while he sits back on the porch, glass in hand like an old man. his lazy excuse for fun is made up for by the killer lunch he makes for them afterwards, letting them choose from the assortment of things he'd gone through the effort of serving on platters and chopping boards.

sam collins who, in an effort to find an activity that didn't involve the sun or breaching covert, chose to just pull out a bunch of his old stuff and let the kids play around with it. ten minutes after letting them ravage a tub of his old clothes, they're running around the house with his old shirts, belts and jeans on over their own, chasing eachother around with trade offers and tripping over their own feet in the process. the game stops pretty quickly when sam remembers that tub also happened to contain old boxers that definitely weren't up for trying-on.

gavin the incubus™ who decides to bake and decorate cupcakes with the kids. the baking more so on his part, the decorating on theirs, as while gavin is an advocate for experimentation and trying new things, blowing up his oven with mystery batter isn't one of them. he sits the kids down at the table, and places down the freshly made cupcakes, icing pipe bag thingamabobs, sprinkles and whatever shit he could find in the cupboard. the day is a success, the activity doubling as fun and lunch (albeit unhealthy), and now he has like five cupcakes that spell his name in sprinkes and icing, gifted oh-so-graciously by the children.

lasko moor/e? who is actually really good with kids. he doesn't half-ass caring for them, even if they don't quite remember his name yet (he's reminded them about 6 times now. it's been an hour) or why they're at his house. lasko engages in whatever they're doing, albeit dressup, playing with dolls, or even wrestling (an activity that makes him extremely nervous to watch. thankfully, he was allowed to be a referee and not a participant). his constantly fraying nerves are temporarily soothed, feeling unjudged by the people who hadn't quite mastered the act of walking yet.

-

this one was lazy but i have a req i need to pump out tonight and not a lot of energy left to do it. mmmwah!

@skunkox @definetelynuwonhere @vividmilk

[milkycarnations]

I've been bored and can only write for shit when I want to impress someone. Since y'all are putting out good shit all the time, I think y'all deserve to read good shit while you're busy working on your book. This is your fault for making me realize I have a knife thing via Helen. Enjoy my monarchs: @itsabee @13tinysocks

Here's a link if you want to read on Ao3, otherwise it's under the cut!

Brian x afab!Reader | Whet Your Appetite | 5k words

one-shot masterlist | mdni | cw: consensual as always, knife and bloodplay, gunplay but only briefly mentioned, exhibitionism but just a threat, cunnilingus, fear play, missionary, creampie, begging, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, sexual tension

   Thursday nights forced you into a nasty habit. 

       Perhaps “nasty” was a bit too strong; too harsh. Thursday nights grew into something shameful. Embarrassing. Your spontaneous behavior evolved into a habit you kept to yourself - because if anyone found out you’d simply die. Brian cooked on Thursdays for as long as you can remember, but everything started roughly two weeks ago. Two whole weeks of being far too horny for your own good. 

       That night, you sat across from Brian and watched him intently. From your seat at the kitchen bar, you eyed him as he wielded the knife. That was what killed you. It was a simple chef’s knife with a lengthy steel blade, perfect for sharp, quick slices. Over the couple of weeks that you watched him, it became clear that Brian was skilled. You watched as he diced an onion into perfectly uniform cubes. Now, after washing his hands, he was busy peeling carrots before cutting them into coins. 

       At first, you were only impressed at how fast he moved, slicing each coin precisely without hurting himself. That interest swelled until you became fixated. 

       Shifting your weight on the barstool, you leaned forward as you watched him prep. 

       Why did it feel so wrong to find it attractive - Brian cutting fucking produce? It made no sense in your mind, leaving you heavily embarrassed at how much it turned you on. He cooked again that Saturday. Again, on Monday. You had never given it much attention before, but now every time he pulled out the green plastic cutting board and the knife you were there looking on from the sidelines. Brian certainly noticed the change, but you were sure he had no clue as to why. It wasn’t like you could explain it to him. There was no way you could tell him the way he chopped up that red cabbage last night was sexy. Regardless, he accepted your company and sometimes chose to chat with you while he cooked. 

       After a while of trying to cope and pretending you didn’t like it, you came to a conclusion. It was all in his arms and the way his hand gripped the handle of the knife. It made his forearms flex and his biceps bulge out under his shirt. Once that first week ended, you only got worse. You were down bad and it was horrible. 

       That second Thursday, the four of you got lucky and ended up with some extra cash to spare. These days, it wasn’t often that you found someone with six hundred dollars cash in their wallet. You treated yourselves and Brian wanted quality beef cuts for dinner. He chose a stir-fry. Tim requested cold beers.        

       There, you sat pathetically as Brian cubed the raw meat, a light layer of blood speckling his hands and the knife and pooling onto the cutting board. It was fair to say you had become desensitized over the years - you had both killed people, oftentimes together. However, it had not clicked into your head until now that you enjoyed watching Brian cut into things. The blood was a bonus. You had realized that you’d never witnessed Brian do such a thing before. To be fair, wasn’t his style. Blades were more of a Toby thing. 

       That revelation made you even more confused because it forced you to come to terms with your attraction to Brian. You didn’t feel this way watching Toby do the same. You tested it and nothing came up. 

       On a mission with Toby two days later, you kept your eyes on him like a hawk. Enamored with the scene, he sliced and hacked away at the flesh with those hatchets. Skin and muscle split. Blood spilled and coated everything in vibrant, slippery red. There was nothing. Sure, you were full of adrenaline and the adrenaline always left you a bit tingly for hours after, but you decided that it did not relate to Toby. Sure enough, when Brian cooked that Saturday night - a quick meal hours after - it happened all over again. You could only feel so intensely needy with Brian in front of you and a knife in his hand. 

       From there on, you were obsessed. You ate dinner, scooping the pasta with freshly minced garlic into your mouth, and only thought of him. You took your second shower of the day that night and in the steam-filled bathroom, only thought of him. You lay in your bed, tucked under the covers, and only thought of him as you slipped your hand into your shorts. Holding back from moaning his name, you fingered yourself desperately with a heavy ache in your stomach. 

       It was your most shameful orgasm yet, cumming to a man who was sleeping in the next room over who had no clue about your weird attraction to him. Strangely enough, the whole situation was the first thing in years that made you feel depraved, and you had done some sick shit. You slept well through the night but woke the next morning with an obvious wet spot in your shorts. This time, you couldn’t fall asleep to ignore your racing thoughts. 

       As if a conversation with him weren’t awkward enough, now that you’d masturbated to the thought of him, you could barely stand to look him in the eyes. It was impossible to hide how strange you’d been acting and everyone was catching onto you. Toby gave you way too much space, practically avoiding you at all costs. He recognized how you were avoiding Brian and assumed you needed a break from everything going on in the house, including himself. Tim got way too close, assuming you needed help. Though he never asked outwardly if you were depressed, it became obvious when you found a plate of fruit cut carefully into stars and your favorite snack. Tim looked out for you more than before. 

       Brian knew that the attention was fixed only on himself, even though the others hadn’t noticed. However, he hadn’t quite pinned why. All he gathered was that it was between you and him. That led to today. 

       Exactly two weeks and three days after it all started. You had done the same thing nearly every night in a row, each time growing needier and downright lustful. In the morning, you showered in an attempt to wash off the thoughts from the previous night, which did nothing to help. The afternoon was quaint: nobody had plans, which made for a relaxing Sunday evening. You were lying in your room, the door cracked open, daydreaming about nothing in particular and enjoying the rare silence. 

       A knock rapped on your door. 

       “Come in!” you called as you sat up on the mattress. 

       Brian pushed the door in and shut it closed behind him. You hadn’t expected to see him, instead anticipating Tim to come in with a tray of snacks again. It didn’t take long for you to grow nervous. Brian walked up to the bed, his socked feet pattering softly against the hardwood floors. He paused right in front of the bed. 

       “Can I sit?” he asked, his hands hidden in the pockets of his sweatpants. 

       “Sure,” you managed to choke the words out and shifted to hang your legs off the side of the bed. Brian sat down beside you. 

       “Did I do something to upset you?” 

       Brian’s words hurt. It was obvious that he’d assume he did something wrong - you were avoiding him like the plague. Though, it was far from the truth and it wasn’t fair for him to believe it. Still, you couldn’t get yourself to tell him everything. 

       “No. You’re okay,” you spoke. 

       Brian shuffled for a moment beside you, “Then what’d I do? Tim said you’re acting fine around him and Toby hasn’t brought anything up. So I know it’s just me,” 

       You sighed. Was there a point in bringing up silly little lies to save your ass? You valued your relationship with Brian far too much to hurt his feelings over a crush, but you felt like a schoolgirl admitting it. Brian sat in silence with you the entire time, waiting patiently for you to respond. He was never a nervous person at all, but you could see him grow almost desperate as you thought of what to say. The right words never found you, so you spoke with little filter. Brian sat up a little bit straighter as you started. 

       “I think I’m attracted to you, Brian.” 

       The words fell foreign off your tongue. Brian didn’t respond. He hardly moved, but you gathered the courage to look him in the eyes. A wide smile spread across his face. Your face flushed with heat until your cheeks turned blistering hot. Brian either didn’t notice or refused to comment on it. 

       “You think?” he asked. 

       The tension broke once he talked. You breathed out a chuckle and let the anxiety shed away. 

       “Yes, I think,”

       No hesitation. 

       “Do you want me to help you find out?” 

       You wanted to scream. You wanted to squirm in your seat and kick your feet in the air, but you tried to play it off. Though you were mentally losing it, you simply smiled and looked away. 

       “I think I would like that,” you admitted. 

       Brian’s hand came out to touch you lightly on the knee, pulling your attention back to him. You looked his way to catch the hungry gaze in his eyes. Heart thumping in your chest, you glanced down at the way his hand flexed around you. It brought you back to the kitchen with that dumb knife in his hand. Between your legs, you grew more excited and could tell you were becoming wet. It made you ache - he hadn’t even touched you there yet and you wanted him. 

       “Is that why you’ve been watching me cook all of a sudden?” Brian smirked and gently squeezed. 

       It wasn’t why, but he didn’t need to know that. 

       “Sure,” you muttered, trying to subtly rub your legs together. 

       “That’s cute. I felt like you were a bit too interested. But I thought, hey, maybe you were bored.” 

       “You’re a good cook,” you complimented him back, trying to ignore what he said. You were too interested in what he did, but he didn’t have to know why. 

       “I’m curious, then. When did it happen?” he asked you, smirking. 

       You tried not to panic. You didn’t want him to find out the real reason why, maybe sometime in the future, but not now. 

       “I don’t know exactly when,” you lied. It was odd lying to Brian. He was an excellent liar and that set you on edge. It was obvious you weren’t telling the truth and it was evident he caught you in the way his eyebrows lifted as he smiled. 

       “You’re not so sure of yourself, you know.” 

       Quieting, you paused next to him as his hand trailed slightly higher. It made your stomach tighten. 

       “I wanna know what you were thinking when you were looking at me like that. Be honest.” 

       Brian’s words poured like honey. When you managed to meet his eyes, they stared deep into yours. He was an intimidating, coercive man and it was strange being on the other side of it. You froze in his touch, but he waited for you to speak. Outside the room, the sound of Tim starting dinner could be heard: pots and pans were moved and water was running in the sink. 

       “I was impressed,” you admitted. Brian pried further. 

       “Impressed with what? ‘Cuz it wasn’t the food. I saw you at the dinner table with your head in the clouds. Should’ve known something was up. What were you thinking about?” he repeated. 

       The pressure he pushed onto you was intense. You could only imagine what it was like to be on Brian’s bad side - a victim being threatened by him. 

       “I was thinking about the knife,” you finally came clean. This piqued Brian’s interest and his stare grew into something different. His hand now rested on your upper thigh and his body moved to face towards you. 

       “Keep going. Help me find out what this knife has to do with me.” 

       “I liked the way you held it.” 

       Brian chuckled at your response. Though he had caught on, he played along and continued to pry. It was clear he wanted you to say it out loud. 

       “What’s so special about me holding a knife?” 

       You were sure it was the thing with his arms and hands; the way he looked so powerful with it, but that was hard to explain without monologuing the past 2 weeks. You thought carefully about what to say and how to make sense to him. 

       “I guess the way you did it was just attractive to me,” 

       Brian took a big breath in. He had a way about him that was good at appearing disinterested, but the way he gripped onto your thigh was a major tell. He was into this as much as you were. He wanted it as much as you did. You thought about how much frustration you could’ve saved yourself from if you were ballsy enough to tell him earlier. 

       “You’re very special, you know that?” Brian’s face seemed to fluster pink down his neck. 

       Embarrassed with how he spoke to you, you shouted out, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

       “It means, you’re into dangerous men. Especially dangerous men holding weapons, and you didn’t even notice. How long have you gone along feeling this way? If I knew you’d be ogling at me, I’d have teased you a bit more on our last mission.” 

       “Only recently,” you told him, “But the guns they don’t really do it for me.” 

       Brian looked down at you. It made you wish he were easier to read. 

       “How interesting. Perhaps it’s cause you want something a little more hands-on. Everyone knows that guns are cheating. Too impersonal, huh?” you silently nodded along, “But I like that. The fear of a gun doesn’t do it for you, you need the threat of a knife. Delicate when you want, but just as deadly when you let it touch the right places.” 

       Something thumped in your ears, the sound of your heartbeat, and the blood rushing to your head. You could feel your slick pooling in your panties and your legs slightly parted. Sweat dripped down your back, making you shiver harder as his hand traveled to your hip. 

       “But it’s my turn to be honest. I want to fuck you. So tell me, you okay getting a bit more personal?” 

       “Yes, please. Keep going,” you were shaking and your words came out as whispers. 

       Outside of the room, you heard Toby join the chatter and turn on the television. Though you thought Brian would shove you over and take you right there, he remained beside you and reached into the pocket of his jeans. As he pulled out his hand, you noticed the small pocket knife. He held it out in front of you and pressed a small button. The knife folded open with a click. It wasn’t anything fancy and it was a far cry from the eight-inch chef’s knife in the kitchen. It was black (including the two-inch blade) and it was clean - but it wasn’t like you could die of tetanus regardless. 

       “And do you mind if I use this?” Brian whispered to you, now closer than before. His breath was hot and it only made you more antsy underneath him. You had no idea he kept the knife on him, but it made sense. It looked more for utility than stabbing anyway.

       You shook your head. 

       “Tell me,” Brian urged you. 

       “No, I don’t mind,” 

       As Brian pulled the knife closer for you to look at it, you realized you’d never felt so dizzy beside him before. You were now throbbing as you waited, desperate enough to skip foreplay entirely. 

       “You like it?” he asked. 

       “It looks sharp,” it was true. The pocket knife had a more serrated edge than the chef’s knife, which came to a whetted edge across the entirety of the blade. The tiny black knife looked like it could saw into things. 

       Brian nodded in agreement, “You wanna see how sharp it is?” he said, running his thumb perpendicular across the blade. It made a chime as the metal ran across his thumbpad. 

       “Okay,” your face burned. 

       “Lay down,” he ordered you. You turned and swung your legs back onto the mattress and laid back to rest your head against the pillow. Stiff, you lay there with your legs pushed together and your hands resting on your stomach. Brian crawled over to you, the bed squeaking slightly under his weight. Breathing heavily, he sat above your legs and straddled you. At that moment, you felt like prey beneath him, but you knew he wouldn’t do anything you didn’t ask for. 

       A finger hooked your belt loop. 

       “You like this pair?” he asked you. 

       Confused, you looked down. Your shorts? They were stolen, but they were nice and fit you perfectly. 

       “They’re my favorite,” 

       With the knife still in his right hand, he unbuttoned your shorts and tugged them down. You helped him pull them past your ass and kick them out from your legs. Truthfully, you were still sheepish about being in your underwear in front of him. His fingers traced up your leg and danced along the waistband of your panties. 

       “What about this one?” he questioned. 

       “They’re old-” before you could finish your sentence, Brian eased the knife between your right thigh and the fabric of the panties. He swiftly pulled up and sliced the fabric. Tugging down the ripped cloth, he did the same to the other side, this time sliding in the knife from the top of the garment and slicing laterally just above your hip bone. He pulled the shreds of fabric off of you and tossed the destroyed pair onto the floor. 

       Closing your legs, you squirmed underneath him. The knife was held in his hands in a white-knuckled grip and it made the veins in his forearm pop. Your gaze drifted to the very obvious bulge in his pants. 

       “You like a little more than just me holding a knife, don’t you?” 

       As he asked, he fiddled with the hem of your shirt. Could you deny it? Both of you knew you had some kind of complex. 

       “I think so,” you answered. 

       Brian lifted your shirt to run the blade of the knife across your stomach. With a knife, Brian was capable of many things. 

       “You like the fear, too. You must, ‘cuz me and you both know how easy it’d be for me to gut you right now. I could get excited and slip. Then it’d all be over until you wake up again a few hours later.” 

       Moaning out, you felt yourself drip beneath him. That, you didn’t quite ping about yourself. Of course, you’d imagined Brian hurting other people with the knife, but never yourself. You were putting every ounce of trust you had into him. It strangely felt liberating, knowing you could tell him to stop or tell him to go further and he’d do it all for you. 

       “Don’t you agree?” he called out your name. Maybe he was onto something. 

       “Does it make you feel that way, too? Scared that you might lose control? Does it make you burn inside?” you turned the question back onto him and watched as he genuinely thought about it for a few moments. 

       “I’m a sadist. The thought of hurting you only makes me excited, but the thought of breaking your trust is something different. I’ll go as far as you want, but that means you have to say something if it’s too much.” 

       It could not get more perfect than that. You smiled as Brian pulled your shirt off, tossing it to the floor, and unclasped your bra before slipping it off. Instantly, your nipples hardened after being exposed to the cold bedroom. You felt vulnerable under Brian, still in his jeans and tee shirt. He continued to trace the blade across your chest with care, the chilly flat of the metal gliding over your nipples. Huffing out you clenched your hands into the bedspread. 

       “What about blood? Everyone in this damn house had a blood kink, but how do you feel about your own. Want me to see it?” 

       Trembling under his words, you nodded again before remembering to answer him properly. 

       “I like that. You can cut me a little.” 

       Brian smiled at this, but simply kept tracing the blade gently. He did so for what felt like many minutes before he shifted the pressure to the tip of the blade. It dug into your skin, but simply poked at you, not drawing any blood. You whined at the sensation as he moved the blade to your stomach, right beneath your breasts. Suddenly, you gasped as he sliced the blade in a small cut. It was swift and he was done before you noticed it had happened. The two of you watched as the blood trickled out. It was light, close to a scratch. You knew he was going easy on you, in case you changed your mind. 

       A heavy sigh rang out from above you. He enjoyed watching you like this, his cock pressing hard against your leg through his jeans. You doubted it was comfortable. This time, he grunted as he cut your flesh again. 

       “Why don’t you take your pants off?” you asked him. 

       “I want to fuck you but I don’t want to do it yet. The foreplay just started. Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for?” he explained himself. 

       “Yes it is, but we can do it again - and I’m already wet enough I just need you now. Please.” 

       Your pleading came out meek and pathetic. You were sure you looked pitiful, but Brian seemed more pleased by your begging than he was before you’d started. 

       “Don’t worry your head over it. I’ll help you manage… but maybe if you beg a bit more I’ll change my mind.” his voice came soft and sweet but his words were far from it. Left hand pulling down, he reached to play with your clit. Moaning out again, you sounded like a wounded animal as he cut you while he rubbed, this time harder than the last. The slice left a stream of blood that trailed across your waist and met the bedspread. 

       “This help?” the circular motions of his thumb on your clit were skilled as if you’d taught him exactly how to do it. As perfect as it was, you wanted so much more. “Does it hurt?” he asked when you didn’t respond. 

       “It’s good,” you mumbled. It was hard to focus on anything but his thumb as he moved from circles to upward stroked, but the knife forced you back each time. His thumb stroked up, and your body bucked, shaking as you waited for him to do it again. Up again, and this time a small nick to the side of your left breast. The whine you let out was strangled and he stopped, leaning in close to you. 

       “You want everyone to hear you? ‘Cuz if so, I’ll open the door and invite them in. If not, you should be a bit quieter.” 

     When you whimpered this time, you pressed your lips tight together. You weren’t sure if Brian was serious about it - could that be his dark secret? Instead of playing into it, you shook it off. You’d bug him about it later. Right now, you were too focused on the way he kept snapping his thumb up and the way the knife returned - this time to your thigh. Shifting his weight, Brian moved down your body, his face close to your pussy. He was staring at it intently as he trailed the knife across your thigh and moved it inward. 

       Breath hitching, you tried not to twitch under his grasp. Yes, toying with the knife along your chest was dangerous, but there were femoral arteries in your thigh and not as much protection. Arteries spray - you’d make a mess on the bed and Tim would certainly get involved when he would inevitably find out you needed stitches from being alone with Brian. That would open a completely new doorway. It forced you back to what Brian said. You didn’t want anyone to know yet, so you sat still as he held the knife tight against your skin. 

       Instead of snapping up, this time Brian snapped his thumb down, trailing it across your entrance. 

       “You didn’t lie about being wet. You’re everywhere.”

       Holding the knife against your left leg, he played with the slick between his fingers before leaning in, propping your other leg up with his free hand. Teasingly, he took an experimental lick and laughed as your body tensed, but no noise came out. 

       “Just because we have to be quiet doesn’t mean you have to hide from me,” he said before sucking at your clit. 

       “I know,” you breathed out, “but I’m scared I’ll fucking lose it.” 

       Humming against you, he started to eat you out. You were near tears. It was hard not to cry out for him like a slut at this point, so you slapped your arm around your face and muffled your sounds. Brian knew just as well as you, so you also struggled not to shake too hard as he held the knife against your inner thigh. How could he know what you were thinking? How did he know that spot was what you worried about? 

       He sucked and lapped passionately like a dog, the sounds filling the room. He started moaning into you, each time louder than the last. You panicked. Though you were trying so hard, he was the one who was going to get you caught and he was doing it on purpose. As he moaned again, you pushed your entire body further into the bed and shot your other hand out to shove his face into your cunt. With the sounds he was making, it would be obvious that you were fucking, but he was fucking with you, so he moaned louder.

       The vibrations from his mouth made you cry out, the noise muffled by the crook of your arm. Hard, you gripped Brian’s hair and pulled on it. This time, he groaned out, but it felt less purposeful and more accidental. Once more, you tried not to buck your hips into him. 

       “Okay, really. Stop teasing.” you begged him, but he made no effort to move, “Please, I need you inside me I can’t take it anymore!” 

       Once the harsh whispers fell off your lips, Brian dropped your right leg onto the mattress and you let go of his hair. At first, you were confused that he still hadn’t pulled away, until he pushed two fingers into you at once. Arching your head back, you gasped. You could easily take one, but both were enough to stretch you a little bit. This far in, you were so wet and needy he could slip in without fingering you. Still, he began to work his fingers in and out. 

       “That’s not what I mean and you know it. Dammit!” 

       A tongue flicked across your clit. 

       “Just making sure you’re ready…” 

       “Fuck!” you choked out as the pressure built. The pace was quick and steady; you knew it wouldn’t take long. You were panting now and you took both hands to grab his face. Looking him in the eyes you begged again. 

       “Please, I want you to fuck me! I don’t want to beg for it anymore, I want your cock inside of me.” 

       Each word came out between gasps. Your entire body felt like a spring coil ready to burst back into place. Brian pulled his fingers out of you and tore the knife away, tossing it beside you. His shirt came off first, followed by his pants - which he barely managed to pull off. Once his boxers were out of the way, his cock sprung up. In the light of the bedroom, you could see the gleam of precum leaking from his tip. Grabbing onto your hips, he yanked you towards him. Without being asked, you bent your knees and held your legs in the air. 

       Pushing his body in between your thighs, he picked up the knife beside you and flashed it, placing it against your neck just as fast. He didn’t give you time to think about it before he pushed his dick into you. Leaning your head back, you whined; it was much better than two fingers. He set a harsh pace, fucking deep into you as he held the blade to your neck. His other hand grabbed your shoulder and pushed you into the mattress. 

       You were dizzy all over again. Fear. Your cunt clenched around him and he groaned, hardly able to keep his eyes open, but boy he loved the sight of you. 

       “Fuck!” you cried as your orgasm crashed around you. Though you felt it building, the release was sudden. With no warning, your pussy fluttered around him uncontrollably. 

       “Oh shit,” he breathed out panicked, and tossed the knife off the bed, away from your neck. It clattered on the ground and slid across the floor, hitting your desk chair with a ping . Gripping onto you tighter, he set a ruthless pace as he rode out his orgasm, pumping his cum into you. 

       With the two of you spent Brian collapsed onto you like a human-weighted blanket. Sighing, you closed your eyes. There was no way they hadn’t heard you, but for now, you would ignore it. Brian hadn’t caught his breath, but he was cocky, “So, did you figure it out?” 

       Smiling, you laughed, “Yeah and we’re gonna do that again.” 

       Arms wrapped around you and you sunk further. 

       “I still think you look hot with a knife in your hands.” 

       “I’m glad. Next time, you can help me figure something else out, huh?”

[akumicchi]

It takes two to love

[Tamaki x fem reader] tw: food.

Just fluff and domesticity

— Do you think we have it all already?— Tamaki had asked, checking the red plastic basket full of groceries — We have the tapioca starch, fruits, milk...

— Yup, but guess what? —she turned to him with a playful twist of her head— You just won a coupon for a free meal cooked by yours truly. And I need some ingredients. The other day you said you were craving some pasta, right?

He swayed his head from side to side, barely containing a smile. Tamaki let himself be pulled further into the supermarket by their intertwined pinkies.

It was late in the afternoon when the weekly errands were finished and they settled back home for the night. It was an odd pretty thing, this routine both had built for their matching days off, whenever it was. It wasn't normally disrupted by a trip to the supermarket, but in Tamaki's book, quality time doesn't need a specific place to occur. The bought goods sat on the counter, while he rearranged them on their rightful places in the cabinet or the fridge. He had taken a pair of tomatoes from the bag, when she shamelessly stole them from his hands.

— Thanks, Tama, you're always such a gentleman —she teased and kissed his cheek before turning to the chopping board, light on her feet.

It wasn't out of the ordinary, but it was peculiar and funny to see her all...bubbly, like clear water from a stream. He laughed at her.

— You really are excited about making that pasta, wonder were that's coming from? —he got close to the sink, rolling up his sleeves.

— Nope, you're not working on this today, Hun —her hand went to his arm, stopping him from filling the pot with water.— This is my way to say thank you for all your hard work, it won't make sense if you're cooking too! This is your coupon, remember?

Tamaki could feel the heat on his face and the pickup of his heart rate.

— I-um... Okay. But at least let me prepare the boba tea. I want to thank you for your hard work too and —he spoke softly in a classic Tamaki fashion, looking at her right in her round eyes. He had become good at holding eye contact with other people. He thought it may have been due to her influence —, for putting up with me all this time.

She sat the knife on the chopping board, and her arms went to hang loosely around his neck— You know I'm not putting up with you, right? I'm here with you because I love you. I wouldn't be who I am now if it weren't for you, and believe me, I like who I am right now. Do you want me to remind you? —her voice was softer, lower like a whispered secret, as her fingertips rubbed his nape.

Tamaki shuddered under her touch and gaze. His nod was short, almost imperceptible under the weight of his shame. She hugged him tight, scratching his scalp and rubbing his nape. He felt himself go warmer after getting a few kisses on his cheek, heart pounding even faster when she whispered:

— You know I've never really had a favorite hero when I was a kid, right? None of them actually made me feel that sense of... admiration, so to speak. But after my time in UA, the internships and all that, I changed my mind. You are my favorite hero, Tamaki. You are my hero.

Tamaki sighed, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He felt petty, needing to be reassured of something he already knew.

They stood there for a few minutes, holding each other tight, swaying slowly from side to side. Then the urgency to eat came over, and both returned to their tasks: Tamaki prepared the boba tea, she cooked the pasta. The mood picked up fast, with her bumping his hips and vice versa. She hand fed him some sauce and he hummed in satisfaction. Soon enough the food was plated and they sat next to each other at the table.

— Hmm! This is good! —Tamaki said, eyes closed in bliss as he chewed his portion.

— Right? Just the best for my baby.

— What? —he laughed— How come I'm your baby when I'm older than you?

— Shush it, silly, you are my baby.

He just laughed at her goofiness again. Then he waited, relying on his hero instincts, calculating the best time for a swift attack, and stole a spoonful of her own pasta, and stuffed it right into his mouth.

— Hey, that was mine!

He snorted.

•••

The dishes were washed and she sat at a small table on the balcony. She was surrounded by plants and had a clear view of the city lights. It was as peaceful as the busy metropolis could be. In moments like this, she wished the days off were everlasting.

Tamaki arrived shortly, holding two glass cups of the boba tea he had made earlier. He hadn't even fully entered the balcony when a fit of giggles bubbled out of his mouth.

— What is it? —she raised a brow.

Her boyfriend didn't answer. Instead, he put both glasses on the table and left the room, only to return with a napkin, which he used to wipe away some remnants of sauce from her lips.

— There, all better. —he found it very endearing, how her cheeks lit up with color and her eyes averted his gaze, visibly embarrassed. Even the way she tried to play it off was adorable, his silly girl.

— Oh, clumsy me... Haha...

— Even if you're clumsy, I'll always be by your side to clean up your little messes —Tamaki smiled softly, crouched in front of her—. It's the least I can do for you.

She hid her face behind her hands, voice tight in a whine— But I don't want you cleaning my messes though? I'm not a kid!

She had always had an ability to fluster him with sincere compliments and cheesy remarks. One of her favorite things to say was that her job was to show him how loved he was, and if it had to be done by flustering him, then the better. His job, on the other hand, on his own words, was to make her feel safe, so safe that not even her own demons could do her any harm. But it was nice to turn the tables from time to time.

Tamaki pryed her hands out, placing them on her chest— This is where I want your hands to be. It's just me here, so don't hide. Besides —he smiled—, you may not be a kid, but you're still my baby.

— Tamaki! That's my line!

He laughed.

[ghoulsister1]

🖤Being In A Relationship With Captain Kuro Headcanon: SFW🖤

Is a gentleman. Opens doors for you, pulls out your chair for you and seats you when dining in restaurants. Treats you like a proper lady.

He is very organised man. Expect him to remember important dates such as your birthday, anniversaries and date nights. He plans ahead and makes sure everything is perfect.

His love language inculdes giving you gifts. That necklace you were eyeing up? It's the first gift you receive from him on your birthday. Those gorgeous shoes you wanted but couldn't afford? Kuro has them custom ordered and sent straight to you for your two's anniversary.

Sweet endearing pet names. "Kitten", "Little Flower", "Sweetpea" and "Petal" are some of the pet names he calls you.

Takes out on picnics on top of a little hill, usually with a view of the sea so you both can admire the sight of the Bezan Black, sitting proudly in the waters of your private port. Packs a delicious picnic meal by the way. I'm talking a bottle of wine, a board with a variety of cheese to snack on, picnic cooked chicken, a plastic container with a mix of fruit such as blueberries, strawberries, grapes and apple slices.

"To us, my kitten" Kuro would toast and you'd both clink your champagne glasses together in cheers. "And to many more happy years together" You Would Add and you both would share a smile.

Fine dining at the best restaurants. A dinner for the two of you at the Baratie, candlelight and the best delicious food served to you. (Curtsy of Sanji, the best cook in the Baratie!)

At home, Kuro happily cooks for you. Sometimes you help him out and cook together. Kuro adores moments where you two cook together, you helping chop the veg while Kuro watches, making sure you don't accidentally hurt yourself with the knife and praises you for how well you chop up the veg and for your help.

Date nights including going out to dinner, a night at the theatre, watching a movie at the cinema. One time you guys just set up a spot outside and watched the stars together.

Quiet nights in inculde binge watching your favourite shows, movie nights or sometimes curling up together with books and read together, maybe have some podcast playing or some chill music in the background.

One night Kuro and you just spent an entire night just drinking some wine, indulging in deep conversations and eventually Kuro played some records and you two slow danced together in the middle of the drawing room, completely lost in each other's embrace and ending the night with a deep and passionate kiss.

Kuro will totally get jealous if another looks at you. He knows you ignore their advances and don't indulge in their games. However should one or two continue to harass, Kuro will dispose of them of course, in his own way. Nobody touches or takes what is his.

Same if anybody dares disrespect you. Kuro will defend your honour and isn't afraid to get his hands dirty....or his claws bloody.

"Nobody disrespects my kitten!" Are Kuro's word as he slashes at the offender, making sure people are watching so they know to never make the same mistake, should they end up on the other end of Kuro's claws.

To other pirates and Marines, Captain Kuro is a ruthless pirate captain that is feared by all who know him. But to you, you are his most precious treasure and he loves you very much. Kuro is a purrfect gentleman to his beloved sweetheart.

[rogersideup]

Nice to be Kneaded

Chapter 6:

Sunflower

Series Masterlist

previous part: Absdoughlutely next part: Beautifully Natured

Word Count: 5,150

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI. Descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood, anxiety, and domestic abuse.

"Hello!" Your favorite voice bounced off the walls all throughout the quiet and empty bakery after the sound of the bells above the door chimed.

"Hey, honey! I'm in the kitchen!" You called out, a sickeningly delightful smile smeared across your face as you could hear his foot steps quickly approaching.

Since you we're facing away from the doorway, busy peeling and chopping apples on the big stainless steel countertops, you felt him before you saw him.

Steve's big arms engulfed you from behind as he peeped at what you were up to from above your head. "What's cookin' good lookin'?"

You laughed at his question before setting the big, freshly sharpened knife on the cutting board and ripping off your vinyl gloves. "Well for now it's just apples, but hopefully in an hour or two it'll be a whole tray of apple crisp bars ready to go for morning rush."

"Well it already looks delicious" He commented with a lopsided grin as you tossed the gloves into the trash for an opportunity to give him a proper hug.

You wrapped your arms around each other and lingered there for longer than an average hug, but who could blame you when he smelled so nice and held you so close and snug against his built chest. "They're just green apples, Honey"

"I love green apples" He stated as a matter of fact.

"Well today is your lucky day, because we have far too many so eat away" You released Steve from the hug and finally got to admire him.

It seemed as though every t-shirt he owned was one wrong move away from bursting at the seams, all while his legs just went on for miles and miles an-

"Soooooo, how can I help?" He asked, running his hand through his hair to pull it off his face.

"However you want" You smiled knowing that was his favorite answer.

If there was nothing blatantly obvious that needed to be done, he always found tasks that he loved to do. From organizing the cookie cutter bins by category in alphabetical order, to rearranging all the spools of ribbon on the long hanger to be in order of the color wheel, he always did it with a smile on his face.

At first you found it a little unnerving as if he felt pressured into needing to do something rather than just hang out with you, but after a few weeks of insisting, you finally understood he really did enjoy keeping busy any way he could. Anything that could occupy his hands and mind kept him one step closer to sanity.

"Ohh!" He lit up. "Can I finally fix that light in the bake case?"

He's quite literally been begging to fix it ever since he noticed one of the tiny lights in the bake case had been out. It wasn't enough for a customer to notice, nor was it a dire issue so it kept getting pushed to the back burner. It also wasn't as simple as just replacing the bulb, there were screws and wires and some weird metal pieces attached to weird plastic pieces...

"Be my guest, I know that would make you so happy"

"Just think of how beautiful your apple crisps will be in the morning under all of the lights, rather than all of the lights except for that one that's been out for weeks!"

"What would I ever do without you, Stevie?" You giggled as you snapped on a new pair of gloves to continue your apple chopping. "The bake case would be so dull... much as every passing day"

"Ugh, you're so lucky to have me." He joked with a sigh. "Screw driver?"

"Tool box is in the supply closet, very top shelf, back left corner." Your smile prevailed. "Did you lock the door?"

"Yes ma'am, and closed the blinds."

"Wow, at this point you're my best employee."

"And don't you forget it" Steve threw you a casual wink before disappearing into the lobby.

The light was an easy 15 minute fix, well, it would've been about five had he not lost a screw that took 10 minutes to find but he would never admit that. As he was finishing up, he heard what was almost a hissing sound coming from you in the kitchen, followed by clanking as if something had been dropped onto the metal countertops.

The sounds piqued Steve's concern, so he closed the case back up. But as he was walking back to the kitchen, he heard your little voice call out to him.

"Steve?" It was shaky and scared, something he had never heard from you before. Needless to say his walking pace turned into a jog, and when he made it through the doorway he saw you holding your hand in the other.

Your face was white as a ghost and your eyes were spacey, but the closer he got he noticed you were squeezing a bunched up paper towel to your hand and slowly swaying. He looked over to your apples to see a red puddle and the knife where it shouldn't be.

He recognized that glossy facial expression, he had seen it millions of times before on battlefield and training rooms. So he offered you a comforting smile as he approached to keep a hand on you. If you were about to pass out, he would be there to catch you.

"I um..." You started, but you couldn't quite get the words out without your internalized panic becoming very, very external. "Was cutting- then the knife slipped and I...caught it..."

"Are you okay?" He rubbed your arm as all his extensive first aid training from his days as an Avenger came flooding back to him.

"Bleeding" You stated, blinking your eyes as fuzzy darkness started to overtake your vision in invasive swirls. "A lot."

"Feelin' dizzy?" He questioned gently.

"Very." You nodded.

"Alright sweet girl, let's get you sitting down." He encouraged. You took one wobbly step before Steve stopped you in your tracks. There was no way you were going to make it to a chair by the will of your own two feet. "Okay I'm just going to pick you up."

You nodded in agreement and he swooped you into his arms like a rag-doll. You didn't even feel the need to hang on in case he dropped you, you just focused on keeping firm pressure on your hand as he took you to the front and set you down on a padded booth.

"Can I see it?" Steve questioned as he squat down in front of you. Once again you nodded and slowly pulled the paper towel away from your hand to reveal a nice slice right in the cushioned part of your palm beneath your thumb.

He inspected it the best he could but there was too much blood to even see what was going on beneath it, and when you curiously took a peak at your own hand, the black fuzzies invaded more of your vision.

"I think- I think I'm going to pass out." You mumbled.

Steve's eyes met yours in an instant when you admitted that, and he saw your ghostly white complexion had turned into bright pink cheeks and your head barely standing still. He pressed the paper towel back into your palm to block your injury from your eyesight.

"It's okay, lay down. Deep breaths." He reminded you, and assisted you on a slow and careful journey downwards on the booth. He reached over and grabbed a throw pillow from one of the lounge chairs and slipped it under your head. "Where's the first aid kit?"

"B-bathroom." You mumbled.

"Keep putting pressure on this, I'll be right back." He told you, guiding one of your hands to the other so you could firmly press them together.

You tried your best to stay awake even though you had to fight through the tunneled ringing in your ears and you lack of ability to see anything beyond the dizziness. However, you did hear his feet moving quickly around the store and the hand washing sink running.

Less than a minute later he was back and sitting on the floor in front of you, and setting down everything he had grabbed. You looked down to see him snapping on some gloves that barely fit his big hands, along with a whole roll of paper towels and both first aid kits. The calm expression on his face reminded you of exactly who he was, and what he did for most of the years of his life before he even met you.

"Here, take a few sips of water." He instructed you, cracking open a cold plastic bottle he took from the drink fridge. You did as you were told before placing the cold bottle against your hot cheeks as he sandwiched your injured hand between his two. "I'm going to see what I can do with what I have here, okay?"

"Do I need stitches?" You asked.

"I don't know yet, but I'll try my best to avoid that." He grinned before pulling the bloody paper towel off your hand. "Did you wash this already?"

"Ran it under water" You sucked in a breath as you felt gushes of thick warm liquid as he left it uncovered. Having not learned your lesson the first time, you looked again. "Oh my god..."

"Don't look at your hand, look at me." He advised you as he wiped away at the blood. It really wasn't stopping or slowing down at all, so he sandwiched your hand between his again and held it with firm pressure from both sides. "We're just going to hold hands for a while."

His reassuring smile as his eyes met yours made you feel like you could breathe again. "Well this is nice."

"Walk in the park" He agreed. "Does it hurt or can I squeeze harder?"

"Harder is okay" You agreed, so he did. It was just enough to feel your hand throbbing in his hold but not enough to cause more pain than you were already in.

"So, how was your day?" He questioned nonchalantly, trying to pull your mind away from your hand in attempts to calm you down. Plus he knew he needed a good amount of pressure to stay there for a little while.

"It was fine-busy." You answered shortly wanting to cut to the chase. "You're like, medically trained? You can give me stitches?"

"I'm trained enough to stop bullet wounds from bleeding out, and I've given stitches more times than I even remember." He reassured you. "But I have nothing here to work with, and I don't know enough to medically decide what kind of stitches would be best for this. If you need them, the best hands to be in will be a doctor's" He explained.

"Does it hurt?"

You worried eyes were killing him, but setting realistic expectations for what was to come seemed to be the best way you knew how to deal with your own fears, so he was happy to answer. "Another benefit of a doctor is that they'll numb you before. A few little shots around your hand and you'll barely feel a thing. It definitely doesn't hurt more than catching a falling knife."

You nodded with a gulp before an anxious, almost guilty admission slipped past your lips. "I'm really scared of the hospital. I know that probably sounds stupid to you but-"

"That's not stupid." He shook his head. "Most people only find themselves in a hospital when a bad thing happened to them or someone they loved. It's easy to be scared of a place like that."

"I'd rather you sew my hand together with a needle and thread and no pain killers then have a panic attack by myself in the emergency room." You continued to express your fears.

It was apparent to him now that the panic in your voice wasn't necessarily over the injury itself, but the thought of having to seek medical treatment. His first words without much thought would've been 'you won't be alone, I'll go with you', but you were smarter and more thoughtful than him. Stepping into a hospital with cameras around every square inch of the building and high security would be like locking himself in a cell.

You could see his wheels turning, trying desperately to find a solution to ease your mind before he let go of the pressure on your hand to check in on the cut. "It does actually seem to be slowing down a bit, but it looks pretty deep. Even if it closes on its own it's going to keep ripping open." He sighed.

You could tell he was contemplating the most morally correct option. He could do this himself and it would be fine, or he could encourage you to seek medical help and you'd have a not so fun night in the emergency room by yourself.

"Please" You pleaded, tears pooling in your lash line. "Georgia hates me, I have no family here, and I don't feel comfortable going with any of my other friends. We both know you can't step foot into a hospital."

"Can I ask what exactly you're afraid of?" Steve questioned gently, one of his hands still squeezing yours while the other rubbed up and down your arm to try and comfort you.

"I had a lot of really bad nights by myself at Greenwood medical." You started, unsure of how much you actually wanted to confess because you hated the way people looked at you when they found out. But Steve, maybe he would be different. Maybe he wouldn't look at you that way. "My ex-boyfriend he... wasn't very nice. And going there just reminds me of all of those times I was there alone because of him and I just- I can't go there."

His eyes softened, and his eyebrows tried hard to hide his inward emotion but he was still sympathetic. There was not much detail, but he got it now. He was done asking questions until you were ready to tell him more, and he was going to make sure you didn't have to step one single foot anywhere alone tonight.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." He sympathized, still rubbing your arm. "I have a lot of first aid supplies at home, I think I can make it work. I have a few things we can try before I sew it up, but just in case I do have a sterile needle."

You quickly nodded, accepting his offer to play doctor for you. "I'll just clean up the kitchen really quick-"

"No" He giggled as you started sitting up. "You stay here and keep putting pressure on it , I'll clean up the kitchen then take you to my house."

"I'll be fine" you insisted, but as you fully sat up a whole new wave of dizziness hit you once more.

"Just stay here." He smiled, wrapping your hand up with lots of gauze and tying cotton wrap around it as tightly as he could. "I'll be right back."

He disappeared through the kitchen door way, leaving you to lean your head back against the wall and take in some deep breaths to calm yourself down. You could hear the fridge opening and closing, the three compartment sink running, and the contents of the sanitizer bucket being dumped out before he came back to you.

He handled you with such tenderness and care as he helped get you into the car and back to his place. You didn't really even have a chance to process the new environment you were in as he urgently rushed you up the stairs and sat you on top of the en suite bathroom counter with your hand dripping blood over the sink.

He started rummaging through the cabinet and advising you to look away once more before he snapped on a new pair of gloves and aided the best way he knew he could.

Through the whole ordeal he told you exactly what he was doing before he did it, let you squeeze his hand as he sanitized it as you both knew the stinging was going to hurt like hell, then at the very end he was just as happy as you were that a bit of super glue and some butterfly closure bandages saved you from that sterile needle he told you about.

When all was said and done, it was nearing 10pm and he could just see the emotional and physical exhaustion dripping off of you. So the second the final wrapping was secured on you hand and he knew you were on the road to a smooth recovery, he gently raised the back of it to his mouth and gave it an exaggerated kiss just to make you smile.

"All better?" He asked, your eyes opening to look at him when you felt his mustache tickle your skin.

"Thank you, Doctor Rogers" You softly smiled, not having much energy left. "Your services are greatly appreciated."

"It's easy to be a great doctor when you have a great patient" He admitted. "I'm sorry, I know that hurt. On a scale of one to ten, how much of an asshole do you think I am now?"

"Zero" Your smile stretched beyond what you thought was possible. "Far less painful than the alternative."

"Good, that's all I could've hoped for." He let go of your hand. "Are you okay?"

Though the question was played off as surface level, you knew what he was really asking. Instead of answering the question with a lie, or forcing yourself into the emotional intimacy of telling the truth, you simply stuck your arms out for a hug.

He didn't hesitate to step between your legs and let you lean forward onto him before he protectively wrapped his arms around you.

The two of you stayed there for a while, but he didn't mind one bit. He ate up every second of it considering human contact in the past year of his life was few and far in between before meeting you.

"Why do you have so much first aid?" You questioned with your chin resting on his shoulder, arms happily keeping him close.

"Nat, Wanda, Sam... they all know exactly where I am. If they need a place to hide away I just want to be prepared." He explained. "Just in case something happens."

"You're a good man, Steve." You told him confidently. Somehow, talking about your hard realities felt easier like this. Being so close yet not having to see the worried facial expressions of each other as you talk about it. "Does Tony know?"

"Yeah" his voice broke, almost as if he was whispering. "He knows Bucky is in Wakanda too. He knows I broke everyone out of the raft, and didn't do anything about it when he got the call. Even if he hates me, I think there's a part of him that understands why I had to do what I did."

"How is Bucky doing?" You questioned.

"They cured him" Steve told you. "I got to talk to him yesterday. He's doing good, but even though the winter soldier is gone he has a lot of healing to do."

"Does it make you happy when you get to talk to them?" You asked knowing how much guilt he held onto.

"It does, I get a lot of peace of mind. It seems like everyone is making the time to work on themselves. Do things they've always wanted to do but haven't gotten to yet because avenging got in the way." He explained as he relaxed into you once more.

With each honest answer, you found yourself wanting to be more honest with him too.

"How about you?"

"I'm doing better. I slept through the night last night- anxiety levels are starting to creep down. I feel like I'm starting to accept that Captain America isn't who I am anymore, and that's okay." His answer sounded genuine to you. "So, I ask you again. Are you okay?"

"I wasn't." You confessed. "For a very long time, I was in a very bad place. I thought I was doomed to a lifetime of never being able to move on from how he hurt me. But I got there, and I'm doing a lot better. It's just sometimes things happen that remind me of how bad it really was, and it makes me panic out of fear of feeling how I used to. But I'm okay now."

"Where is he now?" Steve tightened his grip on you, nestling the side of his head into yours.

“Arizona"

"Do you want me to drive to Arizona and cut off his dick?" Steve offered, earning a heavenly laugh from you.

"It's okay, all that drive time isn't worth three inches." You smiled.

He laughed right in your ear before letting out a sigh. "You're right, three inches is more embarrassing than nothing at all."

You slowly let go of him and leaned back against the mirror, though Steve didn't feel ready to stop touching you yet so his hands make their way to the sides of your thighs.

"You're so sleepy" He grinned, being unable to hide how adorable he truly thought it was.

"I've been up since 4 this morning, of course I'm sleepy." You agreed.

"I'm mad at you, by the way." He stated with a sigh, mischievously raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah? What'd I do?" You questioned, hyper-aware of his warm hands squeezing your legs.

"You make me enjoy your company so much that no matter how much time we spend together it's never enough." Steve explained. "And when you leave? I miss you. Why did you do that to me?"

"M'sorry." You apologized disingenuously. "What are you going to do about it? Call the police?"

"Mhm, report you for harboring a fugitive." He joked.

"How dare you?" Your eyebrows playfully furrowed and your lips tugged upwards. "Then what would happen to my stupidity handsome fugitive? I'm pretty sure he survives off of chocolate chips and almond croissants. He'd wither away without the bakery"

"He'd have to run far, far away. Find a new bakery in a different town and cry over how lame the almond croissants are compared to yours."

"How do I keep you from dialing 911?" You asked. "How could I possibly spare you from a dull life full of mediocre pastry?"

"It's simple, just stop making me miss you so much." He shrugged.

"I think that's something you'll have to work on within yourself, sweet cheeks."

"Bucky did always say I have quite the knack for becoming far too attached to the people around me." Steve explained. "But this? This was never supposed to happen. Not when I told myself I wouldn't trust anyone until I could figure out how to absolve my criminal status."

"Well told myself I'd never let another man sneak his way into my heart, but here we are." You shrugged, cheeks warming at your own words.

"Is that what's happening?" Steve asked.

"We're either living in a cloudy bubble of naïveté, or maybe we were both supposed to end up right here, right now." You sleepily let your thoughts spew out of your mouth.

You watched the well oiled gears in his brain turn and crank until he deflated. "I really care about you."

"But?" You asked, feeling your heart sink to your stomach.

"I'm going to have to leave one day." He reminded you. "I don't want to hurt you like that."

"I know that." You nodded as you took his hand into your non injured one. "But you've been on the run for almost a year now, Steve. That's a whole year of your life that you'll never get back just because you don't know where you'll have to go or what you'll have to do next. Tell me, how much longer do you think you'll have until you leave Greenwood?"

"I don't know." He whispered, trying to understand your point.

"How long until you're forgiven?"

"I don't know."

"How long until the world needs their Steve Rogers back?"

"I don't know."

"How long has it been since we've been dancing around whatever is going on here just because time is so uncertain?" You laced your fingers with his, and his thumb nervously traced stripes into the back of your hand.

"Since the moment I saw you." He admitted, cheeks glowing pink.

"It's been a long time. A really long time. Months" You reminded him. "Whether we have a whole life time ahead of us, or only five more minutes, I'd rather spend the rest of my time with you being genuinely happy instead of dully dancing around the inevitable."

"Are you going to hate me when I go?" He questioned softly. You could see the concern smeared across his face. The fear flooded his eyes and sunk his eyebrows, he really couldn't handle one more person he loves hating him.

"Nothing could make me hate you." You denied. "I understand that this can't be forever, and that's okay. I just want it for now."

His free hand made its way up to your hair before gently pulling the strands that didn't quite make it into your ponytail away from your face and behind your ear.

Thoughts were firing out of every corner of his mind and ricocheting off every surface they could. It caused a chaotic sea of emotions, and paralyzed him with lack of words as the only outcome he could think of in this moment was closing his eyes and leaning forward hoping you'd meet him halfway.

And you did. His hand traveled along with your movements, caressing the side of your face as your soft lips met his.

The kiss was long, gentle, and sweet. Both of you couldn't remember the last time butterflies filled your stomach that didn't involve cutting it really close in hand to hand combat or just barely escaping a man that wanted to do you harm.

Most people loved to offer unsolicited advice when they learned of the situation with your ex. They all advised you, butterflies aren't some romantic feeling that was meant to sweep you off your feet, it was anxiety warning you to run.

But this, this was different. They were calm, slow flutters that made you feel so warm and relaxed that running wasn't even an option. You were more so melting into his hands like a popsicle on a hot summer day, you felt like the chunks of butter atop a crumble in the oven; slowly melting and turning a good thing even better.

When you mutually pulled away because the unfortunate human need to breathe was just too much, your foreheads and noses stayed pressed together.

"I think you're braver than me." Steve admitted, thou could hear the sadness in his voice.

"Why is that?"

"You've already accepted that this can't be forever, yet I already miss you even when you're right in front of me." His throat felt like it was closing, and his heart was slowly being ripped apart in his chest.

You kissed his lips once more, then again, and again. "I'll miss you too, but we shouldn't keep wasting such a good thing while it's right in front of us. Our time together is so precious, we have a chance right now to make the most out of it." He kissed you this time, then you continued. "Sunflowers still grow when the moon is out."

"I don't know if I would still be surviving this without you." The confessions wouldn't stop flowing passed his lips at this point. "I guess that makes you my sunflower in the dark."

"You'll make it home one day." You pulled your forehead off of his. "You'll be forgiven, you'll get your family back, and when it happens I'll still be cheering you on."

"I'll tell them all about Greenwood, and how I risked everything for a sweet little baker that catches falling knifes and hides away criminals." His sadness started to dissolve when he saw how yours never arrived.

It did, but you did a good job hiding it for the sake of his own mind.

"I'm not hiding away a criminal, I'm hiding away my best friend. Big difference."

His smile stretched impossibly wide. "They'll never believe me, by the way. All of them will make jokes about it until I find my way back to you and they see it with their own eyes."

"If that's the case, you'll need to fill me in on what kind of desserts Avengers like to eat because I'll have to win them over somehow." A yawn took over the end of your words.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" Steve questioned.

You shook your head. "Don't want to miss you that much."

"Okay, then how does Cars 2 and some real cuddles this time sound?"

"Like a dream come true." You smiled before taking another opportunity to steal a kiss.

"Come on, let's get you cozy." He offered you a hand to help you off the counter.

You both changed into some cozier clothes after he found you a shirt and some sweatpants of his that might've had a fighting chance at staying on your body. It earned a good laugh when you had to roll up the waistband a few times and tie the drawstring tight, but your efforts to still look a little cute in a super soldiers clothes were diminished when his shirt swallowed you whole.

Although Steve's clothes looked much better on him, you couldn't even begin to deny how comfortable you were as you slipped into his bed in his surprisingly well decorated bedroom and found yourself wrapped up in him once more.

"Tomorrow I'll help you change the bandages on your hand and drive you to work." He exclaimed while running his fingers through your hair that was now out of its ponytail and flowing freely.

"That's some real princess treatment." You drowsily mumbled, soaking in his body heat.

"I'm pretty sure that's the bare minimum of human decency." Steve challenged.

"I told the girls that I got injured at work and that I'll be going in late." You informed. "We can sleep in."

"Good, you deserve more than 12 hours between workdays."

"Nobody in the entire world would be able to wake me up before the sun if this is what I'm falling asleep to." You smiled as your eyelids were forcing you to keep them shut.

"I'm happy to have you here" Steve kissed the top of your head.

"I'm so happy to be here." You reaffirmed. "Goodnight, honey."

"Sweet dreams, Sunflower."

Next Part: Beautifully Natured

Tag list: @patzammit @bemysugarbean @buckymydarlingangel @happinessinthebeing @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @differenttyphoonwerewolf @themotherof10 @lokislady82 @talesofadragon @spikeluv84 @xxxalicerogersxx @avid-fic-reader-05 @royalwriteroftheuniverse @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bitchy-bi-trash

[wanderingsimsfinds]

WanderingSims Fave CC - Kitchen Decor List

1-2, 5, 15-17, 19-21, 37 - DaraSims - Kitchen Decor Set (Accessories, Knives, Plates, Spices, Kettle, Toaster, Stewpan, Pan, Saucepan, Apron)

3 - ShinoKCR - PB Dining Plates Stacked (TSR)

4, 7, 29, 33-34 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Sims-KBB Baking Kit (Muffin Cups Bulk, Measuring Spoons, Utensils, Kitchen Tray, Whipping Machine)

6 - wondymoon - Krypton Cups (TSR)

8, 26, 28 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 novvvas Random Kitchen (Plates, Kitchen Utensils, Chopping Boards)

9 - Gosik - Orinoko Large Bowls (TSR)

10 - deeiuzta - Glam Cottage Kitchen Plates (TSR)

11-12, 25, 27 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Slox Nival Kitchen (Bowl Stack, Bowl Stack Big, Recipebooks Standing, Recipebooks)

13 - wondymoon - Tantalum Bowls (TSR)

14 - Gosik - Orinoko Plates (TSR)

18 - Milla - Gift 15 Kitchen Hanger

22 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Chicklet This and That Set Pt. 2 Cookbooks

23 - Pinecat - Timer Fire Alarm (TSR)

24 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Nordica-sims January Gifts Pt. 2 Paper Towel

30 - Ungg999 - Decor Set 64 Paper Towel Holder (TSR)

31-32 - Martassimsbook - The Sims 4 Random Bins Set (Plastic Disposer, Waste Not Waste)

35-36 - over-waxedbanister - Imforsa Book Stand & Tablet Stand

[weaselle]

Let's talk chef knives

somebody in the comments on a cooking post is talking to me about knives and i figure, why not make a whole post about it

I worked in restaurants for two decades, and that means i was mostly too poor to buy expensive knives.. but i did learn EXACTLY what i was looking for in a knife, and eventually i did spend about $150 on one.

Now, you can easily spend $500 or more on a chef knife if you are the kind of person who cares about having the chef knife equivilent of a porche or lamborghini and i don't think many of you are looking for that, so I'm going to tell you what i looked for in my really-good-but-not-too-expensive chef knife

First of all, you don't need that block set of knives you see in like every kitchen ever. You know, this thing

You don't need that. Listen, theoretically each of those knives has a specific thing it is used for, but in all the restaurants i worked at, 99.9% of the stuff i did was done with one of these

We didn't go looking for a specific kind of knife, we just used one of these -- often a bunch of those were all that was provided. I uh, i didn't work at a lot of high end restaurants. But even in the nicer ones, most of what we used was a chef's knife.

So. In my opinion, instead of spending $100-$200 on a bunch of kind of shitty knives, spend the same money on one really nice chef knife, and a wetstone or some other sharpener you feel you can use. But really, like, just look at a wetstone tutorial on youtube, it's not hard, and it will make your life better.

NOW let me tell you what i looked for in my knife

This is the knife i use. It's a six inch Zwilling Pro

if you shop around, you can probably find it for close to 100 bucks. It's not Fancy™, it's just Quite Good. You can, if you want, find a chef knife for a couple grand, and that plastic-handled one in the first pic will run you less than ten dollars, so, this is a pretty good price point, on the low side of middle, with a knife quality on the high side of middle. If you take care of this knife, it could last you your whole life

Now let's talk about specific features I was looking for. First, inb4, metal quality. Zwilling is a good company, so the quality of their actual metal is pretty decent, and that's all you really need to know -- if you're getting your knife from a known decent knife company it's probably good enough quality. In this case Zwilling uses forged high-carbon German steel, which are some good key words to look for. That's all i have to say about that.

Now there are four specific things i was looking for that led me to choose this specific knife

1

Depth. This refers to how far the heel of the blade juts out from the handle (the heel of the blade is the part of the blade closest to your hand). When you have the blade resting with the edge flush against the cutting board, you want there to be plenty of room for the hand gripping the handle without knocking your knuckles against the board. A classic pinch grip doesn't need much room, but that's not the only grip you'll ever use, so give yourself some decent knuckle clearance. But not TOO much. Too much and your blade will kind of feel like it wants to flop over on its side when the edge hits the board.

2

Length. As an edgy 20 year old in restaurant kitchens, i always went for the biggest knife i could find, but because you're going to be using your chef's knife for everything, you actually want it short enough to use as a paring knife or whatever. The shorter the blade, the more control over the tip you have. Me, i never really need anything longer than six inches. I was a little bit worried when i first got it, but i've never wound up wishing it was longer.

3

Weight. Even though it's just about as short as a chef's knife can be, my knife has a good amount of weight to it. A somewhat heavy blade helps with chopping, and provides a good balance for other knife skills. When you are chopping and slicing, a decent amount of weight helps a lot. It doesn't have to be heavy heavy, but when you pick it up, it should definitely feel like a chunk of steel, not like a pressed aluminum toy. Plus, some of the weight will come from thickness, and a thicker blade will stand up to more sharpening and last you longer too.

4

Bolster Shape

If you look at the Zwilling Pro's bolster, it has a bolster that is sort of beveled into the heel of the blade with a nice curve. Right right, what's a bolster, hold on, here's the anatomy of a knife

on this knife, you can see that where the bolster meets the blade it makes basically a right angle where it goes from thick to thin. This is distressingly common in chef knives

now look at the bolster on the Zwilling Pro

and here's a similar bolster shape from a different angle

First of all, the bolster is diagonal, which is the right shape for me to hold in a classic grip. Every chef has their own grip, but it's always a variation on pinching the blade just above the bolster, and a diagonal bevel works better for my grip.

And just as important to me, it might be hard to tell, but the metal curves from the thickness of the handle to the thinness of the blade instead of using a right angled edge to go from thick to thin. This curve sort of follows the movement your knife makes against the knuckle you use to guide the blade when you do this

I tend to use the deepest part of the heel a lot, and, depending on what i'm doing with the knife, my grip can often be nearly off the blade it's so far back, so i have a tendency to knock a straight bolster directly against my index knuckle. Just a little, but after a few dozen times in half a minute it starts to irritate my finger. A curved bolster like on the Zwilling Pro sort of glides to a stop against my guiding knuckle instead of banging into it, provides a comfortable pinch, and makes my life in the kitchen better.

That might not be true for everyone, it's just important to pay attention to how you use a knife, especially if you find yourself thinking something like "it would be better for me if this part of the knife was different in this way" or "this knife would be easier to grip if it was shaped like this instead" or "i wish the shape of this knife didn't mean this was always happening" or whatever. Could even be how your knife fits in your dishwasher, just pay attention to what works and doesn't work for you personally so you know What you're looking for. But you for sure want to look at the Depth, Weight, Length, and Shape.

So. There you have it. Some things to pay attention to when selecting a knife that may allow you to get a good knife for yourself without spending tooooo much money.

[demialwrites]

Rufus's Sister

You, Rufus's Sister, don't care for meetings or most of the board, so you have some fun.

"Watch this," you whispered, subtly elbowing Palmer.

"Oh!" Your fellow director wiggled in his seat, getting worked up that someone was paying him some attention.

You didn't like the creepy man that much but he would make for a suitable partner-in-crime for the moment. You pulled a resealable bag out of your suit jacket pocket, revealing your partially-eaten snack of peanut butter smoothed into celery sticks.

Palmer watched in rapt, but confused, attention.

Rufus was droning on about Weapons. Again. Giant materia whales had nothing to do with your department, and the details were beyond your understanding, anyway. He was turned to the other side of the table, answering a question from Reeve, so you began the game by unzipping the bag without attracting giving yourself away.

Sliding open the first half of the zipper gained you Scarlet casting a confused glance down her nose at you. She considered you the lesser Shinra sibling. One day you'll show her she's wrong, but that day was not today.

The second half attracted the attention of your real target. Not your boring brother but the dog behind him. Long and thin pointy ears sprang up at the sound of the plastic zipper. You could see his red eyes fixed in the direction of your seated figure but it was hard to tell because they were naturally crossed.

That one flaw in his best friend was a sore point for Rufus. You only made fun of it sparingly for maximum effect.

Darkstar ambled undetected behind his pet parent to sit under the table in front of you. It was an awkward squeeze but he desperately wanted what you had. Peanut butter. Palmer leaned back in fear but you quietly repeated the command to watch, drawing a celery stick out of the bag. The monstrous dog scooted closer excitedly, and you pushed the celery into his hungry mouth, snatching your hand back before his fangs closed together.

Palmer squealed, finally understanding what the game was.

It was noisy work, making sure to suck down every last morsel of peanut butter. You marvelled at how the dog didn't slice his flapping tongue to shreds licking in between his teeth. Scarlet unintentionally did you a favour just then with the timing of one of her outbursts, focusing Rufus's attention on her. You briefly pitied him, toddlers had better self-regulation skills than some of the adults in this room.

One of those toddlers, Palmer, clapped in joy.

"What are you doing?" asked Rufus.

You looked up at the unimpressed question to find the entire board watching and waiting for your answer. Palmer was still wiggling obliviously. Rufus glanced down at the tentacle wagging from under the table, the tip patting the side of his thigh.

"Director?" Rufus asked again, using his best 'president' voice.

"Nothing," you replied innocently.

He wrinkled his nose because you were a liar. He knew that because he was a practiced liar, too. He called Darkstar out from under the table. Rufus immediately noted the savoury scent of peanut butter on his dog's breath. You slipped the now-empty bag into your pocket before he looked up.

"Nothing?" he repeated.

The minute movements of his eyes searched you for what he wouldn't find. Knowing each other from early childhood allowed you to be relaxed about hiding any tells or signs of guilt. Your lips twitched into a smile for the briefest of moments. You were betting on him letting this slide. No one was paying much attention to you during the presentation, and they paid even less to Palmer. Rufus risked making a big deal out of nothing if he reprimanded you in front of everyone.

"Hmph."

Rufus turned and walked out, signaling the end of the meeting. Darkstar trotted to catch up, chops still wetly slapping together. You high-fived Palmer, then immediately regretted it, wiping a greasy hand off on your thigh.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

A Domestic Dinner Date (John Price x Escort!Reader)

Part of the "Purchase Your Time" Universe

Summary: You both eager and jittery as your ordered cab approaches John's house, bringing you closer to an evening of his cooking and your attempts to open up to you.

Content warning: Reader is an escort (Minors DNI, 18+ only!), references to sex, 2.5k words

Masterlist // AO3 Version

John was stood at the cerulean open front door of a delightful detached house in the middle nowhere when you arrived. His dark jumper’s sleeves were rolled up, much to your glee, and he was wearing a navy apron that seemed fresh out of its package, creases straight up the centre in line with the angled slats and paneling of the house’s exterior.

You thanked the driver as you exited, hitting send on the text to your friend whilst passing by John’s black truck that was parked on the expansive drive.

“Hello, love.”

“Hello, John.” You kissed his cheek as you passed, noting how his cheek creased while he preened under your greeting.

Taking your cue from the shoe rack, you toed your own off to add to the collection. John showed you the ground floor of his home, leading the way amongst simple décor. Mounted art that was fresh out the plastic, a settee with cushions that had never felt the weight of a person, unchipped granite counter-tops, you poorly hid the chill it all gave you. A show room in IKEA had more of a soul than this.

At least, in the kitchen, there was some proof of residence in the various utensils scattered around. Pinches of salt and pepper scattered on a wooden chopping board

“What are we making then?” You met John’s raised eyebrow with your own. “What, you want me at the breakfast bar, sitting pretty, sipping wine? No! Show me.”

Somewhat of a calculated risk on your part, but really? John didn’t seem the type to force you into submission, and the smirk on his face tipped you off that he was rather hoping you’d help him cook before he even retrieved a spare apron for you to wear. You’d bet on yourself if you could.

Tied around your waist at the front, like you’d seen on The Bear, you brushed the front of the apron off before washing your hands. Glass dishware cradled steaks already soaked in seasoning and soy sauce, positioned out of the way on the draining board beside you.

You observed the bag of vegetables he unloaded, “This feels like a ‘we’re having guests over’ type of meal.”

“Well, you are my guest.”

“Aww, how early did you get to the farmer’s market to get all this?”

Your teasing was met by John confidently taking your wrists and manipulating them to have your palms open and up. Next thing you knew, he had plopped a beef tomato into both of them.

“Chop these please,” and, not even attempting to hide his amusement, he placed a recently sharpened knife on your designated chopping board.

Recovering from whatever that was, you placed the fruits down, “Fine, keep your secrets. Any preference for size of slice?”

“Diced, thank you.”

You hid the urge to bellow “behind!” well as you scooted around him to reach the sink. A quick wash later, you were carefully wheeled the knife over the tomatoes flesh.

“How was work?”

“Usual. Yourself?”

“Usual.” Shallow remarks, and your conversation recovered faster than last time when you asked, “Did you watch the Liverpool game the other night?”

John chuckled, “Working late, I had to look up the results after.”

“Maybe, when you can, even if we can’t meet up, we could do a watch along. You know, you watch where you are, I watch where I am and we chat on the phone in between the good bits.”

“I’d like that,” Then he went back to trimming his potatoes into slim sticks, his face still lit up from the idea. “Be like having you in my office.”

Ah, so he worked late and had an office. Okay, it wasn’t the big breakthrough that you were hoping for. It was something though.

That was when you realised what he was doing with the potatoes. “Making your own chips too? You’re going all out for me.

“Nothing you don’t deserve.”

“How often do you get to cook?”

“Not often at all.”

“Then I feel honoured.” And you leant up against John’s side as he finished dunking the slices in the saucepan of salted water. When you kissed his shoulder through the fabric of his cashmere jumper – the jumper he was filling out so very nicely, by the way - he didn’t stiffen like he had before. Rather, John got a dopey sort of smile that made all the lines by the corners of his eyes and mouth creased into being, creating more evidence of his happiness. You refused to tease him about anything around that, out of principle. Instead, you were pleased that your work was bringing more chances to make that expression appear.

“You wanna watch a show after dinner?”

“You have another recommendation?”

“I do have something in mind. It’s quite apropos.”

John hummed in approval whilst he set the saucepan to parboil the potatoes. Leaning against the countertop, you against the island, sipping away coyly as you spoke about some future plans.

“I’m good from here. Go sit down.”

He’d even set the table all romantic, gotten out some unburned candles to light and offered some wine, which you refused on principle of being in his house for the first time and technically on the clock. You didn’t tell him that, of course. You sat beside him at the long solid wood dining table though. Enough opposites on date nights, he craved domesticity, so you adjusted your placing beside him and looked as innocent was you could when he placed your dish in front of you first.

A cut of the steak was what you ate first, immediately covering your mouth with your hand as it sizzled on your tongue, the flavour’s power catching you off guard.

John raised an eyebrow, barely hiding his grin as he prepared to take his inaugural bite, “Good?”

Shaking your head, you revealed your smile, “Don’t look at me.”

Instead of laughing like he was clearly trying not to, John offered a toast and your glasses sang together as you gave cheers to the success of the meal. It was almost embarrassing how fast you polished your meal off, which you countered by singing John’s praises to get him a matching shade of shyness. He paired it nicely with his pride and ensuring you knew you were an excellent colleague in the kitchen, allowing you neatly to introduce:

“The Bear?”

“It’s so good. I’m only four episodes in - hooked.”

Like show, like play-pretend boyfriend, it seemed, although you and John barely reached the same intensity Carmy experienced during your own cooking experience.

It was time to test the waters again. The approach was like John was a rescue that needed to be reminded that soft touch was normal and to be expected around you.

It mainly involved resting your hand on his heart. But your position allowed you to press completely against him, your arm resting upon his full belly hidden beneath a layer of muscle, fat and fabric. This wasn’t just for John’s benefit; taking stock of how large he was, a man built from marble and conviction, kept you grounded in the reason why he’d hired you. Surely, someone had to be this man’s type, someone who would not mind the months apart and loved his mutton chops. His solitude dismayed you, as did the fact that he hadn’t yet made any advances on your spooning. You let out a sigh, aiming to present it as one of relief, and shifted your position in an act of getting comfortable (you were already more than satisfied with this spot).

When John let his cheek rest on your crown, you closed your eyes. Hopefully, this fit what he was after: couch cuddles after a nice meal. You hoped, even when he hadn’t asked you to stay.

“I’m sorry, this is meant to be a comedy?” He asked incredulously after the second episode’s cold open. You only shrugged before settling back down in his side, feeling a tingle in your spine as his finger idly traced along the left side of it.

What affirmed your suspicions was you know he wanted to ask you to stay anyway. But he never did. He caught up with your episodes, denied help with washing up the dishes and offered to walk you to the car, even if it was just fifteen steps down the gravel driveway.

“I’ll have to cook for you something next time,” You said, looping your arm through his.

“Just tell me what you need from the farmer’s market.”

“Thank you for tonight.” You pecked his cheek, taking your time when moving away. The result: John lurked equally close to you, his hand falling to your knee as if to stop you from fitting into the back seat properly. “You want me to stay, don’t you?”

Genuinely hesitant, John maintained his gentleman act even as he admitted: “I do.”

So it was delightful to see his micro-expressions shift when you said, as easy as breathing, “Let me go grab my pyjamas; I’ll be right back.”

“I could drive you?”

“You’ve got that washing up that you wouldn’t let me do,” You replied, keeping a balance of light-hearted in front of the cabby and firm enough to dissuade John from pushing further. Per your privacy clause in your agreement, you told John to link you up with the secure car service he wanted to use, so that he wouldn’t have your address. You did not want him to see where you lived.

Thankfully, he agreed to your conditions and he released the car door for you to close.

“Back in a flash!”

---------------

“I’m gonna change. Maybe we can watch more once I’m ready?”

He was still in his attempt at casual get-up – unless he just genuinely wore cashmere as a casual garment. Leading you upstairs, he showed you to his room that was just as straight laced and dust-free as the rest of the house. A cream en-suite was offered as your changing room. Taking note of how his bed was pressed firmly against the wall and window, you locked yourself into the en-suite.

You couldn’t help but explore. Beard care products in wicker baskets, plus a few bottles and tubes that were half-used sat inside sparse overhead cupboards. Upon the top shelf, a handful of toiletries from the hotels you met him in sat untouched and unused. Nothing outside of a typical bachelor bathroom, except you did pause to smell his cologne, even spray some in the space ahead to walk through on your way out.

Thank fuck you’d completed your laundry day yesterday. Matching and adorable pyjamas had been waiting for you on the chair pile when you’d arrived home earlier and now dressed you to perfection. You fired off another text, updating and assuring your safety despite being in a remote house.

Every step down to the sitting room revealed more of John, who was already staring at you from his spot on the couch, his wine almost absent from the glass in his hand. There was a careful smile on his face, well-constructed like every part of him. But over the banister, you could see what he couldn’t hide in the glint in his eyes.Maybe this was a kink: the apron, the cooking, the sleepwear. But if it was a kink, where was the sex he seemed so excited about during that initial dinner?

Still not a bad gig.

As you rejoined him on the couch, John held up his phone, “I transferred you the money whilst you were out.”

“I saw, thank you.” And you snuggled into his side once again.

As he eased back into the couch cushions, you felt John pull you into him and take a deep breath, his nose pressed into your scalp. A half second later, he drew away his head and you waited on his suddenly still chest to see what he did next.

His arms constricted around you for just a moment. Then they slacked into a lax grip around you, his thumb rubbing back and forth where it met your arm. He took another deep breath before letting loose a throaty three-note chuckle that had disastrous effects on your composure, prickling in your neck as you felt that glorious sound wash down your back. It would take the entire next episode of The Bear for you to feel semi-alright with giving it your whole attention, but that only meant, when you began to doze, that you were expected to tune back in whenever John teased you about it – and he teased mercilessly with a squeeze down on your hip.

“You recommend a show, then you fall asleep during it. How am I meant to trust your judgement?”

“Not my fault you’re like a hot water bottle.”

 “Ah, so you’re the victim here.”

“Mm-hmm.”

At the sight of the end credits, John was the one to suggest going to bed. He was also the first to get in, lodging himself up against the wall after clearing his items from his bedside table into the drawer. The mattress slanted towards the middle as you folded yourself into bed, a rabbit in its warren, just avoiding the spot where John would usually recover from his day.

Sometimes, you did things without completely thinking them through. Never had you done it on the job though, so it was a shock to your system when you found yourself touching John’s arm to get his attention, words out of your voice box before your could turn it off:

“When we met, you told me that you would be lying if you weren’t interested in having sex. I’m interested in knowing what’s holding you back from asking for that.”

John paused his descent beneath the duvet and let his eyes drift down to where your hands gripped the bed sheets as he mulled over an answer.

When he looked back up, he spoke simply, “Nothing’s holding me back. I just don’t want that at the moment.”

That was all he offered, so it was what you accepted, kissing his lips quick as you wished him: “Goodnight, John.”

You slept with your hand under the pillow, holding onto your phone - silenced. But the night was as restless as you, waking you up to his arm around your waist at half two in the morning, the wind tap-tapping on the window. John’s radiator of a chest, hidden in his sleep shirt, was pulsing soporific warmth against your back. In the dark, you could make out something on his bicep where his shirt sleeve had rolled up. A tattoo but of what, you could barely decipher. You didn’t attempt to, flipping your pillow over before drifting off. 

Roused once more, you did not bothering to check the time as you slid out of bed on auto-pilot, your legs carrying you to the bathroom blearily. You didn’t want to wake John or draw yourself too far from sleep, so you left the light off. Feeling around the chilled tiles you hadn’t yet committed to memory brought you to the toilet, the roll and then the sink, only the soapy water making an effort to bring your consciousness forward.

Eyes adjusting to the dull wash of darkness as your feet found carpet again, you were greeted by a new shadow.John was looking up at you with alert eyes, pushed up on his front like he was Ariel at a rock pool. One of his hands, fingers fanned out, was in the space you’d vacated.

“Did I wake you?” You whispered as you approached him.

His voice was gruffer as he denied, “No, no.”

When he let you back into the bed, he tucked you under the duvet and (to your mild surprise) pulled you into his chest. It was quite unceremonious, how he scooped you up and rubbed his cheek on the back of your head, like you were his cat. Content to play the part, you hummed and curled in his burly arms. You had no choice, really, but it was a nice little trap he laid for you, even if he wasn’t completely awake when he set it.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” John said in a growl before he seemed to drop back into sleep, his hand burrowing under your pyjama shirt to grasp your belly. And, in your subconscious effort to return to slumber, you believed him. 

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AN: Time for the interaction aspect! Vote on what you'd like to see me post next! Here's some short summaries:

Bubble Baths and Blisters (Pre-relationship/Fluff and Angst): Reader and John meet at another hotel at short notice. The reader offers to help John with his bath since he's injured (but he couldn't stay in the hospital any longer; he needed to see you).

First time (Pre-relationship/Angst and Smut): John calls the reader over last minute to his house. He's desperate for something to take his mind off things, but he's still holding out on getting over that first hurdle, still not quite taking what he wants. So you convince him to.

A “Moving-in” Present (Pre-relationship/Fluff and Some Smut): John buys something for the reader to welcome them into his home properly - with one little caveat.