#sweet potatoes are the one vegetable I am sure that he likes

[scribblingface]

once again attempting to make a stew that my dog actually wants to eat. putting blueberries in it this time and no carrots wish me luck

[radioisntdead]

Accidentally stumbled onto the dark side of Tumblr again, DEAR GRACE SOME FOLKS NEED INTENSE THERAPY, or need to stop doing drugs, maybe both, my eyes, my poor, poor eyes, I need a holy water and bleach combo

Also I should watch gravity falls again

[animedingus]

I'll Help! ||Vinsmoke Sanji x GN!Reader Blurb||

Hey! My name is Pres, I was a somewhat well-known writer for the Queen/Bohemian Rhapsody fandom back in 2019/2020 with my blog @deaky-trash!!! I have returned to write once more with my new favorite thing in the world - One Piece! I am absolutely in love with the one and only Vinsmoke Sanji, but please bear with me! I have only made it to Skypiea so far, so I don't have the most extensive knowledge! Hope y'all enjoy my first fanfic in a long long time!!!

---

Pairing: Sanji x GN!Reader

Warnings: Smoking, Swearing, Injury

Word Count: 996

---

You sat in the dining room of the ship, watching as that damn flirt cooked the night’s dinner. He moved gracefully across the floor, moving from one task to the next with such precision it appeared as if he were performing a well-rehearsed dance, each step and turn executed with the elegance and purpose of a seasoned dancer. His long legs moved across the kitchen swiftly, and there was something about him…

No! No, you can’t. He flirts with every pretty face. You can’t be the special one, right? But god, he’s so gorgeous… The cigarette smoke billowing from his cigarette and covering him in this sexy haze, his blonde hair that looked oh, so soft and shiny, his sweet smile. It was mesmerizing watching him cook, and he was so natural, so beautiful in this moment of doing what he loves.

“Need help, Sanji?” you asked softly from where you were sitting. He looked up from the stove and turned to you, that same damn smile plastered across his face. His cute face… No, stop that!

Sanji laughed a bit. “Sure! I wouldn’t mind some help.” His voice was so smooth, so sweet, and it was so much more loving whenever he spoke to you. Your heart swelled as you approached the kitchen counter, giddy to be helping him in the kitchen. It felt as if you were a little kid again, your heart pounding in your chest every time you approached the tall blonde. Even the sound of your name rolling off his tongue made you blush.

“How about you toss those in and watch them fry? I have to cut up some meat,” he said, handing you a metal bowl with sliced potatoes. He continued in a teasing tone, “I trust that you can watch some fries,” before giving you a wink and turning to the counter across from the stove.

You poured the potatoes into the frying oil, the hot oil splashing back and hitting you on the cheek and neck. “Shit!” you shouted, jumping out of instinct and knocking over the pot of scalding vegetable oil. The wood sizzled, and it splashed against your legs before Sanji could even react. You winced in pain and Sanji scooped you up, away from the oil and onto the counter. He himself avoided it, stepping over the burning puddle to grab a first aid kit from the cabinet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping between your knees and applying burn cream to the areas where the oil splashed onto your skin. He was never this close before.

“I think so… Did it get you at all, Sanji?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, okay?” His gentle hand rubbed some of the cooling ointment against your cheek, making you blush. He squatted to wrap your shins in the bandages from the first aid. His hands were so gentle, and every touch to your skin was deliberate and sweet. He made sure not to let himself place too much pressure on the burns. He looked up at you reassuringly, wanting to be absolutely certain that you were okay. He cursed himself internally, wishing it were him instead. His frown was evident, and it made you upset in turn.

“Sanji… It’s not your fault, it was an accident. I promise, I don’t blame you at all for anything that happened,” you said softly, reaching down to rustle his hair in a show of affection. That frown softened into a pout, knowing that despite your forgiveness, he still blamed himself for your injuries.

“I still feel bad. Your beautiful skin, and your perfect face got burned.”

Seeing him kneel in front of you like that, with his hands on your knees and your legs spread apart, and that pathetic, begging pout on his face did things to you. You laughed a bit and motioned for him to stand back up, him following the direction of your hand. You cupped his face, pulling him close.

“I promise, Sanji. I’m fine.”

Now, his cheeks were glowing a bright shade of pink, his eyes darting around the room to avoid eye contact. Another giggle escaped your mouth and you turned his face to ensure his eyes locked with yours. You had officially broken the poor man, and it looked as if he was about to melt into a puddle alongside the oil on the kitchen floor.

Sanji finally met your gaze, his eyes a mix of concern and something softer, something more vulnerable. The warmth of your hands on his face seemed to ground him, and for a moment, the world outside the kitchen faded away. It was just the two of you, surrounded by the chaos of a minor kitchen disaster, yet in a bubble of intimacy that neither of you had anticipated.

"You're always taking care of us, Sanji," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the ship. "Let someone take care of you for a change."

His eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth twitched into a small, genuine smile. "I guess I'm not used to being on this side of things," he admitted, his voice a blend of amusement and something akin to wonder.

Then, in a move that surprised both of you, you gently pulled him closer, bridging the gap between you. Your lips met in a kiss that was tentative at first but grew more confident as Sanji responded. It was a kiss that spoke of new beginnings, of a shared understanding and a mutual respect that had blossomed into something more.

When you finally broke the kiss, the room seemed a little brighter, the mishap with the oil a distant memory. Sanji stood up straight, a newfound determination in his eyes. "Let me finish dinner. You should rest.”

“I could always help finish up dinn-”

Before you could finish, Sanji had already brought you back to your original seat at the dining table. “Absolutely not going to happen.”

[rottenpumpkin13]

Cloud becomes tiny, who out of ASGZ is the one responsible for it?

• Genesis being the responsible and sane-minded individual he is decided to teach Cloud, his student, about the joys of transform materia.

• How does he do this? By stealing a classified transform materia from the materia research department and bringing it to a lesson.

Cloud: uuuuh are you sure about this? It sounds dangerous.

Genesis: Will you calm down?? If there's anyone qualified to handle this it's yours truly. Besides, it's only for a minute or two, and you'll be able to better understand your targets disadvantaged perspective.

Cloud: .....Will it hurt?

Genesis: Like a bitch, but I know what I'm doing. Stand still now, will you?

Cloud: Wait! I changed my—

• Genesis did not, in fact, know what he was doing.

• There's a frantic knock on the door of Angeal's apartment. Angeal stops stirring the pot of soup. Sephiroth stops chipping the vegetables. There's another wave of banging on the door. Angeal and Sephiroth look at each other and sigh.

• They open the door and Genesis is standing there disheveled. His clothes are in disarray and he's holding a tiny toddler with spiky blonde hair in his arms.

Genesis: I FUCKED UP

Angeal: WHO'S CHILD DID YOU STEAL???

Genesis: THIS IS CLOUD

Sephiroth: Strife?

Genesis: YES

Angeal: WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM??

• Genesis proceeds to go on a barely intelligible tangent about how he stole a transform materia from the R&R labs and cast it on Cloud during a transform materia lesson.

• When he's done Angeal punches him in the face.

• Sephiroth snatches tiny Cloud away from Genesis and proceeds to hold him as one would a contaminated potato sack, with his arms outstretched as he slips back into the apartment.

Sephiroth: Better to deal with this inside rather than be a victim to a Turk's prying eyes.

• While Angeal finishes screaming at Genesis, Sephiroth places Cloud on the couch and stands back. He observes as Cloud starts playing with his own feet and observing his surroundings.

• He turns back to Angeal and Genesis and the three start discussing what to do. Genesis is 70% sure the cast only lasts 24 hours but that suspicion is overshadowed by his 30% certainty that it's a faulty materia and the cast is permanent.

• Angeal punches him in the face again.

• Sephiroth wants to suggest they take him to the labs, but ultimately decides against it since Hojo would likely dissect the child.

• Angeal suggests they contact Cloud's mother in Nibelheim and take him to her until the spell wears off..... if the spell wears off.

• Genesis says the safest thing to do is to keep Cloud under close observation between the three of them until he's back to normal.

Angeal: And how long will that be, Genesis???? *points at Cloud* That doesn't look like it'll go away in a few hours!

Sephiroth: I'll contact Fair. Four hands will work better than three.

Angeal, scooping up baby Cloud in his arms: I'll run Cloud a bath. Poor thing's covered in soot.

Genesis: And what am I supposed to do?

Angeal & Sephiroth: YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH.

• Zack received the text "Come quick. Genesis has turned Cloud into a child" one minute and is quite literally beating the apartment door down the next.

• He's bouncing right into the place with a backpack and an arm full of stuff claiming "I've come prepared! I've been waiting for this moment for ages!"

Genesis: For what? For me to fuck up and turn one of you into a tot with transform materia???

Zack: Yup!

Genesis: *facepalm*

Zack: So where's baby Cloudy???

Sephiroth: In the bathroom. Angeal's bathing him.

Zack: Sweet! I brought bath toys! *runs off*

• Once they're alone Sephiroth punches Genesis in the face.

• They spend the rest of the day fussing over baby Cloud and taking care of him. Angeal makes all the kid-friendly food and snacks he can think of. But feeding Cloud is a hassle because he's a spitter. This is how Angeal ends up with a face full of mashed potatoes.

• Zack, who's brought over all of his own childhood toys, plays with Cloud until the apartment is a mess and Cloud is totally sleepy.

• Genesis steps up to the plate and tries to put the kid to bed. He grabs a book of fairy tales from his personal collection, then sits on the couch with Cloud, who's burrito'd in a cloud-print blanket Angeal conveniently had.

• He's a pro at being an entertaining and narrates using funny voices and dramatic intonation. This only serves to make Cloud laugh and soon enough he's wide awake again.

Angeal: YOU HAD ONE JOB, GENESIS.

Genesis, sobbing: I'M TRYING

• Sephiroth has an...idea. He picks up Cloud and sits in the armchair. Then Sephiroth starts gently rocking the kid back and forth, all while Cloud is playing with Sephiroth's hair strands.

• Angeal, Zack and Genesis all gather around and watch in awe as Sephiroth begins to hum.

• His tone is deep yet comforting, and the tune is slow and melodic. Cloud's tiny hands go limp with Sephiroth's hair still tangled between his fingers.

• Cloud's eyes start to close as he yawns.

• Soon enough everyone is asleep. Genesis is passed out on the couch, Zack and Angeal are curled up on the floor, and Sephiroth has fallen asleep with Cloud.

• The next morning, a full-sized Cloud wakes up to find himself back to normal. The guys all wake up, relieved to see he's back to normal, then proceed to explain what happened.

• After shamefully unfurling himself from Sephiroth's lap, Cloud shakes off the childish blanket.

• Cloud then punches Genesis in the face.

[shes-homeward-bound]

Crash and Burn | Chapter 11

Summary: You’re the first female driver to compete in the Formula 1 World Championship in decades and it's your second year of navigating through a male-dominated sport. Your talent and drive to prove yourself made you vicious on the grid. Your seemingly unshakeable confidence was never questioned- until a certain Ferrari driver made you crash and burn.

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x Reader

Chapters: 11/11

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 4.6k

Posted on: 05/25/2023

masterlist

A/N: The final chapter is finally here. I am so sorry for the wait. I wanted to make sure that it was all wrapped up and cute and fluffy just for you guys. Thank you so so much for taking the time to read whatever I write. I appreciate every single one of your comments. It was so fun writing for Carlos and a driver reader.

Finally, after many years in Formula One, Carlos Sainz had gotten his first pole position here in Silverstone. He cheers and scrambles out of the car and immediately gets congratulated by Charles and Max. He couldn’t believe it. After years of hard work, he has finally gotten the best chance to win a Grand Prix. He was thrumming with excitement and disbelief, he still couldn’t believe it even when they started interviewing him. Once finished, he walks back to the pitlane and is met with a flurry of kisses.

“P1! P1! P1!” you chanted. “Babe, you did it!”

You give him a crushing hug and he returns the favor. It’s been almost 2 months since the accident and he was finally comfortable enough to hold you as tight as he wanted. 

“I didn’t expect it! I thought I was doing bad out there.”

You give him a peck on the cheek. “This is your weekend, Carlos. You can do this!”

You and Carlos part ways only to have him meet you in Aston Martin hospitality so you could drive together back to your place. You offered to let him stay in your apartment for the British Grand Prix so Carlos let his parents have his hotel room. 

After a shower, you and Carlos lounged in your living room trying to decompress as much as possible. Dinner was cooking in the oven and you leaned on Carlos as you both sipped on your electrolyte drinks. The night before the race was essential and your performance coaches were adamant that you send pictures of everything you ate and drank. Rupert and Anna were so used to staying by your side and monitoring everything, but to give you two privacy, they resorted to constant messaging making sure you were prepping for the race. The oven dings and you pull out the baked salmon, roasted vegetables, and baked sweet potato. You send the text to the group chat and place your phone face down on the kitchen counter. 

Despite seeing Carlos almost every week, it didn’t mean you got to spend much time alone. It was one of the busiest parts of the season and you were always in meetings, needed for simulators, and doing things for media and promotions. The only times you would interact was a quick kiss if you happened to pass by, sometimes you couldn’t even see each other at the end of the day because you were too tired. You and Carlos were always surrounded by other people, so times like this were precious because you were finally alone. 

Carlos joins you on the kitchen island and helps you set up the plates and utensils. The last time you were doing something domestic was back in your apartment in Monaco. While you were eating dinner, you made Carlos do some manifesting with you. He rolled his eyes but did it anyway, he would do anything to make you happy. You qualified for P7 so Carlos included you and manifested that you would find your way to third place and share the podium with him. While you would love to, you had Charles, the Red Bulls, and Mercedes to worry about. You know you would have more podiums to come but it was Carlos who needed this. He wasn’t having the best season, and you wanted this to boost his confidence. 

You both wake up from a restful sleep and immediately start your race day routines. You and Carlos drive over to the hotel where Pierre and Yuki were staying to have breakfast with them. You were still a little superstitious about it so you never missed race day breakfast with Pierre. So far, everything was going alright, you and the boys safely made it to the circuit and split up to go to find your teams. 

It’s a few hours before the race and you are sitting in Aston Martin hospitality sipping on your electrolyte drink while you contemplate your life. Two months ago, everything was seemingly falling apart. Your relationship with Carlos was on the line and you were in one of the most ridiculous scandals in all of motorsport. You were in a huge car crash but were able to walk away and recover from your injuries. It’s so strange to look back and see how different your life was. Now, you and Carlos are happier than ever and you have just signed a contract to continue your next two years in Formula One with Aston Martin. Life finally seemed normal again and that scared you.

If things are good, then something bad is bound to happen. You know that’s a horrible mindset to have but after the accident, you’ve been having trouble staying positive. You find yourself paranoid that you would lose every good thing in your life. Carlos knows how you feel and he does his best to be there for you but he was busy too, so you did your best to keep these thoughts to yourself. Anna set you up with a therapist and you’ve listened to the advice she’s giving you. You’ve been getting better at staying positive, this is why you made sure to take some time every day to think about the good things in life. Like in this moment where you just sit and people watch. Aston Martin’s hospitality doors were constantly opening and each person was just as interesting. There were the new interns who would shyly look at you, one of Seb’s engineers who was always nervous, and the guys from your pit crew who were all pumped up and waved at you. 

The rest of the day was a blur as your anxiety increasingly spiked. You wanted this win for Carlos and it was beginning to affect you to the point Anna made you go for a quick run to shake off some of your nerves. It helped for a little bit but by the time you were in your car and doing the formation lap, you were buzzing with anticipation. 

You breathe deeply and do your best to get into the racing mindset. Once all the lights turn off, you send it. You had a fantastic start when you heard the screech of metal from behind you. You whip your head to see one of the Alfa Romeo’s careening past your car. You start swearing when you notice they are upside down. You had already driven too far but you looked in your side mirror to see they crashed into the fence.

“Holy shit! Who was that?” you yell into the radio.

“Red Flag. Red Flag. Proceed to the pitlane.”

You start breathing heavily. “Who was that? Valtteri? Guanyu?”

“It was Guanyu. We don’t have information yet, make your way to the pitlane.”

You looked ahead and everyone’s lights were flashing as you all slowly drove to the pitlane. Carlos’s car was ahead and you let out a sigh of relief, at least he was safe. Once everyone was parked and you received the ‘okay’ to leave the car, you scrambled out and ran to the pit wall. 

“What happened?” your eyes grew big as flashes of your accident appeared. “Are they okay?”

“Zhou, Russel, and Albon are out,” says your strategist. 

He points to the screen that was showing live helicopter and drone footage. It looked bad, Gunayu’s car was wedged between the fence and a barrier. You squint and see that George was on the scene, and see ambulances for Alex and Guanyu. Breathing hard, you find yourself having to use one of the engineers to help with your balance. You squint at the screen just hoping that you would be able to catch a glimpse of him moving in his car. You didn’t even notice you were hyperventilating until Carlos appeared in front of you and told you to breathe slowly. He brings you close and you bury your head against his chest.

“I can’t look anymore, let me know when he gets out.”

Carlos holds you and tells you little updates while you close your eyes and work on breathing slowly. After a minute, he tells you to look up, and that's when you see Guanyu safely get out of the car. You sag onto Carlos and tears start streaming down your face, as quickly as possible, he leads you deep into the garage where you can let all your emotions out and away from the cameras. Someone hands you a tissue and you do your best to contain yourself. Now that you knew the boys were okay, you needed to get back into racing mode. That’s when you suddenly remember Carlos and his predicament.

“Carlos! You’re P2 right now!'' You look at the tv screens and you can see that the marshalls and other staff members were cleaning up the area and restoring the barrier. Guanyu's car was still stuck and the people on the cranes still had to figure out how to get it out. “They’re going to redo the line-up. This is your chance to get your position back!”

Carlos just looks at you and smiles. You had just relived a trauma and here you were trying to get yourself together for his benefit, he did have the greatest girlfriend. He makes you sit on the floor and he sits on the ground so that your legs are touching. 

“Don’t worry about me, I just want to make sure you’re ready to race. I’ll make sure Max doesn’t get ahead of me. I know I can win this, I can feel it,” says Carlos. 

You lean your head on his shoulder and take in a shaky breath. “I’ll be okay to drive, it was just so strange to see an accident so similar to mine. I’ll make sure to visit their garage after to see if we can see Guanyu.”

You and Carlos see Rupert peeking into the Aston Martin garage and the both of you laugh. It was time to go back to work. Pressing a kiss on your forehead, he wishes you luck. You take him by the shoulders and look at him sternly. 

“Max is going to attack and be aggressive right away. He’s already pissed it’s a restart but that’s okay because you're faster and smarter. You can do this!” you say giving him a quick kiss and a shove out of the garage.

The engineers pull you aside and show your data from the start and they tell you what you have to do to achieve the same results. The team principal pulls you aside to see if you were mentally okay to race and you reassure him that you were okay. He seemed hesitant to believe you but when he sees the intensity in your eyes, he knows you won't disappoint him. Seb finds you sitting with Anna and your pit crew. He squats down and gives you a reassuring smile.

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m a little embarrassed. I got emotional but I'm okay. I’m just glad to hear the boys are safe.”

He nods. “I talked to George and he told me Guanyu is fine and just a little shaken up. The medics were able to get him safely out of the card news. Us drivers are insane, something huge happens like this and all we do is take a moment, shake it off, and go back on the track.”

You look at him gratefully and nod.

“We’re all crazy, but that’s what makes us the best in the world,” he says, squeezing your shoulder. 

The team principal says that the race starts in ten minutes so you go to the bathroom and go over your different strategies with the engineers one last time. You look for Carlos, and when you see that he was already in the car with his helmet on, you laugh. The other drivers were still in their garages, he was the only one out there. Making your way over to his Ferrari, you bend down and get at eye level with him. You stick your pinky finger out and he hooks his with yours.

“Don’t forget what I told you, faster and smarter. You got this.”

You see him wink at you through his visor. Using the halo to stabilize yourself, you lean down and kiss the top of his helmet. The pit crew that surrounded him smiled at the gesture, they wished you luck as you headed to your car. The other drivers start trickling onto the pitlane and you’re met with Anna who gives you a pep talk. With your helmet and seat belts on, you closed your eyes and imagined yourself going through the corners of Silverstone.

Because of the accident, some of the guys may be a little hesitant at the start so you plan on using that to your advantage. You have had a strange relationship with driving after the accident. Yes, 30 minutes ago you may have been crying over the crash but that was because it was so similar to the one you had. You find yourself much more aggressive than you were before the accident. You weren’t too cocky about it where you put yourself in more danger but you drove with absolutely no hesitation. The fans noticed and loved it, your family was expectedly weary but they trusted you and your judgment. Since the crash, you have been top 10 in every race and you plan on keeping it like that. 

A formation lap is done and when all the lights go green, you floor it. Turns 1-3 were smooth and once you’re on Wellington Straight, you finally let yourself breathe again. Your strategist tells you you moved up two places making you P5. This excites you, maybe you can make it to the podium with Carlos but you don’t get too excited. You had a whole race ahead of you and anything can happen. You have some interesting battles with Fernando, Lando, and Charles battling for 4th place. You almost had a close call with Fernando and you had to bite your tongue so you wouldn’t lash out at him through the radio. You resort to grumbling incoherent swears at your engineer and he just comically responds with “I know” knowing it was completely Fernando’s fault you almost crashed into him.

You let out a whoop into the radio when you cross the finish line. You finished P5 and was happy with your performance and was even more excited knowing that Carlos got his first-ever win. Parked in the pitlane and clambering out of the car, you clap Charles on the back but before he could even acknowledge you, you were sprinting away from him. Running as fast as you can, you make a beeline for Carlos and jump into his outstretched arms. He holds you tight and after a few moments he rips his helmet off and you do the same. You beam at each other as you clasp your hands around his shoulders, he was glowing and his eyes sparkled.

“Congratulations Carlos Sainz, you’re a Grand Prix Winner,” you say as he holds you tightly. “I am so proud of you and I love you so much.”

He smiles and brings his hands to your face, he was speechless as his heart beat fast at all the celebrations around him. Carlos kisses you deeply and the engineers and other teams around him start cheering loudly. You let go of him and he gives a little cheeky wink. While he hugs his parents and sisters, you get weighed and make your way back to the barricade. Carlos leaves to go to the cool-down room and with the help of his cousin and manager, you climb over the barrier to join his team and family. Carlos Senior and his sisters congratulate you for your p5 finish and Reyes gives you a bone-crushing hug, not caring at all that you are drenched in sweat. 

The announcer calls Carlos’s name and he steps outs waving at the fans who cheer him on. Once situated on the podium, Carlos looks down from the podium balcony, he can’t help but choke up. Just below him were the most important people in his life. The sea of red, his family, and you look up at him with smiles on your faces. He watches as you clutch his mother and sister’s hands and bounce in anticipation during the national anthem. Here he was about to receive a P1 trophy and he has never been happier or more grateful. Carlos knew his life was good, he wanted to be in motorsports and now here he was living the dream. He never thought he needed companionship until he met you, a person who would understand his goals in life and know how much dedication is needed for Formula One. 

When Carlos clutches his trophy, he meets your gaze and smiles softly. He had a second chance to deserve your love and he wasn’t going to mess it up this time. He knows what you both share is a once in a lifetime and he will never do anything to jeopardize your relationship. He caught a glimpse of what it would feel like if you were no longer in his life and he never wanted to feel like that again. 

—

August 2022 - Formula One Summer Break

The cool blue water looks more and more enticing as the hot sun beats down on your body. You prop yourself onto your elbows and see Carlos on the other side of the boat talking to Lando and Alex. You look around the yacht and see drivers and their friends or significant others lounging on the deck. You were floating somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea with a bunch of exhausted Formula One drivers with sore bodies. Toto Wolff offered his yacht to George for a couple of days to kick-start the summer break. George invited everyone but the younger drivers with no spouses and children were the only ones who took up the offer. The day after the race was usually painful and you and your friends could not wait to get back to Monaco.

You look at Charles sitting on the chaise lounge next to you, staring off into the horizon. The last few months have been rough on the Ferrari drivers but it was Charles who was suffering. He was leading the championship but bad luck just kept hitting him every weekend.   

You tap him on the shoulder and he looks at you with his eyebrow raised.

“Do you ever have moments where you just can’t believe that this is your life? I mean– I’m on a yacht with my closest friends and coworkers. It just happens they’re all Formula One drivers which means that I am one of you,” you say blissfully looking out into the ocean and the faint outline of France and Monaco. “I can hardly believe it.”

Charles looks at you and smiles. Ever since the accident happened, you were always so verbal with your gratitude. You would be doing the most mundane things such as doing the track walk or toasting bread and you would stop, smile and strike up a conversation with the closest person. There was a time when Carlos was holding your hand in the paddock and you stopped walking just so you could lift the clasped hands, and marvel at it for a few seconds before telling Carlos how much you loved him. Those who witnessed it couldn’t stop smiling, they loved your love.   

“We are so lucky,” agreed Charles. “Sometimes I forget, but times like this remind me how lucky I am to be alive and feel the sun or laugh with my friends.”

You look at him as he wistfully gazes toward the direction of Monaco. He thinks of those he had lost, remembering to live each day like it was his last. Charles is ashamed to admit it but sometimes he’d forget so he was glad to have someone like you in his life to remind him what was important. 

“That accident you had in Miami–” he stops before his voice cracks. He lets out a puff of air and breathes deeply. “I can’t imagine how painful that must’ve been.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve thanked you enough for all the help and support you’ve given me and Carlos this year. Especially after the accident. You were always there to help us and I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”

Charles waves his hand nonchalantly, “I know you would've done the same if roles were reversed.”

Sometimes you would go back to the footage of the accident, you felt a phantom pain in your chest every time you saw the car careen towards the barrier. What hurt the most was seeing how people were reacting to it, you remember seeing Carlos and Lando watching the screens intently but not Charles. You could see the scene so clearly, him facing away from the monitors and breathing hard, his skin pale at the thought of your demise. When you were at the hospital he doted over you, stayed by your side whenever Carlos or Anna had to leave. You remember the way he and his girlfriend would visit you whenever they could when you all got back to Monaco. It made you smile to think of the good friends you had in your life. Charles was right, you would do the same exact thing if roles were reversed. 

Changing the subject to each of your performances this year, Charles starts talking about his frustrations with himself and the car. The two of you get distracted when you see Daniel push Yuki off the boat which leads to Pierre throwing Daniel into the water. Everyone starts cheering and laughing, their smiles turning mischievous as they eye the other people around them. You and Charles look at each other and grin as you get up and start running to the other side of the boat. 

Charles charges toward Pierre and with a yelp, they both crash into the water. You approach Carlos and he turns around with his hands already out to defend himself.

“Amor, no. Don’t do it,” his voice slightly panicked. He eyes the cold blue water and looks at you sporting a cheeky smile.

“What?” you say innocently. “I can’t give my boyfriend a hug?”

You lunge for him but he quickly moves out of the way. The two of you dance around each other playing a cat-and-mouse game. Ultimately, you manage to shove him off the deck but not before he catches your hand and pulls you in. The shrieks turn to laughter as you and the others splash around in the ocean. The contrast between the scorching sun and the cold water became a comfortable medium so you and Carlos decide to stay in and float for a while. The others went back into the yacht but since the sea was relatively calm, you thought you couldn't waste this opportunity to relax in the water.

Carlos lets out a sigh of contentment.

To you, the cold water was especially relaxing since every single muscle in your body was still screaming. A couple of days ago, you had gotten a podium for P3 in Hungary and that race had depleted all your energy. You were racing hard the last 10 laps of the race. George was right behind and the two of you got into some very intense battles but in the end, it was you who was spraying champagne onto Lewis and Max.

“I told you the water would feel nice,” you say, poking him on his side. 

You’re both staring at the clouds and blue sky but you don’t have to look to know that he was grinning ear-to-ear. He reaches for your hand and tangles his fingers with yours, ensuring you don’t drift away from him. You feel like you’re floating toward the sky, the only thing tethering you to Earth is Carlos’s dependable and firm grip. Sometimes you think about what might have happened if you chose not to forgive Carlos. You shiver just thinking about it. Maybe you wouldn’t have gotten into an accident or it could’ve been worse and resulted in permanent injuries or death. All you know is that Carlos is the love of your life and you would do it all over again even if it meant it would end in heartache. The thing is, you don’t think you ever have to worry about that. The universe has given you the perfect partner and despite any upcoming hardships, you know that you belong to each other and nothing will ever change that.

 The two of you enjoyed each other's company in silence until the water became too cold and you needed to get back on the yacht. Carlos helps you up onto the deck and head straight to the outdoor dining area. Everyone is already helping themselves to the food so you sit down and wait because Carlos insisted that he would make your plate for you. Lando teased you relentlessly but you just shrugged. Your boyfriend was excessive when it comes to taking care of you, he knows you could always make your coffee or grab a jacket if you’re cold but whenever you are with him, you barely lift a finger. Of course, you protest whenever he does this but he loves to spoil you so you let him.

Later that day after the sunset and the boat had docked in Monte Carlo, you, the other driver, and their girlfriends were pre-gaming in the lounge area. Everyone was dressed to the nines because you were going to the club and celebrating Max’s win and your third podium. Lily and Carmen compliment the emerald green cocktail dress and you grin when you tell them that Carlos had gifted it to you. This then leads to all the girlfriends scolding their partners for never gifting them a dress to their taste. The boys start hounding you about what kind of gifts you’ve given to Carlos and they are silenced when he flashes his watch you had gotten for him for his win in Silverstone. 

You sidle up to Carlos while his fingers glide over the silk and rest on your hip. Looking up, Carlos smirks down at you as your friends loudly squabble about who has the best sense of style. Everyone was throwing tipsy insults at each other, but it was all part of the banter. Carlos kisses the side of your head making you smile as laughter bubbles out. You wrap your arms around him and inhale the citrus and sandalwood. Feeling his gaze, you look up to see his dark brown eyes looking at you in pure adoration. Placing a hand on the side of his face, you pull him towards you and press a kiss on his lips. 

Here you were in a beautiful dress with the man of your dreams in your arms. You were performing well in the highest level of motorsport breaking records and boundaries for other women out there. A year ago, you were so focused on your work that every single thought was about becoming a world champion or getting as far up the grid as you can. You had to work harder than the boys just to prove that you belonged in this sport just as much as they did. Now that you’ve proven yourself, it makes that fire within you burn brighter. You want to be the best, you want to break records and show the world that you have what it takes to dominate the sport. It was strange to be competing with your boyfriend but it makes you better, some would even say ruthless. This is why you and Carlos work so well together, you teach him to enjoy and savor life while he helps you keep that laser focus on your goals.

You were now leaning against Carlos’s chest with his strong arms holding you close to him. His body gives you warmth as a cool sea breeze brushes past you. As the two of you admired the twinkling lights of Monte-Carlo at night, you can’t think of a better person to spend the rest of your life with.

---

Thank you for all the love. Feel free to send fic requests, I'm itching to write about the other drivers!

Tagged: @oyesmendes, @forzaferraris, @harley-sunday, @thatoneidiot16, @haterpenny, @mysticalnightenthusiast, @laura-naruto-fan1998, @helluvahazelnut, @starjane312, @thatchickwiththecamera, @sticksdoesart, @xscorpioxmoon, @sanne-p, @idkiwantchocolatee , @ruledchaos, @callmequeenbeee, @nochillnel, @dr3lover, @urbankaite2, @justharrysworld, @ohthemisssery, @zoobabystation, @fangirlingcontent-blog, @dan3avacado, @compulsiveshit, @iamasimpingh0e, @inurdreamms, @kodzuskook, @imsoconfused2903, @urbankaite2, @nsprinz, @loveofmylife12 , @capela-miranda, @organasith, @c0k3z3r0na, @thelightnessofthebeing @verstfosi, @glitterquadricorn, @bloomingpresent, @troybolton-14, @vio111a, @marvelousmendess, @bbbbruins, @itssherlockedontheinside, @secretlysoft444,

[heavenlyhoundoom]

Sun and Moon show incorrect quotes 3.

1.Ruin: I like wearing oversized sweaters. Not just because they're extremely comfy and cuddly, but because whenever the sleeves are really big, I get to flop them around and smack people.

2.Lunar: When I was your age- Bloodmoon, mocking Lunar: When I was your height. Lunar: Lunar: Listen here you little shit-

3.Bloodmoon, to Moon: How do you tell someone politely you want to hit them with a brick?

4.Bloodmoon rushes by with an armful of water bottles Sun: What's going on? Moon: Bloodmoon wouldn't drink water. Sun: …And? Moon: And I asked them how fast they could chug an entire bottle. Bloodmoon, loudly: 16 OUNCES IN TEN SECONDS, BITCHES!

5.Moon, texting: Ruin, will you please go to sleep? Ruin, texting back: What makes you think you didn’t just wake me up? Eclipse, yelling: I CAN HEAR YOU CLAPPING TO THE FRIENDS THEME EVERY TWENTY MINUTES SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP! Moon, texting: Just a hunch :) You goin’ to sleep soon? Ruin, texting: I’m trying Eclipse, yelling again: TRY HARDER I HAVE A 5:45 AM MEETING TOMORROW BITCH Moon, texting: Okay, don’t stay up too late or you’ll be cranky :)

6.Eclipse: According to the footage here, you shook the vending machine and when the shake alarm went off, you punched the glass and broke it. Bloodmoon: …I was hungry.

7.Sun, texting Moon: Moon! Help I'm being kidnapped! Moon: Where are you? Sun: I'm with some strange person. In a car. Help. Moon: I'll call Earth. Earth, answering their cell: Y'ello? Moon: Where's Sun? They texted me that they were being kidnapped. Earth: Sun? Whaddya mean, he's right next to me- Earth: Earth: I'll call you back. Hangs up Earth: THE NEW HAIRCUT ISN'T THAT BAD! Sun: WHO ARE YOU!?

9.Eclipse: Did you buy eggs like I asked? Lunar: Even better! Eclipse: What the fuck did you- Lunar: holding up a chicken Her name is Fluffy.

10.Bloodmoon: Onion rings are vegetable donuts. Eclipse, used to Bloodmoon being dumb: Sure… Bloodmoon: Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed. Eclipse: Okay? Bloodmoon: Lasagna is spaghetti flavored cake. Eclipse: Bloodmoon: Lobsters are mermaid scorpio- Eclipse: Jesus, that one is a little- Ruin, interested: No, no, Bloodmoon, keep going.

11.Bloodmoon, grinning: I have a knife! Earth: Put it down, Bloodmoon. Bloodmoon: Make me! sprints away

12.Monty: Oh, to be a bored heir to the throne who keeps rejecting marriage proposals due to being secretly in love with the cute gardener. Earth: Oh, to be a cute gardener who secretly places roses in the heir’s room because she is in love with him. Bloodmoon: Oh, to be the palace guard who discreetly helps to boost the cute gardener up the wall for her secret deliveries in the middle of the night. Lunar: Oh, to be the heir’s best friend witnessing the two fools dance around each other while knowing damn well that the two like each other. Chica: Oh, to be the noble suitor from another royal family who comes to know of their love instantly and plans an entire plan to get them their happy ending. Ruin: Oh, to be a medieval peasant who knows nothing about the heir’s personal life and who dies of dysentery at age 23.

13.Earth: Regular soda is too sweet!

Bloodmoon: Diet soda has a weird after taste!

Earth: No! Ugh, oh my god. Diet soda is THE BEST! It doesn’t have sugar! It’s SPICY!

Bloodmoon: It has other weird stuff in it! I’ll take REGULAR sugar in my REGULAR soda!

Earth: It’s SO SWEET like it’s a dessert though! Diet feels more like a drink!

Bloodmoon: I’m going to physically attack you.

Earth: Which is better, Ruin?

Ruin: Oh, I usually drink water!

Bloodmoon: Wha- NO!

Earth: DISGUSTING!

14.Sun, hungover: Please tell me I'm imagining that I claimed I was king of the ducks. Moon: I would, but then I would be lying to the King of All Ducks.

15.Eclipse: How would you guys deal with a toxic friend? Earth: Tell them how you really feel. Sun: Slowly distance yourself from them. Bloodmoon: Engage in a 1v1 sword battle and if they lose they have to stop being toxic or pay the price. Eclipse, being handed a sword: …well heck.

16.Moon: Can I offer you a nice stick in this trying time?

17.Bloodmoon and Ruin texting Bloodmoon: Come downstairs and talk to me please. I'm lonely. Ruin: Isn't Eclipse there? Bloodmoon: Yes but I like you more.

18.Eclipse: They… well, I wouldn't call it inheritance per se. What do you call it when you kill someone and get their stuff? Lunar: Um, murder??? Ruin: Adventuring! Bloodmoon: Tuesday.

19.Eclipse: I swear to god I'm the only one here with a braincell. Lunar, Sun, Earth, and Bloodmoon: ALL HAIL the keeper of the sacred braincell!

20.Sun: Christmas lights? Moon: Check. Lunar: Thermos of hot cocoa? Moon: Check. Earth: Santa suits? Moon: Check. Eclipse: Shovel? Moon: Check. Bloodmoon: Alibi and bail money? Moon: Check- wait, WHAT?!

[charmedreincarnation]

My shift to attack on titan

To start, I shifted to where I was 8. I was born and raised in wall maria (shigashina) with armin eren and mikasa and I spent most of my days with them. I could not imagine the bond you could have with people other than your family until I went here.

First I want to reminisce abt my besties 🥰

Armin is the sweetest smartest friend anyone could ask for. He also hums and sings which makes sense because he is the narrator of aot in this reality. He also writes journals about things he learns and things he wants to see and tells us we are going to go together. I am so lucky to be friends with someone so Sweet smart charming and caring. no words can describe my friendship with him. It was so interesting hearing his stories about his beliefs and ambitions . He was certainly humble when discussing his theories and made sure to include all of us in them.

His heart is so big I still don’t know how it fits in his dainty body. His family is poor and he helps his grandpa cultivates potatoes. Even so when he met my mother for the first time he gave us a weekends worth as a thank you gift for all the snacks I bring to our daily hangouts. Of course my mother did not want to take them as we are definitely more well off than his family but he insisted. This was met with my mother giving them two weeks of fruits, vegetables and meat, which we had to beg for him to take.

His lack of athleticism is also pretty funny. It’s not like we do anything too heart wrenching but he has horrible stamina for our age. The race to the tree goes as follows: eren winning because mikasa is letting him by enough to help his ego, then mikasa, then typically me carrying armin because he gets too tired after a while. I still make sure he wins though.

Mikasa is my first friend that’s a girl. There isn’t any school or activities to meet new people around my age, so the only people I knew were my family until I met eren and armin. Then I met mikasa. She’s kind of shy yet brave when she needs to be. She made me a doll when eren introduced us to her and I didn’t know she could be so crafty. Yes she’s clingy with eren buts she’s super protective with everyone she cares about including me. Our mothers are also both from persecuted clans and we share the same hymn that our mothers taught us, the same sigil tattoo of sorts our parents gave us, so with that alone our bond is unbreakable. We have become armin and erens first line of defense, we both have protective nature and are always stronger when fighting for our loved one. I can’t wait to have someone like her for my entire life by my side

She is a stoic and composed girl who tends to keep her emotions in check. Those close to her recognize her incredible strength and courage in even the most dire of circumstances. She is loyal and brave, ever willing to put her own safety on the line for those she holds dear.

At the same time, Mikasa does have moments of vulnerability. She is immensely sensitive to criticism and has difficulty accepting praise. Despite her impressive fighting ability and hard work which we all have seen..there are times when she feels she isn’t living up to expectations. So yea she’s is a complex person, but one thing that never changed about her, is her sense of justice and unwavering commitment to her loved ones. She is both a formidable friend and a leader. She is able to make tough decisions in even the most difficult of situations.

Then theres my boy Eren 💀💀he is an amazing daring friend. He’s the one I’ve known the longest. My mother was a nursing aid in the hospital, erens dad worked at before she got married and he is now our doctor as well! I didn’t meet him until I was about 6ish or 7 and we he started coming to his visits with his dad and we instantly clicked and we were each other’s first friend! Then we met armin together and he met mikasi and the rest is history. He would do anything for the people he cares about and though sometimes I want him to slow down and think for a second but that’s not something he does. He acts on what he thinks and I almost respect how impulsive he is. It doesn’t matter because mikasi and I will always be there to make sure he doesn’t die.

I also want to talk about my family.my relationship with my family in this reality still rings bells in my heart. My mother and uncle whom I live with are a reflection of grace and kindness embodied into people. My mother is absolutely beautiful and everyone tells me I have her eyes, which is the nicest thing I hear all the time. She is kind, beautiful, strong and everyt good thing I do I was taught by my mother. She amazes me every day with her grace and beauty. She has been the bravest and kindest role model to me, and for that I am grateful to be her daughter. Her strength and courage has inspired me in many ways, and I will always be thankful for everything she does. She sings to me everyday and braids my hair while telling me good affirmations to build my strength. She always encourages me to say thank you when I am full because not everyone has the same blessing. She would tell me stories and fables every night and make me the main character incorporating moral lessons in each one to encourage me to be the best version of myself. She was very loving and kind with her words and actions, and soft technique in everything she does and for that I’m grateful. My uncle is of the same nature. Anytime I had a curiosity he would tell me stories and teach me everything he knows about the topic. If I had an interest the next day I would find a book of it on my desk. Books on specific topics are not a right but a privilege and how he got access to them I still do not know but restrictions never stopped him from getting me my desires. He would tell me I’m the smartest most beautiful girl in the world and I hope one day I’ll believe it. He is the kindest smartest man in my life and honestly armin reminds me of him, maybe why I love him so much. I also have a father who is a merchant and often travels, and though I do not agree with everything he does as he is more conservative, and closed minded he is still a great father, and for that I’m grateful. He does business with the royals and every trip back he would bring me sweets and treats that I would share with my friends. Chocolate with candy pieces and pecans/walnuts were my favorite. He would bring them in special arrangement and tell me to make this last until his next trip. It never happened and armin mikasi eren and I would eat them all in one setting until we couldn’t walk. Regardless I shifted here at a time I had a horrible relationship with my family and for a time anytime i would speak about my mother I was referring to her. I have now obviously manifested a better relationship with my family, but at a point, and I love and appreciate them but during my darkest hour, she was my real and only mother.

Also, As I expected was the food here was heavy on meat, beans, and grains, with little variety in terms of fruits and vegetables. This meant that the meals tended to be fairly bland – not exactly what I was used to. A common dish that I enjoyed was a stew made with chunks of beef and vegetables. It was slow-cooked for hours, which made it rich, flavorful, and comforting. The vegetables were often slightly sweet, which balanced out the salty flavor of the beef. But I mean we’re a locked up village trying to not get eaten alive by titans, so good diversity is the least of my problems.

But Y’all I honestly consider Shigashina as my realhome. My village is the epitome peaceful and idyllic. The scenery here is breathtaking. Rolling hills climb to reveal breathtaking views of the valley below, while nearby forests are a pleasing mix of vibrant green and warm autumn hues. The sun creeps through the clouds just enough to cast a golden hue on the village below, and the gentle breeze plays with tree branches and grassy fields.

It’s easy to feel like you’ve stepped back in time when you wander the streets of Shigashina. Streets of cobblestone pass between quaint houses while quaint shops and restaurants line the main thoroughfare. The village’s many windmills add to the charming atmosphere, their slow rotation creating a calm serenity.The nearby rivers and lakes bring life, with their gentle rippling and abundant fish. Beyond the village, pilgrims and adventurers journey the mountains to explore the region’s unique landscapes and mysterious secrets.

Of course, no discussion of Shigashina would be complete without mentioning its many festivals. Colorful parades, traditional dances, lively music – each celebration introduces a unique flavor to the village’s rich culture. For those that want to experience something truly unique, a visit during one of these festivals is a must. From its stunning landscape to its vibrant culture, Shigashina is truly a hidden gem in my experience.

In this void (cr)I could care less about nature but there, I am outside everyday the scenery, and it’s is breath taking. I miss being a kid. Getting to go everyday to our oak tree, and run around, race and play tag, while also reading and making flower crowns for each other . We yelled and screamed and played as children with no worries in the world, the euphoria and tranquillity I felt everyday, I did not even feel in this reality’s childhood and I cannot wait to go back and be free of stress. The market place is filled with people chatting, commerce and children running about. fruit and vegetables scent was in the the air and money rattling feels nostalgic to my eyes. It’s chaotic but in the most calming nostalgic way. I appreciate every aspect of my life, after coming back here and I cannot wait to leave here permanently and continue to experience my life the way it should be with people I love and love me, and to meet more people to fulfill my life.

My experience was amazing. Yes I haven’t endured any of the hardships yet since the fall of our town hasn’t happened and I haven’t joined the scout yet. I came here to spend my days with my friends and rest. I had no responsibilities and the bond I had with my family was untouchable. I know I will have a lot of trauma to prepare for, but everyone In my life is setting me up for success, and perseverance. all that matters is that I am loved and have people to fight for. With this said I can’t wait to meet my future friends and basically family members as I grow into the this home 🥰🥰

I know this isn’t aesthetic and it’s kind of boring but I didn’t go there for the action just yet, I just wanted to spend time with my friends, and family and have no responsibilities as I came here when I was super depressed. My other shifting stories are more fun 😻😻😻

[quibbs126]

Hello I have Returned With the OCxCannon names. If my first ask did not make it to you oops.

Choco ball/Cream ball, Ganache Ball or Ganache Bon Bon if you want to make them less sporty.

Pimento Cheese/Goblin, Artichoke Frittata. I know many consider Frittata to be an egg dish because that’s what it is but it is a cheese dish to me.

Royal margarine/Grey Heron, I tried to look up types of “Royal Birds” and all I was given was a store in New York (where I do not live). Anyways Quail Egg came to mind even if Heron Egg would make more sense.

String Gummy/Brunsgiver (which I’m pretty sure in meant to be Brunsviger but I might be wrong.), My brain is telling me it must be whisky based but a name like Caramel Gelatin/Gummy or Caramel Brioche might be better.

Captain Caviar/Rocky Wolf, I have no clue what Rocky Wolf’s ingredients are but I am getting Salty Wolf for a name.

Kumiho/Huli Jing, In my searches to found out what Huli Jing could possibly mean (I need to memorize my fox spirits) I discovered Huli Huli sauce which should make for a good name, Huli Huli Marshmallow should work well too!

Starlit Choco/Dark Choco, First off I really like Starlit choco’s design, both yours and the original she’s got a very strong energy to her! Dusk Choco and Midnight Choco come to mind for me! I wish you the best of luck in your fankid adventures and also the hell of college!

Yeah I think I have your original ask, I just haven’t gotten around to reading it yet. I’ll try to read it today though

I have two fankids with ganache in their names, that being Whipped Ganache and then just Ganache, so I don’t know if I’ll use that again here, but it is a fine suggestion. I haven’t really figured out the kid’s personality yet, so we’ll see if I use Ball or Bon Bon or something else

I like the name Frittata honestly. I could keep the Artichoke part, but I’m not sure if I want to. I believe Goblin’s based on sugar apples though, instead of any vegetable

Now I’m hungry for some eggs. I found potato frittatas when looking up frittatas for this, and now I want to eat one, it looks good. Or that Spanish omelette

Anyways, back to the suggestions, I like the name Quail Egg, I think it works, and it’s also apparently a food too

Yeah I misspelled it as Brunsgiver, my bad. Yeah I think maybe I can do Caramel Brioche

I don’t really know Rocky Wolf’s ingredients either. I’ve been operating under the idea that it’s rocky road, but also rocky road seems to be brown, while Rocky Wolf is grey. I don’t know, but Salty Wolf’s probably a good mix, at least name wise. Kingdom Hearts tells me sea salt ice cream is a thing that exists

Yeah I think I was there for Huli Jing���s name, he’s named after Chinese fox spirits. I don’t entirely remember if he’s got another flavor in there or not, I probably should have asked. Huli Huli works on name alone, and Huli Jing has red hair, which might fit with the sauce, but I don’t know if it fits with the ingredients, since it’s a sauce and all (I was gonna say spicy but I think it’s sweet)

Yeah see, Midnight Choco would work as a name, but the problem is, I’m already using that name for a Dark Cacao/Moonlight kid, who’s been in the works for like a year now but I still just haven’t drawn him, despite having so much about him. Dusk Choco I guess could also work, but I don’t know, maybe it’s too similar

But yeah, thank you for the suggestions!

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I don’t know what to do w this thought bc there is no plot but I’ve been thinking a lot abt stucky Wandavision au w belly kink and it’s just all sweet and innocent at first yk 1950s all pg and sweet and it just dives into an absolutely kinky hellfest of Bucky stuffing Steve making him burst out of his suit each decade with just a fatter Steve with different popular foods of the era and is KSBDKD ekem anyways -🐮

This is gonna be another case of me admitting that I am not a good Marvel fan because... I didn't watch WandaVision 🫣🫣 BUT you're a goddamn genius because that concept is so hot.

With every decade, Steve gets fatter. Fatter and fatter and fatter. Testing the limits of all these different styles of clothes. Finding new favorite types of food. Each morning, Steve leaves their home a little larger and a little slower until... maybe he won't be leaving at all 😳

Warning for stucky belly kink, (probably) historical inaccuratacies, weight gain, stuffing, clothes destruction/tight clothes, immobility, some name calling (pig, whale, etc.), and all that kinky goodness below.

1950s

I'm thinking about the excess that was the 1950s in America.

The post-WWII booming economy lends itself to this picture-perfect life that is seemingly within reach (if you were white, middle class, and heterosexual). A house, a car, a dog, children, etc. And all this overflow - this excess speeds up Steve's gain like nothing else. Bucky is a stay-at-home house husband, while Steve goes out to work; so, that also speeds Steve's gain because Bucky has to keep himself busy, he's got to do something other than clean, launder clothes, pay bills, or whatever. Cooking and grocery shopping fills most of his time in a way he enjoys.

Bucky always ends up cooking too much - making too much food for just the two of them. Then, because he's made too much, he overuses ingredients, and he has to go back to the store to get more... maybe he should get more when he's there? Right? He needs to buy more ingredients so he doesn't have to come as often. Steve ate everything Bucky cooked anyway, so it's not like it was actually too much, right?

Right?

So, at the start of the decade, Steve is nice and strapping. Under his pressed shirt, suit jacket, suspenders, and trousers, he's got a full fucking six pack, tight, high pecs, and broad as hell shoulders with legs that go on for days. But Bucky is getting good at building a soft husband. With every dish he perfects, every meal he cooks, he gets closer and closer to a chubby husband. Every day.

Hamburger, tuna fish, and chicken casseroles; meat loaf; fried chicken and deep-fried vegetables; mac and cheese; spam and canned ham; spareribs and salisbury steak; hot dogs; buttery mashed potatoes; banana cream pies, cherry angel food cake, and pineapple upside-down cake... all popular foods that Steve readily eats. And eats.

No matter how much Bucky makes, Steve will try to finish it all. He deeply appreciates being cooked for and he wants to show his appreciation. Even if, at the start, not everything is perfect.

If Steve doesn't finish it all by dessert, Bucky knows it will be gone by the time he wakes up with Steve in the morning. Steve gets up for work, Bucky gets up to make his hardworking husband breakfast, sending him off with a full belly (nevermind the fact that Steve is still gurgling through his dinner from the day prior and his midnight snack turned midnight feast).

Anyway-

Steve becomes accustomed to coming come from a long day at work to delicious smells emanating from the kitchen. It's never long before Bucky comes out, full frilly apron and all, and steers Steve into their dining room, sitting him down and serving up all the different dishes he's made for that day in a seemingly endless stream.

Steve compliments and moans his way through all of the dishes. Trying every single one. Not just trying a bite of each, but eating the lion's share of every dish. He makes sure Bucky has his fill, but everything else goes toward Steve. He can't help it. He's a stubborn, determined guy. Even if it didn't taste good (which it does, Steve could be convinced he's in heaven), Steve would be eating it all. But it does taste good. And he wants his husband to know he's doing good. So... down it all goes.

Until, by the time dessert is rolled own, Steve has his hands flat on the table over top of his knife and fork where they rest on his placemat. His glass is empty for now, he's gulped down glass after glass of milk with his meal, and he'll have a few more before he's done - the fatty drink bloating him by filling in all the cracks that fold can't fit into. Steve's got his head bowed, and his chest is heaving. Eyes squeezed shut.

Full.

"F-full," Steve puffs out, his lips slick. But, he's not done.

As he's stuffed his face, his tie has shifted to the side, exposing his shirt buttons. A while ago, Bucky helped him messily roll up his shirt sleeves as to not get them (more) dirty. He looks disheveled. Every shallow breath leaves his stretched stomach expanding more, truly testing the limits of his previously nicely starched shirt. Now his shirt is stained. He isn't a messy eater, but with all he's eating, there's no way that he wouldn't drop something on his swelling belly, beginning to split his suspenders apart and crush his belted slacks down.

The more often they do this, the more they settle into this time period, the more the buttons of Steve's shirts gape - little diamonds growing between each button, exposing more and more of his ribbed undershirt.

Someday, they're gonna bust. Coming off one by one. Pop. Pop. Pop. Bucky's toes curl just thinking about it. The release of each one, too tight, Steve's pot belly - his swelling gut, a beer gut under construction - forcing them to come flying off. Then, his belly rounding out. Expanding into the new space. Happy to be released and ready for more with the added space and freedom.

1960s

Bucky mourns the loss of visible straining buttons with the change of fashion following the decade. Or, actually, he mours the loss right up until he gets to stuff his heavier husband again. In his new clothes.

Then, when he does stuff him in this new style (with new foods, of course), Bucky is suddenly much happier. Not just from stuffing him. He's much happier because, as it turns out, the buttons being hidden isn't that bad. Not at all 🤤

With his stuffy little sweater over his dress shirt, covering his tie and gaping buttons and struggling, worn-out belt, Bucky suddenly gains a whole new level of appreciation for sweaters - the sweater makes him look even chunkier. A layer of softness over his softness. Rounding him out even more. Padding him just that little bit more.

The sweater balloons out and out, showing the indents of each straining button underneath until...

His belly gets to be too much, too big, and his sweater creeps up, showing off the bottom of his button-up shirt where it's getting tugged out of his unbearably tightly belted pants.

That little sliver of his shirt. Exposed. It makes Bucky crazy.

And, oh, there's the waist band of his pants (not for long, his belly will start hanging over before long), too. A little bit.

Just a peak.

A tease that leaves Bucky unable to do anything but feed Steve a whole course by hand, packing food into him with the goal to push the hem of his sweater up higher and higher on the dome of his gut. He wants that dress shirt to come untucked from the stretch he's putting Steve's tummy through, too.

He wants it.

He wants to see the slow, drawn-out progression. The tease. Up and up and up; rounder and rounder and rounder.

Another perk of the sweater is the heat it brings. Steve's a big, growing boy, so he already gets hot fast. But, it only gets worse with his fat and added sweater insulation. Now when he stuffs himself - or when Bucky stuffs him - he turns the prettiest pink then red. Glistening with sweat. 🥵

Overtaxed.

Overheated.

Overfed.

More and more every day, more and more every year, Steve looks more overfed. Fatter. Heavier. Rounder.

(That might be the part about time, how it blends into a montage of growth.)

Sweaters and vests aren't Bucky's favorite 60s trend, though. Far from it. Bucky's favorite thing about the 60s is how suddenly everyone is into finger foods.

Deviled eggs, skewered meatballs in sweet-and-sour sauce, celery stuffed with cream cheese, cheese balls, etc. Anything you can eat with your hands, no silverware. Also, with the finger food comes dips. Clam dip, onion dip, and many more that Bucky would've never thought to make on his own. Dips for dipping little bits of food gripped between fingers.

And finger foods are fucking awesome because Steve eats then messily. At first, he shoves them inhumanly fast into his face, moaning and gasping and sighing. He comes home feeling starved (re: after not being stuffed to the brim, hardly able to move, during the workday), and seeing all the little pieces of food turn him into a monster. A hungry beast. He plows through the little morsels. Never getting enough. Steve uses one hand to settle his swelling gut, and his other hand blurs as he rapidly goes between trays of food and his mouth. Again, eating like an animal. An animal of Bucky's making - he trained him to eat like a pig after all.

When Steve finally slows down, rubbing his tummy and patting it, trying to get his belly to digest faster so he can have more, Bucky gets to swoop in. Another reason finger foods are fucking great. He picks up the little foods delicately and tucks them into Steve's still watering mouth.

With every mouthful, Steve's lips and tongue brush his fingers. It's electric, the wet, hot, slick feeling of his mouth. Pure sin.

Bucky's hands are close enough to Steve to feel it when he moans or when he burps, the hot rush of desperate air. Steve only burps around Bucky's fingers when it comes up so suddenly that Steve can't turn his head to the side to burp more politely. Privately, that gives Bucky quite the thrill, his dirty, hungry pig. Burping uncontrollably. Sure, moaning is hot as hell, but there's something extra about his burps.

Also, about the gurgling of his gut.

His gut under that fucking sweater, dress shirt, and tie. Now he's not just bloated anymore, though... not after a decade of stuffing, now he's got fat. His gut is bloated all the time, glutted fully, but he's also fat. He's soft.

He's never been more handsome, but he's only going to get more handsome as he gets fatter.

1970s

With the turn of the decades, Bucky buys himself more clothes and gets himself familiar with rising food trends, and he also does as he always does, buying Steve new clothes, too. Usually, though, he buys what he knows Steve will wear. Just underwear for sleeping. Blue jeans and t-shirts for non work clothes. And formal work clothes. Boring and simple because Steve's never really cared about his body or looks, uncaring so long as he keeps functioning, but he's so handsome it doesn't matter that he doesn't care so much about fashion. This time, though, Bucky also buys what he hopes Steve will wear. Because something catches his eye.

He can't help himself.

He hopes with everything in him, that Steve will wear some of the tiny, little shorts that have come into fashion for men.

He desperately wants to see Steve in tiny shorts.

So, he buys a few pairs. Some jean shorts that look unforgiving and might cut his doughy waist in delicious halves, some softer more sweatpants-like shorts that will be easier on his sensitive, overstuffed body, and a pair that are modeled like women's athletic shorts, just for the shits and giggles of seeing Steve in something designed for athleticism.

Despite buying them with the intention to get Steve in them, Bucky's still not prepared for it when it happens. He doesn't even have to use his puppy dog eyes or have to wait to ask Steve until he's stuffed and pliable! Steve just shrugs and agrees to it. He's gotten more and more pliable (more domesticated) the larger he's gotten. Maybe it's the fat slowing his body and mind down. Maybe it's making him dumber to be full and indulged all the time. Maybe be stuffed satiates him, leaving him without any room to be stubborn or argue.

Either way, Bucky gets Steve into them. And he is unprepared.

Steve is poured into the little shorts. Not only is there no space between his pale, bare thighs, his thighs squish together, trying to find more space - they're so soft, wide, and excessive - and not getting any. His massive ass hangs out the back of the shorts. Dimpled and round. Like cake. Soft, soft cake that Bucky wants to bite.

His poor husband works up a sweat, waddling from one side of the room to the other and back again and again when Bucky tells him to. He wants to see that ass move.

He's. chunked. up.

Also, also, there's his hips. Those trim, little hips are nowhere to be seen. Instead, his tiny waist has expanded. His love handles hang out of his undershirt - a ribbed, white tank top - and lap over the waist of the shorts. His tummy has really, really started hanging recently; it's just as exposed as his fat sides. It's so heavy and large. Swollen like a fat tear drop.

He looks edible.

As compensation for being forced to strut his overweight, plush, pale body around their living room, Bucky feeds him his entire dinner by hand. And he does it from the couch. TV trays have been popular since their inception in the 50s, but Bucky has always gotten more of a kick out of feeding Steve at the table. Progressively watching his belly approach the table, then push over the edge of the table and spill onto his placemat as he's gotten bigger; progressively watching his hips fill his dining chair; progressively watching Steve struggle harder and harder to walk out of the dining room when he's finally finished, stuffed full.

Now, Bucky breaks out the (slightly out of fashion) trays.

He sets up the feast, course by course. Some of it is actual food: pineapple chicken, quiche, stuffed veggies, and cheese logs. Some of it is snacks, more and more processed crap becoming more common: cereal, crackers, chips, etc. And some of it is dessert: carrot cake and pudding.

Before he eats any of it, though, those little shorts are swallowed by Steve's heft. The scrap of fabric is hidden under his massive muffin top. Bucky digs his fingers into those pudgy love handles and groans.

"Gonna feed you outta these," he promises, voice gone all breathy.

Steve bats his eyelashes and lets his mouth drop open, expectant, and so outrageously hot. After the first bite, he speaks, though, chewing, then licking his lips, "you always do."

"Mmm-hmm, you wouldn't know how hard I had to look to find these in your size."

Steve makes a sound, but his mouth is stuffed fill.

"It was so hard. I wonder if they're gonna stop making anything big enough for you soon."

Stee swallows thickly, "they wouldn't."

Bucky stuffs a heaped fork into his mouth. Making a noise of consideration.

"You hear the news, people are just gettin' fatter. Year after year."

"You're getting fatter."

"Uh-huh."

"Gonna get so fat for me."

"I already am. 'M huge."

"Gonna make you fatter. Huger."

"Yeah," Steve moans, his eyes shut, entirely trusting Bucky, "Gonna get too fat for fat America to even keep up with me."

(I know obesity was actually declared an epidemic in the 80s, but shhhh)

1980s

The 80s brings pasta salad, beef stroganoff, sloppy joes, pudding pops, 7-layer dip, blackened meat, bread bowls, cool ranch Doritos, and Hot Pockets. And Steve tackles it all looking like the hottest, fattest bad boy. Maybe like a mobster boss with his light wash jeans that look like they're painted on and his black leather jacket that he can't zip up. He could zip it up around his gut for, like, a week. Then, he outgrew it. Like everything. That gut.

God.

His gut has grown obscenely round. Like a ball. A beach ball. Maybe a small yoga ball. It forces his legs to spread when he walks, even if he isn't full, and it makes his back arch, too.

It's heavy. He complains about it. It's hard to lug around. He gets embarrassed when he's forced to sit down and then get up because he has to put so much effort into getting up. Heaving himself to his feet. Grunting. Bracing his back as if he's expecting. Getting up from the bed in the morning, getting up from the table after breakfast, getting into and out of his car to get to work, getting out of his office chair for lunch, getting out of his lunch chair, and on and on.

He has a hard time moving.

Bucky can tell.

Steve puts on his leather jacket and jeans on the weekend and then parks his ass in his recliner. He only moves when he has to go to the bathroom. Otherwise, he sits all day. Eating. Watching TV. Letting Bucky lower his recliner into a 180° line so Bucky actually has room to ride him. (One of the only ways to have sex now, with how large Steve has grown). There ain't no way Bucky would be able to get to his dick with that fat, thick belly in the way. There isn't even any room on his lap anymore. The monster of always-hungry gut has it monopolized. And his thighs are nearly too wide, too fat for Bucky to comfortably straddle.

But...

Bucky is a little obsessed with his leather jacket.

Sometimes, when he's half riding him, taking his cock, half feeding him a sloppy joe that makes him look like a pig, smeared over his mouth and chin, he will slap Steve's gut until he sucks in with a pained groan. Then, Bucky'll use all his strength to pull the sides of his leather jacket together, and he will wiggle the zipper up as far as it can go.

Steve grunts and moans and burps.

If he has the air, his lungs compressed by his gut, Steve will moan, "it hurts! Buck! I- I can't! M' too full!" But usually he can't even complain. He just has to take it.

When he stops sucking in, the zipper flies down.

Or, it usually does.

One afternoon, the pressure of his fat is too much for his jacket. Steve is bubbly and drunk and burping and Bucky is so close, writhing on top of him. And Steve's gut surprises them both by breaking the zipper.

It bursts open.

Instantly, Bucky's hands are all over that gut, and he's coming. All Steve can do is moan. Blinded with the release. His belly is stretched. Tight. Hanging off of his body. He's gonna fucking pop. Too much.

When did he get this fat?

Why does it make him so horny?

God.

He whines, almost choking out a sob, grabbing for Bucky's still slim hips with fat fingers, as he cries, "more, more, moremoremoremore."

1990s

Steve may spend all of the 90s on a sugar high because he eats like a fucking kid throughout the years. All the sugar. All the processed crap. It's addictive. He swears. They have to put something in it. He smashes through boxes and boxes of snacks. All at once. The amount he goes through in just a week is unbelievable. He's a fucking black hole, well, not exactly... because Bucky knows exactly where all the food goes. His ever-swelling husband.

Steve eats it all, lunchables, hot pockets, bagel bites, pizza rolls, gushers, string cheese, fish sticks, fruit by the foot, toaster strudel, etc.

All literal junk. Junk food.

Bucky feeds him real food, too, of course. But Steve swears it feels like he can't get enough. Not enough food. Not enough of the fake, processed shit. Even when he's fighting his body's physical ability to fit more inside of himself, he can't have enough. He needs more. More sugar that his brain needs. More rich, homemade food that he will always eat, and will especially eat if Bucky gives him those puppy dog eyes, too.

So, what is he supposed to do but eat?

Admittedly, throughout the decades, Steve's never felt this out of control. He is, though. He's so out of control. And it feels so good.

He doesn't want control back. He only wants more.

Despite his vivacious hunger, Steve still can't believe how fast he's piling on the pounds. It's like he can feel himself blowing up. Like, if he leaves a hand on his gut, it'll expand visibly under his palm. Hot, gurgly, and only tight when he's at his absolute maximum. Most of the time, he's officially too fat to know when he's packed to the brim.

Nothing feels better.

Nothing fucks his mind more than thinking when he puts his hands on his body, he'll find a rock hard, bloated tummy only to sink his fingers into jiggly waves of fat; an ocean of fat. And it's all him.

His belly.

His fat.

Steve can, for a little, hide the bloat the shitty food leaves him with with the oversized, still bad-boy, grunge-like clothing of the decade, but he outgrows it so fast that he never can hide it for too long.

Even those JNCO jeans and baggy flannels can't contain his massive body. His belly. His love handles. His ass. His thighs. His rolls. He's too big. Too big for anything to be oversized on him.

Bucky buys him clothes more often throughout this decade than any other. It's not just in Steve's head. He is speeding through the pounds. Day in, day out, he's growing.

He's always eating. Always sweating. Always moaning.

If his mouth isn't full of food, he's sleeping, showering, using his mouth on Bucky, or he's chugging teeth-rotting soda. The carbination makes him burp so easily, and the burps shift all that food inside him around, allowing his belly to create just a little more room. Room that Steve instantly has to fill.

It's kinda like his body is finally taking after his hunger. When there's any tiny amount of space in his belly, his mind tells him he's starving and he has to fill it; if there's a tiny amount of slack in his clothes, his body expands to fill it. With so much fat and so much food, Steve's eyes are heavily lidded constantly. He feels drunk all the time when he's pigged out. Slow and lazy and uncoordinated. All he can do is let Bucky feed him and let Bucky take pleasure in his blubbery, irresistible body.

2000s

Diets, raw diets, explode in the 2000s, but Bucky won't let Steve hear a word of it. He skips the fruit smoothies and salads and replaces them for Steve with more junk food. Pepsi. Energy drinks. Cupcakes. Cake pops. Pizza. There's also, again, meatloaf and mac 'n cheese. Chicken pot pie, too.

Steve keeps going. He keeps stuffing down junk on top of all the actual food. He keeps gaining and gaining and gaining. It's a barrage, constantly, of food.

"Buck," Steve's loose lips slur, "'m-I'm fat."

"You're not just fat, Stevie. You're huge. A hog. Massive. Enormous. A whale. Immense. A fucking yoga ball of blubber, baby."

"Yeah," Steve whines, rubbing the bloated sides of his gut that he can reach. "Fat."

"No, baby, you're more than fat. You're massive. Say it-" Bucky commands, jiggling his heavy belly.

"I'm m-massive."

"So fucking fat that I can't believe it. Need more words to tell you how huge you are."

Steve just shivers, looking as if he's suspended in orgasm. Getting off on being told how unbelievably big he has grown to be, and how much more bigger he is going to get.

Regardless of his size, Bucky isn't so sure that Steve is aware of the change in style. He's pretty sure he's just aware of his inflating body and the food. The new foods. The returning foods.

Into the Future

When he's not working, Bucky swears Steve is constantly in a food coma. Even when his eyes are open, he's all dopey. Zoned out and happier than Bucky has ever seen him so long as he's eaten within the last 30 minutes.

What a big, fat dumbass.

The perfect husband.

I don't even know what alternative universe this is; I didn't think this far because this is just a mess of horny, but I would like to imagine that by this point (the 2010s, 2020s, etc.), they have more than enough money to retire, OR maybe Steve is still working for a while, but he starts being able to work from home with computers becoming better and more common, so he doesn't have to leave. No more calories wasted by needing to walk or spend lunch away from his feeder husband.

But, just because he can, he still forces himself into clothes. At first. He doesn't need to because he's not seeing anyone else, he may as well be naked all day every day, exposing his white, soft fat that's striped with stretch marks from decades of indulgence, ballooning like biscuit dough from a little cardboard tube.

Still, he keeps forcing himself into clothes for some time.

He does it until he can't.

It happens seemingly overnight.

Suddenly, he's too fat. Too big. Even his shirts large enough to look like a tent on a normal sized human are too small. He can hardly walk by himself, so, of course, dressing himself is out of the question. His body is just too big. Round. Heavy. All he's good for is eating.

He's overqualified for stuffing himself. It's all he's been focusing on for decades, after all. Steve always ate like it was his job, packing down delicious, fatty calories by inhaling food until he was on the cusp of bursting, forming new stretch marks before Bucky's very eyes, but now it is his job.

"Grow for me," Bucky whispers worshipfully, "that's all you gotta do, baby. Grow." Crawling all over his overflowing body.

And grow Steve does.

Until he's bigger than he could've ever imagined being.

Steve's stomach is massive - a huge, round, plush ocean of fat attached to his front. Thick and blubbery. His ass is dimpled and just as massive with thighs to match. His heavy body leaves him lumbering and waddling whenever he does manage to get up. Awkward but also so fucking hot with the way he jiggles all over as he manages one foot in front of the other.

Meanwhile, Bucky spends his time still cooking but also loving on his massive husband. He's always worshipping all that fat, massaging and groping and fucking it. He's irresistible. Unbelievably attractive in his truest form - a show winning hog.

As Bucky feeds and fucks his rolls, Steve just lies there, his head tipped back, food in his plush mouth, panting. Chest heaving; moobs wobbling. Splattering come somewhere deep in his rolls as his fat rubs and moves against him just right - that's all the stimulation he gets these days, his dick has been swallowed by his lard.

There isn't a time when Steve isn't stuffed to feeling as if he's gonna pop. Even though it takes so much more to fill his stretched-out tummy these days. Even in the middle of the night (because Bucky wakes him up to funnel shakes or melted ice cream straight into his ever-expanding gut).

By this point in their long lives, Steve's the size of their mattress.

A full, huge glutton.

And Steve doesn't want to stop. Neither does Bucky. With every mouthful of food, Steve moans just as loud as he always has, praising Bucky's cooking like he's a God (and he practically is at this point, he's spent so many years perfecting his craft). Plus, Steve's just as eager to try new foods. Still, Steve's just as pleased to add pounds, stretch marks, and rolls to his oversized body. The only difference is that now, popping buttons or bursting seams are not bench marks for his gain. Now, the signs of his growth come from the creaking, then the cracking of the slats underneath his massive body.

One day, the bed is going to give out. And he's only going to groan for more food - not for it to be fixed where he lies in the middle of the shattered bed frame, unable to do anything about his predicament. He can't even think about it. All he can think about is how hungry he is. His stomach is packed, and he doesn't know where any food is going to go, but he needs it. He needs to keep chewing, to keep growing, to keep feeding. Please. Please. Please. It's all he needs. He's addicted.

In conclusion:

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

What is each Ewan character’s favourite type of food? (Like Italian, Indian etc.)

Hello!

I'm sorry for letting this one sit for a bit. I haven't used Tumblr on desktop for a while, and I was certain I had covered something like this before, but couldn't find it because the search function on app has all the difficulty I am sure is associated with trying to summon some sort of deity via an Icelandic rune curse.

ANYWAY.

What the Ewanverse characters are eating at an all you can eat buffet

Each Ewanverse character's favourite dessert

What they eat at Christmas

Death row meals

I hope these tickle your pickle, but happy to answer your particular questions below the cut too!

Abraham - big into game meat. If he's shot it himself, then he's happy to eat it. Venison, pheasant, duck, goose, pigeon, etc. - all paired with pretty bog standard potatoes and vegetables.

Aemond - doesn't really have a favourite food, as he considers it fuel, not an indulgence. Tends to pile meat and vegetables onto his plate though. I can see him being quite fond of venison.

Billy Taylor - bangers and mash

Billy Washington - Pot Noodles and takeaway pizza. His ultimate favourite is his mum's roast dinner though.

Ettore - not big into food, but can see him enjoying cereal, as it's a throwback to his childhood, before everything went to shit.

Genyen - literally everything, he's a glutton. Loves Thai food though.

Michael - major sweet tooth. Anything with sugar in it.

Osferth - big, big fan of soups and stews.

Tom - fish and chips

[imtherain]

Soup

So here I am again, having feelings about a man who kills people.

This is for, about, around Simon “Ghost” Riley. From Call of Duty, a game I never in a million years thought I’d care about. But here we are.

Warnings? Hurt/Comfort I guess. Some female mentions for “you” (mentions being an auntie etc.) A lot of sort of sad feelings. Talk of trauma, injury, near death, all that fun stuff. Allusions to past relationships. No pancakes. But hey, there’s soup.

I apologize if you misread the title as Soap, as I have a few times. He’s lovely too, but this one is for Ghost.

Anywho

~~~~~

You had left the 141 six months ago. 

It was one of the hardest things you'd ever done, but after that last mission, you hadn't really had a choice. You'd been just about blown apart by a rain of gunshots. There was an explosion you didn't remember and three weeks of time you lost. Another three lost to a coma. 

And while you carried the scars and some pain the doctors said would never go away, what hurt you most was the look in your lieutenant's eyes when he told you you were going home. The way his eyes were hard chips of stone behind his mask when he told you he wouldn't let you come back.

That was the last time you'd talked to Ghost. And you tried not to think about how much his silence hurt you. You had been so close to him for so long. He always had your back and you always had his. You couldn't count the times you'd spent nights together, trying to deal with all the shit you had to do, there were too many. Maybe there were all of them. Then there were the times when you fell into each other's arms because there was nowhere else to go.

And he sent you home without saying anything that even resembled goodbye.

But that was half a year behind you. You had begun to pick up the bits of your life that could be salvaged. Your sister helped a lot. She was the only family that knew you were back, that even knew you were alive. She lived across town from your apartment, but she made sure to stop by to check on you as often as she could. 

You had taken to making food when the things in your head got too loud. You made beef stew and thought of Soap. How he always told you to add more potatoes and made jokes about the Irish in good humor. You made chicken noodle soup for cold nights in safe houses. Leek soup for when it rained and for stomach aches. And you made cakes and pies and cookies for Price and Gaz, both of which had terrible sweet tooths and always tried to steal the batter or taste the dough. 

You left a bowl empty for Ghost because you didn't know what else to do.

Tonight you made turkey soup. Lots of root vegetables from a friend of a friend who had a farm south of the city. Good fresh earth still clung to the turnips when your sister brought them to you. She had a whole bag full of turnips, parsnips, carrots, and rutabagas. Onions from the store. 

You made the broth with the carcass of the turkey you shared with your sister and her husband two nights before. At their place with their kids. The house, full of color and joy and laughter and life. You got to be Auntie y/n and not a soldier. Not a broken thing left for eternity to find left behind. 

Sometimes it was easier to forget the 141 when there was laughter around you. 

Sometimes you drove home and cried. 

The soup was delicious, warm. Tasted like the stuff that kept you alive with a hug.

You'd gotten good at making soup, as though it was the only thing you knew how to do. Your sister always made bread. Your whole apartment smelled like a Hallmark movie. You sat together at the table, three bowls, two now dirty, and all three empty. 

Your sister had stopped asking why a while ago. You figured she knew it was a type of mourning. She always knew you in ways you didn't tell her. Knew how you only wore earrings when you wore dresses. How there was always a knife close at hand. How you slept with a gun, loaded, strapped to the side of your nightstand.

How you always made soup when you missed them.

You had picked up your bowl and your sister's when you heard a knock at the door. All of your alarms went off, thinking the worst at first. But then you remembered how there was a single mother down the hall who you often told could come asking for dinner when she smelled it. Knowing she needed good food sometimes for her and her twins. Remembered just how far your sister’s bread recipe could carry down the hall.

You covered the peephole with your hand before looking through it. In case whoever it was had a gun waiting for you.

There was a shadow outside the door. Tall, broad, black sweatshirt. They were looking down the hall, towards the exit sign that glowed faintly red along the white parts of his mask.

You opened the door and he turned to you.

"Who is it?" Your sister called. You were frozen in the doorway.

"I shouldn't have come," was all he said, turning with his duffle bag to head towards that glowing red light. You caught his sleeve before he could flee. 

"Can you do me a favor?" You call over your shoulder back into the house. "Go hide in the bathroom, I'll let you know when you can come out," you stepped out into the hall and closed the door enough that she wouldn't see him. You knew how he was. How he liked his privacy. 

"What? Why?" Your sister's confused voice.

"Just do it, I'll explain later," you call back. Ghost hadn't tried to pull away yet. You just held his eyes while you both listened to your sister grumble as she did as you asked.

"You have company," his voice was gravel, just like you remember it. The accent slides around his words like silk. 

"She's my sister, she watched my place while I was gone." You told him.

"I didn't know you had a sister," voice low.

You hadn't talked about family, there had been no room for it amongst the gunfire.

"If I ask her to go, will you stay?" You didn't want to feel the hope that tried to block your throat. You didn't want to admit how badly you missed him. How being apart had made you realize just how fucked you were, falling in love with your LT.

"Simon?" Your voice was smaller than he remembered it but hearing his name in your throat brought him back to earth. 

But he wasn't your LT anymore. Not your commanding officer in any way.

So what was he? 

"Affirmative," he said. His voice was smaller than it used to be too. As though he didn't want you to hear it. You pulled on his sleeve. 

"You can go to my room while I send her home, she wasn't going to stay much longer anyway." You tell him when he resists your tug. "You can take a shower if you want, it'll feel good. Or you can just…" whatever other suggestions you had died in your throat. "Just, don't leave, ok?" This time he only nodded. 

He pulled off his boots inside the door and followed you to your room. You didn't see him look around your apartment, didn't see the way he took in the mismatched furniture, the loudly colored rugs, the blankets and pillows that filled the arm chairs. You pointed him into the darkness of your room, flipping the switch to light the lamp on your bedside table. The only light you kept in your room these days.

He looked somehow more massive in the space of your room. He glanced at the dresser which had a mess of body sprays and lotions your sister kept bringing you. There was another chair, filled with clothes this time. The bed was made up with bright colored blankets and more pillows than he'd ever seen in one place before.

"They say the more pillows you have the lonelier you are," He spoke like it was a joke. 

"That they do," you didn't agree but you knew better than to lie. "I'll be back in a minute," he dropped his duffle on the floor next to the bed and nodded. 

You sighed heavily and went to kick your sister out. 

She promised to call you in the morning and you locked the door with all three locks.

She was worried about leaving you with Ghost. You had told her more than enough to make her nervous about him. But you trusted him still, even if he had sent you away.

Even if he hadn't said goodbye.

When you came back to your room, you could hear the shower running. The duffle was opened and a few pieces of black fabric were spilling out. You weren't surprised that he wore only black when he played civilian. 

"She's gone," you called through the door of the bathroom. "Take your time," you added. 

A few minutes later the bathroom opened and Ghost came out. A simpler Balaklava over his face now, a black long sleeved shirt with the sleeves pushed up, black pants. The steam from the shower spilled out into the room and backlit him with the harsh light over your sink. He was barefoot as he stood on your carpet.

You didn't know what else to say to him.

He stood and faced you.

He went to his duffle and put his things back. You thought of all the times you'd imagined him here, how he'd look amongst your things. Mourned how you would surely never find out.

But here he was. 

"I didn't know you knew where I lived," you finally said. You weren't surprised he could find you, but you didn't know how else to break the silence.

"I've known for a while," he replied. 

"So why now?" You had your arms crossed as you watched him think of what to say. Maybe you imagined it but there was something sharp in his eyes, something like fear or loss or… something.

"I had to see you…make sure you were ok," 

"Why?" You didn't want him to know how fast your heart was beating.

"I had to know," you felt anger flare at his attempt to answer you without telling you anything. 

When he didn’t say anything you laughed. Of course he’d stay silent. He never quite figured out how to talk unless it was to give order, to tell off color jokes, or to grind out dirty words into your ear.

"Had to know what, Simon? Had to know if I was still alive? Had to know if I was still going to the doctor's, to rehab? Had to know if I was living alone or with someone who would actually fucking care about me?" It wasn't fair to accuse him. You knew that. But it had hurt so much when you were sent away. Hurt like a battery acid injection, straight to your chest.

Hurt like a thousand paper cuts that could never figure out how to heal. 

“It hurt like hell when you told me to go home,” You said. “Did you know that? It felt like you were kicking me out of the 141, out of all of your lives…out of your life. As though you couldn’t stand to so much as look at me.” You weren’t looking at him anymore, so you missed the way his eyes snapped to your face.

“You almost died, y/n,” He said. “Because of a bad call I made. I had to watch you get shot to shit, watch you bleeding out while Gaz did all he could to keep you from dying. It was a miracle we got you to a hospital at all.” You felt tears gather behind your eyes, pulling angrily at your throat as you tried to keep them inside.

“I never blamed you for that,” 

“It doesn’t matter if you did or not because I fucking did,” Ghost snapped. “And then I had to see you hooked up to all those fucking tubes and machines, not moving.” 

“You didn’t have to stay,” You tried to ignore the way your heart clenched at his words.

“Three weeks. I had to see that shit for three weeks before you opened your eyes again.” He took a step forward and you watched him cross the space until he was before you. You looked up at him, his frame so large in the dim light. You knew people who would be terrified of being so close to him. But not you. Never you.

“And first chance you got, you told me to get the fuck out… forced me to retire,” His face was hidden by his mask, but you could see the way his shoulders fell as your cheeks grew wet. You wiped at your eyes with your hands and pretended it didn’t kill you for him to see you like this.

“I couldn’t…I couldn’t see you like that again,” His voice was soft now. When you didn’t look at him, he sank to his knees, his hands coming up to touch your legs, gently, as though he was afraid you’d break. “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you laying there, bloody or plugged up with so many machines…” He shook his head as if to displace the memories. His hands moved up your sides. You didn’t want to forgive him, didn’t want to understand.

“You told me not to die, and I didn’t,” You said. “And you paid me back by leaving,” 

“Didn’t know what else to do,” A confession at the altar you built to hide your heart from the world. You felt the walls, the temple you haunted, start to shake and crumble.

His head dipped down into your lap as his arms closed around you. He was hurting too. Just as much as you were. Your hand moved to the back of his head, wanting to comfort him even after all this time. You knew he wouldn’t be here if it didn’t matter, if you didn’t matter to him.

But it had hurt so much for so long.

“Why are you back?” Your voice was small as your hand traced the back of his head. You’d never seen him like this before, and it meant something to you. It had to.

“Soap said I was a dumb fuck for letting you go,” 

“That’s all it took?” You could almost laugh. You used your hands to bring his face up so you could look at him, but frowned when you saw his eyes, dark as always, but more haunted than normal.

There was more to it than just Soap talking shit. “Tell me what happened, love,” 

“Bad intel, shit went sideways.” You felt your heart clench.

“Who?”

“Whenever I closed my eyes all I could see was you all shot to shit, bleeding out like you were in a hurry to die,” 

“Simon,” You pressed.

“But you’re ok now,” You said. You were telling yourself just as much as you were reminding him. “And me, I’m here, I’m safe too,” Your thumbs brushed his cheeks, something that, even when you were together, you’d rarely gotten to do.

“Me,” He finally said. You had his face in your hands, but he pulled away and ripped the balaclava off, showing you his face. You’d seen him before, but seeing him now, his eyes angry and wet, caught you off guard. There were no new marks on his face, but you studied him just to be sure. “I was the one bleeding out… and you weren’t there to see it.” Your heart dropped like a nuclear bomb, but when it hit bottom it didn’t explode.

It just sat there, heavy.

“I thought it would be better if you weren’t there,” He continued. “That I wouldn’t keep looking for you,” You wondered how long he’d been keeping this to himself, knowing he didn’t usually open up to anyone. You wondered if he’d told Soap, and that’s why he’d called him a dumb fuck.

“It sucked being here without you,” You said. “Not hearing from you. Soap calls once in a while, checks in. Price even offered to come visit. But I told him no.” 

Simon looked at you for a long time, not saying anything more. You held his face, knowing he’d run out of words. After a while, you just sighed and leaned down to kiss his forehead, holding the kiss for three counts too long.

“Should I go?” He asked. Your hands were on his shoulders now, his still along your waist while he knelt on your floor. You shook your head.

“I made soup, if you’re hungry,” You told him instead. He thought for a moment before he nodded. It took a minute for him to pull away from you enough to stand. You picked up his mask and handed it to him before taking his hand. He laced his fingers with yours.

If he was going to stay, you were going to have to start over. And if you were going to start over, you’d do it right this time. Soft touches, gentle kisses. Not fast fucks in the desert. Not sloppy quickies behind the barracks. Not moans concealed by gloved hands.

He dutifully followed you to the kitchen and took the chair you offered him. You went about reheating the soup, as it was cold now. You didn’t say much, and he didn’t say anything. But his eyes followed you, face still open and empty of his mask. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen his face this long in a single go before.

It was nice.

“My sister made the bread, it’s fresh,” You told him, handing him a thick slice. You couldn’t help but touch his face one more time before turning back to the stove with his bowl.

You sat with him while he ate. Watching as he dipped the bread in and brought it to his mouth. You wondered if he liked any specific soup best. Maybe squash soup, or tomato, or mushroom bisque.

“What?” He asked after you’d stared at him too long.

“I missed you,” You said, knowing better than to lie. His lips threatened to turn into a smile.

“Missed you too,” He speaks carefully, as if the words were new, before returning to the soup. 

You were content, for now. He was here, he was clean, he was eating. You could touch him.

And the empty bowl was full.

[Masterlist]

[rgr-pop]

meal plan text asmr

i normally have breakfast at work because of my proton pump inhibitor. tomorrow i wfh the morning to do a training so i’ll be having sesame toast with a boiled egg, feta, and whatever pickle and veg looks good. then for the rest of the week’s breakfasts i have one yogurt (lucas found me the icelandic coffee yogurt!!) and friday morning tbh, probably the last of my ezekiel toast with communal work peanut butter unless i pick up cottage cheese/yogurt. today i worked remotely at a coffee shop and i grabbed a bad scone, RIP. (adding to shopping list: ezekiel bread, greek yogurt, cottage cheese, bananas, the icelandic coffee yogurt but that’s only at whole foods.)

at work right now i’ve been having paramount (local brand) k cups that corey gifted me. i got him a gift card for the new downtown coffee shop so he can grab it between his bus job (he herds teenagers for the school public bus program. his real title is abussador :)) and he got me k cups for my work. i froth half and half to dress up the k cup, and my coworker brought in half and half she needs used up, so i don’t need to bring mine. (another week before i have to buy more.) i hate using the disposables and am considering literally committing to work french press like an absolute psycho—i just can’t get myself enough time before work to make and bring it from home and the refillable k cups will do but are gross. if you have to survive a keurig at work i recommend nasty refillables + steaming and frothing milk. i have half a bag of not great beans at home. I’ve been spending more on nicer beans for home and it has been worth it, but I am still not quite sure what I like. (on shopping list: coffee beans, decaf beans for winter evening treats.)

came home with a coffee shop noise pollution migraine and made myself cheese ramen with cilantro, sesame seeds, green onion, and a side of this week’s pickled carrot slaw. ramen made two servings for me. it was the last of my shin black and third to last slice of ramen cheese. my cilantro will last another weekend and i have at least week’s worth of parsley and green onions. (adding to the shopping list: shin black, cheese singles, frozen corn, and since i’m thinking about it, shredded mozz for buldak/corn cheese.)

for lunches wednesday-friday i will have dumplings from the freezer (the ones i made and some other ones i have), leftover ramen, and a carrot and cucumber salad (my last two fresh salad vegetables, but i will probably wait out purchasing more). to prep tonight: jar of dumpling sauce, salad. (dumplings are already on my shopping list when i see some that look good. adding dumpling wrappers—making and freezing them was so worth it, but i felt like making the dough wasn’t.)

complicating factor: i should make myself something sweet to keep me out of the vending machines at work. at home i’ve been having what i believe to be yaourti me meli (greek yogurt, walnuts, honey, cinnamon?) but i’m out. i’d like to make a second french yogurt cake to compare it to the other recipe, but again, out. i would also also like to make a coffee cake type food for someone coming over saturday afternoon. do i make a little loaf cake with what i have tonight to get me through the week and then a second thing then? do i have friday plans? if i bake a little quick bread or pound cake for myself tonight it will really cut down on my food ruminations. (adding to shopping list: greek yogurt, walnuts, honey, dried fruit, butter.. baking supplies need inventorying but i’m almost sure i have enough of the basics.)

what am i having for dinners? i need to minimize the chance that i spend any non-grocery money before next week—i will be having a crazy week and likely blowing money i don’t have. tonight i’m having leftover cannellini beans cacio e pepe (‼️ make this ‼️). i have enough beans (although running low) to continue having beans meals, but i really really really desire to put my beans meals on potatoes. (‼️ fusion jacket potatoes ‼️ make this ‼️). matias made these perfect black beans with pork and salsa verde and it’s all i can think about. can i pull this off with freezer bacon… i have enough of a serrano to get me through. (adding to shopping list: russet potatoes, garlic, sour cream, avocado, cheap canned black beans, decent looking dried black beans, slightly nice italian brand butter beans and cannellini beans, bell pepper, tomatillos, tomatoes, mexican oregano, sweet potato, pork?? i will put this on my list but never buy it.)

i would also like to make salmon rice bowls with avocado, pickled veg/carrot slaw, cucumbers, etc. to use up my freezer salmon. i would prefer to wait to do this til i’m keeping salad greens (leftover salmon for salads is key for a working woman…)

in two weeks i will make something for a certain someone’s birthday and batch up some granola. i’ve been wanting to try making coffee granola. i also have to make a lasagna before the end of winter this year or i must be executed.

what i’m bringing to work tomorrow for the rest of the week: salad, bags of dumplings, ramen, cilantro (packed separately), one boiled egg, one yogurt, dumpling sauce and any other condiments that look good, and a sweet if i can pull it off.

the question i can only answer for myself tomorrow at 4pm: am i going to the grocery store?

[fizzyxcustard]

No One But You.

Fandom: Stay Close

Pairing: Ray Levine x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Insecurity, anxiety, fluff

Summary: Requested by @sweetestgbye and a sweet anon. From the imagine 'Imagine asking Ray Levine to share Christmas with you as he has no one but you.'

Comments: As always, if you like this fic, please consider a reblog. And if you want to be added to my tag list, let me know.

By the way, Boxing Day is the 26th December and a bank holiday for us in the UK. Asda is a UK-based supermarket.

Ray stood in front of you, gobsmacked and slightly terrified, as you asked him if he wished to share Christmas with you. He had no family and barely any friends since moving into town to make a fresh start. The only friend he had beside you was Fester, who was over a hundred miles away and spending time with his own family: a new wife and baby.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Ray asked, swallowing hard. His eyes were full of tears as he looked at you.

You smiled at him and felt a stab of pain hit you at the sight of his sudden flurry of emotion. "Of course, I am. What kind of friend would I be to see you spend Christmas on your own?"

"But you've probably got plans of your own," Ray replied. He sat down on the edge of your desk and crossed his arms, his leather jacket creaking with the movement.

"I hadn't actually planned anything." That was a lie. You'd already agreed to stay over at your parents' house from Christmas Eve until Boxing Day. But there was no way you could see Ray out on his own; not only was he a close friend, but you were secretly in love with him.

Ray gave in eventually and agreed to be at your flat on Christmas Eve after work. Today was only the eighteenth, so you had a few days yet to make sure your flat was in order and mentally prepare yourself for spending Christmas with Ray.

He told you thank you one final time and placed his hand on your shoulder. The two of you locked gazes for a couple of seconds and smiled, temporarily blocking out the chatter that was going on around you in the office.

***

Of course it didn't take long before your Christmas plans became public in the newspaper office. Lyndsey, who sat next to you, and had been on break while you spoke with Ray about him joining you for Christmas, had found out from Natalie, who was sat nearer the back of the office.

"I hear you're having Ray Levine around your flat for Christmas?" Lyndsey smirked. "Didn't think you had it in you, girl."

You merely blushed and turned away, putting your attention back to your work. Many of the women had attempted to flirt with Ray, but nothing really seemed to work on him. Could this be your chance?

***

Each day from then on, until Christmas Eve, and Ray text you good morning. You lay in your bed, staring at your phone, grinning stupidly.

Little did you know, across town, and Ray lay on his own bed, his arm behind his head and smiled at your responses. You had started wishing him good night, a natural reciprocation to his good morning wishes, and on the 23rd told him that you were excited for the next day.

As dawn broke on the morning of Christmas Eve, you took a deep breath and got out of bed. Today was annual leave for you, but you knew that Ray had still agreed to work.

The day began with you heading to the supermarket very early to grab roast potatoes and gravy. You had already got a turkey and fresh vegetables and stuffing the night before, but didn't realise until getting into bed that you'd forgotten the gravy and potatoes. In the frustrating stampede at the local Asda, paired with your daydreams of Ray, you had forgotten two of your favourite parts of any roast dinner.

The rest of the day was quite slow, painful in fact, and you kept looking at the clock. Ray had, of course, text you that morning. Then suddenly at around two, another text came through.

I'll come round shortly as I'm finishing early. That's if you'll have me a few hours earlier than planned.

Of course you'd have him! That went without saying.

Then finally, he arrived. You brushed your hand through your hair quickly and pulled your long tunic style jumper down, smoothing it out down your torso.

Ray greeted you with that gorgeous smile of his. Immediately you felt that familiar flutter in your stomach and your heartbeat race a little quicker.

First off, he removed his jacket and you showed him the spare bedroom where he would be sleeping. He noticed you'd put out a vase of fresh flowers, and the air smelled faintly of vanilla. "There's also plenty of bubble baths if you fancy a bath while you're here."

Ray couldn't help but smirk to himself as he imagined the two of you in the bath, one on top of the other, enjoying rather pleasurable pursuits. Immediately he felt a stir down lower in his body, and had to push that imagination away for now. Maybe later tonight he could re-visit that thought before bed. But not now.

The two of you sat side by side on the sofa, a mug of hot chocolate in hand, watching Elf.

Ray wasn't interested in the film, and instead kept glancing at you, not able to keep his eyes away for too long. Your face was alight with happiness, a happiness that he hoped he was the cause of. The only physical connection between you both was a checked blanket that you had thrown over the two of you.

By the time the adverts swelled on the screen, you disappeared into the kitchen for more hot chocolate. Ray fell backwards, sighing and looked up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, willing for something to happen. He prayed that the two of you would act on the feelings he felt, but always doubted were requited.

Ray opened his eyes again and looked around the living room. There was a huge tree in the corner opposite. Gold and red tinsel had been wrapped around the synthetic green branches. White fairy lights twinkled from beneath all the tinsel and round baubles. A snowman and Santa, both two foot in height, stood either side of the television stand.

The rest of the evening was torture. Ray could feel himself growing physically frustrated, and you could feel your heart rate remaining at a slightly faster pace. The two of you could feel immense tensions in your bodies, but were so caught up in your own insecurity, that you had become blind to each other.

You made a quick dinner which consisted of toasted cheese sandwiches, and between you both on the sofa was a big box of chocolates that you had been given at work from your Secret Santa.

The Santa Clause with Tim Allen was playing on the TV. Having the films playing somehow made the situation that little more bearable.

"You're the kindest person I've ever met, you know that?" Ray said softly.

The comment caught you off guard, so much so that you almost choked on a piece of melted cheese. A flush hit your cheeks and you brushed a tendril of hair behind your ear.

"I want you to have your present now," he said, grinning. Ray threw the blanket aside and rose up from the sofa and grabbed his gift from beneath your tree. Whatever it was was inside a gold bag. "Merry Christmas."

You looked up at his towering form and took the bag from him.

"I hope you like it."

You ventured into the bag, finding a box, wrapped in sparkling gold paper. Slowly and curiously, you unwrapped the box to find the image of one of the figurines you had been hunting everywhere for, one which you had become adamant was discontinued. The image of the figurine, printed on the box, made a tear drip down your cheek. "You remembered...." you whispered. It had been one of the first conversations you'd ever had with Ray, about a year ago. The two of you had been sat in the staff room, chit chatting about your hobbies and interests. Eventually the conversation turned to this figurine, which you had never seen again after you had gone back to your local jeweller's to pick it up. You had finally had the money to afford it, and the last piece had been sold.

Ray then noticed something in the bottom of the gold gift bag. It was small and green, with white berries. He thought back to when he had purchased the gift, two months earlier while away in a neighbouring town, taking photos for a side project.

The middle aged lady who had been serving behind the counter, looked over her spectacles with sparkling eyes. "Is this for someone special?" she asked.

Ray couldn't help but flush at the thought of you. He glanced down at the glass covered counter and smiled to himself, then looked back up at the lady, with his open wallet in hand. "Yes."

She must have put the mistletoe in the bag when she gift wrapped everything, immediately recognising that look on Ray's face upon asking her question.

Ray picked out the mistletoe as you still grinned in delight at the figurine, beginning to get it out of the box.

You caught sight of Ray holding something between his fingers, and then your gazes met. For the first time in many months, your gazes remained locked for longer than a few seconds.

This was his sign.

With a deep intake of breath, Ray shifted across the sofa toward you.

You immediately felt your heart race. It was happening. Finally!

Ray was right upon you and he reached up, his hand ready to cup your cheek. But he stopped, feeling that insecurity overtake him suddenly, pulling his confidence from beneath his feet.

Instead, you grasped his hand and placed it against your cheek and then leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was slow at first, becoming a series of pecks. Until Ray wound his arms around you and drew you in, deepening the kiss. Your tongues met, and it was here that all the tension and frustration became electricity.

The two of you knew that this was a Christmas neither of you would forget in a hurry.

***

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[stickers-on-a-laptop]

Dinner, Sweet Love

Word: Dinner. Pairing: Akira/Hayami. Request: @ginkashino

Hayami, in the middle of cutting bell peppers for the meal he was making, stiffened as someone put their arms around his waist. 

“I’m home,”Akira said cheekily, his chin on Hayami’s shoulder. “Blech. Bell peppers? Really?” 

“Welcome back,” Hayami said, trying to shrug Akira off, who grinned and held on tighter. “And yes, bell peppers. You should eat vegetables every once in a while.” 

From the corner of Hayami’s eye, he could see Akira pout. 

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” 

“And why do you think that is?” Hayami said, exasperated. “I can’t let you die of malnutrition, can I?” 

“Banana parfaits have fruit, dairy, and carbs,” Akira pointed out. 

“They also have a lot of sugar,” Hayami said, still cutting the bell peppers. 

“No fun,” Akira said, letting go and sitting on the counter, grabbing a stick of celery from the pile next to him that was to be cut up and biting into it with a crunch. 

“Don’t sit on the counter,” Hayami sighed. “And the celery is for the stew, why are you eating it now?” 

In response, Akira grabbed another stick and bit into that one. Hayami considered arguing before realizing that Akira was actually eating vegetables and maybe it was better to let him eat the things than make a fuss. 

“Anybody call with any interesting cases?” Akira asked. 

“No, no calls today,” Hayami said. 

“Darn,” Akira grumbled, pouting. Hayami wanted to kiss it off him, but there was a strict no kissing in the kitchen rule that he had to reinforce if they didn’t want a repeat of the curry incident. 

“Did your case go okay today?” Hayami asked, grabbing the carrots to cut. Akira would just have to deal, and Hayami was planning to put a lot of potatoes in it to make up the difference. 

Akira made a face. “You would not believe where dachshunds are capable of getting! You’d think their long bodies would keep them from getting in trouble!” 

Hayami listened to the story of the case as he kept cutting vegetables. 

“Help me peel these potatoes,” Hayami interrupted once Akira took a much needed pause. 

“What? After my looooooooooong day?” 

Hayami gave him a Look. 

“Fineeeeeeeeeee,” Akira said, accepting the peeler from Hayami. For all his grumbling, Akira was pretty good at peeling, but he tried to get out of it like he tried to get out of most everything. 

“I bought those anko pastries you like for dessert,” Hayami said as motivation. Akira immediately brightened. “But you can’t have them until after dinner.” 

“What am I, six?” Akira asked, crossing his arms and nearly dropping the potato he was peeling. 

Hayami didn’t answer that, which resulted in Akira poking him and asking how old Hayami thought he was. 

“The faster you peel, the faster we can get this stew started and then you can get dessert.” 

Akira focused, making Hayami wonder, not for the first time, if Akira could really survive on his own. 

---

“Itadakimasu,” the two of them said in unison. There had been a slight scare of having burned the stew, since Akira had pulled Hayami to the couch the second he was done making the stew, and they had both lost track of time, but thankfully the timer had registered to Hayami just in time. 

“Why do you ruin perfectly good salad with bell peppers?” Akira asked. His salad didn’t even have bell peppers, it had celery, but Hayami was starting with his cold food first. 

“They’re good for you,” Hayami said. “Not sure why you’re complaining, I didn’t give you any.” 

Akira shrugged, giving Hayami his winning smile. “Because I have to kiss you later?” 

Hayami nearly choked, making Akira laugh. “You’re so easy to fluster, Hayami-chan!” 

When it came to the stew, Akira ate a few carrots before putting the rest on Hayami’s plate. Hayami briefly thought about asking Akira about that but decided Akira would just do something that would end in disaster. 

Once they finished dinner, Akira, who got bored if Hayami wasn’t there at all times, helped dry dishes, saying that Hayami looked cuter in the apron (untrue) and that he was more likely to break the dishes by accident if he was the one washing them (true). Akira had put on a record on, and was moving a bit to the beat. Hayami wanted to put Akira back on the counter and kiss him senseless, but that was a good way to have the sink overflow, like it had in the bathroom the one time they had done it there. 

Still, with two of them, it wasn’t long before they were done, and Hayami could kiss Akira’s anko-flavored lips to his heart’s content, far away from the dangers of the kitchen. 

[parcequecestnotreprojeeeet]

Hi, it’s me, Fanfic Anon #2. I’m sorry I’m late to the party! I am just getting off work ha ha. Glad to know I was missed, though. You all know how to flatter a girl. 🥰

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago when his polling was the lowest it’s been in a while. Even though I’m sure he’s used to not being popular, I would imagine it still hurts. Hope you all enjoy!

"Damnit!" she heard him yell frustratedly from the kitchen where she was putting together their breakfast.

"What’s wrong, chéri?" she asked, running into the dining room panicked at his outburst. He was in such a good mood when she left him at the breakfast table, the two of them late to rise this morning, too busy exchanging lazy kisses; trailing their fingers slowly, softly up and down across the firm planes of his chest, the soft skin of her stomach, that one ticklish spot behind her knee; gently, but no less passionately, making love. For his mood to have changed so drastically, something bad must have happened.

"This," he told her, throwing the paper at her from his seat, huffing in anger.

She was quick to scan the headlines, fear coiling in the pit of her stomach, knowing so many protests were happening lately, and trauma of the yellow vest movement never really far from her mind, she expected to see violence, threats. Instead, she found the headline that must have sent him off. His favourability rating. "This is what has you so upset?" she asked.

"What do you mean ‘this’!?" he asked offended she seemed to be downplaying this. "Did you see what it says?!"

"I’m looking at it, chéri. Surely this isn’t a surprise. We knew that this reform was going to be unpopular, is unpopular."

"But!" he sputtered, offended.

"Chéri, no one’s favourite parent is the disciplinarian. No one loves the parent who makes you eat your vegetables, do your homework, abide by your curfew -"

"Our children love you!" he interrupted, trying to disprove her thesis.

"Because we were all disciplinarians in equal measure. But you know as well as I do how Tiphaine rebelled against her curfew, how much she hated me for it, and how because you were the ‘good cop’ to my ‘bad cop’ she liked you more for awhile."

"That’s true," he sighed, some of the anger deflating as he recognized what she was doing with the metaphor.

"I was the disciplinarian with our children when I needed to be because I loved them, and it was for their own good. Eventually, they all came around, because I always came from a place of love. That is the job of a parent: to love them, to help them, to take care of them.

"In this metaphor, you, and your government, are the only parent acting like a disciplinarian. You and I know that the system is broken and something needs to be done - like forcing your child to eat brocoli. They are going to kick, scream, protest, and hate you. But one day, when they grow up, they’re going to realize that you were taking care of them all along."

He sighed, and rubbed his forehead, trying to remove some of the tension, the exhaustion. "I’m trying so hard, Brigitte, and it feels like nothing is enough."

"Oh, mon cœur," she whispered, squatting down and pulling him into her arms, reassuring rubbing his back. "You are doing so very, very much good. I promise you. I know it’s hard, but I’m so very proud of you and all that you’ve accomplished."

They sat there in silence for a moment with her gently rubbing his back and he taking solace from her warmth, her smell, her touch. "Brigitte?" he asked quietly.

"Mmmhm?" she acknowledged.

"You still think I’m a good president, right?"

She pulled back to look him deeply in his eyes, answering with a loving smile, "the best the Fifth Republic has ever had."

Hellooo fanfic Anon #2! ❤️

Good to have you back and well 😁❤️

Oh, the sweet potato being upset and sad over the poll 🤧 But loved so much the parenting metaphor you used to compare the situation! Never I read something that included his polls and this pension reform made me smile so much hahaha 🥰 They are just so adorable when they go through each other’s insecurities and try to reassure each other 🥺

Emmanuel asking if Brigitte still thinks he’s a good president... oh my heart, my poor child. Don’t know why this left me a bit emotional 🤧

Thank you so much, fanfic Anon #2! ❤️❤️❤️

[weiying-lanzhan-fics]

box your errors by mellowflicker

I am hopelessly in love with this story. The imperfect people LZ and WY are with their own anxieties and fears is captured here with warmth and care. I liked the characterization of both characters very much. The way they are drawn to each other and fit in each others lives felt so natural and also realistic. LZ’s POV throughout was excellent.

Note: Just read this masterpiece again - non-stop, cuddly, in bed. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Quotes:

Lan Zhan puts the bottle on the sink, where a couple of his plates and cups have found a semi-permanent residence. It distresses Lan Zhan a great deal, but in order to wash them, he has to unload the dishwasher first. He prefers bed to all of the above.

It’s week three, and Lan Zhan thinks he’s gotten a hang of napping instead of sleeping. Lan Zhan suspects he is lying to himself because, at this point, any vertical surface seems excruciatingly appealing. Blinking too slowly is dangerous, too.

Nestled in the crook of Lan Zhan’s left arm, A-Yuan yawns. Lan Zhan knows that there’s no one in the house to make fun of him for being too – emotional about it, but he still feels like a thief whenever he peppers those cheeks and eyebrows and tiny baby feet and hands and knees every other second.

————

Zixuan fumes, but obeys. Jiang Yanli will find it insightful. “Fine, just – be quick.”

Lan Zhan will not be quick. He needs to learn to swaddle.

“Tell me if it is too loose or too tight,” Lan Zhan says and folds one side of the blanket over Zixuan’s left side.

Working with four safety-pinned blankets is not ideal, but Lan Zhan can’t wrap Zixuan in a duvet.

“With all your Lan money, you could’ve hired someone with a baby and learn with them. And yet,” Zixuan says as Lan Zhan shoves his palm between Zixuan’s chest and the blanket.

“Loose?”

“A bit, yeah,” Zixuan agrees.

Lan Zhan unswaddles him, makes another attempt.

“With all your Jin money, you could have hired someone and make them look like Yanli-jie. And yet,” Lan Zhan says, tightening the fold. Zixuan tries to kick him through the blanket.

“Shut up,” Zixuan hisses. “You promised me a date with her.”

“I promised you her number,” Lan Zhan amends, and tugs on Zixuan’s arm. “Good?”

“Yeah, I feel like a baby in the womb.”

“Safe?”

“No, fucking wet, it’s so hot in here, unwrap me now,” Zixuan grumbles.

————

Since brother moved in, A-Yuan picked up from him something essential that Lan Zhan would never be able to deliver in a mandatory amount – smiling and laughing.

A-Yuan smiles at Lan Zhan without anything significant to summon such a reaction. Lan Zhan can be doing baby massage and A-Yuan will laugh his time through it, enjoying the touch and a song.

A-Yuan smiles at him or brother first thing in the morning, and Lan Zhan’s breath catches every time. He doesn’t know if A-Yuan would do it if it wasn’t for brother’s emotional proficiency, which took no time to spark a proper response from the boy.

With his son being a lavish source of smiles, Lan Zhan can’t help but echo them, which delights A-Yuan more than any toy or game or a daily kissing session. It’s like A-Yuan encourages him to smile, too. Not demanding – simply appreciative of Lan Zhan’s tries.

Years later, if A-Yuan decides to ask him if there’s anything he taught Lan Zhan, among other things, Lan Zhan will tell him that he taught Lan Zhan to smile.

“Love you,” Lan Zhan murmurs into A-Yuan’s palm, heading for the sunny garden. “Baba loves you very much, baobao.”

————

Lan Zhan is a shameful liar and even more shameful stalker, he realises about three minutes into digging around his bursting email box.

He is not working, he is not helping anyone in the office, he is not reading his humongous debrief paper – Lan Zhan is watching Wei Ying and A-Yuan planting tomatoes, potatoes, sweet peas, chilli peppers, and other vegetables from his shaded corner of the patio.

Lan Zhan situates his laptop on his outstretched legs so that he can see Wei Ying and A-Yuan and make sure that if Wei Ying looks at him, he won’t suspect anything. Lan Zhan thinks he is doing a good job of spying until Wei Ying winks at him and brandishes a crumbling clump of soil.

T, 42k

Summary:

Lan Zhan doesn’t flick any lights on, and the heavy darkness of the snowy day makes him feel safe and sure when he musters some semblance of his voice, but in the end, still whispers, “Welcome home, Lan Yuan.”