#so this was like a thing of not having to do the stovetop thing during a heatwave (christmas tends to be in a heatwave)

[dadbodbuck]

could it shine down here with you?

Rating: G | WC: 1.7k | Pairing: BuckTommy

Loosely based on this post by @loulovingho!

Summary:

Tommy doesn't realize until later that he already asked for Thanksgiving off.

Read it here on Ao3 or continue below!

Tommy is five, or maybe six, and he doesn’t like Thanksgiving. His dad is screaming at his mom because the turkey isn’t thawed. He’s calling her a lot of words that Tommy thinks are really mean. Tommy’s dad yells a lot, but it’s rarely this bad. Tommy’s mom usually waits for it to blow over, but this time, Tommy watches from the living room entry as her face crumbles and she shoulders past Tommy’s dad, breezes by Tommy, and flees into their bedroom.

Tommy wants to follow her, but his dad grabs his arm, too-tight, and tugs Tommy away towards where the half-thawed turkey is laying on the ground, cold and slimy. When they get there, Tommy’s dad hands him a garbage bag and a roll of paper towels and says “Your mom needs some time alone to think about what she’s done. Clean up this mess.”

It’s okay, because later his mom comes out of the bedroom and kneels down, her eyes red and puffy, and she tells him, “I’m so sorry you had to see that, honey. You did a good job cleaning the kitchen. It’s okay, we can still have dinner, even if I messed up the turkey,” and she makes Stovetop stuffing, and takes cranberry sauce out of a can, dishing them up on a plastic plate for Tommy, and a glass plate for her.

Tommy’s not sure where his dad went, but he’s glad it’s just him and his mom for a little while.

Tommy is twelve, and he hates Thanksgiving. He hates most holidays centered around football, actually. It’s a double-edged sword—his dad gets drunk, and his dad gets riled up, and he’s either too loud and happy, or too loud and mad. The Superbowl is Tommy’s least favorite time of the year. Especially when the Rams are playing.

The Rams aren’t playing this year, but that doesn’t mean Tommy’s off the hook. Tommy brings his dad beers when his dad calls for them, doesn’t say a word to his old man, carefully doesn’t flinch when his dad yells angrily at the screen.

For the most part, Tommy sits alone in his room and looks at the picture of his mom. It’s her high school graduation, she’s gleaming in her cap and gown. Tommy misses her.

Tommy knows that his family isn’t normal. That it’s fucked up. But he also knows how to deal with his dad, especially now that his mom isn’t around to instigate anymore. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen if he gets sent to foster care. He doesn’t want to know.

Tommy also knows, somewhere, that it’s partially his own fault. Maybe if he was a better kid—someone his dad could be proud of, this wouldn’t happen. He was always doing something to incur his father’s wrath. Plus, it’s not like his dad doesn’t love him, in his own way. Tommy loves his dad, too.

Tommy makes his own Stovetop stuffing and cranberry sauce from a can. His dad doesn’t eat it, but Tommy doesn’t care, because at least he survived Thanksgiving without any more bruises.

Tommy is eighteen, and twenty-three, and thirty-one. Thanksgiving is in a shitty barracks at the base, a tiny studio in downtown LA, and the 118 firehouse. It’s spent wolfing down an MRE, trying to figure out how to get his horrible stove to work, and eating Stovetop stuffing and cranberry sauce and praying that the alarm doesn’t go off. There are the other soldiers, and Tommy’s rescue cat Teddy, and Howie.

The MRE is as it always is. You get used to the weird textures and instant coffee and chemical heat smell of the food warmer. The funny thing about Iraq, the thing that will keep Tommy awake for years and years, is that it gets cold during the winter. Tommy knew before he shipped out that he didn’t know what much about the country, but now that he’s here, he’s stuck with sick realization after sick realization. The people here are scared, and the Army isn’t helping. Tommy looks at the other soldiers in a way he shouldn’t. Civilians are dying. War is messy in a way that allows people to excuse inexcusable violence. Tommy cannot speak the language, of either the Iraqi citizens or the people he was told would be his brothers. Iraq gets cold during the winter.

Teddy is an orange beauty, with long fluffy fur and a penchant for mischief. Tommy didn’t ask for Thanksgiving off, but it’s a holiday at the Academy, apparently. So, he’s here, listening to the click of the gas range as it tries to light. Teddy watches from the tiny countertop with uncharacteristic judgment in his eyes. When the flame finally catches, Tommy laughs victoriously, and gets to work making stuffing and cranberry sauce for the first time in years. It’s not gourmet by any means, just the Stovetop and the canned stuff, but it feels like his mom. It feels like he’s talking to her again. Tommy wonders if there’s a universe out there where his mom got help before it was too late. He eats his food in the camp chair that furnishes his pathetic living room, with Teddy invading his personal space and trying to sneak a bite for himself.

Tommy keeps the tradition of making himself Stovetop and canned cranberry sauce. He keeps it the year Howie shows up at the 118 and immediately proves himself braver and stronger than Tommy ever could be. While everyone else is busy whining about missing their grandma’s mashed potatoes, Tommy scrapes together his sacred traditional Thanksgiving feast. While Tommy’s not looking, Howie steals half of it.

“Mm!” Howie sighs, “That childhood nostalgia fakeness.”

“Hey! That was mine,” Tommy says, without any real heat. He hasn’t been able to muster anything beyond mild irritation for Howie since he saved his life.

“Oh, because you were going to eat all of that in one sitting,” Howie scoffs, “I’ll pay you back your dollar for my half if you really want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tommy huffs, scraping out the other half for his own portion. They sit at the table and eat together, and it’s the closest Tommy’s ever had to spending Thanksgiving with someone.

It’s not until they finish eating and the bell rings that Tommy realizes Howie’s the only one who hasn’t asked Tommy if he’s sad he’s missing out on the holidays.

For the most part, his Thanksgivings after the 118 are spent much the same way, but at Harbor, and alone. He gets to put his leftovers in the fridge and eat off them for a few days. Thanksgiving (save for deep fried turkey incidents) is a relatively tame holiday. No fireworks, at least.

Then, Evan.

A lot of things change for Tommy when Evan crashes into his life, all legs and a blinding smile. Evan is a whirlwind and the most beautiful man Tommy has ever seen. Evan is kind of everything.

When Tommy realizes he’s falling in love, it makes him sick to his stomach. He remembers loving his dad enough to excuse his anger, loving his mom enough to let her slip away, loving a country enough to enact its violence, loving the sense of belonging at the 118 enough to allow the kindest people he’s ever met to suffer. Tommy doesn’t love right. He can’t let Evan get tired of him and leave. He can’t poison Evan until he turns into something cruel. So Tommy breaks up with him. Evan asks him to move in, and he can feel the iron jaws of a bear trap closing around his throat, so he breaks up with him.

Tommy doesn’t realize until later that he already asked for Thanksgiving off.

(Thanksgiving came up between them for the first time when Evan asked if he wanted to do their own thing or go over to the grand 118 Thanksgiving Feast.

“I don’t know,” Evan has shrugged, “I mean, I want to spend it with you. I don’t want to pressure you into a big thing if you don’t want to, or if—if you’re used to smaller Thanksgivings. What does your family do for Thanksgiving?”

“Um,” Tommy had said, a little caught off-guard like he was every time they brushed up against the topic of family, “We didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving. I usually just get a box of Stovetop stuffing and a can of cranberry sauce and call it a day.”

Evan had scoffed, mock-offended. “Well! In that case, we’re going. Mark your calendar. You’re going to cream your pants when you try Bobby’s turkey.”

Tommy had smiled and thought maybe. Maybe this will be the year.)

Tommy sighs and opens the box of Stovetop stuffing. His water and butter are already boiling, so he pours the mix in and watches it saturate. He stirs it and takes it off the heat to sit. A strange, painful sadness claws at the inside of his throat. It hurts. It hurts worse than it usually does.

He doesn’t think about Evan and Bobby’s allegedly orgasm-worthy turkey and Howie introducing Tommy to Jee-yun and how close they had all seemed at the hospital for Denny. He walks over to the mantle above his fireplace, with a small, framed pawprint inside, and Teddy 2021 written underneath.

Five minutes passes slowly without anyone to distract him. Tommy tries and fails not to think about every holiday he’s spent alone, or wishing he was alone. This is the first holiday he’s wished for someone in particular who wasn’t his mom or Teddy.

Tommy eats stuffing and canned cranberry sauce at his kitchen table. Somewhere, Evan is in a house warm with love. Somewhere, Evan is loved, wholly and unconditionally. Tommy’s glad people love him. He deserves to be loved.

Tommy doesn’t like watching football on Thanksgiving, so instead he puts on Mean Girls. After his stomach settles, he’s too tired to do anything but crawl into bed and sleep until his shift in the morning.

When Tommy gets to work, he’s surprised when Lucy says, “Delivery for you in the fridge, Kinard, you better eat it before I can get my hands on it.”

Inside the fridge is a glass Tupperware container wrapped in a plastic Chinese takeout bag. There’s a sticky note attached to it that says Bobby’s turkey is even better the next day.

Tommy texts Evan and asks about it. Evan doesn’t say anything back.

But he does get a text from Howie, and the timing is too quick to be coincidence. When you’re reheating it, remember to put half a teaspoon of water in the dish so it doesn’t dry everything out in the microwave.

[kitchenknickers]

project file: cheong.

so I finally made strawberry cheong and it really does not take very long to happen. very much faster than the lemon oleo saccharum which is a similar concept. except I guess the thing with the oleo is the oil in the citrus rind, where as here this is yeasts and sugars.

so now I’m like man do I need to freeze or cook this so it doesn’t ferment? that happened so fast

the other thing is a note that if you are doing something with yeasts a moccona glass jar will not stay closed. better than an exploded jar by far, but damn. this thing un-lidded itself, lmao! (I knew I would have to burp it but honestly thought with it in the fridge I would only have to do it once a day.)

[ilovenatasharomanoff2-0]

How Natasha would fuck you in different seasons

Warnings: Unprotected sex, a little degradation, intersex Natasha, mentions of hair pulling, cunnilingus, oral (both receive)

Pairings: Intersex Natasha (she has a cock) x reader

Wc: 801

During the spring season, Natasha would show a notably gentle disposition towards you. The atmosphere would be tranquil and unhurried, with raindrops cascading down the windows of your modern apartment. She wouldn't have any place to be. It wouldn't be rushed at all. Waking up to her slowly fucking you from the side. She would always find the time to bend you over the marble countertops and fuck you, making you almost burn the food left on the stovetop.

The amount of praise she would tell you is insane, too. "Such a good girl for me, y/n."

Maybe it's the pollen, but she's so gentle with you for these few months.

In contrast to her softness during the spring season, Natasha's character would show huge differences during the summer months. Natasha would have your face down, ass up on her bed fucking you roughly, her cock hitting that particular spot repeatedly. Her hand would make a makeshift ponytail and lift your head from the pillow so that you could hear the most degrading things that left her mouth known to man.

"You're such a dirty slut, y/n, letting me fuck you whenever I feel like it? Do your friends know how much of a whore you are, huh?"

A window would always be open because of how hot and humid the room got in such a short amount of time. Your moans are almost as loud as all of the cars from down below. You could already see a noise complaint heading your way from your neighbors, but you couldn't care less.

During fall, Natasha would always want to be eating you out. She's so desperate to taste your pussy. She's so pussy whipped it's crazy. She would eat you out during the most random times of the day.

You and Natasha would be carving pumpkins to put out on your balcony, and out of nowhere, she would be on the ground, pushing her face into your knee and begging you to let her taste your pussy.

"Please, y/n, just five minutes; I'll make you cum so fast, y/n. I just need to taste you."

During these months, she tends to become very submissive. The fall season is typically characterized by overwhelming paperwork that piles up, leading to exhaustion. Additionally, she has the responsibility of assisting the agents with their training, which can be pretty demanding.

You would have her whimpering and shaking as you sucked her off late at night, telling her "I can help relieve some of that stress, Nat."

I could also see you riding her often because the poor girl is exhausted. She would feel all up on your body as you moved your hips back and forth; she loves how warm and tight your cunt is and will always comment on it.

On Halloween, you two would have to go inside early and leave the candy basket outside with a sign that says, 'Only take one or else...' (thanks to Natasha) because of how horny Natasha was getting. It was hard to not see the bulge in her sweatpants. (her costume would be a pirate, but no one would know because she just draws two big circles around her eyes and a mustache.)

Natasha would be the softest during winter. She would be so slow and gentle with you, just like spring. She would be on top of you on the couch, thrusting into you passionately.

The newly purchased logs would crack in the fireplace, the warmth spreading throughout the room and the flames slowly turning the wood into ash. Slow jazz music would be playing in the back as you had a Christmas movie with zero volume, so you could hear each other's moans.

She wouldn't be 'fucking' you or having 'sex' with you, she would be making love to you. Her head would be buried into your neck, sucking on the skin and leaving marks, as your hand touched her head and scratched it lightly. Small moans came out of your mouth every few seconds as Natasha moved her hips in and out of you.

The room was cast in a dim and hazy glow, with only the distant twinkling of the city's lights providing any illumination. She would constantly tell you how gorgeous you are and that you are the only girl she would want in the entire world.

She would also be really needy to be inside you, whether that's her tongue, fingers, or cock. It would be the best part of her day. Whenever she's at her office, you'll always drive there to give her a hot soup, tea, and an allergy relief pill because she can't stop sneezing and coughing. After eating, she would repay you by letting you cockwarm her while she finished some mission reports Furry assigned her.

[stellamancer]

flips and shit (katsuki bakugou + reader)

notes: more stuff inspired by things that happen in my kitchen. name me me attempting to flip scallion pancakes. it's been a while since i had one of these actually. part of the kitchen adventures series. mostly unedited.

wc: 1k

contains: gn!reader, pro-hero bkg (not actually mentioned) neighbor au.

You have never asked Bakugou to teach you anything before. 

Mostly because there’s never really been anything you’ve actually wanted to learn. Despite his griping, you think you're honestly a pretty decent cook. Sure, you may prefer taking convenient shortcuts over doing things the proper way, but it's not like it's the worst thing in the world. Still, Bakugou’s taken it upon himself to teach you in order to prevent you from committing what he considers to be kitchen atrocities. Admittedly, your knife skills have improved and you don’t hear your fire alarm going off as often (which you suspect is more due to Bakugou changing the whole thing himself in a fit when it dared to screech as he was broiling some fish during one lesson), but there are some things, like your instant miso soup, that Katsuki Bakugou can pry out of your cold dead hands. 

“Hah?” Bakugou whips his head around to face you, his expression twisted into his own special brand of confusion, eyes narrowed in an aggressive form of bewilderment. 

“Can you teach me how to flip things in a frying pan?” you repeat slowly.

His mouth twists, “Why? Usin’ a spatula not good enough for you?”

“It's not that,” you say. Bakugou shoots you an expectant look and you clear your throat as you elaborate. “It just looks cool is all.”

 “Y’got bigger things to worry about than lookin’ cool in the kitchen. Why’re y’worrying about that kinda crap anyway? Got someone to impress?” 

Grumbling, you say “Not really, but since you mention it, it would be nice if I were able to impress my smartass neighbor even just once.”

Bakugou snorts. “Maybe y’d impress me if you finally threw away those damn instant soup packets! I taught you how to make it yourself! Why do you still have them?”

You roll your eyes. What about cold dead hands does he not understand? You try to get the subject back on track. “Are you teaching me or not?”

He stares at you for a minute before shuffling past you into the kitchen proper. “Fine. Even an idiot like you should be able to do this much.” 

Feeling smug, despite his insult, you follow after him, watching as he pulls out your frying pan from a cabinet. He’s come over enough that he’s familiar with the layout of your kitchen, no longer needing to ask you where you keep this or that. It’s nice in a way, though you’re not entirely sure why. That said, you can’t help but be confused when he grabs one of your kitchen sponges and tosses it in the pan. Is he—

“Bakugou, I’ve got some frozen scall—”

“We’re using this first!” he barks at you. “No point in risking you flipping perfectly good food onto the kitchen floor!” 

You wince. It wouldn’t be that bad. You’ve tried flipping things before and the worst that’s happened is that the pancake flipped over on itself. 

Bakugou moves over to the stovetop, his arms gripping the frying pan’s handle. You stare at his arm— he’s in a black t-shirt today. The sleeves are loose, but you can see the defined shape of his arm muscles, from the near scandalous peek of his biceps down to the taut lines of his forearms. Maybe you’re staring a little too much, though, because you don’t quite catch what he says as he flicks his wrist. 

“What was that?” you ask. You could try to wing it and guess what his instructions were based on observation alone, but if you get it absolutely wrong he’ll scold you.

Though, since it’s Bakugou, he’s going to scold you either way. “Are you even listening?”

Now you are. “Yeah?” 

He eyes you suspiciously, but doesn’t mention if he noticed you oogling his arms. “So all you gotta do is just flick your wrist, but y’gotta do it like you’re shoveling dirt or some shit.” He does the motion a few times to show you, and you think you get it. It’s kind of like a flick and scoop. Watching him do it makes it seem easy, but you’ve learned that Bakugou makes a lot of things look effortless. 

He flips the sponge a few times before handing you the frying pan. The handle is still warm. Gruffly, he says, “Now you try.”

“Okay.” You try to mimic his motion, and the sponge goes up… but just falls back onto the pan without flipping over. 

“Weak,” Bakugou scoffs and you scowl at him, but he ignores you as he continues. “Try again, idiot, but put more force into it.” 

“Okay…” You do as he says and the sponge flies higher… before flopping onto the floor. Too much force.

“Not everything’s gonna weigh the same,” Bakugou says. “Y’gonna have to judge how much force to use for yourself.”

Right. You reach down and grab the sponge to put it back in the pan. It’s pretty light. You flick your wrist a couple times, not so much to flip but to get a feel of how much force you’ll need to flip it. When you think you’ve got an idea, you move your wrist and swoop your arm a little, sending the sponge up. It flips over and while it does catch the edge of the pan it still manages to land in it.

Grinning widely, you turn to Bakugou. “Look! I did it!” 

“Barely,” he says and while his mouth is curved down in a frown, there’s a sparkle in his eyes that makes it look like he’s trying to fight off a smile.. “Do it again! Make sure the flip is perfect this time!”

“Okay!” You try again and after a couple times you manage to flip the sponge perfectly. When you look at Bakugou for approval, he gives you the ghost of a smirk back, this time looking almost legitimately pleased.

But it only lasts for a moment before he switches out the sponge for a slightly heavier package of instant ramen. 

“Time for the next level, nerd,” he says, his eyes glinting dangerously. “We’re not stopping til every flip is perfect!” 

[rafeandonlyrafe]

mistakes and regrets

words: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, aged up!rafe, dad!rafe and mom!reader, seperated parents/coparenting, p in v sex (but they dont finish), angsty but fluffy ending

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs

"hey, baby girl!" rafe smiles, picking up your daughter and twirling her around. "well don't you look so cute in your new dress." he nuzzles his face against hers, pressing kisses along her cheeks.

"hey y/n." rafe greets you with a smile as well, setting your daughter down and coming to take the bags out of your hands, carrying them inside.

you take your daughters hand and walk in together, pushing down your nerves to put a smile on your face.

"thanks for letting us stay here while the apartment is getting redone." you say, watching as rafe sets your bags along the hallway.

"no problem." rafe says, clearing his throat. it's been so long since you've shared a house together. rafe usually gets your daughter on weekends, and you take care of her at your apartment during the week while he's working. 

it wasn't a one time hookup that resulted in your daughter, but it wasn't exactly a relationship either. your bodies were so compatible, and you tried to make it work when you became pregnant, but it was just too hard on both of you, so for your daughters sake, you decided to cut the toxicity and coparent with seperate places.

"come on, izzy, let's show mommy your new toy." rafe ushers your daughter up the stairs, helping her navigate her new skill. izzy just turned two, and is still getting the hang of her movements.

you follow them up the stairs, looking at the house you used to know so well. you smile when you see the inside of izzys room, it's been almost a year since you've been inside of it, and its been updated with a brand new bed, and stocked full with toys. rafe obviously spoils his daughter, but you already knew that from how much extra he gave you in child support each month, allowing you to not have to work to support her. you still choose to work at a local cafe on the weekends, mainly because your friend runs it and you like to help out. it keeps you busy as well when you're away from your daughter.

"mommy, look!" izzy holds up a brand new barbie doll, and you ooo and ahh over it as she continues to show you all the toys that she keeps at her daddys house. you sit down on the tiny toddler sized couch in her room, smiling at rafe as he crosses his arms and watches from the door, loving seeing how precious his daughter is.

once izzy is done going through everything, you head back down the stairs for dinner. you love to cook with izzy, giving her easy little tasks that she can do with your supervision. you know how important it is to start teaching her these things young, and how good it is for her development.

you move throughout the kitchen with rafe with ease, like you never had all that time spent apart. once everything is in the oven or simmering on the stovetop, you move to lift izzy into her high chair in the dining room, but rafe stops you. "i got it." he smiles gently, placing her in the seat and securing the tray.

"this is nice." you hum softly, keeping an eye on izzy out of the corner of your eye as she drinks her milk out of a sippy cup.

"it is. we should do family dinners more often." you and rafe get along decently well, but it also hurts you to be around him constantly. you feel guilty that you aren't giving izzy the life you had growing up with two steady, in love parents.

"we should." you just say in agreement, helping rafe plate the dishes before moving back to the table.

the dinner goes by well, izzy never letting an awkward silent moment happen as she chats away, even though most of it is intelligible baby babble along with her speaking with a mouth full of food.

you settle down on the couch with izzy after, cuddling her as a movie plays on the tv while rafe cleans up from dinner. you both decided a relaxing day would be best, considering you're deviating from her normal schedule by staying at rafes for the entire week while your apartments wood floors are redone. the complex offered to put you up in a hotel, but you knew izzy would be more comfortable at rafes, even if you found it awkward. you'd do anything for your daughter.

"somebody is getting tired." rafe says with a smirk as he enters the living room, seeing izzy resting against you, slowly blinking at the tv.

"daddy." izzy perks up slightly, crawling across the couch to where he sits down.

"come on, mommy." izzy becons you with her hand, wanting to cuddle with both her parents. you can't deny what your little girl wants, schooching across the couch to sit next to rafe, izzy sat half on your thigh and half on his.

you keep your back pin straight, your leg the only part of your body touching rafes, but as the movie continues, you find yourself leaning back against the couch, rafes arm coming to wrap around your shoulder.

you can tell that izzy has fallen asleep, but you let yourself lean into rafe, enjoying the comfort of his warmth as the movie draws to a close.

only when the credits finish do you move, wishing you could stay there curled up for longer, as one big unit with izzy.

"ill take her up to bed, stay here." rafe says, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. you just nod, letting rafe pick up your daughter, noting how small she is in his big arms. still your little girl, even though she's gotten so big.

rafe hesitates before he leaves the room, turning to press a kiss to your forehead before exiting. you blush hard, knowing your face must be bright red from the intimate moment.

you stay sat in your seat as you hear rafe descending the stairs and rummaging with something in the kitchen. he comes back into the living room with two glasses of wine, handing one to you.

"i bought red just for you." rafe admits, sitting down next to you, but keeping more distance than before.

"you remembered." you smile into your glass, taking a small sip of the drink.

"of course.” rafe closes his eyes briefly before refocusing on you when they open again.

“you’re different.” you say honestly. it’s been so long since you’ve spent more than a few minutes with him, and never one on one like this. 

“i’m no longer the boy who got you pregnant.” rafe says, and you understand exactly what he means. izzy changed both of your lives, made you realize that you had to grow up, for her sake and your own. “i actually-” rafe leans forward and sets his glass on the coffee table. “wanted to apologize for back then. i was young and stupid, and i hurt you and izzy. i wish i could go back and change how i acted. i was jealous and immature.”

“oh rafe.” you sigh, also setting your glass down to lean forward and wrap your arms around him. “it means so much to me to hear you say that. i’m sorry too, we both made mistakes.” rafes arms are firmly around your waist, holding you against him. you pull back, going to speak more when rafes lips press against yours. you gasp against his mouth, but he doesn’t let up, continuing to kiss you until you concede and kiss him back.

“please. just let me have you, even just for tonight.” rafe says, running his hand through your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, eyes full of emotion and pleading.

you should say no. this will only complicate things further, but you swallow your pride and nod. you want rafe too bad to miss this opportunity.

rafe stands slowly, hands carefully helping you up like he’s worried if he moves too quickly you’ll back out. 

he leads you up the stairs, and you follow slowly a step behind, keeping your outstretched hands intertwined as he heads past izzys bedroom to his own. you glance around the room, noticing its mostly unchanged from a year ago when you packed up your things and left.

"we'll have to be quiet." you say, closing the door shut behind you. "don't want to wake izzy."

rafe nods, placing his hands on your waist as he connects your lips again, the kiss even more passionate now as he leads you further into the room, towards the bed.

you kiss in between getting undressed, pulling clothes off before reconnecting your lips until you’re both naked. rafe lays you down, draping his body over yours, his cock rubbing against your thigh making you moan, widening your legs, calling for him.

rafe presses against your entrance, pushing inside with ease, like he was meant to be there. you cry out, trying to keep quiet but struggling until rafes mouth is on yours, swallowing your sounds with a kiss as his hips press against yours, cock buried deep in your heat.

“rafe, please.” you claw your fingers down his back, not caring if you scratch him, needing him to move. he grants your command, moving his hips back and then in in a swinging motion, his eyes glossed over with lust.

it reminds you of the night you conceived izzy, it was just like this, rafe moaning on top of you, both trying to keep quiet as ward was sleeping in the room next door. at the flashback, you suddenly push rafe off of you, tears welling up in your eyes.

“baby?” rafe questions, his hands reaching out but not touching, like he’s scared you’ll react even worse.

“what are we doing?” you question, your voice breaking as you sob, feeling regretful and vulnerable as you tug on rafes sheet to wrap it around your naked body.

rafe opens his mouth like hes going to speak, but no words come out.

“what are we doing?” you repeat. “we aren’t kids anymore, we have a daughter, we can’t just hook up. do you know how confusing this all is for her? we are being so dumb and selfish.”

“it’s not selfish to want to give izzy happy parents who are together.” rafe pushes back.

“together? you said just for tonight.” you scrunch your brows, confused.

“i would take tonight if that’s all you were willing to offer me. i was hoping with you staying here, things would… change. and get better.” rafe sighs, reaching out to take your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“so you actually want to try again?” you question, thinking that was out of the question after what happened a year ago.

“anything for you. anything for izzy. i know it’ll be hard, but why don’t we try just for this week? and then see where it takes us from then on?” 

you nod, leaning forward to press your cheek into rafes chest, letting his strong, comforting arms wrap you into a hug, easing you back onto the bed.

“let’s just sleep.” he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “and see how we feel in the morning, waking up next to each other.”

“mmm.” you hum in agreement. 

“but-” rafe pauses “we do need to put our clothes back on so izzy doesn’t walk in on us naked.”

you burst out laughing, eyebrows shooting up when rafe presses his lips against yours, shushing you as to not wake up izzy while also unable being able to hold back a laugh of his own.

[dreadsuitsamus]

Cute Aggression With Your Bleach Man Headcanons

author's note: this all started bc i wanted to bite kensei. also all of the banners you see in this post were created by the wonderful @actuallysaiyan!!! please give bacon lots of love, as she deserves every bit of it 🩷🩷🩷

pairings: kensei muguruma x gn!reader, grimmjow jeagerjaquez x gn!reader, renji abarai x gn!reader, byakuya kuchiki x gn!reader, kūgo ginjō x gn!reader

warnings: biting, grimmjow, mentions of alcohol, overall it's just fluff

Kensei is no stranger to receiving bites from partners. His big, muscled, veiny arms are just about the perfect target for anybody’s cute aggression!

So, surprisingly, it doesn't really bother him

This doesn't mean he understands, however

“Why are you like this?” He murmurs as you bite his bicep, having come up out of nowhere as he innocently reads in his armchair

It's not like you can be blamed!! He's the one wearing a compression tank top that makes him look a thousand times more delicious than he already is!!!

“‘ike ‘at?” Your teeth are still firmly latched into his flesh, but he does find the fact you're trying to still make conversation with him cute, and he kisses your temple before resuming his reading

Kensei Muguruma is soft and it's all your fault

And what's all his fault is being sleeveless all the time, thus provoking you!

He won't admit it, but he actually really loves when you bite him

You think he's cute :3

Admittedly, you don't often get cute aggression when you're with Grimmjow

Biting is often reserved for… Different feelings

But sometimes he's just the most adorable thing in this entire world, particularly when he's minding his own business, the demon on his shoulder having a nap and your teeth just itch for him

He's watching a movie, twirling a toothpick between his lips and is fully invested in the plot

You, however, are fully tuned into just how good his forearms look

You pounce right on him, your sharp teeth catching right onto one of those leanly muscled forearms

Your bite is rather strong, though it isn't as if Grimm doesn't deserve it

“Oi!” Grimm leaves the toothpick between his teeth as he uses his strong fingers to push your lower jaw together and release the bite. “Take me to dinner first!”

You're forced off of him quickly, and your boyfriend quickly tackles you to the floor

His bites can't exactly be chalked up to ‘cute’ aggression, though they’re certainly belligerent

Not that you mind these different feelings from him

As much as Renji tries to be cool and collected, he fails at it

The man is a bit of a klutz, and when he gets embarrassed he turns an adorable shade of pink!

So he sees more than his fair share of cute aggression from you

And goodness he doesn't get it. Which only spurs you on further!

It's movie night, and Renji’s decided to get fancy and make the popcorn on the stovetop rather than do the usual microwave popcorn

He's humming to himself, the kernels popping as if to his beat and he can't help but shimmy his hips a bit

He has got to spend less time on TikTok; he's had the same song in his head for days!

“Twin? Where have you been?” He sings, swinging his hips like they don't lie

There's a giggle from the doorway and Renji swings around, eyes wide and he knocks the lid from the pot in his haste

Popcorn begins to fly everywhere, and Renji’s socked foot slips on a bit of oil he spilled and subsequently forgot about, slamming right onto the floor

Your chest fills with love and you curl your fists before jumping on him, squeezing his face into your chest as hard as you can while layering kiss after kiss on him

The sore butt isn't very nice, but he decides he can make peace with it!

Cute isn't the first thing that comes to mind when you see your darling husband. Handsome, certainly. Refined, even. A big dork, absolutely!

Though it's during an evening tea time on the terrace when you first look at him and feel such… positive emotions that it makes your teeth clench and hands ache to pinch and squish his cheeks

He's beside you on the swing, having a sip from his teacup as the warm sun sets. His hair is silky and long, his lashes practically kissing his pale skin as he enjoys the warm tea

Your hands are already clasped together, fingers laced tightly. Byakuya can't help but run his thumb over your wedding band; it's a Kuchiki family heirloom and it's never looked better than right on your finger

And you'll swear on your life that when you brought his hand to your lips, it was just for a kiss to his knuckles

But your jaw had other plans, and that's when you oh so gently bite his hand. It isn't for long, and you do place an apologetic kiss after!

And then you realize yourself right after, and look up to find steel blue eyes staring at you with quizzical undertones

“What on earth are you doing?”

Laughing nervously, heat flushes the back of your neck. “I… I don't know. You looked so… so cute and sweet that I couldn't help myself.”

“Hm. Consider yourself, should this urge rise again. Such behavior is unbecoming of a Kuchiki, as you are aware.”

An attempt to hide how flustered and perhaps even pleased he is behind his next draw of tea is fruitless versus the pastel pink on the bridge of his nose

Despite living in a constant state of bastard, you find that Kūgo is often quite adorable!

He pouts rather habitually, though he doesn't always mean to

Whether he's rolling out pasta dough or working on his latest charcoal drawing, his lips press together in his bout of concentration, and sometimes the little pink tip of his tongue peeks out too

He loves to be on the receiving end of your overwhelming positive feelings so much that you almost think he does these things intentionally

But he's a bad actor, so it can't ever be anything but genuine

You hear some rustling downstairs and check the time: Kūgo must be home from his night out with his friends

You round the corner to see him sitting halfway up the stairs, his long body stretching out as he reaches towards you with a dopey smile on his face; he's plastered

And you want to be angry! He promised not to get drunk; you're set to have brunch with your parents tomorrow, and he's quite the bitch when he's hungover!

But then he makes the grabby hands and that pout comes to his lips, and his big brown eyes are so sad now too

“You're so cute, I wanna die.” You hop down to his level and crush him in a hug, swaying side to side as you coo, blowing a raspberry on his cheek too

Kūgo giggles at that, his cheeks turning red as he begs you to stop!

Which, of course, only continues the cycle! It takes ten minutes before you can finally get up to bed!

He's not quite as cute when he's hungover, but there's still enough of something precious in the man's pathetic, self-inflicted misery to earn him a kiss on the cheek

[libraford]

I am giving the kitchen a good solid clean today and remembering bitterly the time that one of the roommates poked her head into our shared office and said, clearly on behalf of her partner:

"I've got a great idea! What about we all deep clean the house today?"

Roommate had trauma about other people cleaning around her because it made her feel like she was being called dirty, and often cleaned in a way that was sending that message to us. As in- loudly sighing when she saw dirty dishes (mostly hers) or becoming cagey when a pan was left on the stovetop after use, or if there was something not pristine about the kitchen. And she was always ranting that we didn't do enough to keep the house clean and that she was always doing all the work. (Well. You see. I worked a 40 hour week and still had to come home and make dinner enough for 6, so you might see why I might not have it in me to clean after being on my feet all day- and she was unemployed.)

And I also have trauma about being told that I'm not clean enough- my mom used to refer to my room as 'the pigsty.' Which isn't fair to someone who is young and dealing with a lot of mental stress, but none of us were clear on ADHD/autism diagnoses.

Now that they're gone, I'm having to re-learn how to clean without someone over my shoulder during the process.

I decided on Tuesday that since I'm off today that today would be the day that I work on the kitchen a little, and I'm finding it easier to pick a corner and work my way out instead of trying to focus on the whole mess. Yes, that means its not sparkling clean and sometimes the mess creeps up again before the whole place is clean. But it does mean that the grime doesn't build up so much.

Last night I gave the dishwasher components a good soak and washed the thing out. Right now, I'm disinfecting the spot where our kitchen compost bin sits. Later today, I do the stove top. Tomorrow I do my workspace.

Which I think was my problem. Everyone has always looked at the whole mess of me instead of the parts that I work on. People aren't whole pictures. They're parts in cycles.

[lost-in-lamentation]

a/n: oh, how good it feels to be writing again. welcome to my corner; i hope you enjoy your stay. 

content: the poor brothers need your presence. you/your pov. gn!reader x lucifer, mammon. (separate). 1.5k words.

warnings: the kitchen almost catches fire. the boys cry just a lil. mammon has some doubts about himself. (also, proofreading does NOT go brr, we die like men.)

there were so many things that could weigh down a poor demon’s mind; brothers who lacked self-restraint, and others who had too much of it. there was paperwork to be finished, and projects to be refined. games were made to be finished 100 percent, and books were written so they could be read front to back. money was for spending, and food was to be devoured. lipstick was made to leave marks on mirrors, and of course, pillows were fluffed up so they could be flattened at night (and during the day, in some cases). so many problems in this world for few people, and yet, for all said problems, there was only one cure. you. 

═  ˎˊ˗

lucifer.

the silence that came from the kitchen was unsettling. lucifer had already warned you not to disturb his cooking duties, but his anger be damned. you were worried enough that he looked like he had been awake for 4 days straight, and a mess in the kitchen from a sleep deprived demon was not what you wanted to see. not to mention, beel’s stomach growled louder with every passing second. if you were going to deal with an angry demon, you’d rather risk lucifer’s stone cold gaze than beel's hunger pangs.

“lucifer,” you called as you pushed the door open. “beel’s getting… restless.” your words trailed off as your mind attempted to unpack the scene in front of you. there was no mess, which was a relief. however, there was a fire in the pot on the stovetop. the eldest of seven only stared at it in silence. “lucifer!” rushing over, you snatched the lid of the pot before moving it off the heat and attempting to suffocate the flame inside. eyebrows furrowed, you turn to lucifer, slowly waving a hand in front of his face. his red eyes were glassy, holding no light in them. “lucifer,” you repeated for the third time. concern took root in your stomach when he still made no effort to move. after a few moments, you left his side, calling satan to finish cooking duties while you manoeuvred the avatar of pride up to his room. the thought of lucifer being mad that you dragged him around bounced in your head briefly before landing in a soft cushion you liked to call denial. 

shaking off the idea, you sat lucifer down on the edge of his bed, bending down on one knee to take a clear look at his face. softly, as though you were cradling a swan made of glass, you placed his head in your hands, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “luci? come back now, it’s just us.” you had done this before; the last time you witnessed it happen was after lucifer had come home after an argument with diavolo about RAD. a stack of papers on lucifer’s desk stole your attention. with pursed lips, you moved one hand away from his face and slid it onto his waist. “what’s diavolo got you up to now, hm?” your thumb pressed gently into his side, and slowly, you began to see his eyes focusing onto yours. 

when he finally came to, his sigh of relief and the way he pressed his cheek into your palm did not go unnoticed. “MC. i apologise, i haven’t been in my right mind these days.” as quickly as lucifer had searched for your warmth, he pulled away from you, one hand brushing yours away from his side. 

“you’re telling me,” you chuckled, leaning back onto your heels. “you know you almost set the kitchen on fire?” 

the avatar of pride was not feeling very prideful at the moment. “it was strange.” lucifer decided to have a staring contest with the floor. “i knew i had to do something, and yet, i couldn’t bring myself to move.” 

your breath hitched in your throat when you saw the first tear slip away from the corner of his eye. 

“it’s even more strange,” lucifer whispered, voice threatening to break at any moment, “that i would allow myself to feel so vulnerable around my attendant.” his knuckles turned white from how hard he clenched his fists. lucifer threw his head back, a pained laugh echoing through the room, painting the walls with desperation. you could only wait for his next words with your heart in your throat. when he brought his gaze down to meet yours, a perfect, fake smile overtook his expression. “MC,” he said softly. you waited in silence. 

“MC,” he cried, throat tearing at the seams. 

acting quick, you moved to envelop him in your arms, one hand pressing into his back and the other running through his hair. you pushed against him, forcing him to lay down. when you both hit the bed, lucifer immediately sought solace in the crook of your neck, his hands grasping at the back of your shirt as sobs wreaked havoc on his body. you responded by pressing your cheek onto the top of his head. “i’m here, lucifer. i’m not going anywhere.” 

═  ˎˊ˗

mammon. 

“yo, MC!” 

“mammon?” light flooded into your room against your will, forcing you to squint and continuously tap your night stand in search of your d.d.d. 1:37am. “gods, it’s almost two in the morning, mammon.” you huffed in annoyance, throwing your d.d.d. onto your pillow before falling back onto the bed and drowning yourself in blankets. “at least close the door if you’re gonna stay here,” you groaned. 

“okay, first off.” mammon huffed right back at you as he closed the door, “we are in the devildom, there are no gods. second-” 

at the second eldest’s remark, you grabbed your free pillow and threw it at his face. “fine, fine. DEVILS, it’s almost two in the morning.” mammon let out an unrefined squawk when the pillow made contact with him. you could barely stifle your laughter underneath your comforter. 

“MC, you aren’t funny.” mammon yanked the covers off your face, and it was only then that you saw the annoyance and misery etched into his expression. you decided not to ask about it directly, instead choosing to wonder what mammon wanted to say second. 

raising your hands in defeat, you gave mammon a sympathetic look. “i think i’m pretty funny, but whatever you say.” the avatar of greed sent you an unimpressed glare before moving to quite literally sit on you. “oof- mammon! you’re heavy, get off me!” mammon’s shoulders bounced with laughter briefly before he slid off your stomach and into the spot next to you. “ugh. anyways, what were you gonna talk about earlier?” 

“oh, yeah, get this.” mammon cleared his throat as though he was about to tell you the greatest story ever. that’s what you wanted, at least. it’s not what you got. 

“so i was over at the fall, right?” humming your acknowledgment, you turned onto your side so the two of you were face to face.

“there was this crew of demons, they were all wearing matching jackets and everything. it honestly looked kinda strange, but everyone else there was totally raving about them. i have to admit, their leather jackets looked like they were high quality too. definitely not the ones you could find in those small clothes shops.”

“are you going to spend the whole night fan-boying over them?” you murmured, a hand reaching up idly to play with the hair that draped over mammon’s forehead. 

he scoffs in indignance at your reaction. “oi, shut it. and stop playing with my hair, you’re distracting me.” you hummed again before dropping your head and allowing mammon to continue. 

“so, basically, long story short, i think they were some sort of gang. asmo warned me about those when at the fall, didn’t think i’d ever see them myself. but then, they came up to me. and can you believe what they started saying? they were acting all high and mighty, sayin’ stuff like, ‘oh, it’s just the second born. the scummy one.’ i don’t even know where it was coming from!” 

slowly, you moved your hand closer to his own, tapping your fingertips on his. as if it was second nature, mammon grabbed it immediately, fingers intertwining and fiddling as he continued to speak. “i mean, can you imagine? saying all that about THE great mammon? it’s not like they know me, right? they don’t know what it’s like being second after lucifer. they don’t know what it’s like to actually fall, right?” mammon stopped playing with your hand, opting instead to look you in the eye. “right…?” he practically whimpered the question under his breath, gold eyes turning to sapphire as the tears began to well up. “please, MC,” he begged, his breaths becoming more ragged. “they don’t know, right?”

you felt your heart sink at the question. with a nod, you opened your arms to him and pulled his trembling frame into your embrace.  “they’re just jealous, mammon. they don’t know you at all, and everything they say is wrong.” 

mammon’s arms tightened around your back, his breathing shallow and his tears never-ending. 

“don’t you worry about them,” you whispered into his ear, your hands slowly working their own kind of magic along his back. “everyone that should know what you’ve done for them already knows.” mammon released a sob into your shoulder before trying to press further into your touch. you didn’t stop him. “after all, you are the great mammon, right? you may be the second brother, but you’ll always be my first man.” a shaky laugh replaced his cries briefly, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle your face into his hair in return. “that’s my mammon,” you purred softly, holding him close until he fell asleep. 

and that's it for first post. hope you enjoyed it if you're here at the end ♡

[homelanderbutbig]

His Very Own All-Star Chef (G/T Homelander x Reader)

810 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You made soup and he likes soup.

It's been a quiet evening for you, cooking dinner alone in Homelander's penthouse. You have the day off today, so you thought you'd try making a new recipe, something special. You are thankful Homelander put the large pot on the stovetop for you before he left for work this morning, as it's far too heavy for you to lift by yourself.

You've had a peaceful day by yourself preparing a hearty beef and vegetable soup, making triple the recipe called for as you are aware of how much Homelander can eat.

Regardless of having a state-of-the-art custom kitchen, you know for a fact he's never cooked a day in his life, preferring to have his food catered by the Vought chefs and brought up to him. But he is deeply touched by you taking the time to cook homemade meals for him, even though during the first instance you didn't make nearly enough to satiate his hunger. You've since learned to adjust the recipe sizes to make sure he always has enough to eat, and in turn he always makes sure to shower his very own all-star chef with his most fervent praises.

Standing up on a set of steps, as Homelander's kitchen is too tall for you to reach on just your feet, you add in the final seasonings to the soup as it nears completion. You're enjoying the relaxing ambience, listening to the soup bubble as you stir on autopilot, hoping that your dinner tastes as good as it smells.

Suddenly, you jump as you are startled by what feels like a brick wall behind you. There is a laugh coming from above you as the 'brick wall' expands and contracts from the jest. You sigh as you look straight up, seeing Homelander grinning as he gazes down at you, although his face is slightly obscured by his pecs.

"How many times have I asked you not to sneak up on me like that?" you attempt to scold him, even though you can't hide the smile forming on your face. As annoying as he can be sometimes, you are always happy to see him when he comes home from work.

"I couldn't help myself," he chuckles, as he rests his big ungloved hand on your shoulder. "You're so cute when I scare you."

You place your hand on top of his, wrapping it around his fingers. Away from his penthouse, he very rarely takes his gloves off as he prefers not to touch the undeserving outside world. But when he is alone with you, he adores feeling your gentle touches on his hands, and returning his affections by caressing every inch of your face.

"And what do we have here?" Homelander asks, leaning down a bit closer to you. He is all smiles as he smells the air, closing his eyes while he takes in your hard day's work. Your efforts that were all for him.

"It's a beef and veggie soup," you tell him, still stirring the pot with your other hand. "It's a new recipe, I've been busy chopping all day. I'm not sure how good it turned out though."

"Well, it smells great," he says as he moves his hand from your shoulder to your thighs, lifting you up to his chest. You weigh absolutely nothing to him, but he loves to feel your body cradled in his arm with your head up close to his own.

"Hey!" you squeal as you are abruptly brought up into the air, giving him a playful swat on his pecs. "I can't finish cooking from up here!"

He can't help but laugh. He is so fond of how you do such simple things to remind him of his humanity, how easily you bring him back down to earth after a grueling day of being Vought's supe poster boy.

"I think it's done babe," he smirks. "Here, let me see."

He reaches down and grabs the pot with his free hand, completely unfazed from the strong heat on his bare skin. After one last smell, he brings the pot up to his mouth to take an ample sip. He tilts his head back as he swallows, his eyes closed while he licks his lips, savouring the soup you made special just for him.

"Is it good?" you question, even though you're pretty sure you already know the answer.

Opening his eyes, you spot the sly expression on his face as he brings you in for a kiss. Homelander kisses you so warmly and softly, letting you taste the soup on his lips. When he finally parts, your noses are still touching allowing you to feel his deep breaths dance across your face. You can see how dilated his pupils are, his fluttering eyes solely focused on you, on how much he loves you.

You take that as a yes.

[babydollmarauders]

SLEEP — LUKE HUGHES

luke hughes x fem!reader

FAITHLYNN’S 500 CELLY!

🌷: “They’re so cute when they’re asleep.” with Luke.

“nap time?” my boyfriend asks as he walks into his room. i was already here, laying in his bed and awaiting his return from morning practice for our daily nap.

the routine had started as an accident, us having fallen asleep one day before his game when we were spending some time together. but now it’s become a good luck tradition; i wait for him in his room during morning practice and then he comes home and we nap together until he has to wake up to get ready and leave for his game, in which case i ride with him to the arena to watch him play.

“finally! i was about to fall asleep without you.” i tell him. Luke just smiles, stripping off his hoodie and throwing it to me, leaving him in a t-shirt and sweatpants. i slip the hoodie over my head, burrowing inside it’s warmth, as he crawls in bed beside me. allowing him to pull my body close to his, i snuggle my face into the crook of his neck and let out a content sigh. i close my eyes, letting myself drift to sleep, happy in his arms.

*

i’m stirred awake by the sound of whispers, the culprits not doing the best job at keeping quiet.

“they’re so cute when they’re asleep.” someone says.

“yeah, cause they’re not telling me ‘Ethan, no!’ and ‘Ethan, get down from there!’ and ‘Ethan, stop doing that. you’re gonna fall and get hurt.’. they’re such buzzkills.” now i know that voice was Ethan Edwards.

“to be fair, they’re usually in the right when they say those things.” another voice pipes up.

“shut up.” i groan, swatting at someone hand that’s currently tickling my nose.

“ow.” Ethan dramatizes and then stage whispers a “bitch.”

“Ethan, if you wanna keep playing hockey, i suggest you take that back.” Luke mumbles, burrowing his face farther into me.

“sorry, mom.” Ethan drags out, and i already know he’s rolling his eyes without even opening my own. i finally crack my eyes open to find Mark, Ethan, Dylan, and Mackie standing in front of the bed.

“what do you guys want?” i whine, scrunching up my nose.

“we have to leave in like 15 minutes.” Mackie says, making Luke pop up.

“what? no, i set my alarm to go off forty-five minutes before we have to leave.” he picks his phone up, checking the time and cursing before sliding out of the bed. i watch my boyfriend run around the room, telling the boys to get out as he gets changed into his arrival outfit.

my own phone buzzes with an incoming text, and i pick up the screen to find a message from Dylan with a picture of Luke and i sleeping.

“aww babe, look at us.” i turn the phone around for him to see but he’s still rushing around the room.

“no time, babe. let’s go.” he tells me. i sigh, rising from the bed to just slip on my shoes and follow him out the door.

i guess it’s time to watch my boyfriend win another game.

**

@y/noninsta just posted

y/noninsta game day naps are my favorite times with you 💙💛

Load more comments

lhughes_06 love you baby

y/noninsta i love you too sweet boy

edwards.73 yeah they’re my fav too cause i don’t have you guys yelling at me

y/noninsta who else is gonna tell you not to try doing a back flip off the kitchen counter right next to the flaming stovetop?

edwards.73 i still think i could’ve landed it

lhughes_06 and i still think y/n and i would’ve been the ones stuck driving you to the hospital with a broken nose and 2nd degree burns but hey what do i know?

edwards.73 you guys have no faith in me

jackhughes gross this is not the content i signed up for

y/noninsta i could block you. would that help? ☺️

elblue6 you guys are too cute!

y/noninsta at least someone appreciates us! thank you mama El!

-

-

[jiette]

ORDER 001 !

you (an indie streamer), the xsoleil boys and nina met up for an off-collab cooking stream and the boys are pretending to not know how to cook so you can help them out !

ft. doppio dropscythe, hex haywire, ver vermillion x afab!reader (nina is there too)

99% sugar - added crack too ! this will generally be a fluffy and funny post. that 1% is for ver’s part btw.

warning - just ,, funny

a/n - thank you @lonelysimpfor2dmen for the dm request ! i had fun writing this , especially on ver’s part. i hope you enjoy it <3

i am writing for the vtuber’s persona and model, not for the real person behind the screen.

it was all quite random timing for the guys in xsoleil and nina to have an off-collab with you , but you did agree that it was one of the funniest experiences to ever occur in your life.

the stream was taken place in your apartment, and you started streaming as if it was a regular cooking stream — all on your own.

plenty of people started tuning in to your stream as you were explaining what you’d be cooking and that you were waiting for a delivery to arrive.

your chat was flooded with suspicion that you weren’t actually going to cook, and instead having food be delivered to your door, but little did they know they were absolutely incorrect.

the doorbell started ringing and it was audible for chat as well.

“oh, that must be the delivery. i’ll be right back, chat !” and you ran off to the door. the chat kept filling the chat box with joking remarks, and some were speculating a special guest.

It must be a burger..

SPECIAL GUEST IKZZZZ

👀👀👀👀👀👀

chat heard footsteps walking back to the stream setup however they didn’t hear the usual sweet voice from you. it was many voices, from something that would come out of a chaotic streamer. a voice then came up rather close, dangerously close to the mic and started babbling random words.

“hey guys, i hope you like.. don’t mind us joining the stream,” the voice mumbled in a calm, smooth tone. the chat started connecting the dots and realised that the voice was actually ver. so if ver was there, that must’ve meant that doppio and hex would’ve been there too.

XSOLEIL ??

TSKRR VER

VER OMGGG ‼️

a mature, feminine voice joined in the conversation. it was indeed fox mum, nina. chat became nothing but chaos as you and the others proceeded to explain what was going to happen during the stream.

DOPPIO DROPSCYTHE ;

doppio .. doesn’t actually know how to cook

so obviously he’s going to need help from you

and god , he was a mess

babbling heaps …

if you got mad at him he’d pout at you and give you puppy eyes

nina thinks it’s adorable of piopio to act like this

she senses things too

but of course , she won’t say that on stream

“…[name], how do you do this part of the recipe ..?”

you turn from the stovetop to face doppio who is pointing at the directions on the sheet of paper. your eyebrows furrow.

“don’t you think it’s quite self-explanatory, doppi ?” you asked, concerned for his lack of cooking skills.

hex walked up to doppio and snatched the piece of paper, reading the instruction carefully. “you don’t know how to seperate the egg yolk from the white ..?”

doppio’s face turned into a shade of tomato red as he slowly averts his gaze from hex. you start to pity him, so you ask nina to look after the stovetop as you go to assist him.

“alright, doppio, watch this. you see the egg ? crack it into the bowl.” you said, switching gazes from the egg to doppio. he looked quite hesitant at first, but after lightly smashing the egg a few times on the counter, he was able to successfully crack it into the bowl. an accomplished smile plastered on doppio’s face.

“yay, you did it, doppi !” you pat his shoulder a few times. chat had also been sending in praises and clapping emojis.

doppio looks at the next set of instructions and gulps. seperate the egg yolk.

you stare at him concerned, but you knew deep inside that he had some sort of potential.

“how do you seperate the egg yolk ?” doppio mumbled.

never mind then.

“alright, you see that egg yolk ? scoop it up, and you use your other hand and do it like this.” you follow the directions you just explained to doppio and the egg white slowly slipped in between your fingers. you placed the yolk in to the appropriate bowl and turn to doppio.

“ta daa ~” you said sarcastically.

“w— hey, not everyone is good at cooking !”

HEX HAYWIRE ;

okay.

we all know this man has super malewife skills

like bro , he can cook , clean

give this guy a maid dress too and he can do all those things in style !

tell him to like bake you a 3-tier cake and he probably would in a time span of like 2 hours (that is short for making a good quality cake)

but … his malewife skills disappeared.

they’re gone

for now at least but they’re gone !!!

everything was going so smoothly for the past 5 minutes of preparing and cooking, where did everything go downwards ? you knew yourself that he is a good cook, the perfect malewife even ! why was he asking how to do things now ?!

“hey, [name], what does this part of the instructions mean ?” hex asked, looking a bit too worried. you glared at him, eyes full of irritation. they dart to the instructions and you were in disbelief.

“you’re joking, aren’t you.”

“no, seriously ! i actually don’t know how to sauté onions !”

ver and nina slowly turned to hex in shock, and so did chat … virtually. you let out a big sigh and reluctantly head over to the stove.

“grab the butter, please.”

“what is butter ?”

everyone pauses. you felt like your eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.

nina chimes in, “hexy honey, where are your super malewife powers ?”

it wasn’t that audible, but ver was trying to keep in his laugh — he probably knew what was up.

“just get the damn butter, hex.” you said. hex awkwardly walked over to the fridge where the butter was and came back with a block of salted butter.

the rest of the stream was chaos.

VER VERMILLION ;

ver id say is also quite a decent cook

but then again , he wants to see if you can cook too !

he is so sneaky and cheeky about it too

do the right things for him , and he will give you headpats

if agency vtubers were allowed to show their faces , the chat would be spamming ‘tskr’ HEAPS

“[name], you shall receive headpats for helping me so nicely.”

you don’t care about the headpats , you just want ver to do things for himself ,,

“[naa~me] ! can you dice the onions for me ? i need to microwave this.” ver said in a rather polite voice. a hint of mischief could be heard from his tone, which caught on your suspicion.

“alright …” you reply. ver’s eyes glistened like those of a child as he sprinted towards you. catching you off guard, he started to ruffle your hair.

your cheeks turn into a pink-ish red hue as ver proceeded to pat your head. why is he doing this, you thought to yourself.

ver walked over to the microwave and added what ever ingredient he had to microwave.

still startled from the sudden contact, you start to cut the onions — and you started to understand why he gave the job to you.

“GOD, MY EYES STING !” hex started yelling from across the kitchen, and soon enough, everyone could feel the chemicals slowly waft in to their poor eyes. wretched screams filled the room as the nijisanji en members started tasting the bitter rawness of the onions.

but you ? you were in the most pain cutting those onions. man, you wished you declined the request but here you were, tearing up hysterically chop after chop, sending the chemicals straight into your eyeballs.

despite the tears rolling down his eyes, ver let out a soft giggle. he could see the frustration on your face and it satisfied him quite a lot.

“VER ! PLEASE CUT THESE ONIONS I’VE HAD ENOUGH !” you cried (literally), blubbering and begging for mercy — everyone was begging for mercy. but of course, ver wanted to relish the moment as you and the others slowly suffered from onions.

“VEEEER !” you cried even louder, almost a screech.

“no ! chat is enjoying this moment !” and yes, they were. half of them were laughing their asses off, balling their eyes out even ; and the second half, well, they were rather confused in the moment, but they did enjoy it.

© 2022 vvishes ┄ all rights reserved. do not copy, claim, or plagiarise my works. do not repost on other platforms. translations are only allowed with strict permissions.

[ladygojooo]

The shadows stain the snow (but darling, I want you anyway)

Synopsis: Betrayal, duty, and death - these were the only things the world of jujutsu had ever given you for all that you toiled. A twin of one of the fallen, you left it all behind in the hopes of carving out a small bit of uneasy paradise for yourself.

You should have known it never was going to work.

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader

WC: 1.8k

Content: light angst, marriage proposal, marriage of convenience, soft!Gojo, fluffy ending, pre-Shibuya arc

A/N: raaaaah, I was so tired of having this in my drafts, and though I think it's utter trash, maybe one of y'all will like it, lol. Satoru Gojo, my beloved, the man that you are <3

There was white everywhere you looked.

Seven years after you left, and you still couldn’t think of anything but him when you saw the stupid color. At least the sky was covered in clouds today. Sure, it made you feel boxed in, but it certainly wasn’t blue.

You shut off the ignition in your car, not giving yourself time to prepare for the bitterly cold air that you’d step out into. If Japan hadn’t accustomed you to its winter lows, then the Yukon Territory certainly did the trick.

As you stepped out of the car, you watched with faint amusement as your exhales wafted up and away into the air around you. It was the one thing that brought you a bit of joy during the winter season - always reminded you of incense, for some reason.

The warmth of your home hit you all at once, and you couldn’t help the sigh that left your body as you unbuttoned your jacket and hung it up on the coat rack right beside the door. You could hear the ham and potato soup you’d frozen calling your name, and as soon as you shucked all our outerwear, it would be a matter of minutes before you could consume it. It was truly one of the best Western recipes you’d found while in Canada.

You walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer, humming with glee when you saw the frozen soup sitting near the front. So focused were you on pulling out a pot and opening the container that you failed to notice the 6’3” man in black sitting at your kitchen table.

“You have enough for me?”

Over the rush of your heartbeat, you didn’t even realize that you’d thrown a knife from the countertop until you saw it floating a few inches out from his heart.

Gojo laughed. “Oh come on, is that any way to greet an old friend? I’m starving after all this travelling!”

You had two options at this point. 

One - you hadn’t seen Gojo in ten years. You could laugh with him like no time had passed, get out a bigger pot and some more soup, and catch up over dinner.

Two - you could take all the hurt, anger, and fear you were experiencing at that very moment and put it to good use. Maybe you’d even be able to turn him out of your house. Freezing to death would do him some good.

You chose the second option.

“What are you doing here, Gojo?” You hissed, not turning back to the stovetop quite yet. You didn’t trust him not to get up in your business and try to steal some food.

“I’m here for a nice, homemade meal,” he grinned, grabbing the knife, kicking his feet up onto your kitchen table, and lifting his hands up to rest on the back of his head.

You threw a spoon on the countertop at him for doing so, uncaring that his infinity would keep it from reaching him. “I’m insulted that you think I’m that stupid. This isn’t some wellness check.”

Gojo sighed and settled into the chair some more as the spoon clanged to the floor, dragging out each second just because he could.

“We need you to come back,” he said. “We’re in need of more sorcerers, and you’re a special grade.”

You were already shaking your head as you answered, “Absolutely not. I’m retired.”

“You ran away.” The subtle accusation screamed loudly, even as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Semantics.” You waved it away with the bigger pot that you retrieved from under the counter. “Besides, what does it matter? Not once was I needed for missions. Surely the higher ups would have sent out a search party to bring me back if they really needed me.”

“And just who do you think kept the higher ups off your back?”

And oh, how the temperature dropped, even if his voice remained chipper. Your hand froze where it was about to turn on the gas.

“You knew where I was this whole time?” You whispered, voice shaky.

In lieu of an answer, the chair Gojo sat on skid across the floor, protesting the movement. His footsteps moved closer to you, each one sending your heartbeat skittering faster. You didn’t remember shutting your eyes.

“Look at me,” he murmured from right behind you.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Look at me,” he repeated, grabbing your shoulders and turning you around. Still, your eyes didn’t open.

“Gojo, you can’t-”

“Why did you leave?”

His insistent tone had you opening your eyes, only to find the bandana gone and cerulean blue staring back at you. Your heart, despite all the dates and failed relationships you’d had between then and now, fluttered just like it did back in high school. 

He was there, for the first time in a decade, he was there with you. You’d forgotten just how much you craved his attention, his presence, his very being until now.

You wouldn’t have the strength to leave a second time.

“Because my brother didn’t have the answers either.”

You felt him still, and for the briefest of moments, you thought the last thing you’d see would be a blinding purple. Hell hath no fury like a Gojo scorned, after all. You learned that shortly after the Sorcerer Killer’s death, when Suguru told you of the sheer power that Satoru unlocked.

“You know,” you whispered, eyes flitting down to the buttons on his shirt, “why I couldn’t have stayed.”

Gojo hummed. “You could have.”

“And where would that have left me, hm? Stuck between dangerous mission after dangerous mission or fearing when the higher ups would give me a fatal mission to finish me off? That’s not a life for anyone, never mind me.”

“And you don’t think I would have protected you?” He asked, the back of his knuckles brushing lightly over your cheek. Your breath stuttered, even as your eyes widened in disbelief.

“Gojo, we were barely adults! Between everything else going on, you couldn’t have shouldered my burdens.”

He chuckled. “You don’t think I’m strong enough, do you?”

You rolled your eyes and glossed over the parting words your brother left him with. “Satoru Gojo, I know your strength firsthand from our days in school, and I assume you’ve only improved since then. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

He smiled warmly at your free admission and let his thumb brush over your cheek. “Come back with me to train the next generation of sorcerers, and I promise you’ll be safe.”

“Have you not listened to anything I’ve said?” You moved your head back the slightest bit. It certainly wouldn’t surprise you if Gojo let your arguments for staying away go in one ear and out the other. 

The white haired man shook his head. “I’ve listened to everything you’ve said since stepping foot in the house. I just have solutions to each and every one of your protests.”

You moved to push him away, but with his infinity up, he still stood there, mere inches away. It was having an annoyingly dizzy effect on you, if you were being honest. It pissed you off.

“Oh, really? Pray tell, o wise one, how are you going to keep the higher ups from retaliating or marrying me off to some creep who only wants me for my technique?”

“By marrying me, of course.”

You sent him the most deadpan look you’ve ever conjured in your life, hoping that he wouldn’t catch the genuine shock that ran through your body. “That is the worst plan you’ve ever come up with. Absolutely not.”

He whined around the smile on his face. “It’s not! Think about it - you get protection from the higher ups through me, I get to bring you back to train the students, and based on how long it’s socially acceptable to wait to have children once married, we can work out a plan for divorce in plenty of time. After that, you can come right back here and live out your days in lonely solitude.”

“No, Gojo. I’m not coming back, what’s not clicking here?” You groaned in frustration, throwing your head back - anything to get away from his puppy eyes.

“One of the first years is Sukuna’s vessel.”

Your head whipped down to meet his gaze, eyes wide once again. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope!” Gojo chuckled. “Pretty great kid too. You’ll love him.”

The entire conversation was giving you whiplash to the extreme. Gojo showing up out of the blue, wanting you back at the school, offering to marry you to keep you from the higher ups, and now Sukuna, the feared King of Curses himself, was alive and trapped in an innocent boy.

The man really knew how to sweep you off your feet, you’d give him that much.

“Satoru, why do you really want me back?”

His lips slowly fell from a smile, and he backed away to look out the window to your right. Silence curled around you both, growing more suffocating by the second.

“Something big is coming,” he spoke lowly. “I don’t know what it is, but something tells me that it’s time to get my affairs in order. I-” He cut himself off with a harsh sigh and turned back to you once more. “I have my regrets, sure, but I don’t want you - not being with you - to be one of them.”

Your body moved of its own accord, letting an arm slip through his before resting your head against him. You breathed him in, sandalwood and bergamot and him in the best way possible. The fabric of his shirt brushed against your lips as you spoke.

“Can you really love me after all that’s happened? All this time?”

You missed the tender smile on his face. “I never stopped.”

Your breath shuddered as you buried yourself in his chest. After the betrayal from your brother, Satoru being ordered to kill him, the brutal argument you two had in Shoko’s morgue, all of it - you ran away to be free of the memories, the love strangling you every way you turned. You ran away because how could Satoru see you without seeing his best friend in your face? How could you face yourself in the mirror when all you saw was Suguru staring right back at you? How could anyone at Jujutsu High stand to be near you when all you were was a walking failure?

“And you’re sure you want me?”

“Well, it was either you or Utahime, so.”

You groaned and let your head drop to Gojo’s shoulder, slapping his arm a few times. “I hate you with a burning passion.”

“That’s the spirit!” He cheered, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

“You owe me so much kikufuku.”

“I’ll buy it all for you.”

“Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“This honeymoon better be at the beach.”

“Done.”

[maarriiii]

Breathless | Rick Flag

A/N: In my world, Rick Flag is still alive and well.

Summary: An unexpected visit from the one and only, Colonel Rick Flag, let to a revelation

Pairing(s): Rick Flag x female!reader

Warning(s): None.

my masterlist :))

~~

"Flag?" Rick Flag looked up from his boots and was met with the sight of a confused y/n l/n, standing in front of her apartment door. For a few seconds, the former colonel had to do a double take with how casual her appearance was. y/n was clad in a worn out T-shirt with some sort of stain on her chest and a pair of denim jeans. Her hair was tied up with strands of hair framing her face. If Rick didn't recognize her from the times that they've worked together, then he would've thought that she was just a normal civilian living her life. But, y/n was anything but. A trained assassin wanted by every agencies possible for countless of political assassination domestically and internationally.

"Hello, um," Rick shook his head and cleared his throat. "Hey."

"Hi. What are you doing here?"

"I was just in town and thought I'd give you a visit."

y/n squint, watching his movement. "I never told you where I live in Gotham."

Rick gulped underneath her gaze and stuffed his hands inside his jacket pocket. Rick wasn't a man that's easily intimidated. He had fought many atrocious people during his time in the army and worked with the worst of the worst almost on a daily basis. He needed to grow a thicker skin because of it and he did. But, as y/n watched him intently, trying to decipher the meaning behind his sudden arrival, he couldn't help but remember how deadly this woman in front of him. How she could kill him with a single touch, hide his body and returned to whatever she was doing without anyone noticing.

"Rick." y/n snapped him out of his thoughts. "How did you know where I live?"

"Alright, I might've asked a couple of people to track you down. And I might've asked Dubois too. Since, you know, you both worked together before," he explained, feeling ashamed for some reason.

"Wow, Rick, all that effort just to find me? I'm honored." She smiled.

"Well, you're a hard woman to find. Can't blame me to ask for favors."

Rick heard her genuinely laugh for the first time and he couldn't resist the smile that slipped his lips. She was always so guarded during missions, a few quips here and there about him, Waller or the utter ridiculousness of whatever teammates she was assigned with. Even when Harley let out the most ridiculous things out of her mouth, y/n was always tight lipped. He was lucky if he saw a smirk from her. Rick won't admit it out loud, but he was liking this side of her.

He was immediately engulfed with a delicious smell that almost made his stomach growl when he entered her apartment. It was a small apartment and from where he stood, Rick could see the kitchen with an array of ingredients on the counter and pans on the stovetop. The living room was to his right where the local news was playing on the tv and books were scattered on the coffee table. On his left was a hallway with three doors leading to what he assumed to be bedrooms.

"Bathroom is the second door on the left." y/n looked at him over her shoulder. "You want anything to drink? I have beers, soda, water."

"Beer would be fine. You got people comin' over? That's a lot of food." Rick nodded to the ingredients scattered on the counter.

"Harley's gonna come over soon and she likes to eat a lot." She shrugged, sipping her tea. "You hungry? I think I made enough for three people. Harley's gonna have to share though."

"No, no, you don't have to. I'm fine. Thanks."

"Suits you then. But, for your information, I've been told I'm a phenomenal cook." She winked at him. "So, to what do I owe you the pleasure, Colonel Flag?"

To say y/n was surprised when Flag showed up at her door was an understatement. After the mission in Corto Maltese—and blackmailing Waller—she never thought she'd see the rest of her remaining Task Force X teammates again, let alone her former Colonel. She did keep tabs on all of them, even Nanaue for some odd reason unknown to her, but that was it. The last she heard from the man in front of her was that he quit the task force and moved to D.C. That was five months ago.

Rick was silent for a moment before he spoke. "Just a casual visit to a friend. You know, just making sure you're not getting into troubles."

"Hm. And do you do this house calls to everyone?" y/n questioned, a playful glint on her eyes.

"You just so happened to be my first visit."

y/n rolled her eyes. "If you wanted to see me, Flag, you know you could just say so. There's no need to make up a reason. I won't judge."

"What makes you think that, l/n?" A smirk slipped his lips.

"Oh, please, I was always your favorite on the squad. You always make the effort to personally escort me from my cell—and don't even deny it cause I overheard the guards once. You put an overwhelming amount of trust in me to watch your six and save your ass. And lastly, you stare too much."

"Well, you were—you were the most competent and less likely to kill me if I turn my back on you. What do you mean I stare too much?" Rick frowned.

y/n leaned her elbow on the counter, her head tilted on her hand and a mischievous smile on her lips. She was dangerously close to his face even with the island counters separating the two of them. Rick could smell the spices she used on her and it overwhelmed his senses in the best possible way. The only time they were this close was on a mission where both of them were covered in mud and blood. He had to admit he did sometimes stare at her during mission. y/n would be checking her gear, incapacitating an enemy, or just talking to Harley and he would avert his eyes to her. Harley caught him doing it one time and he had to act like he didn't know what the hell she was talking about. So much for subtlety.

"I mean, sometimes I could feel your eyes on me and when I turned around, you're already looking away," y/n whispered slowly.

"I was just checking to make sure you're not planning something that could endanger the mission."

"At first, I thought the same thing. I thought you were just doing your job. But, then it lingered just a few seconds too long and in places where you shouldn't be staring."

"I, uh, I didn't mean to make you comfortable or anything like that."

y/n smiled at his reaction and inched closer to his face that she could feel his breath on her face. "Don't worry, soldier. I'm just glad the feelings mutual. I haven't exactly been innocent on the staring too."

She trailed feather light touches on his neck with both of her hands and she could feel him tense underneath her touch. She brushed his surprising soft lips with her own and was satisfied when Rick closed her eyes. He leaned his forehead on her and gripped his beer with a little too much force as if he was holding himself back. y/n could just end their waiting and kissed him hard like she always wanted to ever since she saw him shirtless in that hut in Corto Maltese. But, she thought it was fun to torture him like that.

"You're gonna kiss me or just leave a man hangin' like this?" He breathed out, eyes still closed.

"I like seeing you like this. I don't think many people could say they made Colonel Rick Flag so breathless."

"You're killin' me here, sweetheart."

y/n shivered at the nickname. "Wouldn't this be a good way to die."

Without any warning, Rick pressed his lips against hers and cupped her jaw. His calloused thumbs gently brushed the apple of her cheeks and y/n couldn't resist the urge to melt at the gesture. For years, all she ever focused on was vengeance to the people that stole her life and weaponized her. She didn't imagine she would surrendered so easily to the foreign feelings, to Rick Flag of all people. But, as their lips molded like two pieces of a puzzle, all she could focus on was him. y/n held both of his hands and squeezed, a silent sign that she trust him. The man she used to despised with all her being. Her colleague, friend, and something more if the universe deemed her to be a good enough person despite her bloody past.

A small whimper escaped her lips when Rick pulled away, but they were still close enough to feel each other pants. y/n didn't open her eyes, still too caught up in the euphoria that was his lips. Her mind was screaming at her for being so vulnerable and unguarded, but she couldn't care less. All she wanted was him.

"Looks like I'm the one makin' you breathless this time, y/n."

"Seems so." She smiled. "I gotta say, Flag, you're one helluva kisser."

Rick chuckled. "I try not to disappoint."

"Any more secret talent I need to know about?"

"I think I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Though, I'd rather take you out to dinner first."

y/n finally opened her eyes and gazed at him. "I like the sound of that."

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for taking everything I can from a former friend?

I 20 met this guy J 24M last year through a mutual friend, and since we happened to live in the same neighborhood we hung out more. For context, during this entire time I am/was also supporting an unrelated person financially, so I need every penny and have way less than J.

J has borderline personality disorder and does not go to therapy. I don't want to vilify anyone in the same situation, I'm just bringing it up because J's bps deeply impacts every aspect of his life.

He'd been going through some tough times, with his love life going to shit, cutting off his toxic family and having to find his own apartment etc, so I helped him often.

Since neither of us have much, we shared stuff regularly, e.g. he'd buy me food sometimes and I gave J my skateboard, among other things. I painted his walls & decorated, because I have the skill necessary and he doesn't. I went out to look at furniture with him. I asked my parents to give him furniture they were selling (he got it free). I frequently went to his place in the middle of the night, whether he had splitting migraines or thought someone had tried to break in. I helped him organize a Christmas party, even though he cancelled it because he got angry at someone or something. I cooked for him a few times (he doesn't cook). I let him use my washing machine after he moved into his new apartment without one, even though he owned a cat so all his clothes were covered in cat hair and I have a severe cat allergy, meaning I couldn't do my laundry normally & sometimes it came out with cat hair no matter how hard I tried (this lasted 8 months and would have gone on indefinitely if not for following events). Btw I did all of this without asking for anything in return.

Earlier this year, because of his ridiculously high expectations, he dumped his best friend at the time (the mutual friend), and assigned me his new best friend. After a few months, they became friends again anyway but I kept the "best friend" title.

In July, he hurt his dominant hand during an angry outburst. I was there when it happened but he seemed fine at the time. When he came to do his laundry the next day, Sunday, he told me that his hand was sprained and we talked about how he'd need to see the doctor the next day. He agreed to go. He promised to go to the doctor.

I know he's not good with going to doctors, especially on his own. So I texted him the next day and asked if he'd already gone. He responded "Nope, don't feel like", and upon asking why, he said that "it'll heal on its own anyway". Which to me read as 'I don't care.'

This pissed me off. I blocked him. I planned to unblock him once I'd calmed down, probably in a few days. I was really upset about this because it happens regularly. Him not going to the doctor when he should is a pattern, a bad pattern. He's gotten me sick that way.

The next day he texted my partner, asking if I was okay. They explained that i was upset at him for telling me he'd go to the doctor but then not going. He blew up at them that it was none of my business anyway whether or not he went to the doctor. Whined about his medical anxiety (which is valid but wasn't the point). Said that the sprain was healing so he didn't have to go. They argued for a while until my partner got tired and stopped responding.

Apparently I am now no longer his friend. He asked our mutual friend to tell me to pick up my stuff. I'm busy these days, so I haven't done it yet.

When I pick up my stuff, it's gonna be a whole list of things: a seat/cushion, a stovetop, 75€ worth of comics, a measuring tape, the skateboard, a box. I'll also bring him laundry detergents that are laying around at my place still.

Now WIBTA if I ask him to also give me pain medication to replace all the meds I gave him and money for the furniture I got him for free at the time (I'll ask 40€ even though they're worth more)?

What are these acronyms?

[nobedofroses]

October 5th

pairing: Jack Daniels x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, allusions to spice

words: 878

a/n: Prompt for today is "decorating the house together" from this list by @novelbear. Silly and cute domesticity!

Directory, Day 4

🎃🎃🎃

When you and Jack had moved in together, you had both brought traditions with you. Most of yours were around seasonal and holiday cooking, but Jack’s had been about decorating. You hadn’t expected it, but Jack liked to go all out for every holiday (well at least the ones he cared about). And one of the main ones he cared about was Halloween. 

Because he had been into decorating long before he met you, he came with lots of decorations, but he also wanted you to contribute things you had or find new things you both liked together so it felt like a collaboration for your home. So each year, the two of you spent the two months leading up to Halloween keeping your eyes out for decor. Since Jack had most of the typical Halloween stuff to start with, the two of you looked for more sentimental or unique or even higher quality versions of things you already had that would last your lifetime if you took care of it. Which was how you ended up with a ceramic black cauldron filled with punch and a plastic black cauldron filled with candy right next to it at your annual Halloween party.

Jack liked to do the decorating on the very first day of October, but this year the first few days had been too busy with work and projects, so it had to be pushed back to today. The storage boxes had been pulled down from the attic a week prior in advance, one of the ways Jack was making sure you could start as soon as possible. 

When you woke up after sleeping in on this Saturday, you could smell something warm and cinnamon-y and delicious pervading the whole house and wondered how long Jack had been up to cook breakfast. You padded into the kitchen in the pumpkin-themed nightgown Jack had gotten you and insisted you wear during the season, along with the purple and green striped fuzzy socks. 

Seeing Jack at the stovetop, flipping pancakes and checking on a pot of spiced apple cider, you smiled and made your way over to him. Once you were behind him, you wrapped your arms around his middle and said, “Really getting in the mood, huh baby?” 

Jack hummed, a hand coming down to squeeze yours, “If you like this, darlin’, you should see the fire I’ve got goin’ in the livin’ room.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was still reaching 75 degrees during the day and the 45 it got down to at night didn’t exactly justify a fire. “I hope you turned off the AC.” 

“Actually, can you double check for me, peach? Pancakes’ll be done by the time you get back,” he told you. 

Shaking your head, you pressed a quick kiss to his shoulder blade, “You’re lucky I love you, cowboy.” 

As you walked to the living room, you heard him say quietly, “Don’t I know it,” and that more than made up for the checking. 

Jack laughed when you complained that he shouldn’t have tricked you with the fireplace video on the TV, “You’re just too cute not to tease a little bit.” 

You rolled your eyes, but could feel the warmth in your face that accompanied being flustered by Jack. Which was often.  

Breakfast had gone by quickly with Jack going over the game plan for the day and you were happy to follow his lead instead of coming up with the complex blueprints he had. Literal blueprints. 

After a quick cleanup of the dishes, etc., Jack turned to you and said, “Just one last thing and we can get started.” 

You looked at him expectantly, but what you did not expect was him pulling you close and tight and kissing you soundly on the lips. When you got your wits about you, you kissed him back, and the two of you stayed like that for long enough for you to get a little hot and bothered. 

A second or two later, Jack pulled back. All he said was, “Good morning, don’t think I’ve said that to you yet today, sweetheart.” 

“What— what was that for?” you asked, a little breathless. 

“That was to give us motivation to keep on moving on this project. No more makin’ out or nothin’ until we finish today’s work,” Jack said casually, moving to grab the first box of the day. 

You gaped at him, “Jack!” 

“Sorry honey, but we only have these decorations up for so long, so I’m pulling out all the stops to get it done today. I don’t know about you, but the motivation’s already working for me. Can’t wait to finish up so I can kiss you long as I want,” was his reply. 

You didn’t even know what to say to him, but you knew he wouldn’t budge, so you figured you should just get to work. 

The annoying thing was that it did seem to work. You finished a full hour and a half earlier than Jack had planned for. Something that didn’t seem physically possible, but was true. 

As you pushed Jack down on the couch when everything was done and you climbed on top of him, you said, “Next year, we’ll fucking decorate in September.”

🎃🎃🎃

[cadiacore]

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ teddy bear | hunt athalar x fem!reader

a/n: I had this idea for a while and even though it's not as long as I thought it would be, it's still very cute to me. @estevnys here is a small blurb of what I think the angel would be like while tending to you during that time of the month.

warning(s): mention of pain, fluff, period talk, swearing, etc.

wc: 500+

Everything. Fucking. Hurts! You would rather die than have to deal with cramps from Hel. Hunt was still on a mission with Ruhn, and you didn’t know when he would be home. You need your angel teddy bear, but you refrain from calling him. 

Soft, comforting music sounded from your Bluetooth speakers. Its melody soothed your mind, and the heating pad barely touched your abdomen's stabbing sensation. A small whimper emerges as another wave of pain hits you. You were going to make yourself some food, but there’s too much pain to even function. 

Why did the gods give you this damn curse of being a female? 

Hours pass by, and the front door opens. You want to get up, but the pain prevents you from moving. “Sweetheart?” You could cry now that he’s home. 

“In here,” you croak out. A few seconds pass, and the bedroom door opens. You smile weakly at the angel. 

The bed dips from his weight as he sits beside you, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Another wave of pain hits you, and you whimper as you grab your stomach. That’s when it hits him.

Instantly he is up and changing into different clothes, then into bed with you. He gently pulls you into his side and kisses your head. You let out a sigh of contentment and snuggle closer to him. Both of you have a running joke about him being your space heater.

“How was the mission? Did you find anything?” 

He sighs and smoothes down your hair, “Yes, and all the evidence is at the Aux with Ruhn. It’s okay now.” You breathe a sigh of relief. The Asteri had information about the different worlds and neglected to share the information with the other leaders. Hunt had explained that he and Danaan had been planning that mission for a while, ever since the Autumn King mentioned the evidence. 

Everyone, even you, has been curious about parallel worlds. You look up and raise a brow, “You’re not gonna tell me anything, are you?” His answering smirk says everything. He can’t tell you a single thing until the all clear. 

Your stomach growls, and he looks down at you, “Have you not eaten yet?” You mentally cringe because you know he’s adamant about you eating three meals a day, which you haven’t done since he’s been gone. You’ve been in too much pain to eat, and it’s already midnight, so it’s too late to eat. 

“No, my pain has been too bad for me to eat. I can’t eat when I’m in pain.” You know him well enough that it won’t be a good enough excuse for not eating. He hums. He gently untangles himself from you and leaves the room. No doubt that he’s on his way to cook you up something. 

Ten minutes pass, and he still isn’t in bed with you. You’re not in a severe amount of pain right now, so you pad your way into the kitchen. Whatever he’s making smells delicious. You go to his side and rest your head on his arm as he stirs the contents in a pot. Then you realize what it is. It’s spaghetti, your favorite food. 

Anything related to pasta is your favorite, and he knows that fact. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say as the scent of the pasta enters your nose. 

“I know, but you’re hungry.” He kisses the top of your head and turns off the stovetop. “Do you want to sit on the couch and eat or eat in bed?” 

“Bed.”