#so on the one hand i’m eating my fruits and veggies and making attempts to clean my room

[glamrockjoseph]

physically ill with how repulsive i find myself 🥰

[purple-babygirl]

All I'm gonna say is Bucky's little being obsessed with feeding Bucky from their plate

Pairing: Daddy!Bucky Barnes x little!f!reader

Word Count: 1,385

Warnings: ddlg dynamics, other than that it's just fluff.

A/N: that was so cute it totally stole my heart🥺💜 thank you so much for sharing such a soft thought with me I hope I did it justice?:"💜💜you know I be meaning for these to be short, like blurbs, but I just-

please enjoy xx.

dada, open up

Bucky took care of his girl. He’d play with her, read to her, bathe her, do her hair, love on her and even feed her. He enjoyed spoiling her. Bucky loved that she trusted him enough to completely let go so he could look after her and that was exactly what he did.

“Dada,” she called to him before he could react.

She was quiet as they sat at the dinner table, but Bucky didn’t think much of it. Her mouth was busy after all.

Bucky was scooping rice on her spoon when he saw her hand slide a piece of broccoli out of her plate. He was about to scold her about table manners and what cutlery were for and that she needed to wait for him to feed her—

Bucky looked to her, expecting her to say she was full or that she didn’t want to eat this specific piece of broccoli. She almost always did this when they came to the last bit of food on her plate. But Bucky was surprised to see his girl offering him the piece of broccoli she held, her hand raised up so the sautéed vegetable was almost touching his lips.

“That’s your food, honey. Daddy has his too, see?” He told her, tilting his plate so she could see he still had food to be consumed, trying to lift the spoon to her lips to feed her.

“Dada,” she repeated, pouting when Bucky left her hand in the air too long.

“Alright, but just this one. You’re gonna eat the rest of your dinner yourself like a good girl, okay?”

She nodded with a smile, stretching her arm more so it reached Bucky’s lips. He opened his mouth and took the food in, chewing.

“Thank you, sweets,” Bucky said before kissing her fingers.

She blushed adorably, retracting her hand and going back to munching her food with a satisfied smile.

“Now open wide for the rice plane.”

~

She did it again the next day; this time when they were having lunch.

“Dada, nuggie,” she said, pushing her hand forward to him.

“Yes, sweets, what’s wrong with your nuggie?” Bucky looked at the golden piece of chicken she held out. It seemed normal to him.

“Nothin’, wanna share it with Daddy,” she told him, shrugging cutely.

He couldn’t help but want to kiss all over her sweet, little face. But she had to finish her meals and eat properly.

“Honey—”

“Dada.” She gave him her puppy eyes; she knew he couldn’t say no to those eyes.

Bucky silently opened his mouth, biting back a smile as he chewed the fried chicken. He needed to be firm, but he still kissed her greasy fingers just to see her blush and take them back.

“You like it?” She checked, wanting to make sure he was enjoying the food as much as she was.

“Mhhm,” Bucky hummed, his eyebrow raised as he tried to figure her out, waiting for the minute she’s going to ask him to finish the plate for her because she was done.

“Dada, baby carrot for you.” She proposed food from her plate again.

“Sweets, you gotta eat your dinner.”

“Baby carrot,” she repeated after nodding at his statement.

Bucky accepted the orange veggie, kissing her hand again before he watched her continue to sit obediently and eat all that was left on her plate with no fuss.

~

At first, Bucky thought she was passing him the food she didn’t like or couldn’t finish under the cover of ‘sharing’, but she always ended up finishing her food, so that was confusing.

Then she started feeding him food that she actually liked too.

“Dada,” came her call again, her hand pressing a red grape from her snack plate to Bucky’s lips.

“Sweets, daddy cut those up for you.” Bucky’s heart swelled at the gesture, but he couldn’t just keep eating her food.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head.

She thought he didn’t want a grape so she dropped it back and held out a piece of apple instead.

“Do you not like the food daddy makes anymore? Is there something else you’d rather eat?”

“No.” She shook her head, putting the apple back among the other fruits.

“Then what is it, honey? Why don’t you wanna eat your food?” Bucky tilted his head, putting her hair behind her ear.

“I wanna eat my food, jus’ wan’ daddy to eat with me too,” she mumbled shyly, her voice small and her finger pushing the fruits around the small bowl in her hands.

“Oh, honey,” Bucky whispered in realization, his heart fluttering at his girl’s care and thoughtfulness before he took her on his lap.

“Wanna share with you because I love you, daddy,” she continued, still staring at her hands, having no idea she was making the man’s heart melt inside his chest.

She loved him. She thought he was special and she wanted to feed him out of her own plate with her own hand like he would her. She wanted to look after him too. It was so wholesome and it made Bucky feel warm and worthy.

Bucky’s thumb touched her cheek, making her look at him.

“Daddy loves you too, sweets. Daddy loves you very much.” He kissed her forehead and temple, big hand caressing her back before he pressed her to his chest in a warm hug, her head tucked under his chin. “You’re the best baby ever, you know that?”

Bucky couldn’t believe how lucky he was even with his whole world between his arms; right on his lap.

“Red grape?” She suggested when they pulled away and she could try again, her happy smile back on her face.

“Red grape.” Bucky nodded with a chuckle, his tongue taking the fruit between his lips.

“Ew,” she giggled, wiping the saliva from Bucky’s tongue on his shirt.

“Did I just hear you say ew, sweets?” Bucky laughed, taking the fruit bowl and putting it away.

He quickly flipped her down on the couch and started running his long fingers up and down her sides, making her laugh and squirm.

“Did you? Hmm?” He kept asking, knowing too well she couldn’t answer him between her loud giggles.

“Dada!” She squealed, trying to wiggle away from his evil fingers tickling her sides.

“You don’t like if daddy’s saliva gets on you?” Bucky teased, licking up her cheek and she laughed louder, her knees bending in a failed attempt to shield her sides.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She screamed out, still giggling and panting.

“Thank you for sharing your food with me, sweets.” Bucky kissed her chin.

Bucky had mercy on her after a minute, letting her breathe as she continued to smile up at him. He wiped her cheek with the sleeve of his Henley, placing a kiss where he licked her before pumping his nose with hers.

She giggled, scrunching her nose up. Bucky’s hands were settled on her sides, holding her gently as his thumbs rubbed her tummy. She sighed when her chest stopped its heavy rising and falling, gazing at Bucky with all the love she had in her.

Her palm cupped his cheek and Bucky turned his head to kiss her fingers. Then he leaned forward, knowing what she wanted. When he was closer, she held onto his shoulders and lifted her head up to press a sweet kiss to his cheek as well.

From that day on, it was the rule that she would feed Bucky from her plate; it didn't matter where they were or who was around them. Sam could call Bucky whipped all he wanted, he would open up too if he had a girl like her feeding him out of her plate.

She would share anything that was put on her plate with her Daddy: the popcorn on movie nights, the extra blueberries she always asked for with her pancakes, the pepperoni on her pizza, the last curly fry on her plate, and mandarin slices whenever Bucky would peel one for her. And so he started putting extra of everything on her plate to make sure she still got to eat the healthy amount she was meant to eat. Everything was balanced again. Everything was perfect and Bucky wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

[biaswreckme]

how to care for your hybrid | jjk

Pairing: hybrid!Jungkook/Reader

Member: Jungkook

Length: 5253 words

Genre: smut, fluff, angst, 5+1

Rating: 18+

Triggers/Warnings: smut, hybrid smut, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), insinuation of past abuse (but nothing explicit or even saying what happened), mention of abandonment 

Project: @btscreatorscorner​ March workshop with the theme push the limits

Summary: how to care for your hybrid, or 5 times you cared for bunny hybrid!Jungkook and one time he took care of you

A/N: So this was supposed to be a drabble and it turned out to be a 5k fic. Alright. This was written for this month’s workshop for BTS Creators’ Corner network, and the theme was to push the limits. I had never written a hybrid fic before, so I interpret the theme as coming out of my writing comfort zone (even though it’s still smut...) Thankssss to my lobely lobely betas, @heejinnien​ for beta-reading the sfw parts of this fic, and to @taegularities​​ for beta-reading the nsfw bit :3 I love you girls ♥

You can find the sequel here.

1. Provide them with a comfortable home

You still remembered the day you had brought Jungkook home from the shelter. You had gone with a friend, just as a companion, not intending nor really wanting to adopt a hybrid. Sure, you’d feel lonely sometimes, living by yourself and in a foreign country, but the thought of adopting a hybrid had never crossed your mind. Adopting a plant? Sure. Adopting a cat? Maybe. Adopting a hybrid? Never. Until you saw him, that is.

The shelter was legit, your friend had said, having done her research. But the place still made you uncomfortable; the creatures, those people, inside the divisions - you refuse to think of them as cages - waiting for someone to help. You had to bite your lip to keep from crying upon seeing them, knowing it was a rescue shelter, and then your eyes crossed with his.

There was some magnetic energy in the air that had pulled you closer to his unit until you could read the informational pamphlet: he was named Jungkook, a rescue bunny hybrid. Your gaze had immediately shifted to the man again; he was only a couple of years younger than you, but there had been something about his gaze that almost hypnotized you. He had such wide, expressive, and round eyes glistening with moisture and paired with his ears drooping low on the back of his head, you could not resist it.

There would be a home inspection and you would need to get some provisions to fulfill all the exigencies, but you rushed to get everything together. They had provided you with a list of items to make the bunny hybrid comfortable and ease the transition, and you did not hesitate, deciding to worry about the credit card bills later.

And so you took him home. He had clung to you entering the apartment, slowly exploring the space and showing where he would be sleeping. At the shelter, they had told you the hybrid would need an appropriate bed, but you hadn’t felt comfortable just getting a bunny bed at the store, so you got him a real and human bed, wanting him to feel at ease enough to not need to shift into a full bunny to sleep - they had also told you he tended to do that, sleeping as a bunny because he did not feel comfortable in his hybrid human-like body.

You had gotten the basics necessary for the approval of the adoption, and then you took him to the store, letting him choose his own things. It would be a while until that wide-eyed, surprised look would leave his expression, even when you were alone at the apartment and just hanging out on the couch on a Sunday night. That first night, giving him the blankets and tucking him in, you promised to take care of him, and you could barely hear his voice in reply, so small and shy, even though he was much taller - and more muscly - than you. It did not feel right that he had to make himself so quiet and small if that was even possible, so you swore to yourself that you would do everything to help him come out of his shell.

And soon you would find yourself in the company of a very loud and boisterous bunny, no shame about singing, his love for gaming until late hours, and working out. And you could not avoid falling in love with him.

2. Make sure they are getting appropriate food

It was a Friday night, you got home tired after a long day at work, and you smiled to yourself, biting your own lip upon the sight that greeted you upon entering the apartment. A shirtless Jungkook, towel haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, his torso glistening with sweat from working out in your living room. He lifted his head upon hearing you enter, a big smile lighting up his face and his long ears pointed up. He got up and made a movement to hug you.

“Hi, noona!”

“Oh no, you don’t,” you barely ducked out of the day. “Jungkook, you’re sweaty…”

He was faster than you, predicting where you were going to dodge his new attempt at enveloping you with his arms, something he had been picking up whenever you joined him in a boxing workout. His arms quickly went around your body, pressing you against him, your forearms up in the failed endeavor of avoiding getting his sweat all over you. He hugged you tight, his chin resting on your shoulder and you felt one of his ears on your head as his entire body seemed to tremble, and as you looked down you saw his tail wiggle from side to side rapidly.

“You’re finally home,” he sighed, swaying you softly from side to side.

“Is everything okay, bun? I’m sorry I’m late, they had me stay…”

“I’m so hungry,” you could almost see the pout, knowing the small lisp that came out whenever he pursed his lips and whined.

You looked around the living room, seeing the empty protein shaker bottle on the coffee table, narrowing your eyes.

“Didn’t you have your shake? You were working out.”

“Well, I did…” he started.

“We went grocery shopping and there are still some veggies and fruit cut up from our weekend meal prep, bun,” you felt him hiding his face even more on your shoulder, squeezing your body. “What’s going on? Am I forgetting something?” There was a slightly teasing tone in your voice, knowing what he wanted.

“You promised…” his voice was a mumble, muffled by the way his pouty lips were pressing on your body, but before you could ask him to repeat, “You promised pizza night, noona.”

“I know, bun, I haven’t forgotten it,” you stepped away from him, looking into his eyes and seeing his demeanor change completely.

“Oh?”

“I made the order when I was stuck at a red light. I got your favorite,” you were about to continue, but was interrupted by his sweaty hug again, this time accompanied by a chuckle.

“Ok, we have just enough time to shower before it arrives, so let’s run and get ready.”

You were right and there was just enough time to quickly wash the day - and Jungkook’s sweat - away. You set up the coffee table while he went to get the pizza, knowing it would be hot and he would almost drop it entering the apartment as usual. You sat side by side on the floor in front of the small table, turning the television on to the show you have been binging, your backs propped up against the sofa.

Jungkook was usually very strict with his diet, being mindful of the food he ingested to maintain his physique and try to lower his body fat percentage - which was crazy to you, his muscles were already prominent and he seemed to get only bigger… how were you supposed to leave the house to work when you had your bun looking like that, especially early mornings, his hooded half-open eyes almost smiling at you wishing you a good day at work. Your fridge was always full of fresh and cut-up vegetables, fruit, and greens, catering to his diet (and you had to admit you have been eating much better since he entered your life). Sometimes you thought it was all his difficulties from before, his time spent in the shelter, that he had such a love for a cheesy hot pizza every once in a while during the weekend.

And how could you say no to him when he purposefully lowered his ears, pouted, and widened his big round eyes even more to convince you?

3. Explore new things together

“Come on baby, you said you wanted to try this. It’s just us now.”

“Y… yes, noona. It’s just so… big.” Jungkook’s eyes were wide open, looking at the size of the pool in the club. For as much of a muscle bunny he was, the sheer magnitude of the pool seemed to scare him.

He first brought up the idea when you were watching tv a few days ago, some random program late at night showing people on a beach, and Jungkook had seemed to be fixated on the screen. He wanted to visit the sea, for he had never been there before. You agreed to it, but you had to admit that you were scared too, so you compromised: you would start your water adventures at a pool, so he could test things out, see if he truly enjoyed being in the water and swimming.

A few calls later there you were, standing by the water. You picked a time when they said people weren’t usually in - it even involved getting a day off work so you could go this early, but you would do everything for Jungkook. You looked at him, observant, watching his reactions carefully. His ears were down the back of his head, his hands clenched together in front of his shirtless torso, his front teeth worrying into his bottom lip. You took one of his hands into yours and started taking him in the direction of the small ladder to enter the pool. For a moment you wanted to jump in, but you didn’t want to make him even more nervous.

“It’s okay, bun, we’re going into the shallower part so most of your body will be above the water, ok?”

He nodded, but still seemed hesitant to get in, waiting for you to do it first. You stepped down the small ladder, showing him that almost half of your body was above the water, that he would be safe and didn’t need to worry about this part. The water was on the warmer side; you thought going for the hot pool was the best idea to help him feel comfortable at first. He stepped in feet by feet, slowly, his nose scrunched, but the moment he felt the warmth on his feet it was like magic: his ears shot up and his eyes widened in surprise, his mouth coming into a small circle.

You smiled encouragingly and stepped back, giving him some space, seeing him put one of his feet to the bottom and then the other, grounding himself. He was taller than you and he noticed the difference in the level of the water surrounding you. You lowered your body, telling him you were doing it first so as not to frighten him and submerged yourself to get your hair wet. When you emerged, you saw his eyes were wide again, but his ears were not down as before. There was a glint of curiosity in his expression and you nodded in encouragement for him to try it out.

“It’s just like when you wet your hair in the tube, bun. Here, hold on to my hands and remember to hold your breath.”

He did so, holding them tightly in his fists as he bent his knees and lowered his body. You chuckled slightly when you saw that half of his ears were still out of the water, so you quickly untangled one of your hands from his and lightly pressed on them so they were submerged too. He got up and shook his head, water droplets flying everywhere. He started laughing when he saw you put your hands in your eyes, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“Good?”

“Yes, noona, it’s good.”

“Are you ready to go a bit deeper?” His long ears perked up at your question, but his face seemed apprehensive. “Not much, we’re not swimming today, just going a bit more so you can maybe try floating.” His head moved up and down, agreeing to the idea, and you couldn’t help but think it was so cute the way his ears moved too.

You grabbed both his hands again so you were looking at each other as you slowly started to step back further into the deeper part of the pool. You didn’t rush, letting him adjust to the increasing level of the water, and only moved when he seemed comfortable. Jungkook always loved to have baths, so you figured he would love going to the pool too, especially a hot one. His smile got wider with each step, feeling more confident and safe with you. When the water hit your shoulders, you stopped and let his hands go.

“Bun, let’s try floating, ok? We’re starting small today, so you can just come closer and put your arms around my shoulders.” You said as you turned your back to him, and almost immediately you felt his arms around you. “Good! Now try letting your feet rise from the floor, let your body float a little.”

He tentatively lifted his feet, clinging to you harder as his body moved with the slow slushing of the water.

“I’ve got you, Kook,” you said as you pressed your hands to his. “I’m not letting go. Trust me, bun. Kick your feet back and put your weight on me.”

You felt him kick the water behind you, his strong arms flexing as he let his weight fall onto you. You knew the moment he started to float and enjoyed it; he pressed his face against your neck and started giggling, and when you looked at him, his nose was scrunched with happiness. His long ears were slightly facing backward, his eyes half-closed, and his little tail wiggling. You walked around the same area of the pool while he kicked his feet behind him, laughing freely as he enjoyed himself. As soon as you taught him to swim you would be taking a small holiday on the beach; you wanted to see this joy in him forever.

This moment was worth everything.

4. Make sure they are getting enough attention

“Morning, noona.”

You heard his voice, so gentle and still thick from sleep, waking up to the sound and the small kisses, his lips softly pressing against the back of your neck, his nose smelling your hair, his warm chest pressed against your back. You made an attempt to move your body but he tightened his arms around you.

“No moving yet, noona.”

“Morning, bun. What are you doing?”

“Just making sure you’re not going to leave my arms today,” he started, and you noticed his voice was heavy with emotion.

“Bun?”

He stayed quiet, hiding his face on your shoulder blades, and you did not say anything else until you felt it, until you felt them. There were small droplets of tears falling on your skin, and you turned around quickly to look at him fighting his embrace. Your hands immediately went to his face, wiping his cheeks, seeing him close his eyes and just quietly crying. Whenever he got like this, he would usually be quieter, needing to talk in his own time, so you did not ask him anything else, giving him space to let his feelings out. All you did was press your forehead against his and wipe his tears with your thumbs, and when you saw he would not stop so soon, you hugged him, letting your shirt dampen without caring about it. The moment you cradled his head against your chest, sobs started to wreck his body, making him shake and you could feel tears gathering in your own eyes. You had no idea how long you were like that, slowly caressing his hair, minding his long ears, but all that mattered was Jungkook. Slowly you felt his body starting to shake less, his hard sobs turning into small hiccups as he almost clawed at your back, needing to be closer to you.

“You’re… you’re not leaving me, right, noona?” His voice was quiet, but his question was too loud in the silence of the bedroom on a Saturday morning.

“Jungkook… no, love, I’m not leaving you,” your heart started to crackle with this question, and you pressed him against you even more. “Why, why do you think that, bun?”

He sniffled, pressing his nose against you and inhaling deeply, then said, his tone still small, “I’m feeling lonely… this past week…”

“Oh, Kook…” it seemed impossible, but you held him even closer to you, “I’ve been just too busy and exhausted from work, I know I got here yesterday and you were already in bed… I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

He sniffled again and you felt a new wave of fresh tears wetting your clothes.

“I thought…” he started, but his voice faltered. “I thought I made you mad. I thought you were angry at me… and that…” there was a small sob that shook his entire body, “I was scared, noona, I was scared you were going to take me back.”

You could not stop your own tears from falling on top of his head; you had no idea he had felt that way. You had tried texting him during the day whenever you could have a moment for yourself at work throughout this insane week, but again and again, they demanded more hours from you and you did not have the chance to say no. Jungkook was still finding his freedom and footing in the world, and it had worried you that you had to leave him to spend more time by himself than usual. But you never expected this reaction, and you made up your mind. They could ask someone else at work, why did it always have to be you?

“No, Kook… Listen, bun,” your voice trembled, so you paused to be more stable when talking to him. “I’m so sorry you were alone this week, this is not going to happen again, I promise. And the day you came home with me I made a promise, remember? I’m never taking you back unless you want to go.”

He shook his head quickly, signaling his opposition to the idea.

“I don’t want you to go either, bun. I love you, and I’m sorry again.”

He finally looked at you, murmuring I love you too, a small smile gracing his lips. Your chest was starting to feel lighter, starting to relax after being so worried at his crying. You had never seen him like this, and you never wanted to see it again.

“What do you need from me, bun?” you said and kissed his forehead, letting your lips linger for a brief second.

“Can we just… stay in bed today? I want to stay like this in your arms, I missed you too much, noona.”

“Whatever you want, love, I’m yours.”

“I never want to leave this bed,” he whined, burrowing closer to you, and you noticed that even though his face was swollen from the tears and his voice was hoarse, his ears were more relaxed than they were before; they were tense in a way that was new to you.

“What about food? And I’m sorry, you’re not using this bed as a toilet, ok?” you tried to lighten the mood and it worked, the sound of his delightful chuckle filling the room, and you laughed along. But you understood and agreed. You never wanted to leave this bed. And at least for the day, you would only leave when necessary, needing to feel him in your embrace and carefully observe as he truly started to believe in you, leaving his worries in the past.

5. Love them unconditionally

The first time it happened was purely accidental. You were cuddling on the sofa, watching television, your hand caressing his hair when you felt his entire body tremble with such force that you stopped and looked at him, your hands away from him.

“Jungkook, bun, what… did I hurt you?”

You were worried; his arms were crossed in front of his body and his hands clasped together tightly on his lap. His doe-like eyes were more expressive than ever, open wide, his long ears were down, and he seemed to still be shivering. What had you done? You noticed there was a pink hue starting to tint his cheeks and neck and when you kept staring at him, you saw that he tried to make himself smaller. You felt tears start to gather in the corners of your eyes, fearful that you had done something to remind him of his life before, as he usually referred to the time that preceded the shelter.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook. I’m so sorry, just tell me what I did so I don’t do it again.”

“You didn’t…” he started, his voice slightly higher-pitched than usual. He cleared his throat and continued, his eyes wandering around the living room,  “you… I…”

You nodded, trying to encourage him to speak, needing to know what went wrong.

“Noona… my ears… my bunny ears, they’re, hm, too sensitive,” he said, blushing harder, and he shuddered.

Oh.

Oh. Your gaze shifted downwards, and you could see his hands were trying to conceal his erection. You licked your lips unconsciously, and his eyes seemed to get even bigger.

“Bad sensitive or good sensitive?”

He looked down at your question, clenching his hands and pressing them on his crotch, but said “Good sensitive, I think?”

You scooted a little closer to him on the couch but still did not touch him. “Talk to me, bun,” you said softly, feeling that the subject was delicate, but you wanted to know whether or not to bring it up again, whether or not you could touch him like that.

“Noona… no one ever touched them like this before, like you,” he seemed hesitant, but continued nonetheless, “you don’t hurt me. You like it, you like me, right?”

You did not think twice before enveloping him into a hug, pressing him tight against you, overwhelmed with emotions at his question.

“I love you, Jungkook. Every part of you.” You had a feeling that this was what he needed to hear. It was not often that you saw him being insecure anymore, and it tugged on your heart uncomfortably. “You don’t ever have to feel bad with me, ok? I love you,” you repeated, emphasizing, trying to comfort him.

“I love you too, Y/n,” his voice continued soft, but he looked a tiny percentage more confident. “I think… at some point… maybe…” he looked at you, and you nodded again for him to continue. “I think I might want you to touch them when we’re, you know,” he wiggled his eyebrows up and down, chuckling, and there he was, getting back to you.

You laughed with him. It was unusual seeing him this shy in talking about sex, as he was definitely not shy at all performing it or even talking about it most of the time, but you understood this was a different issue.

“Only if it will make you feel good, bun, you know I don’t want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable,” you took his hand and held it, caressing the back of it with your thumb, and he nodded.

The next time it happened was not accidental at all, and it caught you by surprise.

You were already in bed, whispering sweet nothings as sleep didn’t reach you. The kiss started innocent enough, his lips pressing softly against yours while his hands stopped at your lower back, pulling you towards his body. His tongue caressed your lower lip and you opened your mouth, deepening the kiss as you pressed your body closer to his. His leg nudged its way between yours, and shortly after he rolled over you, his underwear not able to conceal his erection and you felt it directly where you needed it as he grabbed your leg and wrapped it around his waist.

His kisses moved down to your neck, nipping and sucking, his hips subtly moving, stimulating you. You grabbed his hair as he descended, lifting your tank top, softly sucking on your nipples as his hands started to lower your panties. He wasted no time, licking your slit from bottom to top, pausing to circle your clit before putting his lips around it and sucking rhythmically as one of his fingers teased your opening, slowly moving in and out. It wasn’t long until you felt your orgasm building that your hands grabbed his hair, pulling him up and towards you.

“I want you in me,” you whispered against his lips, tasting yourself, you needed to feel him.

He nodded and quickly removed his underwear, throwing it haphazardly behind him. He moved back between your legs, lowering his body on top of yours as you crossed your legs on his waist, helping the angle. His cock started to press into you and you felt the delicious stretch, inch by inch. His thickness filled you perfectly; you could almost feel the veiny lines that adorned the underside of his cock pressed on your walls, and whenever his hips made those small sharp trusts, the upwards curve of his erection put some pressure just right where your sweet spot was.

It was sweet and slow, your mouths connected in a seemingly never-ending kiss, his hips moving without rush, the pleasure building unhurriedly and constantly, his weight on top of you heightening the feelings. You started canting your hips with his, your languid movements following his rhythm, and his hand reached to yours, intertwined your fingers. He broke the kiss, looking into your eyes as he directed your hand to his hair. You immediately entangled your fingers on his dark strands, tugging on it and he moaned, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again and stopping the movements of his hips. Before you could ask what happened, he pushed your fingers from his hair, shaking his head softly and smiling. Still staring, he lowered his head and made your fingertips graze against one of his long ears, almost a ghost-like touch. You opened your mouth in surprise and let out a loud moan at the same time, as your first touch on that sensitive part of his made him snap his hips hard once against yours.

A shiver perpassed his body, probably due to the intensity of the touch, but he looked at you and nodded, and so you did not hesitate. Your other hand went to his head too, so you could gently caress his bunny ears; he trembled again but started moving his hips, this time with more urgency and small whines came out of his mouth in between kisses on your neck. One of his hands sneaked between your bodies, his thumb circling your clit, pressing on it, needing you to get closer, the intensity of his orgasm starting to overwhelm him. You were already close, so close to it, but you wanted him to reach his peak with you.

“Can I…” you pause to moan, feeling the edge approaching, “can I touch your tail too?”

He seemed so lost in the moment that you had to repeat the question, the need clear in your voice, and upon hearing it again, he did not hesitate in moaning out an affirmation, curious to see what it would feel like. You waited until you were at the brink of the precipice, your right hand going down his body, his back. And just as a sharp snap of hips hit you just right, snapping the coil of your orgasm, your fingers reached the fluffy tail. Feeling your touch, Jungkook let out a loud shout and stopped his hips, his cock deep inside you as you felt him pulse and his entire body trembled. He fell on top of you as aftershocks still ran through his figure, little high-pitched moans leaving his lips. You were not sure how long you were like that, legs entangled, your fingers caressing his back soothingly as your own body calmed down from the intense orgasm.

“Jungkook?”

“I’m…” he moaned out, “good. We’re doing this again as soon as I have control over my body, okay?”

You chuckled and he moaned for you to stop, the tiniest of movements overwhelming his senses. The next time you giggled at a comment he made, he turned you over, pushing your upper body into the bed and hoisting your hips up, and you certainly did not laugh anymore that night.

+1: Expect to be surprised by them

You heard the commotion outside on the street and you ran out of the apartment to the front door of the small building to see what it was about, and you opened it just in time to see Jungkook stepping out of the cause of the noise.

“Bun, what’s all this?”

“Oh hi noona! Surprise!”

It was indeed a surprise. This morning you had woken up and could not find Jungkook anywhere so you assumed he had gone for a run, but apparently not. There he was standing and waving at you in front of a camper van, a huge smile on his face, his long ears perked up. You could see your neighbors, Taehyung and his cat hybrid Jimin next to him, a sheepish expression on Taehyung’s face and a smile as big as Jungkook’s on Jimin’s lips.

“We’re going camping, noona!” Jungkook said as he approached you, enveloping you into his arms. “You’ve been so tired from work and now that you have a break, I thought we could go camping and have some fun…”

“Right now?” You asked, a little overwhelmed, but starting to get excited about the idea.

“Yes! Taehyung-hyung called up this place and rented the van, we got groceries, and Jimin even helped me pick a new coat for you, noona, I know you needed one.”

You felt your eyes tear up. You were so used to taking care of Jungkook and putting him in the first place that it was strange having someone take care of you like this. But this was Jungkook, you should have expected that. The day you brought him home from the shelter, he had said he would take care of you just as much as you would take care of him. You kissed him softly, pressing him against your body, and you whispered a thank you low in his ear.

“I love you, noona. Now let’s get your things ready, we have to get going, or else Tae-hyung said he is going to play all his old records in this player he brought the entire trip,” he stated wide-eyed and clearly hinting that he definitely did not want that.

You chuckled, knowing how picky Jungkook was with everything - his food, his clothes, his music. You took his hand and pulled him into the house, waving to the other boys at the front, signaling you would be out in a minute. You quickly packed a bag with Jungkook’s help and you waited as he got his camera and equipment bag, not forgetting the aux cord, set on not letting the other boys have control over the music.

What you would find only later on that evening is that for the first night, Taehyung and Jimin would set their tent a little far from the camp, giving you two some space for the date Jungkook had planned. A bottle of your favorite wine, Jungkook cooking a simple dinner by the fire camp, the bun’s eyes shining brightly as he scrunched his nose, and his small tail wagging slowly to the rhythm of a Frank Sinatra record under the moonlight.

--

Hope you enjoyed it and if you want to read more, how about finding out about the first time bun!Jungkook went to the beach?

[diorjadore]

bestie pls can u give me some fake scenarios w vin that I can imagine before I fall asleep (can be rlly brief like imagine cuddling or driving around with him)… IM OUT IF IDEAS AND CANT SLEEP HAHA

Lemme do a couple brief ones so you can continue them however you like! Hehehe I got some from domesticity prompts here on Tumblr! So sleepy but I might add some more when I wake up, if I don’t get lazy.

Grocery shopping together - You both decided to save Thomas and Mia the trouble of going to the grocery store, given that you’d practically do anything just as long as you could do it together. Vinnie had gone to the frozen food aisle and you to the fresh produce. You’ve been searching for your boyfriend for 5 minutes and when you found him, he was staring at the variety of frozen garbage he calls his cuisine; from nuggets, to hotdogs, even bacon! You’ve been urging him to go healthy for the new year but he just can’t kick his obsession with easy to cook food. “Vin, c’mon let’s be like Thomas and Mia and eat healthy food, I already got the good stuff,” you said as you gestured to the colorful fresh fruits and veggies as you tried to pull on his shirt but he wouldn’t budge. He had his bottom lips in his fingers, pressing them together as if his picking would determine his fate. “I don’t know why you hate nuggets so much, you don’t have a problem with it when you force me to cook it for you at night,” he muttered while refusing to look at you, still focused on his wide variety of choices. “Fine, but just one please. Maybe pick the one with cheese inside or get frozen dumplings instead.” He looked at you and smirked and shook his head as he grabbed both of what you mentioned. “You’re an asshole.” “I know baby,” he cooed and pinched your cheeks making you grimace. “Now let’s go get my chicken breast,” he said as he slightly shoved you to the side so he could take your cart as you watch him head down to the poultry section. You ticked off the stuff you already got and caught up with your boyfriend…

Hiking together - “Isn’t this nice?” you smiled at him as you swayed your hands back and forth, breathing in the fresh air. You were lying through your teeth because it hasn’t even been 20 minutes yet and you’re already done with your very own idea. You forgot how fit Vinnie was compared to you and you overestimated your strength given you’ve been slacking your working out. “Oh, yeah? I could hear you gasp for air since we started, you sound like an asthmatic whale.” He remarked, his chest heaving up and down as well. “You are so rude, we don’t know I might have heart or lung problems.” “Okay, baby whatever you say.” The rest of the hike up was absolute hell for you and Vinnie was walking slightly behind so you couldn’t see and hear him snicker at your demise and poor attempt to hide your struggle. “If you wanna go back, we can. I won’t tease you about it.” “No no, we can go further. It’s the heat, I think. It’s too much and the uhm, the cold air is making it hard to breathe.” You said as you gulped for the nth time. “Really? I’m doing just fine…” “Nobody cares, Vincent.” You said as your hands propped themselves to your waist as you dragged your feet uphill.

Cooking together - You and Vinnie were assigned to cook pasta for Jack’s surprise birthday party so you decided to try the famous Gigi Hadid pasta recipe! This would’ve been easy to do if you were alone but unfortunately (not really), you have a man-child attached to your hip. “What’s this?” He poked the pack of pasta causing some to break, of course he knows what it is, he just wants to get on your nerves. “It’s rigatoni, bub,” you patiently said as you prepped the remaining ingredients. “Well since we are assigned to this together, do you wanna help me?” You said as you trailed off the last few words, trying to charm your way into convincing him. “Hmm let me think, my love,” he said as he kissed your temple and slapped your ass. “Okay! I’ll help.” “Perfect! Can you chop the garlic?” You smiled brightly at him, he’s really just here to do your dirty work, or maybe to do all the steps completely? “Okay now after you’re done chopping, put some olive oil on the frying pan and once it heats up, put the garlic in.” He nodded, still oblivious to your scheme. “Don’t worry ‘bout the pasta, I already put it in the thingy to boil.” You watched him sauté the garlic as you leaned back on the counter behind you both. “Nice! You’re so good, baby,” you praised to get him in a good mood. “Now pour the tomato paste and mix it around until the garlic is covered in it,” you looked over his shoulder and his side but he intentionally and playfully blocked your view. You took care of the pasta and saved some of the water as you drained it with a big strainer. Once you were done with your little task, you hugged him from behind and smelled his scent. “Now put the heavy cream, parmesan cheese, and seasonings one by one, add some pasta water if you like.” You thought you had him fooled but you failed when he said: “I know what you’re doing, Y/n.” Not once did he take his eyes off his frying pan. You whined and pouted in protest and said: “Vin…don’t make me cook it. I don’t wanna.” He just nodded his head and looked at you under his arm and smiled. “Okay now last step. See? It wasn’t that hard.” “Yeah, right. So this is how it’s gonna be forever?” “Yes, bubby, you know I like it when you cook. You look sexy.” You pecked him and kissed his cheek. “Fine,” he sighed, “what else?” “We mix it! Ugh, I love our teamwork.” You playfully slapped his back as you went ahead and mixed it together, the dish making noises. “That’s what good pussy sounds like,” he said quoting a video from Vine. “Vinnie…” “What?” You just shook your head and smiled. “No chicken?” He pouted. “Vin, you’re gonna become a chicken at this point. No there’s no meat whatsoever in it.” You said as you added finishing touches to both of y’alls masterpiece. “I love you,” you said as you kissed him. “I love you, Y/n.” Vinnie replied with as he smiled through your kiss. (No shot this is the actual procedure to the Gigi pasta…iirc).

[ravens-orchid]

Heyo

An update: Kazuha’s guide to being forgotten part 2 is coming very soon! Just adding finishing details :)

I’m gonna drop my formal talk act for this one, sorry guys. This is a bit of a self indulgence lol, currently 3am so I wrote this on impulse. I hope you enjoy!

A comforting Zhongli x Reader (Platonic or not, you can decide. I read this as platonic)

TW!!: scars/self-h@rm/hate, toxicity...read at your own risk

You stare at your hands, you were trembling. Your expression was blank and your eyes had not slept in days. It felt like thorns were ripping out of your chest, your head was spinning and throbbing in excruciating pain. You didn’t speak, no, you couldn’t speak. Who knew simply getting something to drink would result in this? You felt weak, oh so weak. It made sense, however. After not eating for days, you barely survived off of tea, water, and coffee. The most “food” you’ve had in the past week was a slice of bread. Of course, in the kitchen surrounding you, there was plenty to eat. Leftovers, ingredients, fruits, veggies, instant noodles, but you didn’t want to eat them. No matter how hungry you were, you forced your appetite down into nothingness. You stare back down at your hands, dripping in blood. The glass you were supposed to fill water with was shattered on the counter, one of them was held tightly in your palm, blood soaking it’s clear hue. You tighten your grip, watching the blood seep from the edge and drop down to the floor. You felt the countless incisions strike at your hand, opening up your old scars and creating new ones, but your face remained emotionless. You heard frantic footsteps towards you as you are suddenly held by the shoulders. You stare up at him, dropping the shard of glass onto the floor.

 “What happened? Are you alright?” Zhongli’s voice was unusually breathless, but concern was still laced with his calming tone. Looking up at him, you muster a smile.

 “Am I a monster?”

 His hands loosen slightly on your shoulders, furrowing his brow. “Of course not. Why would you ever think that?” 

You look down, how were you going to answer that? You knew you were a monster, you knew that everything you touched broke. You feel horrible, worthless. You are toxic, so very toxic. You never cared about others. You are selfish and small-minded. Every toxic trait you have rubbed off on others and you could see how painful it was for them. All you do is hurt others, all you do is hurt. You’ve realized this, that you are nothing more than a vicious monster that deserves to be hurt just as badly as they have hurt others. They deserve to starve, they deserve to be alone, they deserve to die. You knew you didn’t deserve the kindness you were given. The love, concern, your friends and family, you didn’t deserve any of them. So you pushed them away, all of them. Those who were hurt the most, the people who knew the most about you. If you push them away, make it so they never want to make as much as eye contact with you, they would much better off. They would be happier knowing they are no longer friends with a monster who never did a thing for them, no matter how much care and love they gave you. If you blocked everything out, perhaps you could make it faster towards your death. This lack of being a basic human is what you hated yourself most for. 

“Look at me, dear.” Zhongli’s voice rang out from the countless voices circling your head. His golden eyes were soft and misty. “You are not a monster, please do not say such things about yourself.”

You felt your chest tighten and your throat ached. You attempted to keep it at bay, but you had not even realized you were crying until he had embraced you in his arms. Your façade broke right then and there, leaving you crying helplessly in his hug. He remained quiet while rubbing his thumb gently on your back. “I don’t know what to do,” you managed to sob out, “I’m such a bad person, and I hate myself for it. I don’t deserve anything in life. I don’t belong anywhere, all I do is burden others. I wish it would all stop, I wish I could reverse everything I’ve done but I am always going to hurt the people that care about me. I thought I could push my best friends away and be okay with it, I thought it would work.”

“Are you okay with it?” 

Your sobs only seemed to grow louder, “No I’m not. I know that they’re fine. They are doing so much better without me, they’re so much happier, but why? Why don’t I feel happy for them? Why am I not okay? Why does it hurt? Why does it hurt so much, I don’t know what to do. I’m so selfish to even think that way-”

Zhongli let out a soft “shhh,” as he rubbed your back, tightening the hug. “You are doing this to make everyone happy, you care about them. If that is what makes someone a monster, I would like to know what is not a monster.” He chuckled shortly. Lowering his voice to a bit louder than a whisper, he stroked your head softly. “Let it all out. Whatever you are feeling, please do come and talk to me. Even when the world is against you, I will be here for you. I only wish for you to not harm yourself. You can scream and cry when it hurts, and that is okay. But please, do not hurt yourself.”

You cried for what seemed like hours. You punched at his chest in frustration, unable to understand why he cares so much for you when you have drenched his clothes in tears and blood. You truly thought you were alone, you believed you were better off alone, as you always were. However, here you are, crying in the arms of someone who had never left you, and never will. Looking up at him, his lips curved slightly and you were met with the warmest smile. He spoke sparingly, comforting you with every word. The sun peaked through the window, and your swollen eyes stopped their sobs. 

Zhongli spoke softly, patting your back, “Would you like me to brew some tea for you?” He waited patiently for your response, and continued to speak upon seeing you nod weakly, “I will also make you breakfast, alright? You really need to eat something, dear. Wait here, I will also find the bandages. The last thing I want is for you to get infections.” He left your embrace slowly.  You continued to stand there, watching him quickly fetch bandages, ointment, and start to boil the tea. 

You couldn’t help but put your scarce strength into a smile. Perhaps, you weren’t completely alone after all.

[lucysweatslove]

I’m gonna be talking about weight, body image, disordered eating, health and medical anxiety, generally triggering things so I’m putting it under a read more. It’s really just a ramble and nothing worth reading- a brain dump for me more than anything else. For those who don’t want to read more but want to just know- I’m doing okay but life has had other plans and I may have something actually wrong health-wise which has been triggering for me.

So, way back in 2018 I gained like 30 lbs in 2 months (mid October to mid December). I was devastated. I had already gained 20-25 lbs or so during actual recovery from my disordered eating which I was doing on my own/without support, so I was really struggling. I was so ashamed of the weight gain and how I looked that I didn’t want to see my PCP (note: she was an NP, but that doesn’t impact what I think of her- I didn’t want to see her because of my own shame and thinking I should just be able to manage my weight on my own). So here I was sitting around 180-185 lbs and for the first time in my life actually obese, not sure how to cope. I was confused about how I could’ve gained that much so quickly- I didn’t buy Halloween candy that year, gained the weight before Christmas, and didn’t do thanksgiving festivities even. My eating habits hadn’t seemed to change, and there was no way I was suddenly that much less active. But still I blamed myself.

Not even a month later I started a new job and also decided I wanted to try to diet again because I hated my body’s new “fat” appearance. Except I was worried about calorie counting being triggering. I was newly married and planning our actual wedding, so while I wanted to be “shedding for the wedding” (VOMIT) I also didn’t want to go back to Hell aka rigid restrictive eating that would drive wedges in all of my relationships. I tried going back to the gym and eating a lot of chicken breast and veggies, thinking if I restricted TYPES of food I would be fine. LOL NOPE. I tried keto thinking it would be a way to not fixate on calories… this was unsustainable because I just didn’t have enough options and I LOVE LOVE LOVE fruit. Each attempt at whatever I did was met with initial weight loss and then extreme hunger, a big trip, some outing, my actual wedding, which would kick me out of that mindset and I’d gain it all back. At one point I thought it was my antidepressant (since it made it hard to care about anything), so I went off of that, had a bad reaction to another one, and then essentially didn’t have a medication for months. Including on my wedding.

By the end of 2019 I was essentially that same 180ish lbs, and I had decided I needed to “get my life back.” I got on a new antidepressant shortly after an illness, and I realized I was sitting on my hands waiting for somebody to give me permission to apply to med school. So I decided to face my insecurity regarding my “downward trend” (due to health reasons) in undergrad by… going to grad school. I applied in early 2020. I started to go back to the gym, count calories, I really thought it would be fine since I didn’t have fear foods anymore and felt “basically recovered.” Like, calories were the less extreme option because it gave room for me to eat all the foods I love.

And then I started getting back spasms, and the fevers started, and I started and graduated grad school, and then my husband needed new hips, and I got a new job, and littered in all of that were attempts to just mindfully eat more produce and love my body more. At one point in grad school, I admit to buying really low calorie dehydrated food packs to “make the most of my winter break” but it was absolutely MISERABLE to eat those and it got super cold and I just said nope, not going back. Throughout that time, I just thought that I was fat now, and that’s all anybody would see. I honestly doubted that my disordered eating was ever problematic MULTIPLE times because… I’m fat now? That’s literally it, that’s the whole reason I started to invalidate my own experience. School and work and health issues had really decreased my activity and focus on health and nutrition, I felt awful in my body physically, and I had no idea how to make any kind of actual healthy change because up until this point, and even at this point, I only knew “health and wellness” in two contexts: disease process and medicine, and dieting and exercise for “weight control.” Nobody I knew actually ate balanced diets if they weren’t actively trying to become or stay thin- it wasn’t “normal” or “natural.” Exercise? Same story except for actual athletes, but even those that I knew talked about weight control all the time.

Fast forward to 2022. I came into the new year feeling like I needed to make a change because of how I felt, but my husband and I were in counseling and I knew a major sticky point for us was my lack of going to med school. I think my desire to “make a change” was in large part about control because I didn’t feel like I had control over med school. I was CONVINCED in my mind that me being fat now made me a lesser candidate. I might get an interview, but I’d be judged on how fat I was and would instantly have a bias over me. I was tempted- truly- to drop to 800-900 calories a day with 2-3 hours of exercise and try to shed weight quickly. But I kept up searching for body positive and HAES content. I reminded myself of all I spoke on in my sports nutrition class- health has far less to do with our weight and size than our habits. At this point, I felt really good about body positivity. I made my focus on activities I love doing, getting good MICROnutrients (no deficiencies here), etc. This is when I “came back” to tumblr in early 2022.

I then started to feel the same way I did before- it was, once again, becoming a bit of an obsession, and my body was fatiguing. My heart quite literally felt off, and I was dizzy all the time. I thought maybe with everything, I was taking in too much potassium and a higher activity level. I gave my body time to rest and… I just stopped doing the things. Work got busy. I signed up to retake the MCATs. I got COVID.

Honestly at the end of Covid I was back to around 175lbs. I was feeling okay about that- it’s still “fat” but I was happy to be feeling healthier and I could FINALLY start studying. After my first COVID day where I had an episode of intense muscle pain where I could not move, I was totally fine with my weight. While I was starting to study, though, I noticed my blood pressure was low and I was still feeling kinda meh. I was hardly hungry, and my bathroom habits changed. I wasn’t too upset with this, since it meant I could study for longer at a time without getting distracted by bathroom trips, and I figured my high stress levels were playing a role by essentially halting that “rest and digest” I should’ve been in for way too long.

After I finished the test, my stress seemed to reduce, but my heath stuff didn’t. I had a week off work and decided I wanted to start hiking again, see waterfalls, etc. And so I did. While I loved it, I kept feeling really dizzy all the time. I focused on getting more salt in my diet and making sure I was eating some carbs before and after the trial. My appetite improved, but my GI tract still felt sluggish. Often, I would feel actually hungry, but I’d also feel like my stomach was way too full. My reflux was really bad at this time, and that also made my nasal issues worse. My sleep suffered a ton, and I would spent 11 hours in bed because it would take me 3 just to fall asleep. I also noticed my lower stomach had fresh new red stretch marks.

At this point now, now only can I barely breathe out my nose most of the time, but my nose is bleeding often (just slight, small bleeds- no dripping really). I’ve tried PPIs and H2 agonists to help with the reflux. Honestly, as gross as this sounds, the only thing that helps is actually going to the bathroom? But usually when I go, it doesn’t all feel “out.” I’ve taken two laxative doses in the past couple of months to get some longer lasting relief. I visited my sister for a week (got back a week ago), and while down there, I realized my shorts that I bought to fit me last summer felt tight in the tummy. I thought it must be constipation or something similar, or heat edema, but it still was not fun to feel that “fat.” Also, I realized my 34G bras were getting tight, even on the band size, so that was extra weird. Even my sports bras weren’t fitting right. Usually a band in a L is too loose but I put up with it to fit my breasts, but between July to now, the bands starting getting tighter. Which means gain.

I weighed myself this morning at 195.8 lbs. literally the heaviest I have ever been. Up 20 lbs in the 2 months post-COVID, and that’s with me hiking more AND I started physical therapy for my back. Husband was confused and said something seemed wrong- because that’s a lot of weight to gain and he hasn’t seen me eat THAT much. He encouraged me to talk to my doctor, but I’m still convinced all they will say is that CLEARLY I’m lying about my intake and tell me to track calories and try to lose weight.

I’m also going to a water park this weekend, so I tried on my bathing suits, and none fit in a way I’d be comfortable with. A couple bottoms fit, but I realized all my tops didn’t- none of them have cups big enough to cover up my nipples in a secure enough manner, so I’d be constantly worried about “wardrobe malfunctions.”

I’m having kind of a hard time with all of this, but I’m trying right now to make sure I have clothes that fit my current body first. My mantra rn is “I deserve clothes that fit my body right now.” So I bought a size up in the shorts I bought last summer- I hope that will work. I also ordered 6 new tops in bra sizes, instead of the normal S/M/L/XL sizes, because I need them to actually fit. I got 3 tops in 2 different sizes after measuring- 36 bands and, because I’m kind of worried about how that will fit since there aren’t the 3 rows of hooks and too tight is far more noticeable than too loose, 38 bands too, just in case. I’m just praying that one size will fit me, and then I’ll return the ones in the other size since they were expensive.

Other than the new clothes for the water park, I feel a bit at a loss. On one hand I physically feel somewhat unwell quite often, and I’ve ran through the lists of potential culprits from anything from something as benign as stress to something as serious as a Cushing’s syndrome (such as from an ACTH-releasing tumor). Part of me is also terrified I may have diabetes now, even though I’ve never had any signs of pre-diabetes before now, but I’m thinking possible PCOS which can lead to insulin resistance. The obvious answer is “talk to my PCP,” and in general my PCP now is great, but I have an appointment in October and really don’t want to have any “preventable” disease and I feel like I need to be “doing all the right things” prior to seeing her anyway. And I’m scared, too, that when she suggests things like dieting, I will just burst into tears because the idea of what that means is… I guess invalidating to me.

Here’s the reality: finding yourself obese after eating disorder recovery is tricky enough as is. If I bring up the fact that I have struggled with my relationship with food and exercise, people automatically assume that I binge eat and just DON’T exercise/have never had the “discipline” to make myself exercise even if I don’t like it. They treat me like a liar when I clarify. When I bring up the couple periods of rapid weight gain with people who know and understand my history, I’m still told that I probably just didn’t realize how much I ate because I wasn’t actively tracking my calories and weighing my food. I’m constantly told maybe I just don’t have the willpower or discipline other people have, and I need to cultivate that, but that’s not a problem- the problem is I will take that “willpower” or “discipline” to a level that leaves me and the people around me absolutely miserable.

When I was thinner- “healthy weight” with a BMI around 21- nobody said those things to me. My mom not included (as she will find some way to criticize my appearance), I was never told my heath problems were BECAUSE of my body, or that if I gained 5 lbs over a couple weeks it was because of my eating habits (“oh I’m sure it’s just water weight from extra salt”) and that I was CLEARLY lying about my intake. And I was never told I needed to go on a very low calorie diet and exercise more if I complained about constipation.

Idk I feel like I have to do so much more for people to even consider that something might be wrong with my health other than being fat, and often what I have to do is really psychologically damaging, and nobody wants to admit that.

[lilith-of-rivia]

The Witcher's Healer (GeraltXfemaleWitch!reader)

Master List

Trigger Warnings: None

Pairing: (GeraltXfemaleWitch!reader)

Word Count: 2,539

The morning was quiet as you left the warmth of your small cottage. The sun had barely risen. Frost thick on the grass, as it crunched under your feet. The fall was deepening, winter not too far behind it. The empty water bucket hung lazily from your arm as you walked in silence to the river, Poe your guard dog in toe. The cool breeze chilled you to your bone, making you pull your wool sweater closer to your body. The river got louder as you approached, the water clear. It was very low this time of year, the snow on the mountains nearly gone as the summer came to its end.

Poe splashed recklessly around the water near the bank as you filled the bucket you had, glancing around looking at the fall greenery that was in need of picking. You grabbed the shears from the pocket of your skirt, leaving the bucket on the bank, and walked around, plucking, pulling, and cutting the foliage, putting them in your pockets. The season for growing was coming to an end, meaning your little herb and veggie garden had to be harvested, tilled, and re-seeded for next spring. A lot of work, but being a healing mage in the middle of nowhere far from any town meant fending for yourself. Most of the time at least.

The door to the house shut behind you, Poe sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, warming his cold toes. You poured the bucket of water into the kettle over the fire, waiting for it to boil while you went to the small kitchen in your cottage. The sun was now coming up over the mountains, shining brightly through the window onto your cold cheeks. You plucked and pulled at the greenery, hanging bundles over the fire to dry. The day’s chores only grew as the sun got higher in the sky. From feeding Poe to checking snares in the woods behind your house. Thankfully you had been lucky, catching multiple rabbits and even a deer. The process of butchering, cleaning the hide, and smoking the meets would take nearly the rest of the day.

You walked back inside after checking the box in the ground that you had built to smoke meats and keep animals away, the hides now tanning on a rack outside the house. You walked over to the basin by your bed, washing the blood off your hands and forearms. Glancing over to your bed you saw the tick marks. Today marked 397 days. 397 days since you last saw your love. Since he kissed you goodbye, said he’d be back in a year or less. He was thirty days late. He had never been late, in your nearly 50 years of tending both physically and emotionally to him, he had never been late. It made your stomach ache. You would never know if he was dead or not, his line of work being increasingly more dangerous than your own.

“What if he doesn’t come back?” You whispered to yourself, tears threatening to spill down your face. If your love did not return, you had no idea what you would do. Your heart said you wouldn’t make it on this earth without him. Being a mage meant immortality. An immortal life without him was not something you wanted.

You walked back outside, the warm sun hitting your face as you walked into your gated garden, basket in hand. You began plucking and pulling herbs off their bushes, tying them in bundles before putting them in the basket. In a couple of hours, you were done harvesting. Your growth this year had been plentiful, thanks in large to the bag of manure your love had brought to you at the beginning of the season.

Carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, radishes, cabbage, onions, cucumbers, three large squash, and all the blueberries, strawberries, and raspberries you could eat. After taking multiple trips, everything from your year of tending, growing, watering, was on the table in the center of the room. After bagging all the root vegetables into mesh bags and storing them in your cellar you moved onto canning and preserving your fruits. The cans went onto the shelves in the cellar along with countless other jars of fruits from the rest of the season.

“I miss him so much.” You said as you looked from the newly cleaned table to Poe. he was laying on the couch now, his head tilting as you spoke almost as he understood you. Your body started to shake with sobs, your mind racing with what could’ve happened to your Witcher. You heard Poe Jump off the couch, soon his tongue was licking your hand softly as he whined at you. You looked down at him through clouded eyes, his ears were back. You started to pet him, his head pushing into your leg as he cuddled into you attempting to stop you from crying.

“I missed you more my love.” Your head snapped up to the door of your home, the fire lighting up his face in the dark of the night. He stood there, tall, hair a mess, his eyes were sunken in. he had two packs on his shoulders, his swords on his back. You could see the pain in his leg as he winced to put down his belongings. You could hear Roach outside, munching on grass happy her travels were over for a while.

“Oh, Geralt…” Your voice cracked as you cried more, his heart broke at the sight in front of him. You looked disheveled, face sunken in, bags under your eyes.

“Come here, my love.” His arms opened after he shut the door. Before you could move Poe was at his feet, his tail wagging so hard his entire body was shaking. He gently jumped up whining softly at him. Geralt chuckled softly, his hands petting the dog’s head, scratching behind his ears.

“I missed you too, but I need to see your mum” He gently pushed Poe off him, took two large strides, and wrapped his muscular arms around you. Your arms wrapped around him, hands gripping his shirt tightly.

“You’re late…” You whispered into his shirt, his hands stroking your back.

“I know….I’m so sorry.” His warm lips were on your forehead as he caressed your back.

“I thought you were dead…” His hands came up and cupped your face pulling you back so you could look at him. His fingers softly brushed your tears away. No one else on the planet saw this side of your witcher. Only you. With you he was soft, loving, caring. He smiled and laughed all the time. He was everything to you, and you to him.

“Nothing on this continent will ever keep me from coming back to you, dove.” his lips softly pressed to yours, it was soft, sweet. Everything in your body yurned for him. Your hands gently held onto his arms as the kiss deepened.

He pulled away too soon for your liking, making you open your eyes. His eyes were looking over your body. You knew how wrecked you looked. You hadn’t been eating or sleeping regularly. You had lost weight and it was showing. The only thing you could do to keep yourself from crying throughout the day was keeping busy. So you occupied yourself from dusk till dawn, many days only eating some bread with some form of fruit. Not nearly enough for the chores around your household. He dipped his head down, hand cupping your jaw tilting your head to the side. You felt his lips linger over your neck as he inhaled your scent deeply. You could almost see his stress melt away.

“Are you hurt?” You asked. Your hands gently pushed him back as you untied his tunic, ready to heal anything that needed your magic touch.

“Not too bad, nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” You gently removed his shirt, fingers gliding over the newer cuts along his sides and arms.

“Sit down, I’ll go mix the herbs and prepare a stew for you, my love.” You whispered, meeting his eyes. He shook his head and kissed you.

“You have not been taking care of yourself, dove. Let me help.” with a sigh you nodded.

“Go grab some potatoes, carrots, and onions from the seller. I have cured meats in the hatch outside if you’d like to grab some of that as well.” He nodded kissing your head before walking outside to gather the meats first.

You walked into the kitchen, putting a large pot over the fire, and grabbing a bread pan. You quickly mixed some flour and water with a few eggs and rosemary before placing it into the bread pan, placing it into the cast iron stove next to the fire. You grabbed the small hatchet by your wood piled to cut some kindling. Just as you were about to kneel to start the fire, Geralt grabbed your shoulders, lifting you. His hand took the hatchet as he kissed your cheek.

“I’ve got this, dove.” He whispered, steering you in the direction of your herbs. You smiled at him, your heart leaping.

After months without him, it was a breath of fresh air to have him in your home again. His sent clouded your mind as you chopped up the veg, placing it into the cast iron pot with some water and other herbs and seasonings from your cabinets. Once the meet was in the pot you covered it letting it simmer. Geralt had the fire in the oven started, bread in, and had gone back outside to chop some more firewood for the night.

You watched from the window, he was still shirtless even with the cooler temperatures, his witcher blood keeping him warm. You admired how he moved, every muscle contracting in his arms and back as he swung the ax, splitting the logs. You were grateful you wouldn’t have to do that with him home. You were grateful to have him back in arms reach.

“I got you something on the road.” Geralt said as he watched you from his place at the table, his swords in hand as he sharpened and polished them. You were pouring the stew into bowls and cutting the bread. You placed one down in front of him, lightly kissing his forehead as you sat.

“You didn’t have to do that my love.” He smiled and handed you a bag.

You pulled out the contents, your eyes widening. Inside was a beautiful black fur cloak. It was incredibly thick, made from wool and wolf’s fur. It was by far the most luxurious piece of clothing you’d ever owned. Under the cloak was a knitted wool sweater. It was green, brand new.

“Geralt….these must’ve cost a fortune you didn’t have to.” You looked at him with a smile as he ate.

“I know I didn’t have to (Y/N), but you never spend money on yourself, and you’ve been taking care of me for years. It’s no ring, but it’s better than a ring I believe. More practical. And besides your cloak and sweaters are so old, they hardly keep you warm.” He said with a smile, one eyebrow cocked at your slight confusion.

“What ring are you speaking of Geralt?” You asked as you admired the cloak. Your hands brushing through the fur.

“We’ve been together for more than half a century love. You are my wife. We may have never gotten married and I may have not asked you outright. But when women approach me in taverns when I’m away my response is always; “no because my wife is waiting for me at home”.” Your heart raced in your chest, your face was warm and you felt like crying in the best way. You had always thought of Geralt as your husband. He never asked you properly to marry him, but you never pushed, understanding that his trials and mutations had made it hard for him to express his emotions, in fear of the loss and suffering he may endure. But hearing him call you his wife, made you happier than you ever thought was possible.

“Geralt of Rivia, are you trying to ask me something?” You asked with a smile spread across your face. He returned the smile, rolling his eyes playfully as he reached across the table grabbing your hand.

“My dearest (Y/N), will you do me the honor of being my wife?” In an instant, you were in his lap kissing his face all over, not leaving an inch unkissed.

“Yes of course.” His arms circled your waist as he kissed you deeply, holding your body closer to him.

“I love you so much.” You whispered into the kiss. He smiled into your lips, fingers tightening around your waist.

“I love you, my dear.” He pulled you back, leaning over and pulling your chair closer to his. He placed you in your chair and stood up, hanging your cloak and sweater on the wall, before sliding the bowl of stew and bread over.

“Eat.” You listened, eating the stew as you watched him, tidy up the kitchen. Knowing exactly where everything was put.

“Anything exciting happens while you were away?” You asked in-between a bite. He nervously scratched his neck, placing garlic into its hanging basket.

“I went to a very important party for Queen Calanthe’s daughter. Uhm, got a very interesting gift out of it. Not really a gift, a cures more like.” You could sense his frustration, making you worry.

“Geralt, tell me what happened.”

“It was so stupid, all I did was saved a poor knight from being slaughtered because he was cursed, no monster. But the stupid curse broke all because I saved him. So he and Pavetta insisted I take something. Because I’m so stupid I jokingly claimed the law of surprise. I don’t even fucking believe in destiny. You know that. Yet here I am, stuck with a princess’s unborn fucking child.” His hand slammed into the wall as he finished his rant, his chest heaving up with frustration. You pondered his words, thinking over them. A child surprise was a big deal, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

“That’s why I was late, I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to burden you with a fucking child.” You stood from your seat, walking to him, cupping his cheeks making him look at you.

“Geralt, there is nothing in this world we cannot conquer together. You need me as much as I need you. Nothing will drive me away. Unless I catch you with some whore, then you better hope I never find you.” You said the last part with a chuckle. He leaned into your hand. Kissing your wrist.

“What did I do to deserve you?” He asked as he held you close to him.

“From my recollection, you saved me from a Kikimora while I was hunting.” He smiled and kissed you softly.

“Are you sure we can do this?” He asked, closing his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours.

“We can do it, my love. As long as we are together.”

“Together, forever.”

[lady-z-writes]

Plaything (Heisenberg x fem!reader)

Chapter 4 (of 5)

Summary: Reader works for BSAA and is scoping out the village until you get captured by none other than Heisenberg who doesn’t take well to trespassers. Once he learns of your hatred for your job, he wants the information you have and he doesn’t have to try hard to get it. You find yourself drinking, fireside, with him and can’t help but let him touch you. Angie said he’d needed a plaything and, well, you’re it.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Smut with (some) plot, chapter 4 below the cut:

You can remember the feel of a scratchy washcloth against your skin. It’s warm and the movement against your nipples is gentle. You want nothing more than to sleep right now, but you open your eyes and note a very shirtless, very tentative Heisenberg cleaning you up.

A moan leaves you as you try to shift over, cover your tits, go back to sleep – but he grips your wrist gently and easily turns you back over.

He chuckles. “Wore you out, huh?” his cocky smirk makes you smile back. “Just…let me do this then you can sleep.”

You nod, eyelids feeling heavy, and you let him take care of you.

When he’s done, you watch him turn toward his desk but your hand juts out to grab his wrist this time. He halts, slowly glances down at you.

“Stay,” you hum, shifting on his bed. “Please?”

Before long, you feel the bed dip from his weight beside you and you let yourself rest.

•••

It’s night by the time you wake again and he’s no longer in the bed with you, but you see the moonbeams through the curtains and stare up at the stars for a moment.

The breeze makes you cold and you reach for a nearby shirt of his. It’s white and shows your nipples through it, but the warmth is a comfort.

An empty room greets you when you look around. There are journals and books you’d never really paid attention to before. A part of you is tempted to flip through them, but you’re reminded of the behavior Heisenberg clearly wants you to exhibit.

Instead, you grab your boots and decide to shower off the events from the other night.

The water is scolding but perfect as you wash with his shampoo. It’s lonelier than last time, but your mind needs some clarity.

What you stumbled into…it’s laughable. If you’d been on any other team with any other lord, Heisenberg probably wouldn’t have saved you. You won’t let your mind wander to the others for too long – how their carcasses are probably tossed away somewhere and forgotten about right now. Heisenberg has his moments, sure, but you’re alive and it’s a kindness he didn’t need to do.

Your fingers are macerated so you shut off the faucet, reach for a towel. Sleep did you good, food would do you better. When your eyes travel to the doorway, you can’t help but scream.

A Soldat stands in the doorway.

Wrapping a towel around yourself, you press your back to the shower wall, breath coming in rapid bursts. The Soldat simply attempts to shove its way into the bathroom, but it doesn’t fit and the drill hits the wall instead.

There’s no other way out and you’re pretty sure the thing is going to drill through the wall. It manages quicker than you expect and you’re still in the shower stall, holding onto the towel for dear life as it strides toward you.

Its one drill gets stuck on the stall door, the other reaching you and digging into your arm. Another scream and you’re cowering down in the corner of the stall, pressing your hand against the bleeding wound.

In a blink, the Soldat is tossed against the other wall and Heisenberg steps into the shower. His eyes take in the blood.

“Can you stand?”

You’re in shock, but you nod quickly and you don’t stop nodding until he’s got you out of the room.

He sits you in his desk chair and grips your wrist, turning your arm over to see if the puncture wound went all the way through. You dare to look at it and see the gouge in your arm, blood oozing onto the towel.

“Next time,” he growls, pulling the towel down and exposing your breasts. “You get me before you shower.”

It hurts when he presses the towel to the wound, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. You grit your teeth, reminded of a recent mission you were wounded in. Pain is temporary, you remind yourself as he cleans off the wound.

He actually has gauze and it feels good once he’s wrapping the wound.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure you were busy.” You notice his eyes take in your nakedness. “Thank you…for everything.”

“This place isn’t safe for you, clearly. Don’t leave my sight again.”

You convince him you need food so he lets you get dressed. You’re afraid to enter where the Soldat is, but you grab the shirt and boots and run back to Heisenberg. He watches you dress in his white shirt and your knee-high boots.

“You are entirely too distracting,” he hums, staring at your nipples through the shirt.

In an instant, you’re shoved to the nearest wall, hands above your head, Heisenberg pressing a palm against your fists. He kisses you deeply, body flush against yours. His hand travels between you two and he plays with your clit. You not wearing panties has proven to be very distracting.

His fingers arched inside of you, mouth pressing kisses to your neck, you’re once again so pleasured. It feels like a wave consuming you – distracting you momentarily from your hunger.

“I’ve got to finish up a project,” he mutters against your neck. “What should I do with you?”

“You want to keep fucking me, you’ve gotta let a girl eat,” you quip.

Heisenberg blinks at you as he pulls away. “What a mouth on you…” he raises a brow. “Fine. It’ll keep you quiet while I work.”

He doesn’t have anything spectacular to eat but you manage to scrounge together something simple – some bread, veggies, more fruit. There’s some granola bars and you’re wondering where he got them but your curiosity melts away when he demands you get done and follow him. Snagging one, you scurry off behind him.

You’re deeper into the factory than you’ve ever been and it’s a bit overwhelming. Heisenberg drones on about some projects and gives you more information on the ins and outs of the Soldats. He claims he doesn’t expect you to work on any today, but you find it hard to believe. The man seems like he’s always plotting.

Halfway through the granola bar, he calls you over to help him but loud growling and snarling nearby alerts you both.

“Shit,” Heisenberg is suddenly irritated as he meanders to a window. His hand slams against the wall. “That oversized, psycho bitch.”

He’s spinning on his heels and approaching you quickly as you swallow your last mouthful of food. Eyes wide, you stare as he strides toward you and pulls your arm. As he’s dragging you down the hallway, you’re struggling to get out of his grip and repeating, “what’s wrong?”

“Apparently since I haven’t checked in recently, I get to be dropped in on by my sister.”

Your mouth goes dry at the thought and you stutter out a, “what do we do?”

•••

“You overgrown waste of space, get out.”

You can hear them yelling somewhere up above, but Karl had specific instructions to take the elevator two floors down, walk through the doors to the left, and take off down the hallway from there. He said wherever you’d go, he’d find you but as your eyes take in the maze down here, you worry that isn’t true.

Still, what choice do you have? It’s either this or be skewered by his false sister once she finds out you’re still alive. The thought chills you.

Deep in the maze now, you hear the movement of the elevator and their raised voices stirring about. Metal clangs, screaming, and crashing sounds above and as you hear the shifting of the elevator again, you break out in a full sprint.

Adrenaline coursing through you, it’s like an electric shock to your senses. The metal clanging almost seems louder and you wonder if Karl is doing that just to alert you where they are.

You’re good and lost by now, entering rooms that attach to other rooms; trying to find a hiding spot before you realize they’re moving again.

Her senses are sharp, apparently.

Approaching a room deep in the maze of things, you see a few lights on; wonder what he uses this for – but your wondering is cut short by the shadow of a figure standing in the nearby doorway.

An almost-scream leaves your throat but you cover your mouth with both hands in attempt to silence yourself.

The beast grunts, approaching slowly. Both arms are drills – the same version of the Soldat that attacked you earlier. It raises its drills in a readying attack.

You run back the way you came, back to the parts of the factory you know these things aren’t. Karl had mentioned before to stay near him if you were ever to venture out, but given the current unexpected guest, you’d had no other choice.

The creature charges after you, its grunting loud. Of course you look back at it – its grey skin – it’s like you still can’t believe what you’re seeing.

You manage to find your way back to a main hallway and take it all the way down. Glancing back, you think you’ve lost it…and then a loud clanging noise greets your ears.

It feels like everything is in slow motion when you turn. The oversized woman from the church stands just off the elevator, her long claws reflecting light. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and as she charges at you, you see Heisenberg swing his hammer behind her.

With a flick of his wrist, he sends a bunch of metal scraps toward you with such power, you’re crashing against the nearest wall.

“I told you to stay out of it,” he’s yelling and it makes you hold your breath from on the ground.

“You kept her?” the woman screams. “I’ve known you to do some stupid things, but this?”

“Yack yack, go squawk to Miranda.”

“Do you know who they are?” she gasps. You notice Heisenberg is silent. “The others I brought to Castle Dimitrescu, they offered up knowledge: these people were meant to gather information on us,” she’s screaming at him. “And yet you keep this spy as a plaything? I knew you had intentions, idiot man-thing. You need to take care of this now.”

She clicks her tongue when she notices you pulling Heisenberg’s shirt down to cover yourself – feeling exposed.

“Oh, believe me, I will…” his voice is polished, mannerly. It stops you in your tracks. “You know how I don’t like anyone ruining my fun. This little slut has been sucking and fucking all night. I’m using her until I’m done and then I’ll string her body up for the Lycans.”

The tall woman lifts her chin with an inhale. You notice as she takes you in, Heisenberg is glancing down the hall you ran from, as if looking for his creation.

“Well, I…” the woman pauses. “I suppose I must honor Mother Miranda’s choices – though they may be poor at times.” A nod. She steps toward you, punctures the skin on your chest. “You disgusting harlot. I hope you rot.”

You cry out from the pain, try backing away, but are pinned to the wall suddenly by metal wrapping around your wrists.

“I’ll take it from here, dear sister,” Heisenberg sneers. “It’s my hour of need and…I’m sure you don’t want to be around when I take what I’m owed.”

The suggestive tone in his voice makes the woman sneer at him.

“Fine. Show me out.” She stands at full height and saunters over to the elevator. Just as you think you’re safe, she pauses, sniffs the air. “She’s not alone.”

“What?”

“There’s another.”

“What do you mean?” he’s spastic now.

“Did you bring another here?”

“No,” he quirks a brow at her. “Sure you aren’t losing it? Hat’s too big for your head – no time for big brain moments.”

She rolls her eyes and follows him to the elevator.

Heisenberg leaves you here, pinned up to the wall, crying and bleeding and praying to a higher power that thing doesn’t find its way back here or you’re dead.

And as the minutes tick by, you wonder just how honest he was being with his sister…was this all a ruse? His kindness just an extended roleplay to get what he wanted out of you before killing you?

The movement of the elevator startles you once again. A part of you is grateful for his return, meaning the monster may be kept at bay; yet you’re worried what his intentions are.

As he strides over to you against the wall, he exhales cigar smoke in your face.

“I like you strung up like that. My shirt, nipples hard, legs spread…” He kisses you then and you want to lean into it, but you’re frozen. He notices, pulls back. “Ah, I see the gears turning now…” he taps the cigar ashes off on your arm. “Not to worry, kitten. I’ll take care of you.”

The movement to your left makes your stomach drop. The monster from before lurches into view – loud and menacing.

“Should I let it repeat the scene from earlier? Your blood shed and my family won’t be forced to check on me anymore. No doubt Miranda’s about to find out about the fact that you’re still living…” as he rambles, the Soldat storms closer.

“Stop,” you whisper out, shaking.

He examines you then, “That’s real fear there, isn’t it, doll?” he huffs a laugh. “You truly think that I’m that much of a monster? To waste such a pretty specimen on such a gruesome death? No.” He snaps his fingers and uses his powers to urge the Soldat back down the hallway. “You’re lucky.” Another exhale of smoke in your face before he shifts his hands and the metal holding you to the wall loosens enough for you to slide to the floor. “Come on. Get up. No use wasting our time sulking.”

You’re hesitant to follow him to the elevator. Once again he’s acting so flippant and you’re afraid to let your guard down.

Still, what choice do you have? You follow wordlessly because you’re stuck here even if you find out he’s a bad man.

He chuckles at you as you join him on the elevator. “All that spunk is gone?”

You open your mouth to speak, close it, inhale sharply. He blinks slowly at you, crossing his arms.

“What the Hell was that? Are you planning on killing me, Heisenberg? Is this just some drawn out roleplay fantasy of yours? Fuck me, give me Stockholm Syndrome, then off to create me into some corpse of a machine?”

He smirks around the cigar as you raise your voice at him.

“There she is,” he hisses, grabbing you by the hair. “I wondered how long that fear would hide your attitude.”

When the elevator stops, he motions for you to follow him. You hesitate, but you do; slowly, cautiously. The maze of the factory takes you to his quarters in a way you can’t imagine memorizing. He’s silent as you walk together.

Barely into the room, he reaches for your shirt and rips down. The buttons go flying everywhere and the garment falls to the floor – leaving you naked minus your boots.

Heisenberg’s hands move as a collar and chains float behind you. You’re trying to maneuver away but it clasps around your neck before you can move too far. The chains are all connected, your wrists clasped behind your back. Heisenberg shoves you to your knees and you feel cold shackles around your ankles.

Eyes wide, mouth open, you’re too stunned to speak.

He’s in front of you in seconds, looking down at you like he’s inspecting his work. The way he licks his lower lip makes you shift your gaze to his erection right before your eyes.

“Too easy. Didn’t even put up a fight. You going soft on me, kitten? Or is it that you want this?”

He pulls a glove off, crouches down to your level, reaches in between your legs, and feels your wetness. A low groan leaves him.

“Wh-what are you…-”

“You so enjoy this, [Y/N]. Don’t act like you don’t, just embrace it. You like being my plaything – it’s the best job you’ve ever had.”

“Worst pay I’ve ever had,” you retort. It’s sort of a joke, you think.

His hand cups around your throat and he presses in warning.

“Real cute, huh?” He shoves you off, stands back up. “Mmm you have no idea how badly I want that mouth of yours on my cock…but I’ve got a few notes to take and a phone call to see if my dear brother knows of your survival yet. And you’re going to kneel and wait for me.”

He presses his hand to the back of your head, shoves his crotch in your face for a moment until you struggle against him, still unsure how to read the situation.

Finally, he pulls away, leaves you on the filthy floor, and sits himself at his desk.

“You should have just killed me on the bridge if this was all your plan.”

He doesn’t even look at you, which had been a hope of yours. You want to see his expression, see his eyes.

“Keep talking and I’ll bolt metal across your lips.”

Things go silent until he has to make his phone call – just pen scratches across paper and the normal metal clanging of the factory. You imagine more of those Soldats are stomping around somewhere and the image makes you shudder.

You barely notice when he’s picked up the phone, you’re too busy focusing on the pain in your knees.

“No, Moreau, this isn’t Miranda…” he sighs into the receiver. “Yes, I’ve heard that they were agents…no, I’m not worried…look, you globular piss baby: has Lady Gargantuan called you today?...”

You’re waiting for his response to continue but Heisenberg has gone silent. His back is to you so you can’t read his expression once again. You see his shoulders move with his breathing.

Suddenly, the receiver slams.

“This arrangement isn’t going to last long,” he growls as he stands, knocking over his chair.

Before you can respond, he uses his powers to lift up the metal chains around you and toss you to the bed. Face-planted, you struggle to sit up, turn over.

“If that weeping sack of mucus knows, you can bet he’s told the star of his Oedipus Complex.”

Heisenberg is unbuckling his belts, tossing off his shirt, completely undressing with each step toward the bed. You watch him from your awkward, uncomfortable position and your stomach flips.

When he flops down on the bed, he pulls the chains so you’re forced to straddle him. In ankle and wrist restraints, your range of movement is significantly reduced. He knows this. It’s clearly doing something for him as you watch his dick get hard again.

“Ride my cock, [Y/N],” he demands.

Your knees ache, but he helps pull you down onto him and the instant pleasure makes you forget about the soreness in your knees for a little while. Your legs can only spread so far with these ankle cuffs but that sort of adds to the sensation with how tight you are against him.

“Karl,” you whine.

“Mmm, yes, pet?”

“What are you gonna do to me?” your voice brakes as tears fill your eyes.

His expression changes for a fleeting moment. The ankle shackles are opened with a wave of his hand. You feel your knees buckle under you and you fall face-first into his broad chest. Heisenberg runs a hand through your hair, trace down your back. You feel him press his lips against the top of your head, a moan making his chest rumble as he thrusts up into you.

“Right now, I’m gonna enjoy you,” he speaks softly. “We’ll figure out the rest in the morning.”

It’s a soft moment and it catches you off guard. You lift your head up and meet eyes with him. It’s then that you realize his intentions, know in your heart that he was putting on a front for Lady Dimitrescu.

Suddenly, the position you’re in doesn’t seem so dire.

[notkageyamasprincess]

grocery shopping | miya atsumu x reader

request: Grocery shopping with Atsumu. You tell him to pick up some stuffs from the dairy counter(like cheese, milk, etc) but when you see him walking towards you, all he is holding is Family pack Ice creams in different flavours.💕😂 "But they were looking at me like 'pick us up', and so I did🥺", he explains. @nkogneatho

notes: hi dear, sorry this took so long, i was going to write headcannons or a drabble at most and then all sorts of funny ideas started popping up in my head. i included your req ofc but it’s not the main focus if that’s okay.

characters: pro vb player!miya atsumu x f!reader

genre/warnings: mostly crack tbh, fluff, very chaotic, y/n thinks she’s getting kidnapped and freaks, they take a ride on a grocery cart, y/n accidentally finds out her boss is a sugar mommy?,tsumu is a sweet boyfie

words: 1.5k

summary: you take atsumu with you on a shopping trip. chaos ensues.

It probably would have been a smarter choice to pick a day when the supermarket was less busy, but the fridge was almost empty and in dire need of replenishing. Today marks Day 3 of you and Atsumu’s new diet, one that he needs since he’s starting an intense conditioning regimen. You decided to participate as well in order to support him, and to get into the habit of eating healthier yourself.

You leave Atsumu’s side to take a basket, but he beats you to it, wheeling out a shopping cart instead. You tilt your head in puzzlement. “Atsumu, we’re not going to buy that much food, we’ll never finish it all.” He takes your wrist in one hand and starts steering the cart with the other. “You’ll see”

You stop at the fresh produce section, tossing an assortment of fruit and veggies in your trolley as Atsumu perks up beside you, getting an idea. “____, let’s get steak today so I can cook for you.” You raise an eyebrow, skeptical of his abilities. And for good reason. “‘Tsumu, you tried to make me breakfast two weeks ago and I don’t think those eggs were even edible.” He puts a hand on his hip and fakes a pout. “Babe, have some faith in me. ‘Samu might be the chef of the family, but trust me on this, I promise I’m not going to poison you.” Despite still being slightly suspicious, you decide not to question him.

You grab a few salad kits for good measure then pull out your phone to tick off your grocery list. “Bread, check, energy bars, check, produce, check, salad mix, check…okay, I think all that’s left is meat and dairy, let’s go get your steak.” You glance up when he didn’t answer. “‘Tsumu?” Your boyfriend has disappeared and so has the grocery cart.

You look for him in the meat aisle. Nothing. You look in the next aisle. Nothing. You’re about to send him a text when you suddenly feel a pair of hands seize you by waist, taking you away from the secure ground beneath your feet. Your life flashes before your eyes. Headlines of “Missing person, last seen at XX Mart” fills your mind. No way is this happening right now. I am NOT getting abducted in broad daylight, in the middle of a crowded grocery store! I have to get help; I can’t go down without a fight.

You yelp while struggling in the hold of your attacker, furiously kicking at empty space. You see an old woman a little farther down the aisle. There’s hope. “Help! Somebod- ” you shriek in panic before a hand comes up to muffle your words. “____! Chill out, it’s me!” You still at the sound of your boyfriend. Too late. The elderly woman approaches you, swinging her cane and nearly whacks Atsumu in the shoulder. “Ma’am, ma’am! This is a misunderstanding, I’m her boyfriend,” he explains, fending her off. She slowly withdraws her cane and stares at you. “Is that true?” You meet her eyes, then mumble an affirmation, ducking your head shamefully. “Young women nowadays… back in my youth, I never would have dared to cause such a scene,” she tsks, glaring at you disapprovingly before she walks away. Oops.

Atsumu sets you down, eyeing you with furrowed brows. “____. Bro, what the fuck?” You can only smile sheepishly. “Sorry that I freaked out on you. I thought I was about to fall victim to human trafficking. But you know how scared I get when my mom sends me articles about girls getting kidnapped,” you point out, attempting to defend yourself. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I told you before, nothing will happen when you’re with me. Did you forget who you were? You’re ____, Miya Atsumu’s girl, and no one gets to mess with you.”

You instantly soften at his words but puff your cheeks out afterwards. “Hmph, well something could have happened just now, and it’d be all your fault for leaving me,” you accuse, pretending to sulk. He gestures at the security cameras. “There are cameras everywhere, not to mention this whole place is crawling with people. Besides, even if something were to happen, I would come for you. No one can touch Miya Atsumu’s girlfriend and get away with it.” He taps the handle of the cart. “Anyways, get in. This is why I insisted on taking this thing.”

“ You’re not serious. We’re too old for this, we can’t be doing things like riding shopping carts,” you reasoned. He rolls his eyes. “Bullshit, me and ‘Samu used to do this a lot and still do sometimes. And don’t lie to me, I know you want to, so get in before people come into aisle.” You bite your lip. He was right, so you don’t protest when he picks you up again and places you inside with your legs over the front. “Hold on tight.”

He puts one foot on the metal bar and pushes off the ground with the other, then hops on, propelling you forward, riding off the momentum. You clutch at the sides of the cart, feeling the air whip at your face, wind running through your hair. The two of you laugh in glee like children.

All was well until a woman’s back comes into view. Your eyes widen. “Baby, stop, we’re going to hit her!” He curses and immediately steps down, reducing the speed until the wheels squeak to a stop, just in time. You turn towards him to scold him. “I knew this was a bad idea; that was so dangerous! We could have hit this lady or even gotten hurt ourselves trying to avoid her!”

“Very fortunate that you didn’t, Miss ____,” says a voice. A very familiar voice. You twist your body back around, looking directly into the stern eyes of your manager. You take a moment, becoming conscious of your current state: hair disheveled, clothes in disarray, legs dangling over the edge of a shopping cart to top it all off. Is there a worse way to encounter your boss outside of work? You hastily straighten up. Well, straighten up the best you could in the situation. You smile nervously. “Ms. Wright! Wow, hi! What a coincidence seeing you here!” You notice a young man standing beside her. “Oh, I didn’t know you had a son. He’s really handsome, you must be proud,” you added. She purses her lips, clearly displeased. “Actually, Miss ____, he’s not my son, he’s my boyfriend. We have a busy agenda today. If there’s nothing else, I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

Your face turns white as you process what just happened. The atmosphere is silent. Atsumu starts to push the cart, waiting until you make it to another aisle before bursting into laughter. “Miya! That was so not funny. I can’t believe that happened. First, she sees me in this state. Then, I mistake her boyfriend for her son? I even called him handsome! Oh my god, it’s really over for me.”

“Calm down, she said to see you at work, it’s fine. Plus, it’s not your fault you didn’t know she was a cougar. That sugar baby must be living the lif- ” You gasp and reach up to cover his mouth before he says anything else. “Shush, Atsumu! What if she’s still around? Yeah, I’m definitely going to see her on Monday…so she can fire me!” you groan. “Just get me out of this stupid cart so we can finish buying what we need, I just want to go home so I can curl up and scream into the blankets.” He smirks. “Oh, you want to scream in bed? No problem, leave that to me.” You slap his arm, and he feigns hurt.

While at the cash register, you realize that you forgot a few items. “Shit, ‘Tsumu, I forgot the butter and yoghurt. Can you quickly go grab those?” He nods. “Wait here, I’ll be fast.” A couple minutes pass and you grow worried, watching the employee scan the last of your groceries.

You finally see your boyfriend return with his arms full. Except, what he’s carrying are massive pints of ice cream. You cross your arms. “Atsumu. What did I just say? This doesn’t look like butter and yoghurt.”

He peers at you with puppy eyes. “Babe, you can’t blame me. They were calling out to me and begging to be picked up! Besides, I got both your favourite flavour and mine. We need this for movie night.”

“What about the diet?”

“It’s not a big deal. Also, you seem like you need this after what happened. And I feel like I might have been responsible for some of it. Just a bit.”

You sigh and pay for the ice cream. He’s got a point. Guess you’ll have to make another trip to the store tomorrow.

a/n: actually this is the first time i’m writing a crack fic, but i have crack hcs in my wips if anyone is curious! i’m not even sure if this is funny or nah lmaoo please let me know

[wreckofawriter]

Strawberries

Restaurant AU!

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Lewd language, swearing, a small mention of sexual harassment. tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: You hate being a waitress for rich assholes, but maybe the new line cook will make it a little better

A/n: this is for week three of my Cliche Month. Sorry for being inactive. I suck at time management and have no motivation.

    You never aspired to be a waitress. You didn’t sit down in primary school on a ridiculously colorful rug and tell your underpaid depressed teacher that you wanted to wait on prestigious assholes and rich men who thought a 20 dollar tip bought them an ass grab. You never wanted to wait on entitled white women and spoiled brats. But shit happens.

   

“Yes ma’am I understand but that was last week’s special, we don’t serve it anymore.”

    The woman rolled her eyes, “I don’t think you do understand. I said I want the sea bass, just have them make the sea bass.”

    You bit back cusses, “I am very sorry ma’am but we don’t have the ingredients in the kitchen to make a sea bass. I can recommend our halibut it’s severed with a delicious mango chutney and-”

    “Shut up about the mango crap. She said she wants a seabass, give her a seabass.” The man who sat on the opposite side of the table spoke.

    Your smile almost faltered, “Sir, we don’t have sea bass.” 

    “Then get some.” The man huffed, “There are plenty of stores around.”

    You had already taken the fork beside him and jabbed him in the eye in your mind four times, “I am terribly sorry sir, we cannot do that.”

    The look on his face could only be described as disgust, “I would like to speak to your supervisor.”

    You took in a deep breath, “Sir, he will not say any different.”

    “Now girl.” He snapped, his wife’s smirk making you want to smash her champagne glass over her head.

    “I will be right back.” You forced a smile, notebook flipping shut as you turned, the click of your heels disappearing into the chatter of diners. You almost rubbed your tired eyes only to remember the makeup which coated them and dropped your hands back to your side. You walked towards the pass of the kitchen, the smell of fish and meats becoming stronger as waiters weaved around you. 

    “Denzel.” You called, the man in question turning towards you.

    He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

    “Can you pretend to be my supervisor?” You asked, “Some idiots still want to order the sea bass.” 

    “I’m assuming you told them that was last week's special.” He spoke as you began to lead him back to the couple.

    “Multiple times.” you sighed.

    He nodded smiles finding both of your faces as you stood in front of the table.

    “How can I help you both tonight?” He spoke, his voice dramatically shifting tones. 

    The woman went on to explain your complete incompetence just to hear your friend restate everything you had. She eventually ordered the halibut.

    Denzel left thanking them for their cooperation as you went on to take the man's order and pretending not to hear his wife calling you a bitch as you walked away. 

    You wanted to be a journalist, a warrior of justice. You wanted to expose the one percent, shattering their ivory towers with a mallet of words. 

Instead, you served them halibut and ribeyes with a smile as fake as their trophy wives tits. 

James had fallen in love with many things in his life but cooking had been the most prevalent. Most hobbies were tossed out windows, they became phases, leaving nothing but footprints in his life. But cooking had been different. Since he was five years old and would hop onto a stepping stool to peer into the cast-iron pan his mother would be sauteing in he had been hooked. By age 10 he was making things like meatballs and stroganoff. At fourteen he began to engage in more complicated dishes and by the time he hit culinary school he was easily the best in class. 

Now as he washed his hundredth dish of the night he wondered if all of that love had been for absolutely nothing. When applying for a line cook position at one of the most prestigious restaurants in London he definitely didn’t expect to be stuck as a dishwasher. 

James’ hands felt raw from scrubbing, his apron soaked with warm water and unscented soap. His feet were aching in his shoes, his jealousy for those putting together the night’s last desserts burning hot.

He ignored his anger and pushed on, washing plate after plate just to place them into an industrial-sized dishwasher which was supposed to thoroughly clean the dishes which he already spent hours scrubbing. Dessert plates and wine glasses seemed to replace every dinner plate he had washed, his work seeming endless as his coworkers said goodnight and walked out the back door. 

It took James another hour to finish. He felt like he could pass out on the kitchen floor. His glasses were a greasy steamed mess as he pushed them back up his nose for the nth time that evening. He sighed out in a mix of exhaustion and relief untying his apron and preparing to leave.

“So you’re the newbie?” 

James jumped letting out a small yelp as his heart leapt in his chest. 

You let out a snort hand coming to cover your mouth, a poor attempt of hiding your giggles.

“You scared the shit out of me.” James huffed his glare only holding for a moment as you came into focus. Your hair was up in a reckless bun, your waitress uniform slightly crumpled, heels held in your left hand. Yet your cheeks seemed to be painted, the smirk your visage held tantalizing. 

“I saw.” You snickered padding past him and dropping your shoes onto a counter with a small clink. You headed for the refrigerator, opening it and scorning over its contents. You finally settled on a container of cut strawberries, which were to be used as a garnish the next day, “You won’t tell will you?” You muttered peeling open the top and snatching a fork from the dishwasher.

James nodded, what for he wasn’t quite sure. 

You jumped onto the counter spinning to face him, “Sooo, what’s your name?”

“Uhh, James, James Potter.” He said leaning back onto the sink.

“It’s very nice to meet you, James.” You grinned, “I’m y/n y/l/n.” 

An awkward silence followed as you plopped a berry into your mouth, its flavor bursting as you side-eyed the man. 

“You’re a line cook right?” You asked, legs swinging in front of you. 

James pouted a bit, his cheeks puffing for a brief moment, “Well I’m supposed to be but so far all I’ve done is wash dishes and take out the trash.”

You hummed in understanding, swallowing fruit before speaking again, “They do that to every newbie. They want to make sure you can do the dirty work before they let you burn on the line.”

James started at you, “Really?” 

You shrugged, “That’s how it’s always worked.”

“That’s a relief I thought I was going to be stuck doing this shit.”  James relished in his found happiness feeling a bit more energized, “Hey what are you doing back here anyway, didn’t most of the waitresses leave like an hour ago?” 

“I just had to see if the new cook was as attractive as all the girls said he was.” You grinned.

James felt his cheeks flame, eyes going wide, “Are you serious?” 

“No,” You snickered, “I got hungry and didn’t feel like cooking.”

The heat of his cheeks only worsened, “That’s rude.”

You cooed, “Ooh poor baby I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, are you going to be okay?” 

“I don’t know.” James huffed, “I don’t think I can take this harassment.” 

The laughter that echoed around him caused a smile to break onto his face. 

You suddenly realized he was as attractive as the other waitresses were saying. Even if his hair was a mess and his glasses were smudged. 

You hadn’t been lying. By his third week, James was helping with both garnish and desserts. His thirst for cooking finally being fulfilled even by the small tasks he had been given. He was still forced to do dishes at the end of service but usually, someone would help him or even trade-off with him so he could take part in prep. 

Most nights when he was left alone in the kitchen you would appear, always claiming to be hungry and that cooking was for “the weak.” so you would raid the fridge instead. You stated many times that veggies and leftover slices of cake were a fine dinner much to James’ distaste. 

“That's it.” The newbie announced, hands in the air in mock surrender as you opened a container of cauliflower. “This has to stop.”

Your heart sped in your chest, was he going to turn you in? 

“You can’t keep eating shit, I’m going to cook something for you.” James huffed, moving you aside and beginning to pull stuff from the refrigerator. 

You lifted your brows, “Are you sure?” 

James nodded, “You need to taste actual food.”

You rolled your eyes, “Couldn’t you get in, like, a lot of trouble.”

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?” He smirked pulling out salmon and bok choy. 

“Obviously not.” You huffed taking your usual seat in the counter as James began to work, “What are you making anyway?”

“Asian inspired salmon.” He mumbled, lighting the stove and grabbing a frying pan. 

You sat in comfortable silence, watching as he cut the vegetable in half placing it into a pan and the salmon into another. James’ hands moved quickly, not hesitating with the large knives he handled and weaving through the meal as he grabbed seasonings and sauces.

By the time he was pulling the fish from the heat, the kitchen had filled with the scent of soy sauce and warmth.    

Grabbing a plate James placed on the salmon followed by the bok choy and the lemon sesame sauce. He wiped the rim with a damp rag and presented it before you with enough dramatics to earn a giggle.

“You’re ridiculous.” You spoke through a smile taking the fork from his offering hand and digging in. 

You placed the tender meat into your mouth and was greeted by an explosion of flavors that danced on your tongue like pixie dust. You hummed, a facade of deliberation on your face, “It's overcooked.” You started plainly watching as James’ face dropped. “I’m just kidding it's delicious.” You laughed as James rolled his eyes. 

“You are such a dick,” he mumbled, beginning to clean the slight mess he had made. 

“What are you doing?” You asked. James gave you a strange look, “Get a fork dumbass, you can’t make rich people food like this and then not eat it.” 

The smile that crept onto his face caused wings to erupt in your stomach. 

You had always hated teenagers. They were spoiled and greedy and gross. So when an older woman walked in with four 17-year-old boys you had fled the scene. Unfortunately, the waitress head placed you at the table anyway. The second you reached the table all four adolescence had fallen silent and you were positive it wasn’t them being polite. One of them started at your boobs the entire they ordered and you could feel their eyes on your ass as you walked away. 

You were used to the gross stares, every waitress was. It didn’t matter how expensive the food was there always seemed to be creeps asking for it. What you had not been prepared for was the boy closest to you to reach out and grab you. 

You didn’t hesitate, hand snatching his wrist before he had a chance to fully pull away. The woman the boys were with gasped. You squeezed his arm tight hoping he could feel your nails biting his skin. 

“Touch me again and I will cut your hand off. Am I clear?” You hissed, a whimper left the teen’s mouth and you released him. You placed his plate in front of him with a clatter and didn’t waste time walking away. 

Your anger didn’t diminish the rest of the night and by the time your shift was over you considered going straight home, a shower and an extra hour of sleep would serve you well.

You glanced into the kitchen, there were three chefs left, James stood in front of the sink smiling at nothing as he always seemed to do. A sigh left your lips, who needs sleep anyway?

“I’ll close up.” You called to the head waitress who shot you a skeptical look.

“You used to hate closing.” She mused, “What’s with the sudden change of heart?”

You shrugged, “Nothing in particular.”

She smirked, “So it has absolutely nothing to do with the new dishwasher?”

Pink bloomed on your cheeks, “He’s a line cook and no it doesn’t.”

“Uh-huh, sure it doesn’t.” She mocked, “If you’re gonna fuck just don’t do it in the kitchen.” 

Your face twisted in disgust and you almost dropped the napkins you held, “That is so gross.” 

She laughed, dropping the keys on the bar, “If I find any bodily fluids in my office you’re fired.” 

“You are disgusting.” You hissed, face hot and she only laughed harder.

You finished cleaning off the remainder of the tables, peeking into the kitchen occasionally as the last two cooks left for the night. 

The weight of your exertion hit hard as you entered the kitchen, legs seeming to give out as you bent down to remove your heels. 

James noticed your discomfort and let out a chuckle, “Let me.” 

You stood up a bit too quickly, head spinning for a second as you were lifted onto the counter, James crouching to slip off your shoes. You sighed leaning back onto your palms. 

“Tough day?” he asked, turning back to open the fridge. 

You nodded, “Kids are assholes.” 

James laughed, “And why's that?”

You yawned eyes watering from its force as you answered, “Well one little highschool shit grabbed my ass.”

James froze, he hand hovering midair as he processed what you had just told him, “What?”

“Oh yeah, entitled rich kids always think they can touch whatever they want. It's why I hate serving teenagers.” You complained not noticing the distress you had put James under.

“This happens regularly?” He was appalled.

    “Well not really regularly more like once a month, it’s not always teenagers though,” You explained, “Oo what’s that?” 

    James set the container of chocolate-covered strawberries in front of you. His mouth still agape “Once a month isn’t regular?”

    You huffed, “Can we stop talking about it? It happens to every waitress.”

    “Yeah, sorry,” James mumbled watching as you bit into a strawberry, lipstick smearing.

    “You going to have one of these?” You asked, holding one between your thumb and pointer finger. 

    “Sure.” James went to grab the strawberry only for you to pull it away with a grin.

    “No, no, I get to feed it to you.” Your smile was sweetly arranged. 

    Heat tingled on his neck like tv static, “Don’t be ridiculous y/n.” 

    “Oh come on James, don’t be a pussy.” You taunted waving the fruit in front of him as color painted his cheeks. 

    He glared at you in mock annoyance as his heartbeat began to run, “Fine.”

    You giggled as he took the berry into his mouth, lips barely grazing your fingertips as he pulled away. 

    James had never been more embarrassed in his life, he chewed the sweet fruit refusing to meet your eyes as you continued to laugh.

    “You’re cute ya’ know.” You giggled.

    James scoffed, a mix of bittersweet coming from your words, “Whatever.” He walked away from you hiding his flushed face. 

    You whined, “I’m not joking. You are really cute.”

    “Seriously y/n stop,” James spoke, his voice laced with disappointment and melancholy. 

    You rolled your eyes, “You’re such an idiot James.” 

    He leaned against the refrigerator as you plopped another berry into your mouth. His arms crossed as a pout you had found yourself obsessed with took his lips. 

    “A few girls actually did want your number.” You hummed watching as he seemed to perk up, reminding you of a puppy given a toy. “I was supposed to get it for them, but I didn’t really want to.”

    James scrunched his brows, “Why not?”

    “Cause I wanted your number dumbass.” You scoffed, “I wasn’t about to give it to someone else.” `

    This only confused him more, “Why would you want my number?”

    A groan lifted from your lips, “Your skull is so thick James. I want your number because you’re cute and funny and all that shit.” your voice fell to a mumble and your eyes became glued to your swinging feet.

    “Why didn’t you ask for my number?” James challenged and you felt your already warm face grow hot. 

    “I was nervous.” You muttered bitterly not liking the vulnerable position you had been put into.

    James was suddenly stepping towards you “What was that?” he grinned hand to his ear mockingly.

    “You’re enjoying this too much.” You grumbled, “Look I like you, I think you’re cute and sweet and funny now are you going to continue being a dick or give me a proper response?” 

    James continued to beam, stepping closer to you as you glared up at him with pink cheeks. 

    “Well, you’re really cute too.” James said, “And I think you were being the dick for making me try to impress you for three weeks only to say you liked me the entire time.”

    You were tempted to bury your head in your hands but considering that would mean you breaking his gaze you stopped yourself, “Oh fuck off.” you muttered heart thudding so loud you wondered if James could hear it.

    “Is that really what you want?” He questioned already knowing the answer. He leaned over you cupping your cheek.

    “Just kiss me already asshole.” You murmured.

    James tilted your head up to meet his lips. They were soft and plush, a thousand times better than you imagined them to be nights before. Your thighs parted as his own pressed against the counter between them in desperation to be closer to you. Closed kisses turned to open-mouthed ones, leaving the pleasant taste of strawberries on your tongue. 

Taglist:

@accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @obsessedwithrandomthings @coldlilheart

Masterlist

[live-laugh-lenney]

The One Where YN Meets Will.

Hello, hi!

I’m Emily, I’ve had this blog for a few months now and I’m not sure what I want to do with it, apart from reblog gifs of Will and catch up on all things Youtube and the Eboys and the Sidemen and all that. Thought about giving writing a go, since I’ve done some before on another blog for another fandom, and this came from my brain as an attempt at writing for WillNE.

I am willing to take requests or write anything that anyone wants me to write about, if anyone would like one written for a specific idea.

Hope you like it. x

A consistent buzz came beside her.

Rumbling on top of her bedside table, her phone laid overturned and ringing with an incoming call from someone, charging on the thick Stephen King book that she was halfway through reading, ripples rolling over the surface of the water in the tall glass placed next to it, that she took to bed with her the previous night. She glanced at the salt lamp, small and jagged-looking and emitting a dull orange glow behind the sunlight that streamed through her windows, and gave herself a tut for leaving it on overnight; she couldn’t remember leaving it on although she couldn’t help but give a mental clap at how truthful the benefits of having a Himilayan salt lamp had been.

‘MUM’

The three letter word flashed at her in bold text, above a candid photo that someone had taken of her and her mum in a heart-to-heart chat in the middle of a family barbecue that had taken a turn once her father had found the alcohol stash in the garage and turned a casual family get-together into a night where everyone stumbled over the front doorstep on their way out. A heart-to-heart conversation that had them both smiling brightly at one another.

“Mum, hi.”

“Hi, darling.” Her voice sounded so soft, so sweet, inviting and warm and YN missed her more than anything; if she had anything to say about moving miles away, she would always give the advice of making sure distance was something you could handle. “You sound tired, did I wake you? I thought you’d be on your way to work by now.”

YN looked at the red numbers on the screen of her alarm clock, reading 7:45, and she had a tiny freak-out for a brief moment before she came to the realisation that it was her day off and she wasn’t due into work until after the weekend had finished.

“You did, yeah. I’m not due at work today though. They gave me the day off since my boss’ schedule is just meetings out of town today. He’s up North for conferences and such and it was late notice for me so he didn’t mind me not accompanying him. I wouldn’t have been able to do much anyway,” YN clarified and she used her free hand to push herself up from the mattress. Her hair was knotted and pillow-messed, sticking up in all directions and falling loose from the ponytail she’d thrown it up in before she fell asleep. Her t-shirt twisted around her middle which she adjusted with her fingers, bringing her knees to her chest and staring out the window as the sun continued its rise in the horizon. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, don’t fuss about me,” she heard her mother tut from down the line. But YN couldn’t help but fuss over the two of them; if she lived closer to them, she wouldn’t worry so much because they’d be just a short distance away if they needed her help. But she didn’t live close and she hadn’t done for almost two years; she lived almost 300 miles northeast of where she used to live with her parents and it wouldn’t take her more than twenty minutes to tend to their needs. “We’re both fine, stop worrying yourself, darling. Your dad’s been back doing his gardening so he’s out there already. Watering his flowers, spraying fertiliser, cleaning all the fox poo up. He’s been growing some veggies in the plot next to the greenhouse so you can take some back when you next come to visit.”

YN smiled to herself, bringing her shoulders to her jawline before dropping them and relaxing against her headboard. The back of her head resting against the plush velvet, coloured a clean white, and her toes curled into the sheet beneath her, her fist clutching the duvet as she brought it tighter to her body.

“You can always send me some in a box? Or you could come and visit and drop them off yourself? You know I’ve got the spare room in the new place if you want to come up for a weekend. It’s vacant, just full of my empty moving boxes and bags that I haven’t gotten rid of yet,” YN said, a yawn creeping up her throat that she hid with the palm of her hand, “I need dad’s handyman work to come and help put some shelves up. You’ve not seen it yet.”

“Your dad said it’s a lovely flat. Lovely view. Lovely building. But, you know what he’s like when it comes to describing things. Everything’s lovely,” her mother snorted and YN laughed softly; her father had always been vague and she’s pretty sure that she’d never heard him use any other word to describe something other than ‘lovely’. “We’ve been talking about paying you a visit.”

“Please do. It’s a little lonely here by myself. I’m yet to meet new friends or have a chat with the neighbours. Everyone’s either back in Cornwall or back in Hackney and both are a hefty distance away.”

YN had never considered herself as an introvert so to call herself lonely felt strange.

She was always the friend who asked for the bill, she was the friend who made the complaint in a restaurant when a plate of food came back wrong, she was the friend who made advances on blokes in pubs and clubs because her friends were too shy to go and introduce themselves and she was the friend who always carried the responsibility of making polite conversation with people in pubs when they needed a table to perch themselves at. She was that friend. So making friends with strangers and starting conversations with her co-workers and approaching others who she found had kind features was never something she struggled with.

Moving to a new place and having to make new relationships and form new bonds, regardless of how far it was from the bonds and relationships you already had, she found it daunting to start fresh.  

“What are you doing today?”

“I’m not sure. The weather is really nice and it looks warm out so I might go and explore Canary Wharf and see what’s around. I need to do some shopping, food and furniture, so I might do some of that,” YN rolled onto her side and let her cheek rest against the cold side of her mattress, the backs of her thighs exposed to the cool air of her bedroom as her t-shirt rose up her body; and she made a mental note to buy herself so proper pyjamas because knickers and an oversized t-shirt could cause more problems than expected. “We’ve got a lovely grass area outside the block of flats so I might sit out there, soak up the sunshine, read a book and eat some lunch. I don’t know. Might see how the day goes, I have a good feeling about it.”

“Go exploring. You can find some places to show us when we come to visit,” and YN smiled.

“I’ll do that. You’ll love it mum. This place is amazing. I feel so lucky to have been given something as beautiful as this. I had a crack den for my first flat so this feels like a dream,” she stared at her ceiling. There was no yellow tint from how the previous tenants smoked inside and there were no unusually coloured stains on the ceiling’s coving that caught the eye because of how a stain of that colour shouldn’t have been there, leaving the mystery of just how it got there… and YN didn’t need that kind of stress over something like that. “It doesn’t smell like pee, there’s no syringes outside and there’s no sign of vomit or shit stains on the floor because it’s all laminate.”

“You deserve it, darling. You really do.”

“It’s clean, mum. It came clean, it smells clean, it looks clean. Everything looks brand new and,” YN pauses for a moment, rolling onto her stomach and she sighs with content, “I love it.”

*

After hanging up, she contemplated getting up and getting dressed for the day.

It felt rather tempting to stay in her comfortable loungewear and enjoy the silence, the time to herself and the time off she had been after for so long, taking advantage of Deliveroo and ordering food for breakfast, lunch and dinner rather than cooking something homemade and having the leftovers the next day (or for when she woke up in the early hours with a hankering for something to nibble on, because she could, because she didn’t have an authority figure to tell her no).

By the time her phone call ended with her mother, it was a little over forty-five minutes later and her alarm clock showed a time that she didn’t want to see on her day off; 8:35am. She expected another hour or two added on to her usual sleep schedule, to make a difference to the usual 6am alarm call that had her detesting her job just a tiny bit, but it wasn’t frowned upon because she’d take any given opportunity to speak to her mother. The one person she called her best friend because she really was the only person, apart from her father, that she’d drop anything and everything important for. Her sleep didn’t matter when she got to her the voice of someone she missed so dearly.

Porridge and fruit, a colourful array of strawberries and blueberries and bananas and cranberries in her bowl, and a warm cup of tea had been her breakfast as she caught up with the lifestyle Youtube channel she had been in the loop with. A Youtube channel that she had been a big fan of from the moment she moved to London, one who she turned to in times of need, one that she stumbled across when googling aesthetically pleasing ways to decorate a flat because she really needed to do something about how her Hackney flat had looked before a lick of paint and a hanging plant, one that she continued to view and like and followed tips from, even when it came to her new flat.

“Don’t be afraid to like monochrome and definitely don’t be afraid to follow a colour scheme that might seem ‘out there’ and in your face. If you like lime green then go paint a portion of your wall that colour. If you like the brightest shade of pink then go mad and add some colour to your life. You can never feel more organised than when your surroundings follow a consistent pattern that brings immense amounts of joy when you enter.”

The young girl on her screen, with space-buns either side of her head and an outfit that definitely came from a trendy thrift store clothes rail, sat before a wall of a delicious shade of peach that YN thought looked lovely; not for herself, because she’d stuck with the whites and the greys and the blacks that her flat already consisted of, but perfect for the young twenty-something year old.

“There are loads of websites where you can buy hanging plants, or artificial hanging baskets, and hanging canvas prints and wall art. I’m always looking for new things to buy so I’ll link some of my favourite online stores for you to check out; hit my Instagram mentions up with photos of things you’ve brought, too. That’s what I love to see.”

YN’s spoon clinked against the ceramic bowl in front of her as she pushed it away from her, reaching for her television remote and turning off her Youtube app, her television turning off completely and leaving a black screen behind. The flat falling silent. She looked around her, drumming her fingers against the tabletop, eyes squinting as the sunlight streamed through the wall-to-ceiling windows and made everything feel bright..

As much as she warmed to the idea of staying inside and ordering furniture and decor for her home, scrolling through online stores to buy something she thought she needed but really didn’t need, she had a good feeling about the upcoming day.

*

“Listen, love, I’m not sure if you could tell but I’m not exactly a people person. I don’t know you, don’t want to know you, have no plans to get to know you. You might live in the building but that doesn’t mean we need to be friendly.”

He spoke with such vigour in his voice that YN could only keep quiet so as to not entice a negative reaction out of him in such a confined space because confrontation was something she was never comfortable with. Sure, she’d endured confrontation before but that was from people she had been acquainted with, the ones she was friends with, people she saw on a daily basis and from people she worked with, from those who were supposed to confront her when something was wrong or hadn’t been down in a way it was supposed to be done; her boss, mainly. This man was a complete stranger, someone she didn’t know,someone she’d never seen before so instant regret filled her veins. She thought he looked friendly enough to start a quick conversation, to make the lift ride seem a little less boring, filling the empty space with general chit-chat.

Cowering away from him and almost closing in on herself, even though his attention stayed focused on the screen of his phone as he scrolled through a social media app, she thought he’d finished with her and she hadn’t expected him to perk up anymore.

“Not everyone likes to chat to strangers.”

“Well, I like chatting to strangers so don’t mind him,” a quirky Geordie accent perked up from behind her, her posture adjusting at the sudden appearance of someone behind her; she’s sure she didn’t see anyone else in the lift, apart from the towering bloke beside her, when she stepped into the lift but, then again, he was tucked away in the corner with a cap on his head and she had been looking at the floor as she entered because a mark on her white shoe had caught her attention. “Come chat to me, if you want. Promise I won’t bite your head off like matey-boy there.”

Her trainers squeaked on the floor as she spun around, eyes raking up and down his figure so she could get a good look at who the voice belonged to, almost staking him out in a way. He was a handsome chap, with brown hair sticking out from beneath a black cap upon his head that he’d pulled quite far down his forehead, a cheeky grin on his face that made the mood in the lift much brighter. There was a graphic print printed on the front of the black hoodie he had decided to throw on, the commonly-known Adidas stripes lining the length of his joggers, trainers on his feet with the laces loose and almost untying by themselves (clumsy, she assumed he was, because there’s no way he wouldn’t trip over them as soon as they loosened completely).

“I’m Will. Will Lenney.”

“I’m YN.”

“Do I get your surname? S’only fair since I told you mine.”

She laughed softly and replied with her surname, a look of appreciation on his features as he held his hand out for her to take, which she gladly shook with her own. Skin so soft, fingers so delicate, with a hold so strong that she couldn’t find herself letting go. She didn’t want to let go. This was the first contact she’d had with someone new, in a month of being new to the area, and it just so happened to be with someone she found rather attractive to the eye.

The bloke from before, who had tore down her attempts at being the friendly neighbour who he would, no doubt, see quite often, couldn’t help but let out the strongest sigh of annoyance. A sound that brought them back to reality, hands falling from their hold, dropping back down to their sides with a faint rosy-look on their cheeks that didn’t come from how warm it was. A sound that made the both of them turn their noses up, that made them their eyebrows scrunch on their browlines and made them want to really throw words at him until he gained some manners. Yet they ignored him because he wasn’t worth the time.

“You’re new here, aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he started, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder that had slipped with the movement of his arm falling down to his side. His fingertips and right down to the middle of his palm still felt heavy with the thought of her hand still in his. “I’d remember such a beautiful face.”

The heat already on her cheeks reached boiling and she knew her flushed look caught his attention. His smile turning into a grin which had her looking at her feet, shyly. A handsome lad with a sense of immense charm about him; she liked him and it wasn’t typical of her to form an attraction at such an early stage.

“Yeah, I moved in about a month ago. Floor 10, right at the end of the corridor. A proper upgrade from where I used to be located but thanks to my work, they moved me from my previous office block to my current office block in Canary Wharf and said they’d move me closer if necessary,” she thought she was rambling and she expected a look of faint annoyance on his features that would silently tell her to shut up. She picked at the loose string hanging from the hem of her t-shirt and twirled it around her finger, looking up from her feet and seeing a look of intense concentration on his face, enticing her to carry on. “The move was necessary. Completely necessary. It wasn’t a nice place where I was before, it was the first thing I saw on the website and I was desperate for somewhere to live. If I stayed there, I would be half an hour away otherwise.”

Canary Wharf.

It was a complete upgrade from the streets of Hackney and the dingy flat she had become so accustomed to for a little less than a year; the smell of weed and tobacco would fill the corridors and hit her in the face when she left her front door, the lights were always dim and flickered and the lifts were rickety and untrustworthy, discarded bikes and scooters and old prams and baby-carriers littered the space between one end of the hallway to the other, suspicious figures dressed in black hoodies and grey joggers always greeted her with stone-cold faces and squared-up jaws. An attempt, she guessed, to look like they were the typical hardnuts of the complex and that they weren’t to be messed with, even if it was just a polite ‘excuse me’ to pass them by and to be out of their hair within a moment.

It wasn’t all bad, regardless. Her neighbours were sweethearts, they always said hello and invited her in for cups of tea and a slice of cake after she finished work, most people were kind and warm and had their own back stories as to why they chose such a place to live - she could only imagine that the building was a nice place to live, with residents who took care of themselves and the place they lived in, before London gangs took over and were on the high of increasing and before drug dealers became more frequent on the streets - and her life, thank god,  was never bothered. No one intervened, no one found her life to be their business to spread and life felt normal; she had a home, somewhere to live, somewhere to sleep and eat and shower and feel warm and cosy in a bed. Even if it wasn’t as nice as she had wanted it to be, she had somewhere.

Her new flat was almost dream-like if you compared it to what she lived in before. It made her Hackney flat look like a pit; a drug-den, if you will. She could wake up to pure sunshine filtering through double-glazed windows and there was no chance that she would be rudely woken up in the middle of the night from the ghoulish moans of the wind getting trapped between cracked window panes or the drunken yells of people stumbling down the hallways back to their homes. She could walk to her new place of work rather than hop on public transport and she could take the time to explore a side of London she never had the chance to see. Her floor was laminated wood, heated when the nights were cold, and there were no stains of garishly and disgusting colours of god-knows-what from previous tenants who had lived there. The view was beautiful, she could see right to the end of the horizon, and the scenes she was greeted with on her arrival home were almost picturesque… except pictures could never do it justice.

She’d been there for a month.

A whole four weeks.

And she could already feel improvements in her lifestyle that weren’t so bold before. She woke up happier and didn’t feel the need to stay in bed for a lie-in, she felt happier during the day and had a bob in her step that brought light to her office block, she felt safe when she walked out the reception and into the open space by the entrance and didn’t feel like she would be jumped by hiding predators if she arrived home late at night. She was friendly with her neighbours, always popped round to give them any post that had been posted through her mailbox by accident or if deliveries were left with them when she’d been at work and always started a conversation with them when they stood waiting for the lift to arrive on their floor.

“Oh, nice. What is it-”

The ding of the lift stopped Will mid-sentence, silenced them and halted their conversation as the doors opened to reveal the reception floor, empty and desolate from people. It was mid-morning, almost lunchtime, so YN had assumed most were working or out in the streets of London to enjoy the sunshine; the latter being what she had planned to do.

The man from the lift, who had tucked himself in the corner and stuck earphones in to block out their conversation, made sure he was the first one out and disappeared before YN could give him a sarcastic goodbye, not that he would have heard her anyway so she settled with a wave, a really exaggerated and over-the-top wiggle of her fingers, and hoped he saw it in the reflection of the window as he left and disappeared into the mass of people walking by their block of apartments.

“You’re a right character, you,” Will admitted, nudging her with his elbow and smirking at her, “what is it you do, job-wise? That’s what I wanted to ask.”

“I’m a PA for a CEO at an advertising company. A personal assistant who runs and gets coffee for everyone, gets lunch during her lunch-break, who organises meetings and creates schedules and gets the big boss what he wants when he wants it,” she clarified, “it’s not exactly the best job and I wish I was doing something I wanted to do but it pays well. For now, it’s enough to get me by and keep this place.”

They started walking toward the automatic doors of the entrance, feeling the cool air of the shade on their exposed skin that definitely disappeared as soon as the sunshine hit them, coming to a stop just by a brick wall. Young children were running around with their parents walking behind, cyclists were dinging bells to pass through large groups and groups of university students were huddled on the grass, eating lunches they’d brought from restaurants on their way, backpacks discarded and being used as pillows as they laughed and joked. Tourists were taking photos and posing to show off where they’d been and what they got up to when it came to showing their friends back home and businessmen and businesswomen were almost speed-walking to get back to their offices in time with a styrofoam takeaway lunch in their hands.

“I’m not keeping you from anything, am I? Just tell me to piss off if I am.”

“No, no. Don’t be silly. I’m only popping round the corner to see my mate. He won’t mind if I’m late,” he said, perching down on the brick wall and patting the space beside him. The legs of his ankles rose up to show the white ankle socks he’d paired with his trainers., “What is it you want to do as a job? Just, the way you talk about your job now makes it sound like you don’t like it.”

“I do like it there. But I don’t want to be a personal assistant, running round London to get coffee and sandwiches, for the rest of my life. I’ve always dabbled in blogging, taking photos, talking about nonsense and stuff. Posting videos and vlogging, too. I’ve tried it out as something fun, documenting holidays and stuff, and I’d love to do something with that and take it further but... I don’t know,” she sat down beside him, sliding her bag off of her shoulder and setting it on her lap, arm looped underneath the handles to keep it from spilling the contents inside, “I don’t want to be a social influencer but someone who does what she wants to do and gets by by just being herself. No companies to promote her or anything. Nothing to boost her. All her,” she stared off into the distance, tapping the heel of her foot against the concrete. Will nodded. “What do you do?”

“I, uh,” he scoffed out a laugh and rubbed the nape of his neck. His hat fell from his head and he decided to swap the shade of the cap to the sunglasses he had hanging from the neck of his hoodie, “funnily enough, I post videos on Youtube. I’m a Youtuber.”

Her head whipped round and she gawked at him. Eyes wide, mouth agape and her hand found his forearm, squeezing it tightly with excitement.

“You���re not?”

“I am, yeah. I was in university, didn’t like what I was studying, and I was told that if I really felt strongly about this Youtube malarky then I should pursue it to its possible potential and see where I end up. My mum’s words, not mine,” he snorted. He felt her hand loosen around his forearm and he watched her face become rigid as she came to the realisation of what she’d done. He dismissed it because he didn’t want to embarrass her but, really, he didn’t mind and he found it endearing.  “I’m not that big or popular or anything but I’ve got a couple million subscribe-”

“Not that big,” she mocked and rolled her eyes, “a couple million subscribers is huge. I’ll have to search you up. What’s your channel name?”

“WillNE. Like, Will then an N then an E. Like a-”

“Like a play on words with your surname,” she grinned as she proudly finished his sentence for him and he nodded, rather pleased with himself; and she had to give it to him, it was something special, unique and rather creative than some of the stand-out names she could think of from the platform. Some were really out there and had no relevance to who they were nor what they spoke about, some were vague and some were almost as bonkers as the people who came up with them. “That’s really cool. This is really cool. A famous Youtuber lives in my flat complex... I’m talking to a famous Youtuber right now... heck, I’ve managed to keep my cool around someone famous and I’m amazed I haven’t embarrassed myself. Wait till I tell my friends about this. They won’t believe me.”

“They’re not fangirls or anything, are they?”

“No, ha. If anyone’s the fangirl out of my friends then it’s me. I’ll find myself watching Youtube when I’ve got nothing else to do,” she admitted, “cooking dinner? I’ll stick someone on to watch. Can’t sleep? I’ll just binge watch someone until I’m tired. Day off and there’s nothing to do? I’ll find a channel and just let it go from there.”

“Maybe I’ll pop up on there one day. I’ll help cure your boredom,” Will grinned, “then you can say ‘hey, that’s one of my mates there on my telly, that is’.”

A comfortable silence swallowed the both of them as they sat and let the seconds tick by. The tweets of the birds came from above, distant chatter came from the students lounging on the grass behind, scuffs of soles signified people were walking and jogging nearby and despite the feeling of time coming to end between the two of them, neither of them wanted to leave the other, neither wanted to bring the conversation to an end and neither of them wanted to part ways.

“So, we’re mates, huh?”

“Yeah, I reckon so,” Will smiled. Eyes locking with hers for a brief second, long enough to catch the twinkle in her eye and the genuine smile that lifted up her lips, “you’re a good’un. I like you. I think we’ll get along really bloody well, me and you.”

*

(WILL’S TEXTS. YN’S TEXTS.)

Filming a video tomorrow. Fancy coming by?

Won’t I get in the way?

Bollocks will you. Come along. Please. You can see firsthand how to make a Youtube video since you said you’ve always thought about it.

Where?

Only at my place. A TWOTI.

This Week On The Internet… nice one. I’ll be there.

You’ve done your research on me!

Spent all day googling you. As soon as you walked away, I started my research and I cut my day short so I could come home and watch your videos. Just call me a superfan now.

Superfan, ha.

I’ll have to test you. Could get you in a video to see if you’re my biggest fan.

Try me. I’ll get full marks. Your subscribers will look like phonies compared to me, hahaha.

You might have to sit off camera, out of shot, tomorrow. If I don’t finish everything by the time you get here, that is. No distractions. No pulling faces behind the camera.

I’ll be on my best behaviour. I’ll fangirl at the door, drop my Twitter handle into conversation, ask for a signature and a photo and then I’ll be fine.

I’m not going to regret this, am I?

You won’t hear a peep out of me. Promise.

Come by after lunch then. We can get some takeaway for lunch or something, if you don’t eat before, and I’ll have some bits filmed by the time you get here so you won’t have to sit in silence for too long.

Make it 1pm and it’s a deal.

Why 1pm?

It’s Saturday tomorrow. I don’t get up before noon on the weekends. Not even for you, mister big-shot Youtuber. ;)

And here I was, thinking you would throw your routine away for your new best mate.

Nice try.. see you tomorrow, William.

Ohh, serious. Full name and all. I see how it is, YN.

Goodnight, you muppet.

See you tomorrow. x

[murdersexual]

Leopika as parents headcanon please 😇

Let’s pretend I did this the same night you asked. 👀👀👀 Gosh I’m sorry these are so fucking late! I deserve to drown in a blackened river! 🥲

Why I can NEVER say no to such a request, my dear child~ 😌

Without further ado, Ladies and Gents...

Please put your hands together for...

Murdersexual proudly presents...

👨‍👨‍👦LeoPika Parenting Headcanons (Part I?)👨‍👨‍👦

Leorio:

As a person who’s typically known as a hothead and impatient, there are only a few spare moments where he’d lash out at his kid. He’d feel instant regret and the need to spoil you before you attempt to run away and tell Kurapika.

“No, look don’t tell! Here, want some chocolate?!” 👀😅

Typically is seen doing his schoolwork with his kiddo. They’re usually seem helping each other.

“I think it’s talking about our lungs, dad?” “And I think yours is asking how many apples do you have after 7 are eaten?”

Ice cream dates, trips to the amusement park, bike rides and shopping are typical outings UNLESS the Smol child suggests something. 😗

Literally, Leorio’s the favourite because he spoils all the time. Together they love to gang up on Poor Kurapika.

“Eat your fruits and veggies so you won’t come to the hospital and see me!” 😇

Sick? He will have a heart attack but never will he leave the Smol child’s side.

Self-defence? Teaches the Smol fisticuffs as well as to throw knives. 🔪

“NO! NO KNIVES IN YOUR POCKETS OR BACKPACK!”

Won’t sugarcoat. He’ll tell the Smol why they never really see Kurapika.

May be the reason why the Smol learns swear words.

“FUCK YEAH BABY! O-OH! Shh... you didn’t hear that from me!”

“Your other dumbass dad is the head of a mafia... Can you believe that?!” 💢💢💢

Intermission!

We’ll be right back!

Kurapika:

Is actually more easygoing than Leorio makes him seem. 😤

Never gets enough credit... 💔

Will read the most fantastic of bedtime stories. (Usually will fall asleep before the Smol does.)

Outings are very risky but there’s no risk higher than the smol’s happiness.

Expects the Smol to eat everything that is considered healthy. 🥗

Teaches the Smol child Kurtan style self-defence and the basics of Nen. 🤔

Adores when the Smol prances around in his clan wear. It never fails to put a smile on his face.

“Let me fix that for you...” 😌

Typically facetimes and hates to say the words “I won’t be home...” because the Smol has come to say: “it’s okay, I’m used to it by now!”

“I-!” 🥲😥

Very overprotective of the smol... will commit murder if need be.

Spoils the Smol child at every chance he gets but also teaches that responsibilities can be rewarding.

Has a swear jar. (For the both of you...)

“Oh that’s another what? Two genie?” *Holds out jar* “Pay up...” 😤

Let’s hear a round of applause!

For one helluva show!

Encore?

💙💜❤️

Thank you for the ask, my dear child! This is so fucking late. 💔🥲 I ask that you forgive me for being super late! 🥲 Please don’t hesitate to drop anymore headcanon requests. I absolutely love doing these! ❤️

[astouract]

The Smell of Soil — Chapter 1

Synopsis: Small town market-owner Loki meets his new neighbor, and she’s not the most normal person he’s ever met.

Words: 717

Warnings: none… yet

Sundays were Loki's favorite day. He closed the market every Sunday to allow himself a day off, and those days were usually spent relaxing in the garden, tending to his fruits and veggies.

"Son of a bitch!"

Well, maybe gardening was not so relaxing.

Loki threw down his gloves and got to his feet, cursing whatever retched animal had the nerve to not only eat his strawberries, but completely trample the plants. He'd worked so hard to grow them, too.

With a dramatic sigh, he lifted a hand to run through his hair. A soft cluck came from beside him, and he shook his head at his smallest hen.

"I know, Henrietta. It's such a shame. At least the tomatoes seem unscathed, don't you think?"

Another soft cluck, but this time further away. Loki wiped his palms on his black jeans and turned to head inside, but what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

Just down the road, at the little stone house that had been on the market for over a year, a woman was struggling with the "for sale" sign. She looked to be about his age and she was putting up a good fight, but it looked like the sign was winning.

He chuckled to himself and started off down the street, checking behind him to make sure that none of his hens were following.

"Norns!" She hissed, delivering a strong kick to the wooden post. "What the hell do they expect me to do with this?"

Loki waved as he stepped into the property, and the woman took an immediate step back. "Need some help?"

The silence hung in the air, each second more uncomfortable than the last as she just stared at him.

"I live just down there," He paused to point, "and I was working in my garden when I saw you fighting with the sign. If it counts for anything, I think you were winning." He flashed his most charming smile, but she didn't budge.

"I'm Loki." He extended a hand and she jumped, as if just snapping back into reality. "And it looks like we're neighbors."

She shook his hand as if she was almost afraid of him, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to mask his own discomfort. He hoped he didn't look as put off by her presence as she did his.

"My name's (Y/N)." She offered a fleeting, polite smile, tucking a tuft of stray hair behind her ear. "Thank you for the offer, but I think I'll just head inside.

"Are you sure? It should only take a moment."

(Y/N) looked from Loki, to the sign, and back again. She visibly released a heavy sigh and nodded in defeat. "All right, I suppose I could use some help."

Loki grinned, taking the few steps over to the yard sign. He crouched down, and in one swift movement pulled the wooden post out of the ground.

"Where should I put it?" He asked, holding the sign tightly to his chest. It was a lot heavier than it looked from over there.

(Y/N) spun on her heels, surveying the area. "I'm actually not sure, I haven't had a chance to see the property yet."

"You bought a house that you haven't—"

"I suppose you could lean it against the house, over here." She led him to the right side of the cottage, and Loki spared a glance into the backyard.

It was rather overgrown, with dozens of bees buzzing happily from one cluster of bright flowers to the next. Her shed looked like it could fall apart at any moment, but it did have potential. . . He thought it would make a good henhouse. A little stone path shot off left of the shed, and it led to a greenhouse. He couldn't see inside past the vines clinging to the windows. Flower pots were scattered all over the property, and a yellow bike was lying abandoned in the bushes. The place looked good from the front, but it was actually a disaster.

"Nice place you've got here," Loki offered, "it's. . . Charming."

(Y/N) eyed him and started up the porch stairs. "Thank you for your help."

"I'll see you around, (Y/N)," he called out as she closed the door behind her.

[restapesta]

The Tomato Thief

Enjoy this little something I wrote based on a prompt here on Tumblr. Feedback is always appreciated.

Words: 4.3k

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The first time Ian noticed his tomatoes half-gone, half-squashed from the small vegetable patch he had started working on when he and Mickey moved into the apartment complex, he chose to ignore it. Pretending as if the loss of his small, barely ripe cherry tomatoes was insignificant, he mentioned no word of it to anyone, making a conscious decision to simply start the planting process once again. So, in the past month, Ian, choosing not to get frustrated, but rather improve his skills, was trailing along the edge of a nervous breakdown, trying to get his little patch of land replenished. When he realized that the second time doing something he initially started as a hobby would be much more difficult than the first, he feared that what he intended to be relaxing would turn into aggravating. If it wasn't for the security business, he probably would've had a meltdown, very much hurt by the fact his poor tomatoes were gone, but somehow, he managed to power through it, luck being somewhat on his side, making the tomato-growing process faster than before. It was a long excruciating process, living with the secret that all of his previous hard work was now replaced by even harder work and determination, but the sight of his vegetable patch replenishing itself as if it were never ruined, along with the Westside growing even fonder to both him and Mickey, almost starting to feel like home, made it all sort-of worth it for Ian. His husband was happy, his home was beautiful, his business was expanding, and his tomatoes were finally turning a deeper shade of red, after being torn out the first time while they were mostly green. Ian was truly very much happy.

Until he woke up one Saturday morning, excited to start his weekend off by gardening, his way to relax from the crammed-up week he and Mickey had, both enjoying the little separate bubbles they created, together yet apart, Mickey with the pool he grew to love, and Ian with his veggies, working away in the Sun -- and found every single one of his tomatoes gone, neatly picked from their stems, as if done by a professional.

First, Ian had paled, his complexion turning impossibly whiter in the bask of the afternoon glow. Then, his left eye began twitching. Anger bubbled inside of his chest, and he finally understood his husband's urges to break chairs and signs, and throw tantrums -- Ian felt like murdering somebody. Wrapping his hands so tight around the neck of the person who took his tomatoes which weren't even ripe for taking yet, and squeezing until he saw the life leave their eyes. Scaring himself at the thought, he took a deep breath and then held it for a long period of time -- a questionable, dangerous, life-threatening period of time. He was sure that his neck and cheeks were even redder than his poor tomatoes were when he had last seen them. Exhaling quickly, he balled his hands into fists and made his way quickly to the vegetable patch to examine it better.

Crouching down, as if he were in a detective movie, he observed the soil, in case the culprit left footprints or accidentally dropped a valuable item Ian could use to identify them with. When he saw nothing helpful, but rather just his regular garden -- sans the lost reds -- he rolled over all of his options in his head. 

It could've been an animal the last time -- a squirrel or a bird, considering how a lot of the tomatoes were simply just squashed -- but now, the precision the tomatoes were picked with... there was no other possibility. It was one of the other tenants, somebody who deliberately wanted to either get revenge on Ian or simply to eat the vegetables Ian had worked so hard on for himself and his husband. It was ironic how he saw red.

Breathing deeply, composing himself more with each inhale and exhale -- a technique he had been forced to learn in court-mandated therapy -- the ginger made his way from the garden to the manager's office, strides quick. Melanie, the on-sight manager, was in the room, along with her poodle when Ian knocked on the door.

"Hi." She chirped in greeting. "How may I help you?"

Ian forced a smile. "I was wondering if you perhaps had cameras in the garden area? I think someone stole something I left there, by accident." He lied, not wanting the woman to think of him as even a bigger fag for caring about dumbass vegetable-fruits. Much to his dismay, she shook her head apologetically. 

"Sorry, no. Was it valuable?"

Yes, Ian thought sadly. "Nah. Probably just misplaced it. Thank you anyway."

She smiled again, "You're welcome. Say hi to your husband for me."

"I will." He waved goodbye and exited the office, closing the door behind him.

No cameras, no clues. He had no fucking idea how he could possibly catch the asshole who had the nerves to fuck with him. Suddenly, he understood what he needed to do. 

Mickey was lounging by the pool, sunglasses on, looking hot as fuck, enjoying the day when Ian found him. Stepping in front of the chair Mickey was sitting on, Ian blocked the beams of light which were hitting Mickey's body, slowly giving him a nice tan. Mickey begrudgingly opened his eyes to stare at Ian, pushing his sunglasses down slightly, as if wanting to give Ian a better look of his 'why the fuck are you blocking the Sun' expression. 

"What?" He finally asked, pushing his RayBans back up.

"Baby, I need your help killing someone."

Mickey's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, assessing Ian's face for any sign of humor. When he found none, he blew out an exasperated sigh. "Why?"

"Someone stole my fucking tomatoes."

Ian could see Mickey's eyes close again behind the black glass. "Who?"

"I have no fucking idea. If I did, they'd already be dead. This is the second time, Mick!" He shook his head in disbelief. "First time, I let it slide. Thought it was a bird or some shit. So, I did everything again this past month, made sure everything was better than before, had a near fucking episode over the stress that shit caused me, and now, they get fucking stolen, again!" He was breathing raggedly now, even angrier than before. His shrink's anger controlling methods only worked for a short period of time, he guessed. "We need to kill them."

Ian sat himself down on the chair next to Mickey's, slouching back in defeat. His poor tomatoes. He felt his fingers intertwine with soft, warm ones, Mickey's thumb rubbing soothing circles over Ian's. "We can't kill them," Mickey started. Ian was about to respond how he knew that, how it still made him really fucking angry, but Mickey continued, softly, "without knowing who they are. Once we know who they are, we can slip rat poison into the tomatoes, and have 'em dead in a heartbeat. Can't even pin it on us, 'cause then they'd have to admit they stole it."

Ian's eyes widened slightly, amazed and terrified by his partner at the same time. "I forgot you were a murderer here for a second."

Mickey smirked at Ian's growing smile. "Parole for attempted murder, Red. Need I remind you? Did you forget how much that turned you on?" He was now inching closer to his husband, chin jutting out, seeking out a kiss. Ian complied, even in his angriest moments still horny for his worse half, moving his lips against Mickey's slowly and teasingly. 

"We can't kill them." Ian voiced out after they broke apart, now much calmer.

Mickey snorted, settling back in his chair. "No shit."

"We can find out who the fuck it is, though."

"How the fuck you gonna do that? All your tomatoes are gone, right? 'S not like you can just make new ones appear."

Ian thought about it for a second, "Who says I can't? I have my ways."

Mickey nodded mockingly. "Sure, tough guy. Is this the moment I find out I've been married to a wizard?"

"Store-bought tomatoes, Mickey." Ian deadpanned.

"Oh."

"We plant those, and then go on a stakeout." He was already devising a master plan in his head. How they would buy the tomatoes at WholeFoods -- get the expensive ones so the bait was even more tempting, make it look as if Ian grew them himself (even though that was impossible by the rules of time -- but the person had to be stupid enough to steal from a Gallagher after all, so it had to work), and then, wait tonight in the garden, considering how his tomatoes couldn't have been stolen at any other time of day, and try to catch the thief. It was a good fucking plan.

"Why do you keep saying we?"

The voice interrupted his daydream. Confused, Ian looked at Mickey. "You're not gonna help me?"

"Not my problem, man. They're your tomatoes. I'm only here for the murder part, but you backed out of that, so... good luck."

Ian was about to argue, but he thought better of it. Maybe it would be easier to do this alone anyway. Leaning forward, he pressed one last chaste kiss on Mickey's lips, then swiftly got up. "Okay, then. Text me if you need anything. I'm going out."

"Where are you going?" Mickey straightened up for the first time since Ian got there. Ian felt a smile form on his face. His husband was very easy to read.

"Tomatoes, Mick. But, um, not your problem, right?" His voice was teasing and he knew his eyes were glinting with an unspoken challenge. "Don't know if I'll be home tonight. The stakeout might last a while. Guess I'll see you tomorrow. Keep the bed warm for me, would ya'?"

He turned to leave, but Mickey's hurried voice stopped him. "Hey, wait -- hold on a minute."

"Hmm?" So, so easy to read.

Scoffing, Mickey got up. "Let me get changed first. Then, we'll go catch the fucking tomato thief."

The smile Ian gave him was blinding.

----

"Tell me the plan again?"

Mickey was currently observing the expensive as fuck organic fruit in the WholeFoods store, gawking at the prices, but also simultaneously observing his husband as he picked through the best, reddest tomatoes he could find. Between the bitching and the sadness, Ian was all over the place -- it was hard for Mickey to understand why Ian was going so crazy over stolen tomatoes, but the thought of having Ian spend the day doing God-knows what kind of legal and illegal shit made him almost break out in hives. He would rather come along to control the hot mess than "warm the bed" as Ian had so casually put it. Fuck if he was gonna keep anything warm but Ian's dick in his ass.

Ian ignored Mickey's question and shoved a tomato at his face. "Do these look good enough? I want them to look natural, but also really good. What do you think?"

Mickey gave Ian an incredulous look, "Um... those look great... man, just pick whatever the fuck you want. This guy probably isn't very picky if he stole a ripe tomato."

Ian rolled his eyes. "It was a high quality tomato, Mickey." As an afterthought, he added, "Also, it could be a she."

"Maybe it's that fag with the big muscles? Maybe he has a thing for your tomatoes?" Mickey teased, only slightly bothered by the crush the blond guy in apartment 243 had on his tall redhead. It wasn't hard to glance over the sultry looks he gave Ian, or the flirtatious tone. Mickey liked giving Ian endless shit for it, just because of how defensive and uncomfortable Ian got when it was mentioned. It was pretty funny.

"Ugh, God Mickey. Seriously?"

"What? Am I wrong?"

Ian rolled his eyes so hard, Mickey was afraid he'd be shocked by the emptiness he found back there in a moment. Instead, Ian simply grimaced. "That guy really needs to back off. I literally couldn't have flashed the ring in his face more bluntly."

Mickey, using Ian being distracted by the guy, tied the bag Ian had been filling with tomatoes, discreetly moving them away from the spot they'd been standing in the past hour and a half, and towards the cash register.

"If he continues with that shit, I'll just start making out with you in front of him. Should get the point across."

Mickey only hummed in acknowledgment, content with the plan. He hated PDA but Ian made it so natural at times, there was no way he could say no to it.

"Wait, how did we end up here?" Ian glanced around him, only now noticing they were standing in line for the check-out. Mickey shook his head at his husband, who he had to admit was a himbo through and through. "Well, at least we got the tomatoes. The rest is easy."

"What is the plan, anyway?" Mickey repeated the question from before. Now, Ian didn't ignore him. He smirked at Mickey and told him not to worry about it.

"Not to --?" Mickey stuttered. "Ian, your ideas are not top-notch ideas. If I'm gonna try and catch a vegetable thief with you -- which may be the faggest thing I've ever said -- then I need to know the plan."

"Okay, fine." Ian huffed out a breath. "In short, we put these as bait, lure the asshole in, and wait to catch them in the act."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"...that's it?"

"What do you mean?" Ian smiled at the cashier as he took out a ten dollar bill from his pocket, paying for the overpriced vegetables -- or was it fruit? Mickey didn't really give a fuck.

"What do I mean? I mean, this may be the dumbest pan I've ever heard. I mean, sure, the tomatoes are good, but what, you just wanna have a stakeout the entire night? You do know the guy probably won't steal them straight away? We need to give it some time. Work out the suspect list, make sure we know who we're looking for."

Making it out onto the streets of Westside, Mickey was pleasantly greeted by the spring air -- he wouldn't admit it yet, but the Westside was something he was adapting to quite quickly. What used to make him uncomfortable when they first signed the lease changed completely in the past couple of months they'd been living here. It wasn't easy, but as the furniture rolled in, and as the apartment started feeling more like home, the whole "middle-class" life sort of followed. Both Mickey and Ian were still major fucking Southside trash. But now, they were Southside trash that lived in a pretty nice place that didn't have too many murders and attacks per day. That way, when they did happen, it felt nostalgic for Mickey. More special.

"I keep forgetting who you are. Takes a thief to catch a thief, I guess."

"I love how high of an opinion you have of me, Gallagher." Mickey replied teasingly, choosing to take it as a compliment.

Ian smiled, wrapping an arm around Mickey's shoulders, "The highest, baby."

Endeared by the nickname, Mickey blushed slightly. "C'mon man. Let's get back to the apartment. We got a stakeout that needs planning."

Ian nodded, but the arm stayed put the entire way home. Mickey didn't mind one bit.

----

"What about the lady from apartment 193? The one with the weird-ass dog?"

"Ian, she's, like, a hundred years old."

"I don't know, Mick. Seems kinda suspicious."

They were sitting on their newly-bought sofa in the living room, beers in hand, discussing the potential suspect list. Ian had his phone out, writing the names of the possible culprits down, attempting to uncover the thief by the way the crime was executed. It wasn't going that well.

Ian's suspect list was a mile long, all ranging from old women who had complimented his tomatoes months ago, to the weird guy who gave him the stink eye when they first moved in for no apparent reason. "He's out to get me, Mick. I know it." Mickey had told him to shut the fuck up, and presented his own suspect list.

His was a little more realistic, containing names such as Alan who most certainly didn't like the couple -- "maybe the reason for that is the tantrum, Mickey." "shut the fuck up, Ian." -- and the chick whose daughter had a massive crush on Mickey.

"Maybe she thinks I'm some sort of pedo. Not cool, man."

"She would have called the cops, Mickey, not stolen my tomatoes. Also, the whole thing is pretty cute."

Mickey blanched. "She's fifteen! And has a crush on me."

"She's cute, acting all flustered when you casually say "good morning" to her. She probably doesn't even know we're gay."

The girl, Courtney, lived in the apartment a couple doors down from theirs, and her apparent crush on Mickey was beyond adorable to Ian. She was amazed by his thug appearance, and she made it clear in the way she greeted him whenever she passed by the couple, ignoring Ian wholeheartedly. Mickey hadn't even noticed it until Ian pointed it out one night, and when he did, Mickey grimaced and groaned, muttering about how he really didn't need to be the cause of some kid's daydreams.

"Her mother is out to get me. And the way to get me is through you -- everybody knows that."

Ian's chest swelled at the probably insignificant sentence in Mickey's mind. "Aww, Mick. That's really sweet."

"I am sweet."

"It's not the mother. We have to come up with something else."

"Ugh." Mickey groaned. "Why can't we just do this the old-fashioned way?"

Ian simply raised an eyebrow.

"Listen, you already planted the bait when we got back, we have somewhat of a suspect list -- now, we just set up the camera."

"Camera?"

"Yes, Ian. A fucking camera."

"Where the fuck are we gonna get a camera?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Carl? He's probably got access to those hidden camera thingies at work, right? We just have him snatch one for us. We'll give it back." He then added as an afterthought, "Maybe."

Ian thought about it for a second and then sighed. "Fine, we'll do it your way."

"Better than crouching in a bush of roses in the middle of the night, Ginger."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Ian agreed, texting Carl simultaneously asking for the 'camera thingy'.

"Also, I'd probably never, under any circumstances, do that shit. Doesn't matter how much I love you."

"Uh-huh." Ian smiled at Mickey, amused.

"I'm serious." He affirmed. "Never. No fucking way."

---

"I can't believe you made me do this shit." Mickey grunted as he crouched behind a rose bush, eyes trained on Ian's vegetable patch.

"Your plan didn't work, so we're doing it my way."

"Well, I didn't really plan for the camera to get fucking broken!"

Their thief was way more skilled than they had initially thought. After they got the camera from Carl, Ian hid it well, making sure it caught the asshole on tape once they attempted to steal his goods again. And when, a couple days later, his store-bought tomatoes were ruined again, this time, squashed deliberately in the garden, he was so happy Mickey had the bright idea to record it.

Until he found the camera squashed along with the tomatoes. It still worked somewhat, and when Ian saw there was a video on it, his hopes had immediately risen, only to be squashed like the poor tomatoes when he saw the video got cut off in the middle of the night, right before the murder had taken place.

"We are gonna do this my way. And then, we'll kill them." He had told his husband.

"Sure, man. The red blood will fit right in with the tomatoes."

"Stakeout."

"No, Ian."

"The sex you'll get if you do this with me will be nothing like you'd ever experienced."

Mickey scoffed, "Sure."

Ian gave him a look full of mischief, and leaned into his ear to whisper his intentions. "Three words, baby: handcuffs, blindfold, tongue. As someone who claims he doesn't like ass-licking, you sure as fuck make some sexy, loud noises when I try it."

And that's how Mickey was there in the garden, at three in the morning with Ian, his dumbass husband, waiting for the thief to appear. Ian had planted another bait, and decided to have a stakeout that night, after loudly flaunting to the other gardeners how good his tomatoes had grown -- "They'll take the bait, Mikhailo, stop giving me that look."

"The ground is really fucking cold, man. Can't believe you convinced me to do this shit. No sex is worth this."

Ian, in response, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Mickey's neck. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah..." Mickey sighed in content. When Ian tried pulling away, he muttered, "No. Don't stop."

"Eyes on the tomatoes. You'll get your prize later."

Just as Mickey was about to protest, a figure appeared, inching towards Ian's vegetable patch. The couple stilled, eyes squinting, trying to see who the thief was -- who the fuck was it that had so easily crushed Ian's dreams of becoming a gardener, and had forced them to sacrifice their Friday night, crouching in the bushes instead of loudly fucking in their bed.

When the figure stepped even closer, Ian gasped. The culprit's face wasn't even covered and when Mickey saw who it was, he couldn't help it.

He laughed.

He laughed so hard, tears streamed down his face -- he wheezed at the sight they were greeted with. Ian hit his bicep roughly, but it was too late.

The girl had noticed them. She jumped in fear at the noise and her eyes zeroed in on the two men. Her young face paled and her eyes widened in fear.

"You!" Ian accused, jumping up to his feet, not as amused as Mickey was.

The girl jutted out her chin in defiance, not scared one bit. "Yeah. Me."

Ian stared at the fifteen-year-old. He had once considered her cute -- the crush she had on Mickey being nothing more but sickly sweet to him, perfect teasing material. But now, as he realized she was deliberately sabotaging his tomatoes because of, what? Jealousy? Oh, he was pissed.

"Why, Courtney? I've been working hard on those vegetables."

"Fruits." Courtney replied and Ian gaped at her, as Mickey kept on laughing.

"Not the point. Why? Are you jealous or something?"

"Why would I be jealous?" She asked, still acting tough for a girl who had just been caught in the act.

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Because..." She glanced at Mickey who was still on the wet ground, observing the exchange. "Your tomatoes look better than mine, and I was planning on giving Mr. Milkovich my tomatoes but it wasn't gonna work if yours looked better. So, I took yours."

Mickey busted out laughing again. This time tears were actually streaming down his face, clouding his vision. "Mr." Wheeze. "Milkovich." Wheeze.

Courtney looked down, embarrassed. "Maybe I was a little jealous. I just wanted to be noticed."

"Stealing my husband's tomatoes sure got you on my radar, kid." Mickey muttered, still laughing loudly. Perhaps too loudly for three in the morning.

Courtney stilled. "You guys aren't just... roommates?"

Ian shook his head. "No, married."

Her mouth formed an 'oh' shape, and for a moment they stood in silence. Then she laughed, sheepishly. "Well, in that case... I'm sorry?"

Ian was still on the verge of a mental breakdown, but he chose to remain calm. "Just don't do it again, please."

"I won't. I swear." She raised her hands in the air in surrender.

"Go home, kid. It's three in the fucking morning. You're way past hour bedtime." Mickey pitched in from his seat on the soil.

She nodded once again, muttering a quick "sorry", and then ran out of the garden.

Ian turned to Mickey, still shocked. "The root of all of this has been you."

Mickey just smiled. "Not intentionally."

"She wanted to give you her tomatoes. So she ruined mine."

"Your tomatoes are the only ones I care about."

"This better not be a metaphor for my balls."

"Oh, I like those too."

Ian grinned at his husband. "At least we figured out who it was." He put his hand out towards Mickey. Mickey got the hint and grabbed it, pulling himself up.

"Yeah. It was the little girl all along."

Ian snorted, still a little angry.

"How about now, you and I go back to our warm, comfy bed where you can tie me up and fulfill your promise."

"You're not tired?" Ian raised his eyebrow at Mickey.

The smile Mickey gave him was genuine. "For you? Never."

"Maybe I could fulfill my promise. It'd get my mind of off the tomatoes."

"You can always use me as a distraction." Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian's neck and pulled him down, slotting their lips together.

"I'll show you how to handle your tomatoes properly." Mickey teased and Ian all but shoved him  back to the apartment.

The sex that night was fucking amazing. Mickey realized he wouldn't mind playing detective again if this was the reward he got. Suddenly, Ian's wish to plant thise tomatoes was the best thing that could have happened to Mickey in the long run. He wasn't surprised, though.

Ian really knew how to make the most of everything for Mickey. It was probably why he loved him so much.

This was a night Mickey would probably never forget.

[hi-hey-haechan]

Perfect ~ Qian Kun

Pairing: Qian Kun x reader

Word count: 3.7k

Genre: Fluff, smut, angst

Warnings: mentions of starving oneself and insecurities about weight. I hope I didn’t romanticize this too much. It’s something that we deal with daily, and love isn’t enough to fix our own views of ourselves. This is also smutty, too.

When Kun began eating less, you didn’t think much of it. His comeback was nearing, and you figured that SM would probably force him to take off his shirt again. You believed that he looked stunning, even with his abs or jawline less prominent, but he didn’t think the same. Oh, how you wished he saw what you saw.

When “less” became even less, a gradual decline stretching out over several days, it didn’t go unnoticed. Kun knew exactly what he was doing, and so did you. While attempting to lose weight, he also tried to hide it from you. Eating more fruit (much to Ten’s dismay) and veggies, fewer carbs and less sugar, too. Overall, however, there was just a smaller amount consumed.

His energy hardly wavered, at least to the extent you could see. Kun continued to practically overwork himself, practicing arranging, producing, and writing songs into the dead of night. You saw him less, due to this, but you were sure he was living off of two hours of sleep and eight cups of coffee.

For tonight, he was back home, looking tired but happy to see you. His jawline was sharp, sharper than usual, and it kind of worried you. Have you eaten?  you wondered, looking at his slumped shoulders yet bright eyes. When you went up to hug him, he felt thinner in your arms. His hoodie didn’t hide the fact that his torso felt more rigid, less soft than before.

“I missed you,” Kun sighed, but his smile was bright. Your heart melted a bit -- gosh, you’d missed his beautiful grin. It had been so long since you’d genuinely had quality time with him, excluding a few hugs or kisses between the late nights and early mornings. He was still just as strong as his arms embraced you.

“I missed you, too. Have you eaten?”

Kun hated lying to you. He remained silent for a few seconds, considering his words carefully. “No, but I’m alright.” It wasn’t a lie: he hadn’t eaten that entire day, but he could continue to hold out. He was fine.

You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze was no longer trained on you. He didn’t want to see the expression on your face when he told you that he didn’t need to eat dinner. “You need to eat, Kun,” you told him softly. Your voice was gentle, but at the same time, you stated it like it was a fact that he couldn’t ignore.

“I’ll eat tomorrow.” That was a lie.

Based on how much weight he’d appeared to have lost, as much as you wished his statement to be the truth, you couldn’t. “I don’t believe you.”

“Okay.” His statement was plain and emotionless, like he didn’t care that you didn’t believe him. It was so much unlike him. When you looked at him, you could see that he was clenching his jaw, almost like he was angry.

“Why are you acting like this?” you felt a bit hurt by his words. You wanted him to look you in the eyes and see the softness and the warmth that was always there.

“Acting like what?” he spat.

That hurt. Kun never raised his voice. He was so patient, so level-headed and even-tempered. You thought it out. He was being defensive over his eating habits, and now he was attempting to stand his ground. He wasn’t telling you to go away or shut up, meaning that he still needed and wanted your presence, regardless of the squabbling. Kun couldn’t look you in the eye. If he stood up and left, you realized, he’d break down. He’d be running away from himself, which he wasn’t one to do. If he did this, he would force himself into the same cycle tomorrow of not eating.

You didn’t have to read into him any further. You knew him too well. He was never so blatantly against eating. He was even thinner than usual, and he was so defensive when you attempted to correct his eating habits. “Why are you starving yourself?” You had lightened your tone, trying to make it sound more welcoming, more understanding.

Kun took a ragged breath as his head slowly turned away from you. At first, you thought he was ignoring you, refusing to answer. You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear the slightest sniffle come from him.

You could only imagine how he was feeling. Now that you’d outright confronted him, he had nowhere to run. He always forced himself to stay strong, to put on a brave face and show nothing but kindness and love to the world, even when he was breaking down inside. Kun always bottled up how he felt, never wanting to burden the other people around him. But here, when you’d asked him outright about this vulnerability that he hid from others, he was breaking down, perhaps for the first time within this entire predicament. At the same time, you were stunned. You’d never seen Kun cry. Sure, he had been close to tears, like at the Beyond Live concert, where he looked so utterly happy and touched. You’d never seen him break like this, though.

You threw your arms around him. “It’s okay,” you murmured, “Cry, let it out, it’s okay.” He picked you up and placed you on his lap, granting him better access to you. His face buried itself into your shoulder, and his arms wound around your body tightly, as though you were the only thing anchoring him in that moment.

He didn’t contain his sobs, and his body shook as he cried, muffling the sounds of his sadness into the fabric of your his hoodie. His soft blue hair tickled your neck. Kun held you like you were his lifeline, hardly allowing you to move. You’d never seen him so upset, so utterly broken and vulnerable. Seeing him hurt like this without being able to help or relate to him was what was the most painful.

Upon listening to him the slightest bit further, you heard repeated whispers of the word “sorry.” The word left his mouth over and over, and you could still just barely hear him. He said it more loudly, an utterance you were intended to hear.

“You don’t need to be sorry. Don’t you ever feel sorry for hurting.” As soon as you said your words, you knew they couldn’t be attained. He felt sorry for making you see him like this, the opposite of the person he wanted to show you. As much as you didn’t want him to be sorry, he was. Because that was the kind of person Kun was: someone who would deeply regret any slight mistake he’d make and do anything to reverse it.

But as Woosung says in “She’s in the Rain” by The Rose, “It’s better to be held than holding on.”

Seeing him so broken shattered your heart into pieces. Your smiley, kind, talented, smart boyfriend was the same boy who was in your arms, sobbing because of a weakness he couldn’t overcome. You hugged him on the outside, but he was only suffering on the inside, and you didn’t know how deeply your hug would manage to touch him, to help him.

After almost an eternity, Kun’s tears and sobs ceased. He didn’t stop holding you, clutching onto you with everything he had. Even when the worst of the storm had passed, the bad weather was still present, just as Kun still needed you near.

“If I ask you something, I need you to be completely honest in your answer,” Kun said. “Please, don’t worry about hurting my feelings. Lying will hurt more than the truth.”

His head had withdrawn itself from your shoulder, his face tearstained and red. Kun’s eyes were slightly red from all the crying, and the sight made your heart clench. You leaned forward and pressed kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his mouth, trying to calm him down, to make him feel loved. His skin lingered with the salt of his tears, but you didn’t care. “Ask me anything,” you replied.

“So you know how they call me ‘Fat Kun,’“ he began, unable to look you in the eyes. Just hearing that statement alone sent a wave of anger through you. He then continued, “How accurate is that nickname?”

Oh, that’s why he’s been doing all this to himself. His members had given him that nickname back in 2018. One of his members would occasionally let the name slip now, but Kun would just brush it off, grin and bear it. What was worse was the fact that his fans picked up on the nickname. They found it funny and affectionate to pick on their favorite idols like that. NCTzens should have known damn well that calling him “Fat Kun” was not a term that made him feel good about himself. To some fans, that was his only character trait. Kun had outright said that being called by that derogatory nickname made him uncomfortable, yet people kept doing it. Some NCTzens sucked. Of course he felt self-conscious, if his own fans kept calling him fat.

And he wasn’t even fat! You were honestly concerned for his weight, since he was forced to conform to the beauty standards of idols, which meant being quite thin. He already was thin. You knew that Kun’s body gained weight easily, but you saw how conscious he was of it. He always watched what he ate and exercised daily.

“It’s not accurate at all, in the slightest,” you told him honestly.

“I knew you’d say that.” Most people wouldn’t be able to tell from him, but the slightest hint of disappointment was in his voice. He wanted to hear a different answer. If you’d called him fat indirectly, it would give him motivation for working towards being slimmer. You couldn’t call him fat for two reasons: one, it wasn’t true, and two, it would hurt him. The fact that he thought you were lying to him, the fact that he believed himself to truly look a certain way, was what caused you to embrace him, pulling his head to your chest.

His soft hair tickled against your neck at chin, but you pressed your lips to the top of his head regardless. One of your hands reached up to the back of his head, pulling it even closer to you. You heard Kun take a deep breath in, attempting to keep and remain calm. “I said it because it’s true,” you murmured. “You’re slim, Kun, and you care so much that it worries me.”

“I guess I just want to look my best? For the NCTzens and Weishennies?”

Kun was too sweet. Seriously. You smiled at it and stated the most truthful words you could: “Best? Kun, you’re too perfect for this world. You care about your fans, who usually don’t deserve a fraction of what you give them. You lead the other members so well, always caring for them. Your voice is beautiful, but it could never be as beautiful as your heart. Nothing could be as sweet and kind and open and wise as your own heart. Plus, you look absolutely beautiful, too. Your smile lights up the world and brings joy to my life. Your eyes are full of sincerity. That face you make when people tease you and you’re annoyed but just laugh it off because you love them too much? It’s so cute. Your dimples that pop out whenever you talk or laugh make my heart melt. You’re absolutely perfect.”

“Hey, don’t disrespect the fans like that,” he reprimanded gently. The fact that he cared so much about them made you want to cry. The way he had so much love for everything was so pure and sweet. He gave you a smile, and it felt like an apple cutter was trying to dig out the center of your heart, causing your stomach to do flips and your entire being to want to kiss him.

“I’ll disrespect anyone who makes you feel bad about yourself,” you told him.

“It’s part of life. I’ll get by.”

A thought suddenly occurred to you, and upon this curiosity, you inquired. “Wait, is this why you’ve been so...shy these past few weeks?”

The tips of Kun’s ears turned red, and his gaze shifted to something that was behind you. “I had felt bad about it before, you know. It’s just...I didn’t want you to see me like that until I had bettered myself.”

It broke your heart to hear. He wanted to be his best for you, and at the same time, he didn’t believe he was enough. You’d barely seen him for weeks, much less been able to be this close to him, due to how distant he was being. Intimacy had been practically nonexistent.

“Baby,” you whispered. You hardly knew what to say. “I love you no matter what you look like. You could be a potato and I’d still love you. Well, okay, I do love potatoes in general, but I hope you get what I’m saying. I, and your fans, too, love you for you, and not for your visuals or your abs or jawline. Yes, every physical part of you is absolutely perfect, but you’re more than that.”

You wished your words were making sense to him. You hoped you were making your point, that you loved him so, so unconditionally, and you couldn’t even try to change that. You didn’t want to change it.

“You don’t have to believe me,” you assured him. “I know that another person’s comments aren’t enough to change a person’s view of themselves. Just because I tell you that you’re perfect doesn’t mean you have to believe it. But I believe it because it’s what I see when I look at you.”

Kun’s eyes had met yours again, and they were bearing into yours with so much emotion that you almost wanted to cry. “Thank you,” was all he really could say. “I love you. I love you so much.” After hearing your words, you knew he had so much to say, so much to think about, but he didn’t know how to say it, especially without crying or being disingenuous towards himself.

So you kissed him. You had kissed him just a few times in those past two weeks, but this one was different. You could taste the salt of his tears on his lips, and you pulled him closer, trying to portray every feeling you had through the connection of your mouths. He held you fast, arms remaining tightly around your body. Kun’s lips were soft as ever, but they way he was kissing you, grasping onto you desperately, wasn’t quite so soft.

His mouth was moving against yours fervently, and the words he silently spoke were a mix of “I love yous,” “I missed yous,” and “I need yous.” He meant that last phrase in every sense of the term. He needed you in his life; he needed you to love him and anchor him when his entire world was chaos. He needed you close to him, as close as you were right then.

But any closer was when Kun’s brain would come into play, trying to turn his momentary comfort into something different. The prospect of you seeing him completely naked scared him. His confidence had never been too high regarding his physical appearance, but after dwelling on nothing else, twisting what he saw into something he disliked, he didn’t want you to look at him, no matter what you may have thought before.

Kun’s brain was running a million miles a second. He broke away, needing to understand his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked quietly. “Are you alright?”

He looked at you apologetically, and his face was red. “It’s just...I want to make you feel...good. But the idea of actually getting undressed doesn’t sound...”

“You don’t have to explain. I understand. We don’t have to do anything. I care about you more than anything else.”

“But the problem is the fact that I want you so bad. I missed you in every sense of the word, but I can’t...show you me?”

“And you don’t have to.” Kun kissed your lips again, desperate and loving and understanding and lustful. His hands moved from your waist, to your hips, to your head, fingers tangling in your hair. When you ground your hips down on him, Kun’s member was already hard. You were just testing the waters, in a way, waiting to see his reaction, but you already knew what he wanted, both by the erection that pressed against your crotch and the quiet groan that was stifled in the back of his throat.

“Y/n,” Kun sighed against your mouth, “I missed you so much.” His lips captured yours again, and you couldn’t help but feel warm and loved. You adored this feeling of closeness, and you were aware of every detail of his body. His fingertips were lightly brushing against your scalp. His hair tickled against your forehead, and his heat radiated from his perfect mouth. Your own throbbing core was pressed against his erection, the layers between you refusing to limit the effect he had on you.

You broke away for a second, and your fingers flew down to his hoodie, lightly disappearing under the hem of it. “Can I...?” you whispered. The feeling of his skin under yours would make both of you into messes, and the heat of him would create an unspoken, powerful intimacy, just as it always did.

“Just for a minute,” he replied. Your mouth was no longer against his, and you slid your hands further up. The glancing touch of your fingertips made contact with his heated skin. You made sure to be gentle, and you dragged your hands down his stomach, running over the clear muscle that was present. The ridges of his abs turned you on even more, but it also reminded you how hard he worked to look perfect, how much he cared.

“You’re perfect,” you told him with unabashed sincerity. You kissed him again. “Absolutely beautiful,” you mumbled against his mouth. As you remembered his instructions, you withdrew your hands and tangled your fingers in his hair, kissing him harder, more roughly.

Once again, you ground your hips against his, letting out a soft “Fuck” as his hard-on pressed onto your clothed clit. His mouth opened against yours in a tiny gasp, and this allowed you to deepen the kiss.

Kun moaned into your mouth when you ground on him again and slid your tongue into his mouth. He felt too wrapped up in you to think of anything else. His senses were filled with you, how perfect you felt and how much pleasure you brought to him.

You two were in your own little world. You continued lightly humping on his hard member, coaxing the prettiest noises from him. Kun was clearly sensitive, hardly having been touched for a few weeks. With all the pent-up stress and emotion, he needed the release all the much more. Admittedly, you weren’t doing too well easily, either. You felt his erection press into your clit, indirectly dragging through your dripping folds. Shamelessly, a whimper passed your lips.

Kun, you realized, despite being under you, knew how to bring you the most amount of pleasure. He grabbed your waist, helping to guide you down on him more harshly. It felt even better, the increased pressure emitting moans from both of you. When he rotated you on his hips, the gyrating motion was right against your clit.

“Again,” you begged, which was when you realized how raw and husky your voice was.

After another gyration, Kun bucked his hips up into yours, letting out a breathless moan. “Why do you feel so good?” he managed to say.

When he began to help you move into a rhythm, you knew you wouldn’t last. The constant friction right against your clit, against your throbbing core, made you almost close your legs from the sensitivity. You could barely comprehend why grinding against his hard-on turned you into a mess, but you loved it so much.

“K-Kun, baby, I’m gonna cum,” you whispered against his sweatshirt, for your head was buried in his shoulder.

His hands squeezed your waist, and his cock twitched under you. He swore, which he really didn’t often do, and stuttered, “M-me, too,”

Your movements were faltering, and the knot in your stomach was begging to come loose. Kun and you couldn’t hold back your sounds of pleasure. Missing each other, deprived of touch, had taken its toll on both of you.

When you came, your thighs clamped more tightly around him as your pleasure overtook you. A choked sob passed your lips, and you found yourself clenching around nothing, squirming on his lap. You managed to squeak out his name multiple times, and you were gripping onto his shoulders as you got went over the edge.

Kun, too, was a mess when he came, legs shaking, breaths uneven, moans and breathless, beautiful sighs left his mouth. Under your core, which got so wet that it leaked through your leggings, you felt his hot seed be shot from him with nowhere to go. He was hugging you tightly, grasping onto you as he came hard, his cum staining the front of his sweatpants.

As soon as his breaths returned to normal, you embraced him again. “You’re perfect, Kun, in every single way. And if you don’t see it, I’ll remind you of it until you do.”

When Kun kissed you again this time, it wasn’t lustful as it was the first time around. This was gentle and patient. “I love you, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you ever apologize for being insecure.”

Kun didn’t answer, but instead went back to just holding you. “I think I need to clean up,” he said, out of nowhere, despite it being true.

You laughed, climbed off his lap, and held out your hand. As soon as he cleaned himself off, and so did you, you refused to ever let him go again, and you two clung to each other endlessly.

I saw people still calling him “Fat Kun,” and I heard rumors about him starving himself, especially around NCT 2018. Kun is perfect, beautiful and precious in every way, and so I wrote this purely self-indulgent thing that took like a week.

[vickyvicarious]

Eliot sweet talking Nana into sharing her secret family recipes so he can get more vegetables into both Hardison and Parker.

I was just going to write a short headcanon post about this but then the first line popped into my mind along with a line about Eliot utilizing his retrieval skills, and then next thing I knew this was a fic. First in this fandom so go easy on me.

(AO3 link.)

.

The carrot cake was the final straw.

Eliot knew his partners had terrible diets, okay? It was impossible for anyone to miss that, the way Hardison would just fill up any empty space in any fridge with orange soda, or Parker would get more cereal than was physically possible to store in the cupboard until there was at least one box permanently sitting on the table. He was well aware, and he’d been taking steps for a while to deal with matters.

He bought Hardison a fridge of his own - a mini fridge - and just poured out any soda he found anywhere else. He impressed upon Parker that just this shelf was for cereal and solemnly swore to her that he would never let it get beyond half-empty before filling it again. In the meantime, he filled the rest of his kitchen with actual ingredients, and always had a bowl of fruit out so they would have something healthy as an easy-to-grab snack. He didn’t put anything Parker liked hidden on a high shelf, because she’d find that fun; just small decoy portions while he kept most of his chocolate inside an old Wheat Thins box at the back of the cracker shelf. Speaking of chips, if he opened the bag of a good brand, then Hardison would gravitate toward it once he’d finished his Cheetos instead of going out to buy more, so that was just a matter of letting him buy one bag and then watching the level and timing when to get the other stuff out.

They both ate meat well enough, though Hardison liked to put in requests for absolutely sacrilegious misuses of various cuts; when Eliot humored him and actually destroyed his fish or brisket or whatever else as requested, he actually did seem to enjoy it, which was... very wrong, and disappointing, but at least the food was still going in his body. Parker quite liked some types of pasta now, and she seemed to enjoy when he put effort into plating things up nicely, but she was still a work in progress on any actual mealtime like a family (or a date. Not that Eliot hadn’t had to eat on the run plenty of times before, but - he’d had to. You don’t walk in to a table set for multiple healthy, delicious, innovative courses he’d been cooking for hours and then just grab bites as you wander around the room! He’d had wine out! Norah Jones playing softly in the background! No candles because he wasn’t an idiot, but it was clearly a romantic meal! What the hell kind of untrained toddler behaviour-).

Breakfast was easy, since they both liked eggs and there were a lot of ways to go from there. Breakfast potatoes were a hit too, and bacon, and they’d even eat oatmeal if he smothered it in sugar so that was something. For lunch, Hardison at least appreciated a good sandwich. Granted, usually only a stolen one because he didn’t like to make any kind of food at all that didn’t come out of a plastic package with microwave instructions on the side (and that had been an argument for the ages, the microwave one. Frankly most things could be heated better on a pan or in an oven, and those that were meant for the microwave were usually mass-produced garbage Hardison really didn’t need in his diet, but he disagreed vehemently and in the end that was one battle Eliot had definitively lost), but once Eliot caught on, he just started making double whatever he ate. Parker scoffed at the idea of lunch, for some reason, claiming that a granola bar or a brownie would get her through till dinner, but if he packed a lunchbox to look interesting and then gave it to her, she’d usually eat it. He just stocked up on bento boxes and made various kinds of colorful and/or childish looking foods and they came back mostly empty so that was good enough.

(Hardison claimed to have gotten jealous about it. Eliot was pretty certain he was making fun of him, so obviously he said he’d be caught dead before packing a lunch for him. He was a grown man and could do it himself.

“She’s a grown woman!” he complained, pointing at Parker, who was sitting perched on the back of an armchair nibbling away at her kraken bento - black noodle limbs, gyoza face, and grabbing a little egg scuba diver. “Sh-she should have to - this is discrimination!”

“Stay away from my octopus,” she squinted menacingly. When Hardison just glared mulishly back, she hugged the food closer to her chest. “It’s not for you, this is my little dead man.”

She popped the egg into her mouth and chewed, never breaking eye contact.

He turned back to Eliot to complain some more, but apparently that was only an attempt to fake her out, because he tried to grab the gyoza barehanded and she screeched, flinging her chopsticks at his face before fleeing across the room. Noodles got everywhere, Hardison had two little round bruises on his cheek the next morning, and somehow Eliot wound up packing everyone lunches every morning after that, and putting notes on them to label who each one went to.

He did not put sappy notes instead the boxes. He wasn’t their parent, okay. The notes inside the lunch were only ever reminders they needed for the con, like Parker’s character’s peanut allergy and how she needed to have the attack exactly two minutes after the mark joined her at the break table, or for Hardison to lock Lucille II behind him because even if he could track down someone who took off in her, he really shouldn’t have to again.)

Anyway, Eliot had something of a system down at this point. It wasn’t perfect, but it was workable for the most part. The one exception was vegetables, which they both hated. He’d tried to hide them several times, but they often picked them out or he just couldn’t stand to puree broccoli into a little garnish/dip just because his girlfriend and boyfriend were both giant babies about actually eating them whole. He had to eat the food too, and he enjoyed himself some veggies like any sane person would. They ate the ones hidden in their lunches almost half of the time, and sometimes other varieties, so he tried not to focus on that too much. Baby steps, he thought. First regular meals at all, then vegetables later.

But the carrot cake.

That was just too much.

It was cake. It was covered in cream cheese frosting. Carrot cake wasn’t anything but decadent, at least not the way Eliot made it for Hardison’s birthday. It was sweet, had just the right texture from the roasted pecans, the perfect hint of cinnamon and ginger. Not a complicated dish by any means, but pretty well near perfect, in Eliot’s no goddamn need to be humble opinion.

Hardison scrunched up his nose.

“Oh,” he said, not accepting the large slice Eliot tried to give him. “Eliot, I’m hoping this is a joke and you have my Red Velvet in the fridge?”

Parker let him hand her the plate, ate a bite, spat it out, then just started eating straight frosting off all the sides.

Eliot could feel his hands twitching. He very carefully set down the knife.

“What’s wrong with my cake?” he asked. Gave them the benefit of the doubt, and tried a bite: delicious.

“I mean... it’s a carrot cake,” Hardison said delicately, as though Eliot had made some kind of mistake and he felt a little bad pointing it out to him.

“So?”

“Carrot, Eliot.”

“Cake, HARDISON.”

“I like the frosting,” Parker interjected, and Eliot glanced over to her. She’d moved on from her own plate and was just scraping fingerfuls of frosting directly off the top of the cake. His cake. His cake for Hardison’s birthday, his beautiful cake -

“Babe, we love you but you gotta know vegetables don’t have any place in a dessert, that’s just wrong. C’mon, you really didn’t make me something else? Really?”

“THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!” Eliot bellowed and stormed out of the apartment. He took the cake with him.

.

He brought it to Sophie and Nate, since they were in town and they weren’t insane like some people he knew.

“People you’ve, uh, chosen to dedicate the rest of your life to,” Nate pointed out around a mouthful. “I mean, you knew what they were like.”

“Oh, hush, Nate, don’t you get it? They’ve hurt Eliot’s feelings,” Sophie explained. She ate another bite, hummed approvingly, then waved her fork around to emphasize her words: “For Eliot, food is life. He wants them to lead long and healthy lives, he wants to live with them and show his love for them and keep them safe, and they just rejected that. It’s not all about the vegetables, y’know?”

Eliot was never sure whether he loved Sophie best or least of all.

“It’s definitely all about the vegetables,” he said, crossing his arms. The pair of them exchanged a look and then smiled at him warmly, like he’d just done something cute.

“Fine! Forget it,” he snarled, pushing himself roughly to his feet.

Behind him, Nate grunted the distinctive grunt of someone receiving a pointy elbow to the side, then cleared his throat.

“Okay, okay - wait! Wait, all right, I might have one idea.” When he turned back, Nate was rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. “You’ve tried featuring the veggies, right, and hiding them. I’m sure you’ve lectured them both to death about why they should be eating more vegetables, but that’s not going to work on them, is it, because there’s no connection there. Ad novitam is only going to get you so far, you need the, the personal touch, a little ad misericordiam if you will.”

“I am not telling them it makes me sad when they don’t eat their greens,” Eliot said firmly.

“But it does,” Sophie said lightly. She met his glare with a soft smile, and popped another bite of cake into her mouth.

“N- Well, no, obviously, but you’ve got to think it through, Eliot. Step away from the situation. How can you imbue the food itself with emotion? Not for you -” Nate spoke a little louder as Eliot started to answer, “you’re not our mark here. What kind of food, with vegetables, is going make them feel an emotional connection?”

Eliot subsided, frowning down at his own plate. That... was actually a pretty good point.

“Hm, my favorite is still that little restaurant in Paris, with the exquisite quiche. But, I suppose hard-scrambled eggs are a bit of a guilty pleasure,” Sophie mused. “Mum was never any good at cooking.”

“You too?” Nate turned to her. “Yeah, my dad could set water on fire. I remember eating from my meal plan at college - the cafeteria, mind you - thinking how good the food was in comparison.”

The solution clicked into place. (Of course it did, they’d practically hand-fed it to him.)

Eliot stood up and grabbed his coat.

“Oh, are you leaving, Eliot?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah,” he said, and turned back to smirk at them. “I’m gonna go steal Hardison’s childhood.”

.

Once upon a time, Eliot had been a retrieval specialist. You name it, he got it back. Sometimes it was actually a they or even a them, on occasion. He’d committed arson for a pair of scissors, had gathered up a scatted set of Fabergé eggs from seven different countries and two different mafias, had traveled more than once through airport security with a live frog in his pants. The business was a strange one, but he’d been the best at it. And in the years since he left, his life hadn’t exactly gotten less weird; Leverage saw to that.

Breaking into an old woman’s home and stealing a book of recipes would be easier than taking candy from a baby. Of course, Hardison made sure to keep his Nana safe, and from everything he’d heard she could certainly take care of herself, but still it wouldn’t be any great challenge for Eliot to just break in and take what he wanted. He could do it and leave without her ever knowing he’d even been there.

He rang the doorbell, and gave her his best smile when it swung open.

“Hello ma’am, I’m Eliot. Can I come in?”

(This was Hardison’s Nana, he’d never do wrong by her like that. Anyway, it wouldn’t even work. For this he needed her direct input.)

Nana was a short, soft-looking woman. Her hair was pushed back with a purple headband, and she wore loose comfortable pants and a clearly old t-shirt covered in child-sized paint handprints. She exuded a sort of maternal air that had Eliot relaxing into the visit almost despite himself. They’d only ever spoken on the phone, and he’d admittedly felt a little awkward about his plan due to that detail alone. He knew Hardison would love for them to meet her, but it just hadn’t happened yet - honestly, Eliot had been reluctant before, worried that she would find him wanting, and he’d always been relieved that no plans had crystallized into anything solid.

Certainly, despite welcoming him in and getting them all set up on the couch with home-made lemonades, it was clear she felt suspicious. A few minutes in, she dropped the small talk altogether to pin Eliot with a steely glare.

“I’m fairly certain Alec wanted to be here when we met so he could brag some more about how hot his partners are,” she said, making Eliot flush. “And I’m just as certain nothing has happened to him, or it wouldn’t be you here to tell me, so that just leaves me confused.”

She raised an eyebrow, letting him take his time responding.

He looked down at his lap. Ran a hand through his hair, feeling... not less confident that he’d get those recipes by the end of this visit, but certainly more bashful about it.

“Uh. Yes ma’am,” he said. Quickly corrected himself, remembering her insistence over the phone, “uh, Nana. See, he doesn’t actually... know I’m here...”

“I’d guessed as much,” she said wryly.

“Right. Um, I actually wanted to ask you something. There’s something I want to do for him - well, for them - but I need your help to do it right.”

She stared him down a moment longer. Then her eyes widened, and she sat back in her seat with a little gasp, hand over her heart.

“Oh, Eliot,” she said warmly, leaning forward again to grab his hand and hold it between hers, “Oh, sweet boy, of course he’ll say yes. You should hear the way he talks about you, Alec’s been head over heels for years. I may not have met Parker personally, but I’m sure she will too. You don’t have anything to worry about, trust me on that.”

“What?” he croaked. “I... w-what?”

His voice broke in his throat. He wanted to yank away but he felt frozen in place. He didn’t understand how she’d - okay, no, he could easily see how she would draw the wrong conclusions from this situation, but they were the wrong conclusions! He’d never even considered marriage since Aimee, let alone proposing to Parker and Hardison. It wasn’t like a three-way marriage was even legal, and even if it were he would never. It was too much - not too much commitment, he’d already promised the rest of his life to them both, but still too much, somehow. He’d never dare.

“I know Alec doesn’t think too much of the institution in general,” Nana said, waving a dismissive hand, “but if you do he’ll understand that. He might not need it but he won’t say no if you ask, hon. I can promise you that.”

Eliot meant to deny the very idea. Instead what came out of his mouth was a shaky:

“...Are you sure?”

.

Hardison’s Nana - his Nana too, she insisted, even after Eliot finally managed to clear up the misunderstanding - was truly a gem of a woman. He could see so much of who Hardison had turned out to be in her kindness, her cleverness, her sense of humor. She’d broken out the picture albums for him, and had even kindly let him keep one photo of a gaptoothed little Alec in a horrible bowl cut, grinning proudly and brandishing a blue ribbon next to his science project. To Eliot’s complete lack of surprise, he’d won every year with zero competition from his peers.

(He told her that he wanted the picture to make fun of Hardison with. It was true, but she still just patted him on the shoulder and told him to keep it. Didn’t say a word when he tucked it into his wallet with unnecessary care.)

They talked for a long time. She gave him a journal to copy directly from her personal recipe book, a lovely clothbound thing spattered with grease and burnt at one edge, smelling of spices and old paper; clearly well used. She told him it was passed down from her mother, who’d put in lots of her mother’s recipes. Eliot took notes as she talked him through every one. He had a good memory but he didn’t want to miss a thing, and her recipes as written were bare bones. He could cook a delicious meal from them easily enough, but it wouldn’t have her heart in it, not like what he wanted to make.

Just talking could only do so much, and eventually they found themselves in the kitchen, demonstrating techniques and favored spice blends. It was nice, just in and of itself. Eliot rarely got to talk shop with other cooks, and it had been a long time since he’d eaten anything home-made by someone else. Nana never went to school for this stuff, but clearly her long years of experience carried their own weight, because she knew what she was talking about. 

It was late in the night by the time Eliot left her house, feeling himself flush to his ears as she kissed him on the cheek before waving until he’d driven away. And this after wrapping him up in a tight, warm hug just inside the front door.

“Alec’s done well for himself,” she said, and winked. “Now, next time I want you to bring that young lady of yours as well, you hear me? Make that a promise.”

“I will,” he said.

.

It was nearly three AM by the time he got home. Parker crashed out of the dark the second he stepped inside, clinging to him as he caught her midair.

“You made Hardison sad on his birthday,” she told him sternly, and headbutted him hard on the temple. As he winced, she pressed her nose down against his shoulder and took a long sniff. “You smell like lemons.”

“You made me sad on Hardison’s birthday,” Eliot sighed. “I mean, mad.”

“Doesn’t matter, you made him sad so I’m not sorry,” she said, and snuggled close.

Eliot carried her through the apartment, avoiding bumping into any furniture through the ease of experience, and into the bedroom. Hardison was sprawled across the mattress, fast asleep with a frown.

Setting Parker down, Eliot got undressed and climbed into the bed. He scooted behind Hardison, leaning up on an elbow to swipe a gentle thumb over the furrow between his brows. It came back, so he wiped at it again, and kissed Alec’s shoulder when he huffed a little and his face relaxed. Eliot kissed him one more time, then lay down behind him with an arm draped over his side.

Rather than going around the bed to the free space on Hardison’s other side, Parker crammed herself onto the mattress right behind Eliot, pushing him further into Hardison and determinedly spooning him.

He craned his neck up to look at her in the dark. She met his gaze solemnly and squeezed tighter, slipping a leg between his.

Eliot fell asleep warm, entangled in the two loves of his life.

.

He woke stinking hot, still entangled but a lot less happy about it. This happened every time he slept in the middle; he didn’t know why he kept letting it happen. Every single time he’d wake abruptly, heart thrumming in an instinctive alert to something wrong... Only to realize that something was just Parker drooling on his ear, or Hardison’s morning breath in his face, and (every time) both their limbs all wrapped up around him and each other in a very sweet, sweaty, and constricting mess.

The first few times he’d suffered through it, unwilling to wake them. Still basking in the fact that he was here, that he got to be a part of this. But Hardison slept like the dead, and Parker had the ability to wake up and go back to sleep pretty much indefinitely, so Eliot had no compunctions about shoving them aside anymore. He also knew that the other two were night owls who would happily sleep in to eight or even ten if left undisturbed. Eliot woke habitually at five regardless of how late he’d been up, maybe six at the latest; morning snuggles just really weren’t practical.

He wriggled free, clambering over Parker and catching her when the bed dipped and she nearly fell to the floor. Her eyes shot open, clocked him, then dropped shut as she went right back to sleep. He left them there and went to go take a shower, then wandered into the kitchen, grabbing up his new cookbook from his jacket pocket on the way.

Eliot was operating on only a couple hours of sleep; Nana didn’t exactly live next door, and he was frankly lucky he’d got out the cake relatively early in the afternoon, to be able to catch her awake at all. It wasn’t like he’d ruined Hardison’s whole birthday, just that last part they’d set aside for the three of them. They had already hung out with Nate and Sophie in the morning, and Hardison had a long phone call with Nana even before that. Parker had even given Hardison her present: a little statuette originally from a museum in Delhi if Eliot wasn’t mistaken. It was some god or something, but bore a striking resemblance to an Ewok, a detail she’d correctly guessed Hardison would love. He’d been planning on giving his present after the cake, at which point they were going to, on Hardison’s specific request, have a very normal and boring date at home. There had been a lot of jobs lately, so that must have tied into his desire for domesticity - that and ‘birthday rights’ to force them to watch all his nerd movies and lose at various video games.

They hadn’t planned anything for today either, so it wasn’t like those plans couldn’t still happen... And in fact yesterday hadn’t even been Hardison’s real birthday, just the replacement day they’d agreed to celebrate on when a con ran through the actual day. But in the cold light of day he felt a lot more stupid about taking a vegetable-related risk on Hardison’s cake, and then reacting stupidly when they didn’t like it. To be fair, he hadn’t considered it a risk at all, hadn’t even been thinking of his ongoing quest to feed them better so much as the fact that carrot cakes were good and he knew Hardison liked cream cheese frosting - but still. Sophie may have hit the nail on the head, but it was still a stupid and immature nail to let get in the way like he’d done.

He had to at least try to make it up to him.

Accordingly, the breakfast casserole Eliot put together was about as far removed from a healthy meal as any non-dessert in Nana’s cookbook. A baked blueberry French toast creation with lots of sugar, it actually was more of a dessert than anything else. It also took hours in the fridge, but that was alright; not the first time Eliot getting up so much earlier came in handy.

He took the time that it spent in the fridge to clean the apartment. He got out his gift to Hardison, swept and mopped and watered all the plants. Did some laundry, meditated a bit. Pretty much just puttered around for hours, steadily feeling worse and worse about his outburst the day before. Parker had been accepting if not forgiving, and didn’t need an explanation; Hardison might not feel the same. Eliot didn’t expect him to; he was the one clearly in the wrong. He really couldn’t regret the outcome of meeting Nana and getting her recipes, but it should have been on any other day.

He managed to time the casserole just to when the other two got up; just as Eliot pulled it from the oven, Parker wandered into the room.

“Ooh!” she said, and approached with a clear intent to stick her fingers directly into the hot food. Eliot intercepted her with a glare and a whap with his oven-mitt. She retaliated with a vicious pinch to the back of his hand and grabbed a blueberry off the top, tossing it into her mouth and wincing as she burnt herself chewing it.

“Quit that, it’s Hardison’s,” he told her.

“Hardison!” Parker yelled in what appeared to be terror, because of course she would. “I need your help right now!”

He came tumbling into the room, still only half-dressed and clumsily wielding Parker’s taser at the couch. When he saw only the two of them calmly watching him, he attempted to hide it behind his back.

“Oh hey, what’s up everyone,” he said nonchalantly. “Breakfast? Awesome. Smells like something Nana used to make.”

Parker went over and kissed him as she stole the taser out of his hand. She held it up in front of his face.

“Mine,” she scolded.

“Hey, I was ready to defend your life,” Hardison said, mock-offended. “What, you want me to run into an ambush empty-handed? Come on, baby, look who you’re talking to.”

“If you’d let Eliot teach you MMA like me then -”

“Then what, you’d use it as an excuse to choke me out again? I know what you’re after, I recognize that look in your eyes -”

“Hey, come’n eat.” Eliot put two full plates of breakfast  casserole down on the island. He braced himself, ready for Hardison to keep giving him the silent treatment or outright call him out on his behavior.

It didn’t happen.

“Morning Eliot,” he said as he came over to grab a stool. He leaned across the island; when Eliot was too surprised to meet him halfway, he rolled his eyes and reached out a hand to grab his face and pull it close enough for a quick kiss. Then he plopped down into his seat, inhaling deeply at his food. “Oh man, this smells exactly like Nana’s Blueberry Thing, I loved that as a kid. How’d you know?”

Eliot slowly sank down from his tiptoes. His stomach hurt a little from being yanked up against the edge of the island, his lips still felt the impression of Hardison’s. He... really didn’t understand.

“Uh, Nana said you liked it best,” he replied a little too woodenly. Neither of his partners seemed to notice.

“You been talkin’ to her without me?” Hardison asked, before taking a bite and moaning. It wasn’t a sex moan - Eliot knew what those sounded like - but it was damn near. “Did you turn into her? What the hell, this is it, this is the Blueberry Thing!”

Parker was at her own plate the moment Eliot said Nana; she was always fascinated by any mention of the woman, and would probably taze him for meeting her first. Right now, she was digging into her own plate, eyes closed.

Eliot cut himself a serving too and sat down to eat with them. He felt tentative, somehow, embarrassed.

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Went to talk to her last night. Got some recipes.”

The food was good. Sweet, warm, filling; clearly a comfort meal. He dug in.

When he looked up, Parker and Hardison were both staring at him. She opened her mouth, paused, and then fell silent with a glance to Hardison. He was staring at Eliot, mouth open.

“What the hell, hon?”

Eliot clenched his jaw. He knew what he should say. He’d spent all morning prepping himself to say it.

“...You never opened my present,” he said instead.

Hardison squinted at him.

“Yeah, I wasn’t gonna without you there,” he said pointedly.

“Right, well, here,” Eliot said and shoved it his direction before going back to his food. He could feel them staring at him but didn’t lift his head, kept shoveling bite after bite into his mouth as he heard Hardison final tearing at the wrapping paper, grumbling incoherently to himself.

A moment later, the angry mumbles got louder when he opened the first box to reveal the second one.

By the time Hardison got down to the final layer, a small paper booklet six boxes in, Parker was snickering rudely and his muttering was about half swear-words. Eliot still didn’t look up, kept waiting until Hardison actually read the gift.

(He’d thought it would be funny, obviously. He’d thought it would be hilarious, to watch Hardison getting more and more irritated by the wrapping paper. And he knew the gift itself wasn’t anything much, but Eliot usually prided himself on being good at getting people things they didn’t know they wanted, or didn’t think they’d ever get. He knew it was childish and kind of stupid right from the jump, but money didn’t really mean too much to Hardison, and he was confident he’d love this.

After his behavior last night, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Immaturity took on a different tone right now.)

“‘Eliot Tickets,’“ he heard Hardison read off slowly, then - “no.”

He glanced up sharply, but it’d been a sound of delight. Hardison’s eyes were wide and he was flipping through the pages rapidly with an ever-widening grin.

“No nerd jokes for twenty-four hours, back massage, favorite food, favorite sex, get-out-of-scolding free, dessert for dinner, oh my god Comic-Con?! Get to play with your hair, get to pick your cover, computer lessons, videogames, sleeping in, what kind of goldmine is this -”

Parker leaned over his shoulder as he kept going, pointing out her favorites as they worked their way quickly through the rest of the little booklet. It wasn’t horrendously long, but long enough: one ticket for every year. Twenty-eight in all.

Twenty-nine, including the piece of paper Eliot had slipped in front of the last page at seven-thirty this morning, before carefully re-wrapping every box.

“‘One I’m sorry,’” Parker read out loud. She met Eliot’s eyes as she asked, “Are you gonna use it?”

Hardison hummed thoughtfully, then picked it up to reveal the last page.

“No, I’mma save this for just the right time,” he said, waving it in the air. He looked Eliot in the eye and smirked meaningfully. “You messed up, man, you didn’t put an expiration date on any of these.”

“Dammit,” Eliot grumbled, like he’d just realized.

(It hadn’t been a mistake.)

“Don’t need that right now anyway,” Hardison continued, tucking it back into the middle of the book. “This, on the other hand - this one I’m cashing in now.”

Eliot took the little piece of paper Hardison ripped free. He sighed.

“Really?”

“Hell yes, now get in here - and no complaining, them’s the rules you made your own self. You too, Parker, c’mere.”

Eliot stood up and rounded the island, halting with a sigh just before reaching Hardison, who stood to meet him. He ripped the coupon in half.

“All right, here goes.”

Tucking the pieces into his pocket, Eliot stepped forward into Hardison’s outstretched arms, tucking himself in close and hugging him back tightly. A moment later, he felt Parker collide with them both, one arm over his shoulders and a leg around his hips. He sighed again, this time into Hardison’s shoulder, and let himself sway when they did, a gentle rock back and forth.

He closed his eyes when they started to sting.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into Hardison’s shoulder after a long minute. “Shouldn’ta left.”

“That does not count, Eliot,” Hardison told him firmly, and didn’t let go. “I did not use my coupon, I still got my coupon, you aren’t getting out of anythin’ with that you hear me?”

Parker snickered behind him.

“Not getting out of anything at all,” she said, and squeezed tighter. “We’ve got you trapped.”

.

(The next time he fed them vegetables, it was a Nana recipe and Hardison ate without complaint. Parker ate because she wanted to know what it felt like to be a little Hardison, and proclaimed the experience ‘like one of my harnesses’ which was obviously a very positive review.

The next time he fed them vegetables and it wasn’t a Nana recipe, they exchanged a look and then each ate exactly half of their servings. The rest they snuck back onto Eliot’s plate one bite at a time like he wouldn’t notice. He let them get away with it and looked down at everyone’s empty plates afterward with a weird content feeling relaxing his shoulders.

The next time he saw Nana, her words on Hardison’s bragging proved embarrassingly correct. She and Parker got along like a house on fire, and if left alone too long would probably cause a house on fire, and Hardison just watched them with a giant grin like he didn’t see the danger. Nana asked Eliot if he’d considered what they talked about last time right in front of them both, proving beyond all doubt that she shared Hardison’s love of driving him goddamn crazy for fun.

The next carrot cake he made was for Sophie and Nate. He refused to call it a thank you, but she did and also asked him to make that little French quiche she’d talked about like she honestly expected “it had spinach, I think, something green anyway, it was very light, and some kind of unexpected spice too?” would be enough to go on. Nate was no help whatsoever.)