#plastic shoe cover

[thedigitalpulse]

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ REVIEW: Best Shoe Covers for Cleanliness and Safety!

Keeping my workplace clean and safe has always been a top priority, and I’ve tried a ton of shoe covers over the years. But after using these, I’m hooked! Here’s why:

1️⃣ Plastic Shoe Cover: These are perfect for quick, everyday protection. They’re durable, easy to slip on, and get the job done without any fuss.

2️⃣ Shoe Covers Waterproof: Working in wet environments? These shoe covers waterproof are a game-changer. No more soggy shoes, just complete protection no matter what the conditions are like.

3️⃣ Disposable Shoe Cover: I love how convenient the disposable shoe cover options are. It’s so simple to just toss them when done, and I don’t have to worry about cleaning or storing them.

4️⃣ Shoe Covers Disposable: For those busy days, I rely on shoe covers disposable that are lightweight and still super reliable. Plus, they don’t take up any space!

5️⃣ Shoes Cover: Whether it’s a plastic shoe cover or something more heavy-duty, I know my shoes are safe. These covers are essential in industries like healthcare, food production, or even just at home for a clean environment.

If you’re in need of high-quality shoe covers, these are definitely worth trying. They’ve helped me keep everything clean and safe, and I wouldn’t go without them now.

💬 What’s your go-to shoe cover? Have you tried any of these? Let me know your experience!

#ShoeCovers #PlasticShoeCover #ShoeCover #ShoeCoversWaterproof #DisposableShoeCover #ShoeCoversDisposable #CleanWorkplace #SafetyMatters #Hygiene

[killemwithkawaii]

Why didn't anybody tell me that, upon the stroke of midnight on my 30th birthday, I would suddenly be struck with the irresistible compulsion to completely refurnish my bedroom???

[cringelordlikesplaz]

happy brday plas but also you ever think about how we narrowly avoided the timeline where plastic man kept those weird spiky sockboots he had in the first issues???

[thefreshprinceofjunes]

COME ON BARBIE LETS GO PARTY ✨👙🌺🦩✨

[honey-tongued-devil]

Arcane characters finding you asleep at their workplace

The devil works hard, but I work a little harder, so I’m back to writing Arcane headcanons a month before season two comes out.

Jayce:  

- Strong sense of guilt,  

- The first thing that comes to his mind is that you must have waited for him for a long time to fall asleep 

- He will make it up to you by trying to cook something for you, stopping to buy your favorite sweets before heading home, and giving you a shoulder massage the moment you sit down somewhere after you wake up.  

- The man of the Hamlet-like dilemma: he doesn’t want to wake you, but he also doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable.  

- If he has something urgent to do, he’ll try to cover your shoulders with something, even just his jacket, to keep you warm while he finishes only the essentials.  

- Once he’s free, he will very gently try to lift you from the chair, apologizing when you wake up and mumble something incoherent.  

Viktor:  

- In the early years of university, it sometimes happened that he found you in his room asleep, slumped over on a chair or bed with your shoes still on.  

- But as the years went by and the lab became his main space, that sight became a constant, repeating at least twice a week.  

- He tries to make as little noise as possible, whether with his aides, the door, or the stack of books and notebooks he needs to organize.  

- Before getting to work, he leaves the room again to bring you your favorite hot drink with a plastic lid pressed on top, so it doesn’t cool down.  

- Then, in complete silence, he works, deciding what to leave for tomorrow and what to do now, so he can finish as soon as possible without delaying too much.  

Ekko:  

- It’s hard to define what exactly a workplace is for Ekko,  

- But he often finds you at the Firelights' tree, in that room that’s supposed to be his, having likely sneaked in through the window to surprise him.  

- There are days when he comes back fairly early but stays to tell stories to the kids, and others when things go wrong, and he returns when it’s already dark, and almost everyone is asleep

- Finding you like this always makes him feel the absence of something more stable

- But he shakes his head and quickly pushes aside doubts about his ideals, stepping out of the room again and making more noise as he enters again, so you wake up, and he can pretend to be surprised in front of your open eyes.  

- By now, you know he steps out and comes back in, but it makes you smile every single time.

Vander:  

- You always sit at a table in the back of the Last Drop to wait for him, trying not to bother him, doodling, doing calculations, or planning something for the next day just to keep yourself entertained.  

- But by now, the sound of drunkards and the clinking of coins and glasses have become background noise that helps lull you into a catatonic state.  

- Vander usually notices after about an hour that you've fallen asleep; he always keeps an eye on you, but sometimes the customers cause problems.  

- He doesn’t like leaving you there, so far away, so he usually waits for a quieter moment to come over, pick you up, and bring you behind the counter, laying you down with your arms and head resting on the wooden bar.  

- He knows it’s not a big improvement, but his priority is to keep you safe.  

- When he finishes working, he closes the bar without doing the closing duties, sets his alarm for earlier than usual, and carries you to your room in his arms, covering your forehead with kisses.  

Silco:  

- The problem with Silco finding you asleep in his office is that he rarely arrives alone.  

- There’s always either Sevika or at least two other henchmen following him.  

- He sighs and sends them away, not without Sevika giving him a provocative look that means everything and nothing.  

- He hates those situations because part of him feels a strange warmth at the thought of you sneaking into his office for whatever reason, but on the other hand, he knows it negatively affects his image to be seen as a leader who tolerates certain insubordinations.  

- Because sneaking into the kingpin’s office is something that would get almost anyone else outside decapitated. But not you.  

- He huffs, pacing the room to deal with both emotions, and when he finally calms down, he approaches you, shaking you slightly to wake you up.  

- It’s certainly not the gentlest gesture on his part, but most of the time, it ends with you either going back to sleep in his bed while he works, or sitting on his lap while he flips through papers without paying them much attention.  

Jinx:  

- She can’t contain her excitement at all. When she notices your figure in her workshop, she always lets out a little happy sound that wakes you up.  

- From there, she immediately starts apologizing at least a thousand times, feeling guilty for waking you up but still too happy that you came to visit her.  

- She helps you up, talking nonstop about her day and anything that comes to mind as she leads you outside.  

- It’s not because she doesn’t want you around, but because she assumes you must be hungry as soon as you wake up, so before you're fully awake, you’ll find yourself at the Last Drop with enough food in front of you to feed her father’s entire gang of henchmen.  

- And she will absolutely feed you herself when she sees you haven’t taken a bite in too long, while stealing food here and there and continuing to talk.  

Vi:  

- For her, too, a "workplace" is a somewhat vague concept,  

- But in return, she has her secret spot, where she hides at night and tries to survive when she’s not out on the streets looking for trouble.  

- Every time she finds you there, she feels an indescribable pang in her heart.  

- She always feels like she’s neglecting the person she loves and failing to make you understand how much she cares about you.  

- She always hesitates before waking you up; sometimes she’ll even go change into clean clothes and wash the grime off her hands and face first.  

- Then she’ll wake you by sitting next to you, giving you a kiss, calling you by a silly nickname only the two of you know, and rubbing her forehead against yours before asking, with a rhetorical smile,  

- "Did you miss me?"

Caitlyn:  

- Sometimes you find yourself in the inner waiting room of the precinct, with her colleagues pointing out your body slumped in the chair and raising their eyebrows, teasing her. Other times, you simply sneak into her room, which isn’t much different from the police station anyway.  

- Every time, she sighs and gently wakes you, her pale eyes a little sad.  

- “Why didn’t you call me?” It doesn’t matter to her that you didn’t want to disturb her, because to her, you’re never a disturbance. It’s not a problem to have you around, even in public. She just feels bad that you waited instead of telling her, so she could have come much sooner.  

- She takes you away from the station without any issues, letting you continue resting against her shoulder as a Kiramman private vehicle takes you both to her home.  

- If you’re already in her room, she usually changes and lies down next to you, taking the chance to nap together, wrapped in each other's arms.  

Mel:  

- Falling asleep inside the Senate? Impossible.  

- But the keys to her office and her room are always in your pocket, and you usually bring her something to eat when you visit, though by the time you fall asleep, both the coffee and the treats are cold.  

- She’s not used to displays of affection, so she stays still for a few seconds before smiling and shaking her head.  

- She doesn’t wake you immediately, not because she doesn’t want to, but because if the sound of the door didn’t wake you, you probably need the rest. So she lets you sleep for at least 30 minutes before coming over, brushing your hair behind your ears to wake you, laughing when you lift your head with your eyes still closed.  

Sevika:  

- The first thing anyone would think is that falling asleep at the Last Drop is extremely dangerous. However, Silco’s henchmen aren’t too different from bipedal dogs by now; they know who you are, recognize your face and scent, and if they notice you’ve fallen asleep somewhere, at least three of them sit at your table to ensure your safety.  

- Sevika is always tasked with the worst imaginable jobs—tedious, long, and often dangerous—so when she finally returns, it’s usually either time to open the bar to the public or time to close it.  

- Even when she sees you, she can’t come to you right away, so she makes a face at whoever is watching over you, as if urging them to protect you better while she heads into the office.  

- Like Silco, part of her feels subconsciously softened by the idea that someone would feel the physical need to be with her so much that they’d wait, sitting until they fell asleep.  

- But on the other hand, she’s terrified that someone might see you and come after you to settle personal scores in a cowardly way.  

- When she finally comes down, she pulls you into her arms without saying a word, holding you under her large cape as she carries you away.  

[rhq2744]

Sorry for the ugliness of the view, or should I be the one sorry or the occupation? Of course, dear reader, you could not bear the ugliness of the scene, but what should I and my family say? We have been here since the third of December,

[ vertified by @nabulsi and @el-shab-hussein , num.221 on fundraising list ! ]

See the evidence below !

Note, the iron thing in the picture in the back is the primitive oven in which we bake our daily bread using firewood and plastic. CAN YOU IMAGINE ????!!!!!!! Is your food covered in sewage, urine and feces? Sorry for the words but this is crazy, I'm going to lose my mind!

We have been here since the third of December,in addition to the filth and waste, it explodes daily due to the presence of 30,000 thousand displaced people. It explodes and the place here is flooded with filth, sewage and dirt. It is definitely a hotbed of diseases. Why do I and my family have to live, sleep, eat and cook here?????? Do you see this little threshold? A few centimeters that separate us and it's not enough, a lot of insects and worms,If you go out with your shoes, they will get dirty and dirt will enter inside. We are inevitably stuck in dirt. Is there a decent person who would be satisfied with a life like this? I am tired. We are all exhausted by the disease. Everyone is here with yellow eyes and epidemic hepatitis. Everyone is like a zombie because of this tragic and inhuman situation in which we live. My family does not leave the bed due to the severity of illness and fatigue. [is there a bed? Of course NO, we sleep on the floor, specifically on dirt, but unfortunately we have begun... We get used to the tent like a house and we use its terminology. This habit and habituation is killing me. I cannot accept and do not want anyone to accept the humiliation we are experiencing Or try to beautify it in any way.]

If you would like to help even a little for my family, please do not hesitate for a moment. It is an unbearable situation. Our lives have been destroyed. Or you can help spread the link to our family to someone who might be able to help. Thank you for reading. Have a good day. At least someone should be happy today.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1yYkNp5U3ANwILl2MknJi9G7ArY4uVTEEQ1CVfzR8Ioo/htmlview

[jqcareconnect]

What are the benefits of using JQ Care shoe covers?

Keeping your environment clean and safe is crucial, whether you're working in a healthcare facility, a construction site, or simply trying to protect your carpets at home. JQ Care shoe covers offer a reliable and convenient solution for various situations. Here's why you should consider JQ Care for your shoe cover needs:

1. Enhanced Protection:

Two options: JQ Care offers PE (polyethylene) and PE+PP shoe covers, catering to different needs.

PE covers: Ideal for general use, providing excellent fluid resistance and great dry surface traction.

PE+PP covers: Feature a double layer for enhanced protection, making them perfect for wet and smooth surfaces.

2. Reduced Contamination:

Barrier against dirt, dust, and germs: JQ Care shoe covers act as a barrier, preventing the transfer of contaminants from your shoes to the environment, and vice versa. This is especially important in healthcare settings, cleanrooms, and food processing facilities.

3. Cost-Effectiveness:

Disposable: JQ Care shoe covers are disposable, eliminating the need for cleaning and reducing the risk of cross-contamination. This makes them a cost-effective choice compared to reusable alternatives.

4. Comfort and Flexibility:

Lightweight and breathable: JQ Care shoe covers are lightweight and breathable, allowing for comfortable wear throughout the day.

Seamless design: The heat-sealed, seamless construction eliminates potential leakage points and ensures a comfortable fit.

5. Diverse Applications:

Beyond healthcare: JQ Care shoe covers aren't limited to medical settings. They are equally beneficial in construction sites, laboratories, food processing facilities, and even personal use for protecting carpets and floors from dirt and mud.

Choosing the Right JQ Care Shoe Cover:

PE covers: Ideal for general use and dry environments.

PE+PP covers: Opt for these for enhanced protection in wet or slippery conditions.

Remember: Regularly changing your cover shoes plastic, especially in high-risk environments, is crucial to maintain optimal hygiene and prevent contamination.

With JQ Care shoe covers, you can prioritize cleanliness, protection, and convenience in various situations. Keep your environment safe and your shoes clean with JQ Care!

[pseudowho]

"Kento, can you play this game for me?"

Putting his shoes in the rack, and loosening his tie with two fingers, Kento's hands magnetised to your hips, and his lips to your forehead.

He hummed at the plastic-sealed game in your hands.

"I may be wrong, but I believe the enjoyment of a game comes through playing it yourself."

The game cover was a jagged mash of reds and blacks-- something grotesque, Kento had no doubt-- and you grimaced, apologetic.

"The thing is, I want to play it, but I just...can't. I don't think I could handle it, but...I could watch?"

Kento looked flatly at the game case. Your words still didn't seem to register.

"...you...just want to watch?"

"Yes."

"Watch me play it?"

"Yes."

"Wh-- ...never mind. Alright. I'll play it for you."

You gasped in joy, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek, and jumping onto the sofa. Kento huffed, his half-smile painting his irritation as false. With bags of sweets, snacks, fluffy blankets and the lights off, you had clearly placed money on him saying yes.

Kento sat, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, and watching you set the game up.

"It's a horror, I assume?"

"You assume right. You've got a camera, and there are ghosts, and an abandoned creepy village and you're trapped--"

A cool hum, unfazed. Kento leaned back, unbothered as the title screen opened, and he clicked through settings, suddenly sixteen again. The game began, the cut scene telling a tale of woe, and the barest hints of the dreadful, mangled spirits to come.

You chirped, hiding all of your toes beneath a blanket. Your body pressed to Kento's side, and he grunted, sweeping your legs over his lap without looking away from the screen. You crammed a sweet into your mouth, adorably wide-eyed enough to make Kento huff with a crooked smile.

You were an easy target for games like this; your vivid imagination and skittishness fell victim to haunting ambience, hook, line and sinker. Kento was safe-- slick, analytical, more method than man.

By the first ghosts, you threatened to pull the blanket over your eyes.

By the first fight, you jumped hard enough to upend popcorn all over Kento's lap, squealing and flapping your hands as Kento chastised you ("Darling-- you're a Sorcerer, for god's sake--").

By the boss fight, you had buried your face in Kento's neck, your arms throttling him as you clung for dear life. Kento grunted again, as concentrated as he was as a teenager, and paused the game for just long enough to lift you into his lap, rest his chin on your head and finish the fight. Two broad arms bracketed you, while clever fingers did their duty.

Kento finished the fight. He breathed out, completely unshaken, and looked down at you mulishly, gently scolding. You swallowed hard to feel him twitch inside his pants against your lower back. His voice was gravelly, the room still bathed in ghoulish light.

"I think that's quite enough for one night."

You looked up at him, suppressing laughter at yourself. Your voice was sickeningly sweet, coy, and you stroked your fingers down his chest, whispering.

"My hero."

Another hum, and a rumbling moan as your fingers hit his zipper. Kento took his spoils, your kisses a boon, and pressed you back into the sofa, deepening his kiss until his tongue stroked for entry, and you felt molten promise pit in your belly.

Without warning, Kento pulled back with a sigh. He sat in the corner of the sofa, mellowsoft eyes on you in a determined half-smile. Your mouth watered as he unzipped himself, hooked his aching cock out and held it in his palm. He offered one slow stroke, a bead of pre cum trickling down his fingers.

As you crawled towards him, Kento held up his other hand to halt. You obeyed, close to a whimper, as Kento scolded you, and began stroking himself to a ragged moan and spreading thighs.

"Ah ah ah. I thought you liked to watch?"

[diejager]

Puppy reader who is teething and her teeth feels very itchy so she constantly needs to chew on something and monster!Konig tentacles are her favorite things to chew on bc they're kinda rubbery, soft and taste funny...

- 🐮

Cw: teething, biting, sea food???, tell me if I missed any.

Ghost had been your handler for the past year, having to train and teach you everything you’d need to work with them. He’d seen your lows as often as your highs, from a whining pup, moaning about not receiving enough pets or kisses or treats, seemingly almost missing something, to an energetic mutt, bouncing off the walls and running laps at the prospect of praises and affection. 

He’d seen it all, every little moment you had that had him strain against the limit of his patience as a competent handler. And despite your age, far from being a young puppy with frail limbs and limp ears, you could act as on: whining, crying, barking until something - someone - gave you the attention you needed, but he’d never seen you do… this.

It was unusual for you to be this mouthy, teeth itching to sink into something, your teeth bared and snarling when anyone tried to take the object from your mouth. Ghost had bought you toys, boxes filled with softer chew toys rather than the hard plastic of a shoe or the metal bite of utensils, but you worked through them faster than he could provide. Perhaps you were bored of the repeated drills despite dogs being creatures of habit, or you were lacking activity, he was getting busier with all the reports and paperwork he had to fill in for Price. Especially with another PMZ being called for a joint alliance.

He worried that they’d pose a danger to you, so young and naive to how others could treat you as a hybrid, he had both Gaz and Soap follow you —or rather, you follow them; but when he saw you perk up at the sight of a giant man and another hybrid, a scarred tiger, Ghost felt his shoulders tense. You just had to find interest in a man - could he even be a man with how big he was? - heads taller than him, broad and dangerous. You had completely forgotten his orders, trailing behind the giant like a lost pup, tail wagging and eyes bright. 

You’d go missing for hours upon hours, leaving the Task Force as worried as they were confused, lost without the small ball of sunshine around them. They would go looking for you, asking around until they eventually found you curled up and asleep on your bed, your snoring echoing softly in Ghost’s room. It went on like that for the week and the next, only finding you in the Mess Hall or your bed, not knowing where you went during these long breaks. 

Until- until Gaz had found you straddling the giant’s - König’s - lap, you face covered in a thin layer of mucus and gnawing on a tentacle, long and dark and viscous. Ghost was livid, König being an octopus hybrid - however odd that sounded - and how at ease you both felt to let each other be so physically close to one another. Granted, you were a sociable hybrid, which seemed to bother him less than the sight of you biting on a König’s tentacle.

He knew you were somehow teething, but it bothered him how you were dealing with it with someone else instead of coming to him for a solution. Ghost would have to talk to you later.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[trickphotography2]

Rooster wasn't for you. You were opposites in so many ways - he was an extrovert to your introvert. The center of attention to your wallflower. You weren't interested in a one night stand, and he couldn't offer more. So his volunteering to help with Friendsgiving was just a friendly gesture after you returned from a deployment...right?

Word count: 7.8K

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“Just a minute!” you called, swiping a strand of hair from your face. The knocking stopped, and you quickly washed the flour from your hands, drying them on the towel thrown over your shoulder while heading to the door.

And there, standing on your front step as the sun started to rise, was Bradley. His normally styled curls were sleep-mussed, his grey t-shirt clinging to his arms and untucked from his Navy PT sweatpants. The smile on his face grew as he took you in - sweatpants, a baggy sweatshirt dotted with flour, fuzzy socks, and not a stitch of makeup. The difference from your normally put-together appearance was stark. “Morning, Duch.”

“You’re late.” Laughing, he held up a bag of microwavable frozen corn.

“Had to turn around when I forgot my contribution.” Rolling your eyes, you stepped back to let him in, watching to ensure he removed his shoes before following you into the kitchen.

“The turkey’s already thawed and in the sink. I just need you to clean it out, and I can take it from there.” Bradley nodded, tossing you the corn before going to the kitchen. You put it in the freezer and walked to the downstairs bathroom to wash your hands before resuming your spot at the counter, picking up your bread lame and staring at the unbaked loaf. A part of you wanted to do a simple score, knowing that it would just be eaten, but the hostess in you demanded a more intricate design. The indecision tore at you. To buy time, you sprinkled the top with more rice flour. 

“Can you get me the trashcan?” Bradley asked, and you nodded, quickly abandoning your project. After you set it beside him and pulled off the cover, he tossed the netting and plastic. You couldn’t help but notice his biceps flex as he shifted the turkey. But you shrunk back when he reached into the cavity and pulled out the giblets and gravy package, shaking your head at his raised eyebrow. He discarded them as you braced yourself, nose scrunching when he removed the neck. “You alright there, Duch?” he teased. 

“Gross.” 

“It’s just a turkey neck,” he said, holding it closer to you. You jumped back.

“I will throat punch you if you touch me with that.” He laughed, edging it closer, and you raised a fist. There was a reason a condition of you hosting everyone for Friendsgiving was someone else cleaning the turkey.

“Didn’t take you for being squeamish.” 

“You would be, too, if your grandpa chased you around the house with it when you were a kid, and you had to lock yourself in a bathroom to escape.” At his barked laugh, you shook your head. “I told that to my ex, and he thought it was funny to put it in his zipper and chase me around the house with it. If floppy dick isn’t attractive, a turkey neck sure as shit isn’t.” 

Bradley choked on a laugh. For as prim and proper as you were at times - hence the callsign Duchess - you sometimes reminded everyone that you also had a military sense of humor. “Maybe you just haven’t seen the right ‘floppy dick,’” he smirked, dropping the neck into the trash. 

Shrugging, you glanced away from him when the oven beeped, alerting that it was preheated. “You’re right. Bob probably has a pretty one.” A rosy flush crept up his cheeks as he turned back to the turkey and forced a laugh. Bradley didn’t want to hear that you were thinking about Bob’s dick. “Put it in this afterward, and I’ll dry it.” After dropping the roasting pan beside him, you rewashed your hands.

Standing in front of your bread, you bit your lip to keep from giggling as you contemplated scoring a dick into the dough but decided to go with a traditional wheat stalk. To your surprise, he grabbed the roll of paper towels by the sink and patted the turkey dry, even the cavity. As you removed the Dutch oven from the preheated oven, he tied up the trash bag and took it out. After putting the bread into the oven, you set the timer and moved to the sink, glancing at Bradley when he came back in. Standing beside you, he reached for the soap and lowered the water temperature before scrubbing his hands. Removing the hand towel from your shoulder, you draped it over his after drying your hands. “Thanks,” he murmured. 

“Thanks for taking care of the turkey.” Standing by the island, you crouched to retrieve a cutting board. The sound of other cabinets closing made you peek over the countertop to see him rooting through the overhead storage. “Are you looking for something?” 

“Coffee mugs.” Biting back a retort about making himself comfortable, you pointed to the right of the stove. You bit your tongue when he grabbed two mugs - including your favorite - and went to the wet bar where the full pot was finished brewing. Placing the cutting board on the counter, you grabbed a knife from the block and were surprised to see a mug of coffee beside your workstation. Murmuring your thanks, you grabbed the creamer from the fridge along with packages of herbs and butter. “What are you making?” Bradley asked.

“A marinade since I didn’t brine the turkey.” 

“You want a hand?” 

“I’ve got it,” you said automatically. “I’ve got a schedule.” He didn’t need to know that you were already behind after falling asleep on the couch early last night and forgetting to set your alarm. And he definitely didn’t need to know that you’d only been awake for 20 minutes before he arrived. If you put your head down and focused, everything would still be ready to eat at the agreed-upon 3:00 PM. Some of your time to get yourself ready would just have to be sacrificed. For some reason, you’d insisted that everyone dress nicely for Friendsgiving. Wearing a uniform almost every day didn’t give you any opportunities to dress up, and sometimes it felt nice to wear something other than jeans and a t-shirt. 

Setting your tablet up, you navigated through the bookmarked recipes and rinsed the herbs before pulling them from the stems. Bradley leaned against the counter beside you and sipped his coffee while glancing around the kitchen. Seeing him relaxing there, one leg crossed over the other and looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, made something flutter in your chest. 

“You know, you could have saved a lot of time if you’d just agreed to let Hangman fry the turkey.”

That made you snort. “I just finished my renovations - the last thing I want is for my house to burn down.” It had taken months to get your home exactly how you wanted it. After twelve years in the Navy, you were ready to put down some roots, and buying a home had seemed like the smart thing to do. Living in a construction zone for the last year hadn’t been fun, but a well-timed deployment meant you weren’t there for the worst of it. The results were worth the pain, and you’d jumped at the chance to host when you got back and realized most of the squad had no plans for Thanksgiving. You couldn’t wait for them to see the changes in the Craftsman that had been a definite fixer-upper when you purchased it. The kitchen had been completely gutted and replaced with double ovens and quartz countertops, and the smaller kitchen island had been moved and changed to a wet bar with a wine fridge, replaced with an oversized one. The popcorn texture was scraped from the ceiling throughout the house, the floors redone, and the walls painted. The primary bath had been updated with a large soaker tub and walk-in shower, and you loved the giant closet. The guest bathrooms still needed work, as did the yard, but those were projects for later. 

“It looks good, Duch,” he said softly, gaze holding yours for a long moment. You felt those inconvenient butterflies again and shoved them aside, dropping your eyes to the cutting board. Bradley wasn’t for you. You were too different - he enjoyed nights out at the bar, while you liked to spend time at home. He liked being the center of attention while you preferred to blend into the background. Besides, he didn’t seem much like a relationship guy, given the number of flings he had at the Hard Deck, while the idea of casual dating gave you hives. Pushing away from the counter, Bradley reached under the sink for a trashbag, putting it into the can before washing his hands. He moved closer, nose twitching slightly at the scent of rosemary, and braced his big hands on the countertop beside you. “Alright, what can I do?” 

“You don’t - ”

“Lemme help.” His eyes met yours, smiling when you sighed. 

“Fine. The meat injector is in here,” you said, bumping one of the drawer handles with your hip. “And I’ll need the chicken stock from the pantry.” Pouring the stock, herbs, and a couple of sticks of butter into a stockpan, you handed Bradley a silicone spatula and told him to stir. You rolled your lips together to keep from smiling when he pulled his phone from his pocket and watched videos of turkey injections before declaring he would be in charge of it. Reluctantly, you agreed. Once the marinade had cooled, the bird was given a second drying, you had finished the coffee, and Bradley had rewatched the video three times, it was time. He studied the turkey through narrowed eyes as you tried not to laugh. “You want to - ”

“Ah!”

“The breast and thighs - ”

“I’m doing it, Duch,” he cut you off. 

“Well, remember that if it turns out dry.” The unimpressed look Bradley shot you made you grin as you put your chin in your hand and motioned for him to proceed. The tip of his tongue poked through his lips as he filled the injector and hovered the needle over the turkey. His eyes darted to you, and you raised an eyebrow. “You can tap out at any time, Rooster.” Instead of replying, he pierced the meat and pushed down on the plunger. You couldn’t help but laugh when he yelped, marinade spraying in his face after pushing too hard. But when he reached to wipe it away, you caught his hands. “Don’t put turkey germs all over your face,” you scoffed, towing him toward the sink. You held his chin while cleaning his face with wet paper towels. 

“Now you’re just messing with me,” he chuckled when you scrubbed his mustache, but he didn’t pull away. His breath was hot on your hand, and his smile soft when you reached up to dab away a speck of garlic in his eyebrow. Balling up the paper towel, you shook your head. 

“Wash your face with soap to make sure you don’t get salmonella. Cyclone’ll kill me if you’re out with food poisoning.” Turning on the water, you ensured it was warm before getting a clean washcloth. The oven timer beeped as you dug through the linen closet, and you hurried back into the kitchen, throwing the towel on the sink beside him and grabbing the pot holders to take out your bread. Once it was on the wire rack to cool, you moved to the turkey. 

“What’re you doing?” Bradley demanded, turning while drying his face. 

“Taking over.” You gasped when he closed the space between you in a few strides, wrapped his arm around your waist, and lifted you away from the counter. “Bradshaw! What the hell?”

“Told you I’m doing it,” he chuckled in your ear. Once back on your feet, you spun in his hold and stared at him. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his cocky smirk. 

“Fine, but if you waste more of my marinade, you’re out of my kitchen.”

“Deal.” 

Thankfully, there were no further incidents, but you kept a close eye on him while slicing up a loaf of bread you’d baked two days before and let go stale for stuffing. After covering the roasting tray with tin foil, the bird went back into the fridge to rest for a few hours. “Thanks, Rooster. I guess I’ll see you later?”

“What else can I do?” 

“You don’t - ” 

“I want to help. I haven’t…” his eyes dropped to the floor as he shrugged. “I never got to do this before. My mom and I would always go to my cousin’s for Thanksgiving before she died, and it always seemed kinda fun.” 

Everyone on the squad knew that Bradley’s parents had passed when he was young. He didn’t mention them often, but you noticed he’d get quiet sometimes when people talked about their families. So his volunteering the information felt important, and glancing at the clock showed that you were still behind schedule. “Fine.”

“Yeah?” he asked, excitement flashing in his eyes. 

“Don’t look so happy - you’re doing prep work. You can peel potatoes, assemble the veggie tray, and roast the garlic. I need to work on sides and desserts.” 

And he did. Bradley followed your instructions, grimacing while peeling potatoes over the trash can until you took out a plastic bag and put it in the sink for him to do it there. You kept an eye on him as he cut the spuds into uniform pieces after explaining that they wouldn’t cook evenly for the mashed potatoes, somewhat worried that he would cut himself. Rather than deal with the onions, you delegated the task and tried not to laugh at his near-constant sniffles and swipes at his watery eyes as you diced peppers. Once you dug out the hand-me-down crystal platters, he arranged the veggies you’d prepped the night before while making pies. Dips were mixed, and cans of olives and bottles of pickles were opened and drained before being plated.

Other than bumping into one another when going for the fridge at the same time, it wasn’t too bad sharing the kitchen. The coffee pot was quickly emptied, and Bradley brewed another between shredding blocks of cheese. You sang along with your playlists, his deep voice joining on a few songs while teasing you about others. When you sang about karma being a kink, he watched your hips sway at the sink, clenching his jaw when you sang a breathy ‘oh god.’ 

He slid the roasting tray into the oven when the turkey was rested and ready to cook. “Now what?” he asked, turning to look at you. 

“Now we keep an eye on it for about four hours. Baste and re-inject it every hour or so,” you shrugged. A glance at his watch showed it would be almost 2:00 PM by the time it was ready. As though realizing it would still be hours before eating, his stomach grumbled its discontent. He blushed when you smirked. “I guess the least I can do is make my sous chef breakfast. Get the muffins and butter from the fridge for me.”  

“Did you make these?” he asked, setting the containers beside you as you heated a skillet on the stove.

“I did - family tradition is grilled muffins on Thanksgiving morning. You okay with blueberry?” At his nod, you started slicing muffins in half. Rather than giving you space, Bradley stayed at your elbow. A comfortable silence fell, broken only by sizzling butter. His gaze met yours when you glanced up at him, and a smile tugged at his mouth. 

An image of reaching up to bury your fingers in his messy curls and tugging his mouth down to meet yours flashed through your mind. Your fingers twitched with the urge to do it, eyes drifting to his mouth and lingering there for a moment too long. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you forced yourself to look away, heat creeping into your face. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when he reached up to shift a strand of hair that had fallen from your messy bun. “I’m glad you're back, Duch,” he said, voice slightly raspy. 

Forcing a laugh, you plated two muffins and handed them to him. “Everyone misses the mom friend of the group when she’s deployed.” Your eyes darted to his stomach when it growled again, just in time to see the front of his sweats twitch. Pretending you didn’t see it, you nodded to the living room. “The parade is recording if you want to watch it.” 

Bradley opened his mouth as though he would say something before taking the apparent dismissal. Alone in the kitchen, you touched your cheek and felt warm skin. With a deep breath, you grilled yourself a muffin as the sound of the broadcasters came from the living room. After topping up your coffee, you joined him. He sprawled on one end of the couch, plate balanced on a thigh as he sipped his coffee. Sitting on the opposite side, you crossed your legs and let out a soft groan. Only a couple of hours standing in the kitchen and your back was already starting to protest. “What else do you have to do this morning?” he asked after a moment.

Mentally running through your list, you sighed. “I need to do some cleaning and get into the attic. I’ll start cooking a bit closer to noon, so things just have to be warmed up.”

“What do you need from the attic?” 

“My nice china. My parents bought my sister and I sets for our hope chests when we were kids.”

“What’s a hope chest?”

“You know, stuff you’d need once you get married?” When his eyebrows shot up, you shrugged. “They weren’t really serious about it - it was more of a joke. But, every once in a while, they’d buy something for us and put it away for when we were older and say it was for our hope chest.” Taking a bite of muffin, you gave him a sad smile, “Mine’s more of a ‘hopeless’ chest,’ though. I guess they finally gave up on me getting married because they gave it to me when they sold their house and moved closer to the grandkids. I figured I’d get it out and use it instead of having it sit in the cardboard boxes it’s been in for over two decades.” Something passed over Bradley’s face but disappeared in an instant. Wanting to change the subject, you asked, “What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing. It’s just another Thursday.” When you frowned, he lifted a shoulder. “A couple of times, I went to the Officer’s Club, or someone would invite me over. But most of the time, I just make myself a turkey sandwich and catch up on sleep. What about you?”

“If I’m not with my family, then this. When I first commissioned, I went to the O-Club with some friends but missed cooking and hanging out. And you know how hard it is to go home for the holidays.” He nodded even though he didn’t. Bradley never asked for the time off unless he was dating someone who insisted on it. With no family to visit, he was happy to volunteer when there was reduced manning and allow others to take leave. “So I invited a couple of people from my squad over, and that was that.” 

“It’s a lot of work.”

“It is,” you agreed. “But it’s worth it.” Bradley’s fingers curled around his plate and in his sweatpants, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. When he shifted forward, you quickly stood and reached out your hand for his empty plate. “Do you want another one?” Shaking his head, he stood and took your plate. 

“Do you?” Swallowing hard, you shook your head and watched him walk back into the kitchen. Biting back a groan, you gave yourself a moment to collect yourself. Things had been…different… since you’d gotten home. And as much as you enjoyed these quiet moments alone with Bradley, it also stung. You’d thought the time away would help, but as soon as you were back, it was like no time had passed. He was still there, partnering for foosball in the Ready Room and coaxing you to go to the Hard Deck. Making sure that you sat next to him in briefings. Offering to look at your car when it made a noise.

Friends. That’s what friends do for each other. After all, he did the same for Nat. 

Collecting the empty coffee mugs, you followed him to the kitchen and watched as Bradley cleaned up the mess and set it in the sink. “Don’t feel like you have to stick around, Rooster. I can handle getting everything ready.” 

“I’m happy to help if you want me here. I’d just sit at my house watching TV and wait to come back if I went home.” 

Chewing the inside of your lip, you bit back a wave of want. “Don’t think this gets you out of the dress code,” you replied, forcing your voice to be cool while allowing your eyes to run the length of him. “I’m serious - slacks and button-downs, not sweats.” 

Laughing, he snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure I run home and change to pass your inspection.” 

The rest of the morning was a blur, punctuated by moments of stark clarity. 

Bradley’s hands on your waist as you climbed down the attic stairs. 

Biceps flexing as he carried your Christmas tree to a spare bedroom to set up tomorrow.

His elbow bumping yours as he dried the china and set it aside.  

The look of concentration on his face when he basted and injected the turkey again.

His body passing close to yours as he emptied the dishwasher and you assembled dishes.

Just after noon, he went home to get ready while you showered. People were due to arrive around 1:30 PM, and you were back on schedule with your unexpected assistant. 

Sooner than you expected, there was a knock at the door. Groaning, you capped your mascara, shimmied into your black sheath cocktail dress, and went to answer it. Bradley stood on the porch, having changed into a pair of slacks and one of his nicer Hawaiian shirts, hands in his pockets. Folded over his arm was a coat, and he grinned at you when he caught you looking at it. “Wasn’t sure if I would pass inspection without a sports coat,” he chuckled, allowing his gaze to rake over you. A flush rose on your cheeks as you reached behind yourself to pull up the dress zipper. It caught just above the top of your thong.  “You look… you’re fine.” Chuckling, he shook his head. 

“Turn around, Duch.” After a beat, you stepped back to allow him inside and did as he said.

“There’s a hook and eye at the top,” you said and inhaled sharply when you felt his fingers brush the back of your neck. The smell of his cologne enveloped you, and you bit back a moan when his hand moved to your lower back and tugged the zipper up. After a beat, you turned to face him and were surprised by how close he was. His mouth curved into a smile as he looked down at you, hand resting on your waist. 

“You look fine, too,” he said softly. Your hands itched to move to his chest. Bradley’s eyes drifted to your lips, and your breath caught as his fingers flexed around you. If asked, you would have sworn you felt the lightest pressure pulling you closer - but then someone knocked on the door. Stepping out of his hold, you smoothed your hair down and ignored the brief moment his hands hung in suspension before being shoved back into his pockets. 

“I came early to see if you needed a hand,” Phoenix said when you opened the door. In her hands was a tray, and she’d also chosen a cocktail dress for the occasion. Her normally tied-back hair was loose around her shoulders. 

“Hey,” you smiled, hoping that you weren’t blushing. Nat’s eyes shifted over your shoulders and narrowed slightly. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Same as you - seeing of Duch needed help.”

“He’s been here all morning,” you blurted out, flushing when both sets of eyes landed on you. “He’s taking care of the turkey.” 

“The guy who hates cooking is in charge of the main dish?” Nat smirked. “Probably would have been better letting Hangman fry it.”

“He’s being supervised,” you assured, glancing over your shoulder to see him rolling his eyes. Stepping back to let Nat into the house, you accidentally bumped into Bradley, who held your hips to steady you. Quickly moving away from his touch, you took the tray from her and motioned for them to follow you into the kitchen. “I haven’t had a chance to put any drinks out, but there’s some coffee left and wine chilling. I still need to make the cocktails, but there’s also soda and flavored water.” The two followed you, exchanging a look that you missed.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Bradley tossed his coat onto the wet bar and moved to the oven, flipping on the light to check the turkey before glancing at his watch. “I need to do the last basting, right?” 

“It’s about that time,” you agreed, glancing at the clock. Digging through a drawer, you pulled out an apron and put it on, crossing the strings behind your back before tying them in a bow across your stomach. You thought you heard a murmured ‘Jesus Christ’ when you turned around to see him holding the pot holders. 

You could feel Nat watching as you worked together to remove the turkey and then return it to the oven, popping olives into her mouth and smirking. “Looks like you guys have it down,” she said. “Don’t need my help at all.”

“Nope,” Bradley said, drowning out your, “You can feel free to relax.” 

“Might as well do something since I’m here,” she shrugged, pushing off her elbows. “What can I do?” 

And so, with a third set of hands, you set them to making large batches of seasonal cocktails while you cut the bread you’d made that morning, covering it with slices of brie and dried cranberries before drizzling it with honey. A quick scroll through your schedule gave you the times to start cooking, and you preheated the second oven.

The house slowly filled as more of the squad arrived. Countertops were quickly covered with their contributions - thankfully, more than beer and wine, and only a few sides repeated -  and you mentally shifted your schedule to accommodate the additional dishes.

Mav, Penny, and Amelia were the last to arrive, with her new bartender, Georgia, in tow. Penny had asked you if she could invite her, given that the woman was new to the area and didn’t have anywhere else to spend the holiday. You’d replied with, “The more, the merrier,” just like you had for everyone else’s requests to bring a guest. 

But you regretted that sentiment when you saw how she zeroed in on Bradley, staying close to him while you worked in the kitchen. The few times you broke away to mingle - showing off your renovated home, making sure that everyone’s glasses were topped off and that they didn’t need anything - you saw her hanging off his arm, giving him a simpering smile that set your teeth on edge. And, while she’d adhered to the dress code, you weren’t exactly thrilled to see that her breasts were nearly spilling out of her low-cut dress. 

“You need anything, Duchess?” Payback asked, setting down the pitcher of spiced ginger pear and bourbon. 

“I’m good,” you replied, wiping your hands on the dish rag thrown over your shoulder and blowing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Turkey should be done in a few minutes; once it rests, we can eat.” 

“Thanks for doing this,” he said, glancing over at your full house. Aviators were sprawled across your living room and spilled out into the backyard. It was exactly what you’d hoped for when redesigning the house - plenty of space to comfortably entertain. 

“I’m happy to, Payback,” you smiled, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. “Beats having a quiet house for the holidays.” 

“Want me to get the turkey out for you?” 

“I’ve got it covered,” a voice said behind you, and you couldn’t help but wonder about Bradley's slightly sharp tone as you pulled away from the hug. 

“Got it,” Payback replied, raising an eyebrow and lifting his hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Duch.” Squaring your shoulders, you turned to face the man behind you and forced a smile. 

“I’ll clear off a spot on the stove for you to put the pan, and then we’ll let it sit for half an hour.” 

“Then it’ll be done?”

“Then you’ll have officially made your first turkey,” you nodded. When the timer went off, Bradley quickly pulled the bird from the oven and set it on the stove, closely inspecting his work. 

“Does it look right?”

“Yes, relax.”

“Did you make it?” a smokey voice asked, and you felt your shoulders rise. Glancing at Georgia, you saw Bradley’s eyes dart between you.

“He did,” you answered, smiling at the woman. 

“I just followed her directions,” he replied. 

“It looks great!” Georgia giggled. Forcing a smile, you undid the apron strings and pulled it off before excusing yourself. You could feel eyes on you as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom and shut the door, retreating to your en suite.

After washing your hands for the millionth time, you quickly applied lotion while examining your appearance in the mirror. Compared to Georgia, you looked matronly with your hair pulled back and a higher neckline. Sure, your dress was classy - somewhat tight and falling just above your knees - but not attention-grabbing. 

Not that you were trying to grab anyone’s attention.

A knock on your bedroom door startled you, and you peeked out to call, “Who is it?”

“Rooster.” Glancing back in the mirror, you saw your cheeks were slightly pink and scowled at your reflection.

“Get it together,” you hissed before turning off the light and going to open the door. And there he was, smiling down at you.

“Your phone was going off,” he said, holding up your cell. When your eyes flitted toward it, the device unlocked to show your family group chat was going off. Taking it from him, you swiped up to see videos and pictures. A smile crept onto your mouth as you clicked the first and heard your older sister’s voice.

“Guess what?” she said before tossing a card down and throwing her hands up. Cheers and laughs broke out, and you could hear your nephew complaining as your grandmother said, “Looks like Mom won!”

The camera panned to show your other nephew licking whipped cream off his pie, utterly unfazed by the family now pounding on the table in a drumroll. Catching Bradley’s interested expression, you moved so he could see the screen. Scrolling through the other videos, you watched your mom roll down a hill with the boys and your dad holding a glass of wine with your brother-in-law. The sight made your heart clench, and you sighed. Being away from family on the holidays was the worst. Thankfully, they all understood that your job didn’t always give you the flexibility to be with them.

“Looks like a fun group.”

“They are. I’m glad I get to spend Christmas with them.” He nodded, a flicker of sadness and something else in his eyes. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Mav’s already told me I’m spending it with him and Penny.”

“Sounds like fun.” You knew a complicated dynamic existed there but didn’t want to pry. His shoulder lifted, eyes drifting to your now dark phone. And that’s when you recognized the look on his face - longing. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” When he saw your unconvinced expression, he sighed. “Holidays kind of suck when you don’t have family.” 

“I’m sorry, Bradley.” Something in his expression changed when you said his name and reached out to touch his arm. His eyes darted from your hand to your face, and you quickly pulled away. But he was faster, catching your fingers and holding tightly. Your breath caught with the intensity of his gaze, and he stepped into your room. His breath was warm on your face when you refused to retreat. Lifting your chin, you saw his throat bob when he swallowed.  

“Hey, there’s a timer going off,” Bob called down the hall. 

“Be right there,” you yelled back, pushing lightly against Bradley’s chest and forcing space between you. But when you tried to shake off his hand, he held fast. “I need to go, or something will burn,” you breathed. Reluctantly, he nodded and released you. 

You’d already removed the green bean casserole and macaroni and cheese from the oven when Bradley reappeared. Unsurprisingly, Georgia glued herself to his side as he sipped his drink. Though you could feel him looking at you, you refused to meet his gaze. 

When everything was ready, you looked over your kitchen and nodded approvingly. When the guys offered to carve the turkey, you turned them all down and delegated that task to Bradley.  “He earned it,” you said, glancing at him before busying yourself with opening another bottle of wine. With Coyote and Fanboy at his elbows critiquing his cuts, you steered clear of that part of the kitchen and chatted with Penny while pulling out silverware. 

Hangman refused to let you go around the room and tell people that food was ready, instead pulling out a chair and helping you stand on it before whistling loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Dinner’s served!” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder, his arm around your hips to keep you steady. “Thank you for bringing something, and please help yourself. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone - I’m glad I get to spend it with you.” Lifting your wine glass, you took a quick sip and laughed when Hangman lifted you off the chair to set you back on the floor. 

Choosing to wait until your guests had a plate, you leaned against the wet bar and smiled tiredly, watching your hard work be devoured. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone at the table, so the group spread into the living room. You took a few pictures and sent them to your family. 

Someone stepped in front of you, pulling your attention from your phone. “You’re not gonna eat?” Bradley asked. 

“Just waiting for the line to clear,” you replied, forcing a nonchalant tone. The corner of his mouth twitched as he shook his head. 

“Come on, Duch.” His fingers curled around yours, drawing you from the counter and into the line. Grabbing one of the smaller salad plates, you let him push you in front of him, taking small amounts of almost every dish while he served himself larger portions. After topping up your wine, you walked to the living room and felt him behind you, ignoring Georgia's attempt to get his attention. He motioned for you to take the last spot on the couch and sat on the floor. “Jesus,” he moaned after taking the first bite of turkey.

“Mmmm,” you agreed. “You did a good job.”

“Who would have thought the guy who made the barracks evacuate after he burned ramen would make a good turkey,” Nat smirked. Bradley flipped her off, unable to keep the proud grin off his face. 

Dessert was eaten, and the last bottle of wine finished before 7:00 PM. The house felt quiet as it slowly emptied, and you hugged everyone goodbye. Already, tentative plans for a Christmas party formed even as you fought off a yawn. After assuring Penny that you were fine cleaning up, she left with Mav and Amelia in tow. 

Which left only Bradley. 

The sound of running water drew you back into the kitchen, and you paused in the doorway at the sight of him rinsing silverware and loading the dishwasher, a hand towel thrown over his shoulder. “I can take care of that,” you said quickly. Bradley glanced at you and shook his head.

“Relax, I’ve got it. Can the plates go in here, or do they need to be hand-washed?”

“They can go in there.” Ignoring the order, you walked around the house, picked up empty glasses and forgotten dishes, and set them by the sink. Donning your apron, you surveyed the leftovers, “Did you want any of this?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a plate.” Nodding, you started to put the food away. Thankfully, there wasn’t a lot left. Everyone had been happy to take leftovers, and you were glad you’d had the forethought to buy containers for them to keep. 

The silence was comfortable, and you were stifling yawns with the back of your hand. Between the turkey, wine, and lack of sleep the night before, you were ready to change back into comfy clothes and pass out. Without prompting, Bradley started to cut up what was left of the turkey, placing some in the containers you’d portioned for him before putting the rest in the fridge. You started the dishwasher when it was full and wiped down counters. After tossing the rest of the turkey, he took the trash out.

When the door swung shut, you took the opportunity to stretch, moaning when your back popped before bending at the waist and letting your arms dangle. As much as you enjoyed hosting, your body took a beating, being on your feet all day. You would definitely need to invest in some mats to make the kitchen floor more comfortable before your next full day of cooking. 

Even when the door opened, you felt too good stretching to stand up straight. You heard Bradley chuckle and then the sound of water running, followed by the snap of a trashbag being shaken out. Finally, you stood and threw out a hand to steady yourself when the world spun. Hands wrapped around your hips and drew you closer. “You okay, honey?” 

The term of endearment caught you off-guard and had clearly slipped out by the flush on Bradley’s cheeks. “Honey?” you echoed, quirking a brow.

“Duchess,” he corrected. 

“Rooster.” Your hands rested on his forearms, feeling the muscles flex as his fingers clenched around your hips. Taking a deep breath, you felt your chest brush his. His lips quirked into a wry smile. “What?” 

“Just waiting for something to interrupt.” At your questioning look, he chuckled. “Been trying to kiss you all day, and something always gets in the way.” 

“What?” you breathed, shock written across your face. 

“Been thinkin’ about kissing you since that night at the Hard Deck, actually.” 

“T-the Hard Deck?”

“Yup. Before you deployed.” Heat rushed to your face at the memory - or lack thereof - of your going away party. There had been one too many shots, and you had a vague recollection of Bradley driving the Bronco. Of him telling you not to throw up while he helped Nat into her apartment before taking you home. Half carrying you to bed and making sure you had water and medicine - warm hands on your face and a raspy laugh.  

“When I was drunk?”

“When you told me you liked me.” Mortified, you felt a sudden flush of heat and tried to pull away, but he held firm. “But that you didn’t think I was a relationship guy.” 

“Roo - ”

“I am. A relationship guy,” he clarified, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “For the right woman.” Your mouth was dry, unable to force out a single word. “I was gonna say something before you left, but you avoided me. And then you were gone for three months.”

“I… you messaged me.” 

“Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to say over email,” Bradley chuckled. “I like you too.” 

“What about Georgia?”

That drew him up short, and a confused look crossed his face. “The bartender?” 

“Yeah. She… I mean, she’s clearly interested. And more your type.” Groaning, he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Honey, I’m not interested in her. And she’s not… ask Nat. She’s been on my case about my” - he lifted a hand to make air quotes - “‘hoe phase’ since I got out here.” That drew a snort from you, and Bradley pulled away to smile at you bashfully. “Gimme a chance, Duch.” 

Hesitating a moment, you took another deep breath and gave the butterflies in your stomach free rein. Hands shaking, you wrapped your arms around his neck and nodded, unable to keep from matching his smile. 

Moving slowly, as though afraid to spook you, Bradley leaned down and brushed his nose to yours. “As much as this is doin’ things for me,” he said softly, pulling at the apron strings tied at your stomach, “I think we’re done in the kitchen tonight.” Biting your lip, you could only nod, leaning away as he tugged it over your head, balled the apron up, and tossed it behind you. With his hands back on your hips, he walked you backward and lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your knees. “This alright?” 

“Yeah,” you whispered, allowing yourself to reach out and run a hand through his curls. Bradley's eyes closed when you lightly scratched his scalp, and he swayed closer. His breath ghosted over your lips and - 

“Fucking Christ,” he groaned when his phone started to buzz. You jumped, feeling the vibration against your shin, and laughed as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. Your breath caught, feeling his lips on your throat. When he reached into his pocket and scowled down at the screen, you saw Nat’s name before he sent the call to voicemail. 

Leaving the phone on the counter, he smirked and guided your legs around his waist as your arms went around his neck. His hands cupped your ass as he lifted you. In the doorway to the kitchen, he paused long enough for you to slap the walls until the lights turned off before walking toward the couch and lowering himself onto it. Your knees dug into the cushion on either side of him, forcing the hem of your dress higher. 

From this angle, he had to look up at you. Hands migrated from your ass to thighs, callouses lightly scraping and fingertips darting under the fabric to trace shapes on your skin and drag the hem higher. Lightly, you ran your thumb along the scars on his chin before ghosting over the ones on his cheek that had always intrigued you. A moan rumbled from his throat as he followed your touch, mustache tickling the delicate skin of your wrist. Blushing, you wondered how it would feel on your inner thighs. He chuckled, kissing your cheek, “What’re you thinking that’s got you red?” 

Rather than answer, you turned and kissed him - just a light brush of your lips against his that seemed to catch him off-guard. You stared at one another for a long moment until he guided you closer. His mustache prickled, not unpleasantly but different, when he kissed you again. It was sweet and unhurried, a direct contradiction to the hardness you felt straining against his zipper. 

Pulling away, you smiled tentatively down at him, seeing the remnants of your lipstick on his mouth. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and you leaned forward to press your lips to them. “Hi,” you said softly.

“Hey.” 

“You like me?” 

“Yeah. You like me?” 

Rather than reply, you captured his lips again. “Drunk words,” you said between kisses, “are sober thoughts.” He barked a laugh before tugging you closer and licking into your mouth. 

“Shoulda said something earlier,” he chided, gripping your ass tightly. “Coulda been doing this for a long time.” 

“Blame the tequila.” The word came out as a moan when he trailed kisses down your neck, and you felt him smile. 

“Thank god for tequila,” he mumbled, nuzzling your breasts and making you grind down on him. Bradley caught your hands when your fingers trailed down his chest to tug at his shirt. “Nuh-uh, honey. Gonna take you on a couple of dates before we get to that.”

“What?” 

“No more ‘hoe phase.’” 

“Maybe just one more night?” That made him laugh again as he shook his head.

“No, Duch. Wanna do this right with you.” 

“I’ve heard the stories. I know you would.” When you rocked against him, he pinned your hand at your lower back and stilled you with a hand on your hip. He growled your name and smirked when your thighs clenched.

“Liked that, huh?” he teased. “Ms. Prim and Proper Duchess likes to be bossed around?” Heat flooded your face, and he chuckled again. Without warning, he stood, and you squeaked, trying to keep from falling. But he held you steady and set you on your feet, towering over you. “Can I stay over?” You didn’t hesitate in nodding, and his kiss was rough before he pulled away and swatted your ass. “Go get ready for bed while I lock up.” 

When you emerged from the bathroom, face cleaned and in your panties and a tank top, Bradley was lying in the middle of your bed in just his boxers. Groaning, he looked at you and shook his head. “Where are those sweats from this morning?” 

“You want me to wear sweats to bed?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe and raising an eyebrow. His hand drifted down to his hard cock, squeezing lightly. “You’ve seen me in less at the beach.”

“Trying to do this right, honey.” Rolling your eyes, you walked to your dresser and pulled on sweatpants before digging out a pair of fuzzy socks. He laughed when you tossed them at his head, setting them aside as you circled the bed to lie beside him. Quickly, he pinned you beneath him, settling in the cradle of your thighs. As he licked into your mouth, you felt his hips rolling against yours. “Still too damn sexy,” he murmured against your lips. 

“Housewife lingerie does it for you?” you teased, running your hands through his hair. Rather than answer, he looped an arm under your knee and drew it up, allowing you to feel him better. “Fuck.”

“Not tonight.” 

And, unfortunately, he was true to his word. Anytime your hands strayed to his boxers, he pinned them over your head, seemingly content to tease and kiss all night. 

Eventually, though, you could no longer keep from yawning. After setting his alarm - Bradley was on duty in the morning while you’d taken the day off - he tucked you against him, your back to his chest. His cock pressed against your ass as he kissed your shoulder, hand slipping under your shirt to brush the underside of your breast. Sighing, he murmered, “Best Thanksgiving I’ve had in a long time.” 

You couldn’t help but agree.

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

Author's Note: Do I think that Bradley has a raging domesticity kink? Possibly.

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[kalisbaby]

“From the River to the Sea.” A Poem by Samer Abu Hawwash, translated by Huda Fakhreddine

every street, every house, every room, every window, every balcony, every wall, every stone, every sorrow, every word, every letter, every whisper, every touch, every glance, every kiss, every tree, every spear of grass, every tear, every scream, every air, every hope, every supplication, every secret, every well, every prayer, every song, every ballad, every book, every paper, every color, every ray, every cloud, every rain, every drop of rain, every drip of sweat, every lisp, every stutter, every yamma, mother, every yaba, father, every shadow, every light, every little hand that drew in a little notebook a tree or house or heart or a family of a father, a mother, siblings, and pets, every longing, every possibility, every letter between two lovers that arrived or didn’t arrive, every gasp of love dispersed in the distant clouds, every moment of despair at every turn, every suitcase on top of

every closet, every library, every shelf, every minaret, every rug, every bell toll in every church, every rosary, every holy praise, every arrival, every goodbye, every Good Morning, every Thank God, every ‘ala rasi, my pleasure, every hill ‘an sama’i, leave me alone, every rock, every wave, every grain of sand, every hair-do, every mirror, every glance in every mirror, every cat, every meow, every happy donkey, every sad donkey’s gaze, every pot, every vapor rising from every pot, every scent, every bowl, every school queue, every school shoes, every ring of the bell, every blackboard, every piece of chalk, every school costume, every mabruk ma ijakum, congratulations on the baby, every y ‘awid bi-salamtak, condolences, every ‘ayn al- ḥasud tibla bil-‘ama, may the envious be blinded, every photograph, every person in every photograph, every niyyalak, how lucky, every ishta’nalak, we’ve missed you, every grain of wheat in every bird’s gullet, every lock of hair, every hair knot, every hand, every foot, every football, every finger, every nail, every bicycle, every rider on every bicycle, every turn of air fanning from every bicycle, every bad joke, every mean joke, every laugh, every smile, every curse, every yearning, every fight, every sitti, grandma, every

sidi, grandpa, every meadow, every flower, every tree, every grove, every olive, every orange, every plastic rose covered with dust on an abandoned counter, every portrait of a martyr hanging on a wall since forever, every gravestone, every sura, every verse, every hymn, every ḥajj mabrur wa sa ‘yy mashkur, may your ḥajj and effort be rewarded, every yalla tnam yalla tnam, every lullaby, every red teddy bear on every Valentine’s, every clothesline, every hot skirt, every joyful dress, every torn trousers, every days-spun sweater, every button, every nail, every song, every ballad, every mirror, every peg, every bench, every shelf, every dream, every illusion, every hope, every disappointment, every hand holding another hand, every hand alone, every scattered thought, every beautiful thought, every terrifying thought, every whisper, every touch, every street, every house, every room, every balcony, every eye, every tear, every word, every letter, every name, every voice, every name, every house, every name, every face, every name, every cloud, every name, every rose, every name, every spear of grass, every name, every wave, every grain of sand, every street, every kiss, every image, every eye, every tear, every yamma, every yaba, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, all…

[munsonsmixtapes]

Take a Dive

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

you and your best friend Eddie go skinny dipping in Lover's Lake where your friendship will never be the same again

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before tap it) hurt/comfort

The lake is completely deserted when Eddie’s van pulls up onto the sand. You don’t even know why you’re there or what you’re doing, you just started driving aimlessly when Eddie insisted that you got into the driver’s seat. You’re not going to lie and say that you weren’t surprised when Eddie tossed you his keys when you left his trailer. 

The only reason why you even left was because the two of you are bored and all of your usual places are closed because of how late it was. And now it’s almost midnight and you’re at Lover’s Lake because it was the first thing you could think of that you would have access to. 

Eddie turns to you to ask why you decided to come here, but you’re out of the van before he can speak. He’s quick to follow you, curious to see what you’re up to, but you just plant yourself on the sand, pulling a plastic bag out of your pocket along with the lighter you always carry around. 

He sits next to you as you pull a joint out of the bag before lighting up and taking a drag before passing it off to him. This is how you normally spend your weekends together, but it’s nice to have a change of scenery. The moon reflects off the water in front of you and it looks so pretty, so inviting. It almost makes you want to go for a swim despite how cold it will most likely be. 

You and Eddie pass the joint back and forth until it’s gone and you put it back in the bag that goes back into your pocket before you lie back on the sand, not caring if it gets in your hair or on your clothes. Eddie joins you and the two of you talk nonsense like you usually do, never needing drugs to do. 

You think that’s why you and Eddie are such good friends. You get each other in ways that no one else does, platonic soulmates as Robin once put it and as you turn to Eddie, who’s already looking at you, you begin to think that she’s right. He smiles at you and you mimic it, holding out your hand for him to take and he does, giving it a squeeze before turning back to stare at the sky. 

It’s times like these when you wonder how no one has snatched him up yet. He’s an absolute catch and any man or woman would be lucky to have him. You know a big reason as to why he’s chronically single is because he wants to be. He says he’s better that way, but you think most of his objection to settling down is that he’s still hurt from how he was treated back in Hawkins. It was the reason why the two of you packed up and left because he couldn’t take it anymore.

To them, he was nothing but a freak and that’s something that you still can’t seem to wrap your head around. Eddie always has been and will continue to be the goofy guy you’ve been friends with since you were in diapers. He’s nothing but a sweetheart and you really wished more people could have seen that. That they would have taken just a moment to realize that he was never actually evil and neither was the game he and his friends were playing.

All Eddie’s ever wanted in his entire life is to be loved. And he’d never tell you that all of that stuff about being insecure was just a cover because he’s been in love with you his entire life. He always tells you everything, but this is the one secret he’s taking to his grave. He can’t risk either of you getting hurt so he thinks it’s best to just keep quiet about the whole thing. 

Your mind drifts back to the lake and how nice it would be to swim in it, your need to do so getting even stronger with the weed in your system. Before you can stop yourself, you’re standing to your feet. You pass off the joint as you remove your shoes and socks before going for your pants. You know you only have one chance to do this and you’re going to take it. Eddie doesn’t seem to bat an eye as you take off your jacket, but he thinks he’s missed something as you start unbuttoning your jeans. He doesn’t know why you’re taking off your clothes, but who is he to deny you?

“What are you doing?” He asks as he stands, more curious than anything. 

“I’m going for a swim,” you tell him as you pull your pants down to reveal the thong you’re wearing. You don’t even seem to be phased as you strip in front of your best friend who hasn’t seen you naked since-well ever. Unless you count the baths you took together when you were younger but you both were too young to remember. He’s not complaining, though. He’s enjoying the show. Maybe a little too much since he can feel himself getting harder by the second. 

“You can join me, if you want.” Yeah, there’s no way he’s passing this up so he wordlessly starts to get undressed, trying to make how eager he is so obvious. Now you’re both in your underwear and Eddie thinks you’re fucking with him as you stare at him, slowly taking off your thong as you so. There’s a flirty look in your eye and Eddie’s applauding himself for his self control because he’s so close to taking you right there against his truck. 

You toss your bra into the pile of your now discarded clothes and Eddie thinks he’s going to come right there as he takes in your hard nipples, feeling drool collecting in his mouth as he thinks about taking them into his mouth and giving them a suck. 

He shakes his head and takes off his boxers, the two of you now completely naked and you shamelessly check him out, your gaze stopping at his rock hard cock and you have to step closer so you can see it better. Eddie feels like he should be embarrassed, but he’s not. And you don’t think he should be, especially because you take it as a huge compliment that he’s that sexually attracted to you. 

You turn towards the water and get deep enough before taking a dive. The water is freezing, but you stay under for a little longer, trying to figure why you want to fuck Eddie so badly right now. Sure, you’ve had thoughts about him, but you’ve never actually wanted to act on them until now. Seeing him, all of him awakened something inside you  and now you can’t stop thinking about how badly you want him inside of you. 

You surface and turn around to see Eddie behind you, his face even more pale than usual. He looks worried sick and you have no idea why. He swims closer and you move back, knowing that if he gets too close, you’ll do something you really shouldn’t. 

But before you can get too far, you find yourself grabbing hold of his hands and resting them on your waist before pressing your chest against his. Your arms wrap around his neck, leaning your face close to his, watching his eyes the entire time. A kiss isn’t the same a fucking. You just want a taste to get him out of your system. 

Eddie doesn’t know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it, but he's not going to push you away. He can’t. He wants to know what your lips feel like once and for all. He wants to know if you’re as good of a kisser as he thinks you are. 

Your lips find his gently, a soft little kiss to the corner of his mouth to test the waters. Eddie doesn’t like how teasing you are so he takes matters into his own hands, chasing your lips with a featherlight peck. He doesn’t want to scare you off even though he’s itching to do much more. 

He pecks your lips a few more times until they all melt into one, his own slotting between them as he kisses you softly. His hands dig into your waist which juxtaposes how he’s kissing you and that just tells you how hungry he is for more. 

You move his hands to your ass and wrap your legs around his waist as you nip at his bottom lip, causing Eddie to let out a whine. You feel his cock against you and you need him now more than ever. He seems to think the same because before you can even make the suggestion, he’s sliding inside you, his fingers digging into your ass as he moves slowly, thrusting in and out of you over and over. 

A moan escapes your mouth as you throw your head back giving Eddie the opportunity to take advantage of your exposed neck. He presses soft kisses to the skin before going straight in for a hard bite as his thrusts pick up causing you to mewl. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” he mumbles against your skin. “This is even better than I imagined.” 

“Oh, so you’ve imagined this?” You tease and he bites down on your neck even harder this time causing you to gasp as you scratch your nails down his back in response. 

He’s still moving at a slower pace, but this is actually how you prefer it. A lot of the men you’ve slept with go so fast like it’s a race and it’s over before you’ve even had time to enjoy it. You’ve told this to Eddie a few times and it seemed like he was listening. 

And that’s the thing about Eddie. He always listens to you no matter what you’re saying. Whether it’s nonsense when you’re both high on whatever he’s gotten his hands on or if you’re reading to him from a book you’ve gotten from the library, it doesn’t matter. He loves the sound of your voice. He loves you and seeing you with those losers you always seem to be going out with pisses him off. He’s right there and he hates that you can’t see that. 

He’d never tell you that, though. He loves what the two of you have and doesn’t want to risk losing you. So he just sits there and listens to you talk about your terrible dates, complaining about how there are no nice guys when he’s right there. It’s pathetic, really and he hates thinking about it. How he’s wrapped around your goddamn finger and you don’t even notice just how badly he wants you. 

“Of course I have,” he breathes. “I think about it all the time.” 

He’s said too much but you seem into it. And as you buck your hips against his, he’s really hoping that you feel the same way. It would make the whole thing far less embarrassing for him. But he doesn’t think you will because after all, this is just a fuck for you while it means the world to Eddie. 

“Can you keep a secret?” You ask and Eddie nods furiously, just knowing that he’s about to hear something filthy. You’ve shared dirty secrets with him many times before but he just knows that this one will be different. 

“Of course I can,” he nods and you push some of his wet hair behind his air as you bring your lips right up to it. You’re taking the lead now, riding him as you whisper your secret and Eddie swears that this is the most turned on he’s ever been.

“You know this summer when you wore those really short shorts almost every day?” You ask and Eddie knows exactly what you’re talking about. Robin got them for his birthday as a joke, but he started wearing them around you to hopefully make you see him in the way he wanted you to. 

“Mhm,” he nods and you pull him even closer, your lips so close to his ear that they’re almost pressed up against it.

“Well, I get myself off every night thinking about them.” Eddie thinks he’s going to come right there at your confession and he’s trying so hard not to, but just the vision of you getting yourself off is making him get there even faster. 

And before he can stop it, he’s reaching his orgasm, making sure to pull out of you as he comes, his eyes shut tight, his head thrown back as he lets it happen, still letting you stay attached to him as you watch him. 

“Jesus,” he moans as it reaches its peak and once it’s over, he slumps over you, resting his head on your shoulder. It’s partly because he’s tired and partly because he’s too embarrassed about what just happened to look you in the eye. 

So you hold him for a second, your fingers moving up and down his back lazily as you assure him that it’s okay, that he has no reason to be embarrassed, that you’re actually flattered by it. And you are. You had no idea how attracted he was to you and now feel like an idiot because you were too stupid to see it. 

How long had he felt that way and how long had he been hiding it? You don’t know why he’s so ashamed of it. He’s just attracted to you physically, right? You feel the same way about him so you don’t know he’s hiding from you. 

Just when you’re about to suggest that you head back, he pulls back to look at you and there’s something in his eyes that you’ve never seen in the almost seventeen years that the two of you have been friends. His eyes are the softest they’ve ever been and you’re now scared of what he’s going to say. 

“I love you,” he says, those honey eyes boring into yours and your heart pounds at his confession. You almost want to tell him that you don’t feel the same, but you know that’s not true. He’s been someone who was always there, treating you the way you should have been treated without asking for anything in return. He was doing it just because that was who he was and because it was what you deserved. 

You went to all of those losers because you had been afraid of taking a chance on Eddie. He’s been your best friend your entire life and you were terrified of losing the best thing you’ve ever had. You don’t think you’re afraid of taking a chance on him anymore, though. You think it’s time you claimed what was rightfully yours. 

“I love you too,” you reply and a grin breaks out on Eddie’s face as he pulls you into a kiss, the both of you smiling into the kiss as your legs wrap tighter around him, wanting to keep him there even though you know he’s not going anywhere. 

“How about we celebrate elsewhere?” Eddie asks as he pulls away, a flirty tone taking over his voice. 

“What kind of celebration?” You reply, batting your eyelashes as you remove yourself from him. 

“I think you know what kind of celebration,” he winks, grabbing hold of your hand pulling you along as the two of you swim to the shore, climbing into the back of the van where you spend the rest of the morning until the sun comes up showing how much you love each other when you aren’t saying the three words. And there’s no place that either of you would rather be.

[connorsui]

Sylus x wife! Reader || Imagine

"A sticker crown!"

The house was quiet, a warmth settling into every corner as you opened the front door and slipped off your shoes. The soft glow of evening light filtered through the windows, giving the entire place a serene feel. There was no immediate sound of movement downstairs, but something more faint came from upstairs—a soft giggle, the high-pitched sound unmistakable.

"Sylus? ...Are you up there?" you called out, the smile already pulling at your lips.

No answer—just more giggling.

Curious, you made your way up the stairs, your steps slow and deliberate as you approached the source of the sound. The door to your daughter’s room was slightly ajar, and as you pushed it open, the scene that greeted you filled you with pure amusement. Toys were scattered all around the room, dolls and baby pink teddy bears seated around a small tea table with plastic cups clinking on the surface. But the real sight was in the center of the chaos.

There was Sylus, your formidable, commanding husband, lying flat on the floor with his hands clasped on his chest, eyes closed, and a faint smile playing on his lips.

"No, no, Daddy! Stay put! You not pretty yet!" your daughter scolded in the sweetest little voice, her small hands busy rummaging through a pile of stickers.

"I'm as still as I can be, sweetie," Sylus murmured, barely moving a muscle. "I'm not going anywhere."

You covered your mouth to stifle the laugh that threatened to bubble up as you stepped further into the room, but the moment was short-lived as your daughter spotted you. Her eyes lit up in pure delight, and she gasped as if you’d appeared from nowhere.

"Mummy!, Mummy! Look! Look how pretty Daddy is now!" She scrambled up from her spot, her tiny hand reaching for yours as she dragged you closer to the spectacle. "Daddy won’t scare anymore! People will like Daddy now!"

You bit your lip to contain your laughter when you got a proper look at Sylus. His face, once an intimidating picture of authority and dominance, was now decorated with Hello Kitty stickers and glittering stars. The contrast was almost too much to handle.

“Well, don’t you look handsome as ever?” you teased, standing over him with an affectionate grin.

Sylus cracked an eye open and smirked. "And how can I resist? My own princess demands I become a statue for her enjoyment."

“You are fulfilling your role quite beautifully," you said, trying to peel one of the stickers off his cheek, only for your daughter to intervene, placing her tiny hand on yours with the fiercest pout she could manage.

“No, Mummy! Daddy needs to be pretty!”

You and Sylus exchanged a glance, amused as ever, while your daughter grabbed a fresh set of stickers, picking the sparkliest one of the bunch. With a proud smile, she pressed a glittery star right onto Sylus’ nose.

"Yaaay!"

Before you could respond, Sylus' smirk widened. "Princess, why don’t you add some of your beauty onto Mommy? Make her feel just as pretty as me."

Your daughter, to both your surprise, frowned and shook her head, her little hands resting on her hips. "No! Mommy is already pretty. Mommy doesn’t need stickers, she’s not mean! Mommy is nice so Mommy doesn’t need to be pretty!"

With that final declaration, she slapped another heart-shaped sticker onto Sylus' forehead, sealing his fate.

That was the last straw—you couldn't hold back anymore, laughter bursting from your lips. "Oh my God," you gasped, wiping at the corner of your eye.

Sylus, however, rolled his eyes dramatically. "Help me here…for once, I'll be the one begging."

“Oh, isn’t that a rarity coming from you?” You knelt beside him, gently peeling off the stickers from his face, one by one.

Meanwhile, your daughter looked on, fidgeting with her toys before tugging on your arm. "Mummy… is it bedtime now?"

You glanced outside, the fading light of the day casting soft shadows across the room. "Yes, sweetie. It’s bedtime. As much as you love playtime, it’s time to rest for now."

"The moon is out?" she asked, tilting her head.

You nodded, peeling the last of the glitter from Sylus' face and then guiding your daughter to her bed. Tucking her in with care, you kissed her forehead. "Yes, the moon is out. But when the sun comes back, you can play more."

She smiled sleepily, already closing her eyes. "Okay… Night, Mummy."

You and Sylus quietly left the room, gently closing the door behind you. As you walked back down the stairs together, you couldn’t help but giggle. “How long has she been doing that to you?” you asked, barely containing your amusement.

Sylus sighed dramatically. “Ever since you left. She said I look too angry and I have to be ‘kind’ more often. She believed her toys and her drawings would do me great favors.”

You chuckled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Well… she’s not wrong. You did look far better than all the years we’ve been together in that moment.”

“Oh really? Is that what I needed to love you?” Sylus arched a brow, his teasing tone back in full force.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, stifling another laugh.

Sylus shook his head, a laugh of his own escaping. “Please... save me next time.”

You grinned, leaning into him. "Sylus, don't be mean."

[cringelordlikesplaz]

i went to go collect images of plastic man's original shoes but!! they really did only exist for two issues huh.

[alygator77]

❖ cursed by color — satoru’s new look ❖

❀ summary. satoru gojo faces a challenge no amount of cursed energy can prepare him for—his daughter’s makeover. with pigtails, polish, and plenty of giggles, satoru finds himself utterly powerless to resist her antics.

❀ contents. pure fluff. pre-established relationship. you're both sorcerers. domesticity. satoru being the best girl dad.

❀ wc. 2.7k

As you push the front door open, the first thing you hear is giggles. Not just any giggles—those giggles. The kind that signals trouble or, more likely, your husband being roped into something ridiculous by your daughter. Toeing off your shoes as you walk in, you turn the corner, curious to find out what mischief is happening now.

And there, you are met with Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer in the world, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table—completely at the mercy of your daughter.

“Hold still, Daddy! You’re gonna mess it up!” she scolds with all the authority a four-year-old can muster.

“I’m trying,” Satoru whines, his head tipped back against the couch. “But I’m starting to think I’ll be stuck like this forever.”

Biting your lip, you suppress a laugh as you step further into the room.

“Oh, and what’s going on here?”

Satoru’s head swivels toward you, a grin instantly spreading across his face.

“Ah, my love, you’re just in time to witness history in the making. I’m being upgraded.”

Your eyebrow raises as you take in the sight of him—each finger covered in glittery pink nail polish.

“Upgraded, huh? Looks more like a full-on makeover.”

Proud of her work—your daughter beams up at you.

“Mommy, look! Daddy said the glitter makes him super strong!”

“Did he now?” you glance at Satoru with a smirk. “How much stronger are we talkin’ here?”

“Like, a million times stronger!” she declares with a big smile, capping the nail polish bottle like a professional. “All done!”

Satoru lifts his hands, admiring the sparkling polish with a mock serious expression.

“I’m practically invincible now.”

Ah, but—your daughter, isn’t done. Jumping up with excitement, her eyes gleam with a new idea.

“Daddy! Daddy! Now I’m gonna do your hair!”

Satoru freezes in panic, eyes darting between you and your daughter.

“Uh, my hair? I’m pretty sure it’s perfect as is, don’t you think?”

But before he can protest, your daughter has already dashed off to grab her hair accessories.

“y/n! Help! I’m being held hostage by a tiny tyrant,” he pleads, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes.

But you just grin, crossing your arms.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of stopping her. Besides, I’d love to see what she comes up with.”

“Traitor…” Satoru mutters under his breath as your daughter returns moments later with a plastic comb and a handful of colorful hair ties.

“Sit still, Daddy!” she demands, climbing onto his lap and tugging at his snowy white hair with enthusiasm.

Satoru winces but stays obediently still, his lips twitching between a grimace and a grin.

“Yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of ruining your masterpiece.” He flinches as she accidentally tugs a bit too hard. “Ouch. Careful, sweetheart. Daddy needs to keep some of his hair please.”

Too engrossed in her ‘hairstylist’ role to notice his plea, your daughter starts gathering little sections of his hair, combing it carefully, and securing them with bright pink and purple hair ties—the pigtails are uneven, sticking out at odd angles, but she works with such determination—her little tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.

“There!” she announces, standing back up to admire her work. “Now you look perfect, Daddy!”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of resignation and amusement.

“Perfect, huh?”

Stepping closer, you pretend to give his new look a serious evaluation—his hair is pulled into several lopsided pigtails, each one accented by colorful clips and ties.

“Hmm, I don’t know... It’s close, but I think something’s missing sweetheart.”

Satoru narrows his eyes at you suspiciously.

“What do you mean, ‘something’s missing’?”

Giving him a playful grin, you pretend to study his face before snapping your fingers.

“Ah, I’ve got it. Makeup. A look like this just isn’t complete without some makeup.”

Satoru’s eyes widen in horror as your daughter gasps excitedly.

“You’re right Mommy!”

“No, no, no—” Satoru starts to protest, but your daughter is already darting toward your room, her giggles echoing through the house as she searches for your makeup bag. He drops his head back against the couch, groaning. “y/n, why would you do this to me? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

You plop down next to him on the floor and tap his nose teasingly.

“You’ve handled curses. You can handle a four-year-old stylist. Stay strong.”

“Don’t worry, Daddy!” your daughter chimes in, running back as she triumphantly holds your makeup bag. “You’re gonna look soooo cute!”

Satoru lets out a resigned sigh, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“Alright. Do your worst, kiddo.”

As your daughter starts unpacking the makeup bag, he mutters under his breath to you.

“Just so you know, I expect full compensation for this. Something involving chocolate cake.”

Chuckling, you reach out for his hand and interlock your fingers—offering him a comforting squeeze.

“Oh, you’ll get cake. Maybe a crown too, after this.”

“Great,” he sighs dramatically, “I’ll take the cake in exchange for my dignity.”

Your daughter, too focused to even notice your banter, pulls out a tube of bright pink lipstick.

“Okay, Daddy, pucker up!”

Sighing dramatically again, he puckers his lips for your daughter, who eagerly leans in to apply the lipstick with far more enthusiasm than precision—half of the lipstick ends up on his upper lip, and the other half, somewhere closer to his chin.

“Beautiful!” your daughter announces proudly, standing back to admire her work.

Satoru tries to glance down at his lips, his eyebrow quirking up.

“Beautiful, huh? Uh… should I be concerned that I can’t feel where half of this is?”

You cover your mouth, trying not to burst out laughing.

“It’s very... abstract.”

Before Satoru can comment, your daughter is already moving on—she pulls out the blush, her face scrunched in concentration as she starts swirling it onto his cheeks. The rosy color quickly turns into something more akin to a deep flush.

“Um, I think you’re using too much—” Satoru tries to say, but your daughter shushes him with a stern hand wave.

“Shhhh, Daddy! I’m the artist, remember?”

She dabs even more blush on his nose for good measure, and you cover your mouth again— trying to stifle your laughter as Satoru glares at you through squinted eyes.

“y/n, this feels personal.”

“Oh, not at all,” you exhale—grinning, “but I’ll admit, it’s a great look.”

Your daughter continues, switching to mascara—she fumbles with the tube for a second, and Satoru tenses, his eyes growing wide as she holds it up like a delicate weapon.

“Now for your eyes, Daddy!”

He blinks, sitting up a little straighter, and your daughter, eager to get closer, stands up on Satoru’s lap—wobbling slightly for balance. But as she leans in, her footing slips, and she topples forward, the mascara wand making a beeline for his face.

“Whoa—wait!” Satoru blurts out, instinctively pulling back, catching her mid-fall just before the brush nearly pokes him in the eye. He holds her steady as the brush grazes his cheek instead.

“Jeez, kiddo,” he chuckles, but there’s a hint of relief in his voice. “Let's not get too close with that thing. I still need my vision for exorcising curses.”

As he pats her head gently, your daughter giggles, scrambling back up—completely unfazed by her near-miss. She quickly regains her balance, waving the mascara wand again with renewed enthusiasm.

“Oops, sorry, Daddy! I’ll be more careful this time!” and without skipping a beat, she leans in for another attempt while Satoru sighs in playful resignation—a grin curling upon his lips.

“Okay, artist, but one smudge and I’m calling a redo. I have standards, y’know.”

You pull your knees into your chest—watching them with adoration.

“Hmm, I thought Infinity was supposed to block all external threats,” you grin, raising an eyebrow. “Guess it’s no match for a determined toddler, huh?”

Satoru laughs softly, watching your daughter carefully swipe the mascara across his lashes. As his gaze lingers on her, his smile softens—his voice lowering as the playful banter fades, leaving behind something more heartfelt.

“Mm, well… infinity can handle most things, but when it comes to her?” he glances up at you, a gaze full of warmth and affection as his voice dips lower—he offers you a small shrug. “And you? I’m powerless.”

Warmth floods your chest as you see the love in his eyes—it’s moments like this where he’s just Satoru—not the strongest sorcerer, but the man who adores you—the man who would do anything for his two girls.

“Well,” you murmur, a small smile curling up your lip, “powerless looks good on you.”

You hold his gaze—an unspoken intimacy in the air, and your daughter, blissfully unaware of the tender moment, finishes her masterpiece with a triumphant flourish.

“All done, Daddy! Now you look soooo pretty!”

Satoru blinks a few times, adjusting to the feel of the mascara on his lashes.

“Oh yeah? Am I ready for a night out?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, still holding onto that playful grin.

“Forget the night out—you’re ready for a photoshoot,” you quip, quickly snapping a picture of him before he can react.

The moment the camera clicks, Satoru’s eyes widen, and his grin falters.

“Wait—did you just...?” His tone turns from amused to mock-horrified as he realizes what you’ve done. “Oh no, no, no. Give me that phone, y/n.”

You hold the phone up just out of his reach, smirking.

“What, you don’t want the world to see the ‘prettiest’ sorcerer in all his glory?”

Satoru lunges toward you, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“You’re not keeping that!” he declares, and before you know it, he’s trying to snatch the phone from your hand.

You squeal, spinning away from him as you clutch the phone tightly to your chest.

“Oh, come on! This is gold!”

Satoru reaches out, his hands grabbing at your waist as he tries to get closer.

“Nope, delete it!” he insists, laughing as he playfully wrestles you for the phone.

You twist away again, giggling as you evade his attempts, dancing just out of his reach.

“Oh, but it’s too good to delete! You’ll thank me later when this becomes your new profile picture.”

“Like hell I will!” Satoru laughs, lunging again, this time managing to grab your wrist. He tugs you closer, using his free hand to reach for the phone. “Come on, y/n, hand it over. No one needs to see me with pigtails and mascara.”

You’re both laughing now, the playfulness escalating as you try to wiggle free from his grasp.

“But you look stunning! This could be your big modeling break!”

Just as Satoru tries to make another move for the phone, you hear an excited giggle from behind you—before either of you can react, your daughter’s voice rings out.

“Dog pile on Daddy!”

Satoru lets out an exaggerated groan as your daughter climbs onto his back, clinging to his shoulders with her little arms.

“Ahhh! No, not you too!” he cries dramatically, the grin never leaving his face.

Your daughter bounces excitedly on his back, giggling as she tightens her grip around his neck.

“Mommy! You too! Dog pile on Daddy!”

You can’t resist the pure chaos unfolding in front of you—the joy in her laughter pulling you in.

“You asked for it ‘toru,” with a grin, and a playful lunge, you tackle Satoru to the floor, landing on top of him with a light thud.

Satoru stumbles under the weight of both his girls, dramatically flopping onto the floor as if utterly defeated.

“Ahh! Nooo! I’m down! I’m down!” he cries, laughing so hard his eyes squeezed shut.

Your daughter squeals with joy, her laughter infectious as she bounces on his chest.

“We got him, Mommy! We got him!”

“Yeah, you did,” Satoru groans, still laughing as he reaches up to dramatically shield his face with one hand. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

The three of you are laughing uncontrollably now, tangled together on the floor in a mess of arms and legs. Satoru—still pinned beneath you and your daughter—finally rolls over onto his back, pulling you both into his chest as he catches his breath.

“Looks like you’re officially outnumbered, Satoru,” you tease, holding your phone up to show off the photo of him—his hair a colorful mess of pigtails and clips, his lips bright pink, and his cheeks dusted heavily with blush.

Satoru’s eyes widen in mock horror when he sees the picture.

“Betrayed by my own family... I should’ve seen this coming.”

Before you can respond, your daughter leans in to look at the picture, her eyes lighting up as she gasps.

“Daddy! You’re soooo pretty!” she declares with an enthusiastic smile.

Satoru’s faux horror softens immediately as he laughs, pulling her into a hug.

“Pretty, huh? Well, I guess if my favorite artist says so, then it must be true.”

“Guess you’re not just the strongest anymore—pretty’s your new title,” you grin, propping yourself up on your elbow as you rest your chin in your hand.

Satoru narrows his eyes playfully at you, but there’s a mischievous glint forming in his gaze—grinning, he leans back as if an idea has just struck him. His voice drops to a teasing murmur as he turns to your daughter.

“But you know...” he begins slyly, his grin growing wider, “since my little artist did such a great job on me, maybe it’s Mommy’s turn next.”

You shoot him a look, instantly suspicious.

“Oh, don’t you dare.”

Satoru’s smirk deepens, clearly reveling in your mock hesitation. He pulls your daughter closer, his hand gently running through her hair, adding a touch of tenderness to his playful plotting.

“It’s only fair, right, princess?” he asks conspiratorially, glancing down at her with that warm, affectionate look that always gets her excited. “I say it’s time for Mommy to get the full makeover treatment.”

She gasps, clapping her hands together in delight.

“Yes! Mommy’s turn! I can make you look soooo pretty, Mommy!”

You sit up, laughing nervously as she squeals—your hands up in a surrender.

“Wait, wait, maybe we should—”

But it’s too late—your daughter is running towards the nail polish, and Satoru leans back on his elbows as he watchers her go—looking far too pleased with himself.

“Looks like you’re not getting out of this one,” he says smugly. “You’re in good hands,” he continues, nodding toward your daughter as she eagerly collects nail polish and clips. “She’s a pro—you’ll look ‘soooo pretty,’ just like me.”

You groan in mock defeat but smile nonetheless.

“Oh great, the prettiest sorcerer title will soon belong to me.”

Satoru sits up, chuckling softly as he glances over at you. His eyes find yours and the world seems to slow—his expression softening in that way that always makes your heart flutter.

“You’ve always had that title,” he murmurs, with a tender smile. “No contest.”

A warmth creeps up your face as his gaze holds yours—you can feel the sincerity in the way he looks at you, like you’ve always been his everything.

Reaching over, he gently brushes his knee against yours in a simple but affectionate gesture.

“I love you, you know that?”

His voice carries the weight of those words, and you lean in—unable to stop yourself from pressing a gentle kiss to his temple before you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath you.

“I know,” you whisper back. “I love you too.”

Satoru sighs lightly, the sound barely more than a breath as his arm wraps around you—drawing you closer against him. His hand moves in slow, soothing motions along your arm, his thumb tracing soft circles over your skin.

Together, you sit in peaceful contentment—like nothing in the world could disrupt this moment—wrapped up in the easy warmth of each other’s presence as your daughter hums happily in the background, carefully arranging her colorful collection of nail polishes and hair clips.

Satoru’s voice, barely above a whisper, breaks the quiet but not the peace.

“As long as I have you two,” he murmurs, “there’s no curse I can’t handle.”

a/n. yeah... fuck ch 271. i needed some satoru comfort so here you guys go :')