#than stare at the oven asking are they done yet

[milfsloverblog]

Secret Benefits (part 6)

Sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: Here it is, after (quite) a long wait. Thank you for your patience! Oh, I actually shed a couple of tears writing this chapter, just warning you guys! I hope you’ll enjoy reading this <3

You couldn’t believe your eyes. So much in fact that you had to rub them to make sure you were seeing straight. Larissa Weems was sitting at your kitchen table.

“Just a second,” you muttered.

You walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, not even bothering to use a glass and choosing instead to drink straight from it. You couldn’t remember being that thirsty ever before and the water didn’t seem to help at all.

“I guess we need to talk.” You said as you placed the bottle back inside the fridge.

“Yes, we do. But I don’t think you’re in a fit state to have a serious conversation right now. How’s your head?”

“Hmpf-“ you groaned and looked down, noticing that you were still wearing your outfit from the previous night. You reeked. A nauseating mix of sweat and alcohol.

Larissa noticed the way you stared at your dress and pushed a small sympathetic smile.

“Would you like to take a shower?” She offered.

“I think so, but I’m not sure I’ll have the strength for it.”

“Let me help.” She wasn’t offering this time.

Letting Larissa see you naked would have been a highly arousing thought a few weeks before, but not anymore. Not after what you had done to her.

You closed your eyes as she walked with you to the bathroom, listening to the muffled sounds of her stocking-clad feet against the wooden floor.

“Let me-“ Larissa said when you struggled to reach for the zipper at the back of your dress.

She carefully unzipped it and you heard her breath hitch in her throat.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Larissa quickly answered.

A bitter iron taste filled her mouth as she bit down on her tongue at the sight of the bruises on your spine. She would make that man pay. She didn’t know how yet, but she would.

She helped you step out of the dress that was pooling at your feet before her hands moved to unclasp your bra until she suddenly stopped herself.

“Are you alright with me removing your underwear?” She asked.

You stayed quiet for a few seconds. She was asking for your consent. You had treated her like shit and still, she was showing you sympathy.

“Yes.”

Larissa gave a small nod and unclasped your bra before removing your panties, making a point of keeping her eyes off your body as she did so.

“There,” she said, gesturing towards the shower.

She turned the water on and made sure it was at a nice temperature before letting you in.

You sighed with relief as you stepped under the warm water jet, the gentle pressure massaging your back.

“Should we start with your hair?” Larissa offered, to which you answered with a nod.

Having her hands in your hair would feel less awkward than on your body to start with.

She rolled up her sleeves and poured some shampoo in her hands, waiting for you to turn around before applying it to your hair. She was gentle with her movements, her fingertips massaging your scalp and making sure to thoroughly wash your hair.

You were lost in your thoughts when Larissa suddenly started humming a song, a soft melody that immediately made a lump grow in your throat. You felt like a child. For a moment you were sent back to your childhood home, sitting in the tub as a little girl as your mother bathed you. It must have been a Sunday, you could still smell the cake that was baking in the oven.

You were brought back to reality by Larissa carefully spinning you around.

“I’ll wash your body now if that’s alright.” She waited until you gave another nod before starting to wash your shoulders. You kept your eyes closed as she carefully moved down your body and Larissa wished she could have done the same. She felt like she was intruding, only adding more weight to what had happened to you the previous night.

You were grateful for the water that was falling down your face for it hid the silent tears that you had been shedding for a couple of minutes.

Your body suddenly twitched as you tried to hold back a sob, making Larissa look up at your face. She stood up from the kneeling position she had taken to wash your legs and gently cupped your cheek.

“Sweetling, are you alright?” She asked.

You only gave a nod as an answer, your throat too tight to say anything.

“Look at me,” she said.

You took a deep breath and opened your eyes only to meet Larissa’s worried ones.

She stepped back as soon as she noticed that you were crying, the warmth of her hand leaving your cheek. Larissa immediately thought that she had hurt you somehow and you watched as her mouth fell open as she searched for a way to apologise.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

“What?” She frowned.

“I said-“ You took a deep shaky breath, feeling more tears threatening to spill. “I am so, so sorry Larissa.” You managed to say before bursting into tears and falling to your knees.

Larissa stayed still for a moment, watching your body jolt as you sobbed loudly.

“Oh, sweetling…” She knelt and gently placed her hand on your shoulder.

“N-no!” You hiccuped looking at Larissa. You hid your face in your hands and tried your best to calm your breathing down, Larissa’s thumb rubbing soothing circles on your arm.

“Why are you here?” You eventually managed to say after a few minutes. You didn’t give her any time to answer before you went on. “After what I did to you, why the fuck are you here? Being nice to me and taking care of me when you should be gloating about me getting what I deserve.”

“You did not deserve that!” Larissa said severely, cupping your cheek so you’d look at her. She looked into your eyes for a moment before looking down at her lap. “You don’t wish any ill will on those you love, no matter how badly they hurt you.” She said barely audibly.

Love.

There. She had said it.

Love.

The lump in your throat only grew bigger as you watched her blue eyes get glassy.

“I’m so sorry,” you said again. “If I had known-“You shook your head and burst into tears again, feeling both helpless and hopeless.

“I know.” Larissa nodded and took a deep breath. You don’t wish any ill will on those you love. She carefully wrapped her arms around your body and pulled you close, letting your wet skin and hair soak through the fabric of her dress.

You don’t know how long you stayed there, the both of you kneeling on the bathroom floor until you started shivering and Larissa decided to wrap you in a towel. She picked a pair of pyjamas from your wardrobe and helped you put them on before taking you back to the living room.

“I’ll make you a cup of tea, it might help.” Larissa said as you lay back down on the couch.

“That’s what he said.” You answered after a while, remembering some bits of your night.

“He?”

“The man,” you groaned softly. “The one who saved me… He reminded me of you.”

“Did he?” Larissa asked as she walked back to the couch only to find you hiding under a cushion.

She placed the cup on your coffee table and carefully lifted your head to let it rest on her lap while her fingers brushed through your hair.

“Get some more sleep, you need it.”

“Will you be there when I wake up?”

There was a second of silence before Larissa answered.

“You know I will.”

————————————————————————-

Taglist: @raspburrythief @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @larissaoftarthweems @principal-weems09 @kimiinou @winterfireblond @im-a-carnivorous-plant @geekyarmorel @h-doodles @azu-zu @barbarasstar @witchesmortuary @m1lflov3rrr @dumbasslesbi @crow-raven-crow @fridays-coven @lilfartbox1 @shawncantwrite @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @gwens0girl @aemilia19 @the-bagel24 @lvinhs @thefutureisus2020 @gela123 @a-queen-and-her-throne @rando-mango @wheresmyboo @my-silver-spring @hillary-nicks @ablsk @natasha29romanoff @tallvampirelady12 @canyoufeelmyheartsayinghi @i-love-nerdy-stuff @scarlettssub @jasperobsidian-blog @i-write-sometimes-maybe @brienne-the-brave @slytherinthepms @non-binary-frogking @wife-of-gwendolinechristie @anjo-iludidoefudido @imnotafruitt @opheliauniverse

[aestrayla]

cherries or peaches? pt. 2 ft. obey me! datables

summary: do they prefer ass or boobs? ft. obey me! datables x f!reader

cw: HIGHLY suggestive, mdni, fluff??, pet names (sweetheart), fondling, groping, grinding/humping, semi-public but no sex, licking, stripping, MY HUMOUR..

word count: 1.4k

a/n: thank u so much for the love on the first part, im so happy to be able to write these hcs, they’re such a fun idea. i got a bit carried away and some of these turned into half-ish fics but i hope u enjoy this version just as much as the first ♡

haven’t read the first part yet? you can find it here ♡

diavolo loves ass. the end.

just kidding.

ever since arriving in the devildom, student council meetings had always been a bore to you. you were never able to understand the complex topics of the “worldly problems” discussed, which often led to you staring out into space.

but ever since you got close to diavolo, things had changed.

“keep it down, y/n,” diavolo whispered through clenched teeth, as he kept a beaming smile glued to his face.

you let out a peeved groan. how the hell were you supposed to keep quiet when he kept rocking you back and forth on his lap like this?

despite your squirming, his hands never left you as he pushed and kneaded at your ass under the table. his hard-on evident as it ground against your clit, eliciting hushed whimpers from your lips.

in many ways, doing this was beyond worse than just zoning out, one wrong move and the whole student council would probably never look you in the eye again.

to make matters worse, diavolo insisted that meetings can’t start unless you were up here, in his lap, at all times.

“dia, i can’t do this anymore,” you whimpered under your breath.

“it’s almost over soon, sweetheart. just a little longer ‘n then i’ll make you feel good, hm?”

it might not be obvious at first, but barbatos loves boobs.

hearing that he was the “greatest pastry chef in all three worlds” has always been something that intrigued you. it wasn’t until you tried them for yourself that you realised that this statement was far from being a lie.

it was only a few weeks ago that you asked him to teach you a few of his recipes, you had never seen so much delight in his eyes. “oh that would be great, y/n! i’ve always been looking forward to the day you’d ask me so.”

as you slam the door to the oven, a gust of the hot air blows against your face, “how long should these be in the oven for, barbs?”

“thirty minutes should be fine. do you mind adding some of that sugar over there into this bowl?” you set the oven timer to thirty minutes before scurrying over with a measured bowl of sugar, pouring it into the bowl of fresh cream.

“perfect, could you whisk up this cream for me while i go find the vanilla?”

“sure.” he hands you the whisk before poking his nose through the cupboards in search of vanilla.

as you were whisking, you let your mind wander. gosh, i can’t wait to try this when it’s done… but dang i lowkey wonder when he’s gonna let me in his pants already… a few wet splatters across your chest had snapped you back to focus, “oh shit— i spilt it on me!”

the clank of the whisk dropping to the countertop had barbatos rushing towards you.

“oh goodness me, you’ve made a mess!”

“i know… fuck i’m sorry. i’ll just get a tea towel and wipe—”

before you could finish your sentence, barbatos had stopped you. his body crowding up against yours as he leaned in. holding you by your waist, you could feel his kitten licks swipe against your chest, even reaching as far down to the cleavage of your boobs.

you started to feel hot and dazed as the sweet aroma drifted through the kitchen, while he started to suck harshly against your skin, fingers creeping up to caress your boobs. soft pants began to leave your mouth as his tongue worked across your chest, but before it could escalate any further, he had pulled away.

as he stepped back, wiping the corner of his lips, you were left completely flustered, “oh wow, the cream without the vanilla tastes really good, you might just have a talent for baking y/n!”

“uh-huh…” you muttered, staring at him dumb-found and wide-eyed.

simeon is secretly a big fan of boobs, so today was a big treat for him.

it was the weekend, he had scored a pair of free tickets to the amusement park, and of course decided to bring you along. it was a leisurely day however, the rides and attractions he decided to do were almost too tame for your excitement.

dragging him along, you spot an attraction that seemed to catch your eye. handing two tokens to the employee, you quickly rushed into the tank, simeon freezing, clearly stunned and confused about what was about to happen. “hey y/n, what’s going on?!”

taking a seat on the tiny platform you point to the target beside you, “can you hit a bullseye?” you winked.

the employee hands simeon a ball, “you’ve got three tries, buddy.” after a moment of hesitation, he throws the ball, hitting the center of the target with a loud smack.

you let out a small shriek before getting submerged into the tank of water. “oh my— Y/N!” simeon rushes towards the tank, quickly pulling you out from the water. you let out sharp breaths before giggling, “your aim is amazing!”

“is this your idea of fun?!” his hands reach up to hold both sides of your face, turning it from one side to the other. “you’re not hurt are you?”

you smile sweetly, flattered by his concern, “i’m fine simeon, it was fun, really.”

he sighs, “good, alright.” his eyes travel over your body checking for any scrapes before widening at the sight of your chest. the water had soaked your white shirt completely, revealing that you were wearing nothing underneath. your round nipples were perked up from the cold water while your shirt was clinging onto your wet skin.

gasping even louder than before, in a flimsy last-minute attempt to cover you up, he slaps his hands over each of your boobs and although it works in his favour, you couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“don’t laugh y/n! we need to get you a new shirt, or at least a sweater!”

you pull him towards you by his collar, your lips mere inches away from touching, “so are you gonna help me take this one off first?” your purr.

his hands race to cover his reddened face, “w-wait that’s not what i—!” upon realising your boobs are on display again, he slams his hands back over them, “y/n!” he whines.

two hours in, and it was blatantly obvious to solomon that this tutoring session was going nowhere.

you weren’t understanding any terms or concepts of the topic at hand and with a week to go before your final, it seemed like solomon was more worried about this than you were. surely it isn’t because you’re too distracted sitting in his lap, right?

he clears his throat, “how about this…” you slowly lift your head up from the palm of your hands, clearly distressed about your upcoming failure. “for every question you get incorrect, you remove a piece of clothing.”

you raise your brows, intrigued, “and for every question i get right, you remove a piece of clothing?” you stare back at him.

“exactly, and for that answer…” he slowly shrugs off his blazer and places it behind his chair, “i’ll remove this.”

in hopes of this becoming a motivation for you, he began to quiz you with a mini questionnaire. “what are the three ingredients used to make the elixir of cerebral stimulation?”

you internally face palm because you knew jack shit about brewing potions, “uhhh… newt legs, unicorn hair, and frog mucus?”

solomon clears his throat ubruptly. “um, no. the correct answer is powdered unicorn hoof, bittergrass root, and caladrius blood.”

you look down in embarrassment before removing three pieces of clothing. only four minutes in and you’re left in nothing but your underwear and bra.

“last and final question, what covered the devildom when it was first created?”

“…darkness?”

“…unfortunately, that is incorrect. the correct answer is a forest.”

you groan. you haven’t gotten a single question correct and embarrassment was evident as your face was flushed. you turn to face solomon, “at this point, why don’t you choose what i take off?”

your pretty face staring up at him, teary and doe-eyed had him swooning. slowly standing up and pushing your back down onto the table, he stared deliriously at you. papers were scattered everywhere and textbooks were crumpled open. your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands gently pulled the straps of your bra down your shoulders.

staring at your bare chest he murmurs, “i’m obsessed with these,” before diving straight in.

a/n: haven’t written in about 5 months so excuse how rusty my writing has gotten.. but nonetheless, thanks for reading this far, luv you all ♡

©2024 aestrayla. do not modify, copy, translate or share.

[paceprompting]

cinnamon buns

written for ‘christmas’ | wc: 736 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: post season four, pre-relationship, fluff, steve has a crush on eddie, and vice versa, christmas together

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Wayne always managed to get Christmas off. Every year.

Eddie didn’t know what exactly he promised in return to manage it, but ever since little eight-year-old Eddie Munson shuffled into the trailer to live with his uncle, every Christmas had been theirs.

Wayne always woke up first, setting out the presents collected throughout the year and hidden under his bed—and Eddie hadn’t peeked since that first year—nursing his first cup of coffee while in his pajamas until Eddie emerged.

When he was still little, he’d bum-rush the tree and tear open the presents, but soon the little traditions emerged.

Playing Rudolph and Year Without a Santa Claus on VCR tapes that survived years of rewatches, but no interdimensional portals.

Cinnamon buns from tins for breakfast, always burnt around the edges and covered in icing—but they split the best one from the middle.

And the last present was always, always Wayne’s. It took several years for Eddie’s wrapping skills to actually look like the box he was wrapping, but Wayne never said a word.

It was one of those Christmases that Eddie got his first set of dice.

Government hush money bought a decent house for them, with real insulation and top-of-the-line boiler. Just in time for Christmas. Wayne actually had a real hiding place for the presents this time, and no matter how hard Eddie had looked, he’d have to wait until next year to find it.

They could get real lights, too. Not just the couple of strings that wouldn’t overload the trailer’s generator.

They also had to, since those lights were carted off to some Area 51 with the rest of the things the government wanted to pretend had never happened until maybe they could use it to their own benefit.

One other thing had changed this Christmas, too.

There were three of them this year.

Eddie heard the crunch of tires on asphalt from the kitchen. He was supposed to be setting up the ham to go in the oven—which he’d never done in his life, yet he’d volunteered—and he’d only gotten as far as preheating the oven.

So, he headed straight for the front door, sans any sort of jacket or shoes.

Eddie had hated the cold most of his life.

When you lived in a metal box with shitty heating on a good day, the cold months meant shivering through showers, mainlining coffee just to be warm for a couple minutes and layering blankets because sweating was better than losing a toe.

But there was something about Steve Harrington in the cold.

Or, more specifically, in the snow.

He eased out of the driver’s side of the Beemer, running a hand through his hair. His shoulders filled out the blue denim of his jacket, which matched his jeans—which stretched over his pert butt.

Not that Eddie was looking. For too long.

Maybe Eddie liked the cold a little bit more now.

But the whole reason Steve had bent over in the first place was to bring out a few things from his backseat. He held them behind his back as he straightened, and Eddie pouted as he trudged through the snow onto the porch.

His cheeks were pink when joined Eddie by the front door, ducking his head as he offered a hello.

“Hey, Eds,” he said.

Eddie leaned over to try and peer at what Steve had behind his back, eyes widening when Steve brought out a Tupperware that looked like it had several stacks of cookies, warm enough to steam up the inside.

“For me?” he asked, raising his brows.

Steve let him take the cookies with no comment.

“No, I thought it’d be rude not to bring something.” He shrugged, and it took Eddie a moment to realize that his other arm was still bent behind him. Eddie stared pointedly, and Steve smiled before revealing a more Christmas-y gift—in red and green plaid wrapping paper and white ribbon. “This is, though.”

Eddie immediately swapped cookies for the present, holding it close with a wide grin.

Steve cocked his head, sliding his hands (probably cold) into his pockets. “You’re not going to open it?”

He propped his present on his hip and reached forward to grab onto Steve’s wrist. With probably wild eyes, Eddie met Steve’s gaze, waited until Steve leaned forward just a bit and said, with every bit of seriousness, “We haven’t had the cinnamon buns, yet.”

[jilixthinker]

sweet taster

=͟͟͞♡ minho × fem!reader

word count: 1.6K

content warning: smut, established relationship, sub!minho, cock play, kinda chubby (but not really) minho, a little bit of feederism if you squint, it's all very loving and sweet

a/c: i feel things about minho's imaginary soft tummy, that's it.

=͟͟͞♡ please, consider reblogging if you like my works!

"That was definitively too much."

Your home smells like savory and sweet, the nice scent lingering in your living room like a warm blanket, and Minho groans in delight as he plops on the couch with his eyes closed, stress from the work beginning to melt away. He loves when he comes home to the smell of one of your cooking, it makes him feel spoiled and pampered.

The portion of bibimbap was more than generous, but what truly tested his stomach capacity were the three big slices of apple pie he gobbled down while you watched him with adoring eyes, fingers softly caressing his plush tighs.

Minho has a sweet tooth and you love cooking and baking for him, that is always been your love language. In addition to that, in the last year of your relationship you started to experiment in the kitchen with lots of different baking recipies, and your loving boyfriend has been your official taster since that.

You cook, he eats, and you look fondly at him while he savors your baked goods, making a series of cute tiny sounds of pleasure that leaves you cooing and pinching at his soft cheeks. That is how you would describe happiness.

"Are you full?" you ask, sitting next to him and immediately nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck.

Minho smiles and his arm circles your shoulder, bringing you closer to him. You nose at his sweater and he smells like candy, smells sweet and intrinsecally like home and Minho. “So full,” he chuckles, placing a wet kiss on the top of your head.

"I guess you don't have space for one last treat then..." you smile against his skin as your hand drops to his belly. It feels tensed and a little swollen because of all the food he ate, and you start to massage it slowly.

"Treat?" Minho's eyes get all round and you hear him sniffing at the air in search of a distinct odor that will make him understand what are you referring to.

"I tried baking some cream eclairs." you smile at him, pinching the soft pudge below his belly button between your thumb and pointer. It's so soft that you wanna eat him whole.

"Well, I guess I can make some space, then".

You sit up again just in time to catch a glimpse of Minho's tongue lapping at the corner of his mouth, pre-savoring the dessert, and you feel a familar warmth spreading through your body. He is just too cute, too precious, too sweet to be yours.

"Let me get it for you. Wanna feed you." You smile as you stand up and head to the kitchen, the platter of creamy sweets ready in the oven.

When you come back, Minho is waiting for you with big pleading eyes, eager to taste the product of your baking. You place the plate on a cushion next to him, but instead of sitting down on the couch, you find your place on his lap, straddling his soft yet muscular thighs.

"Open wide." you say, taking one eclair in your hand and bringing it to Minho's mouth. You tap him under his chin and his mouth falls open easily.

Keeping eye contact, Minho leans forward to take a big bite, chewing slowly to let the flavor really envelop his senses. The lemon cream is sweet and warm, and it melts in his mouth.

You stare at him, pushing the eclair back to his lips when Minho is done chewing, inviting him to take another bite. With a loud gulp, Minho opens up again, and his tongue swirls against your thumb.

"How does it taste?" you ask while you brush a few crumbs from his lips.

Minho swallows the last bit of the eclair and the tip of his tongue laps at his plump lips once again. "Tastes amazing." he puffs out, his breath smells exactly like the cream.

"Want another?" you ask, taking the second one on your hand without even waiting for his answer.

"I am very full, baby." he mumbles, arm falling down to rest on the top of his stretched tummy. "I don't know if I can fit another one. But they taste like heaven."

"Just one more." you murmur as you leave a small peck on the corner of Minho's mouth, licking a bit of sugar away. "You look so cute when you eat. Please, just one more."

Minho sighs, his tummy is stretched and slighly uncomfortable, but saliva begins to pool inside his mouth as a pavlovian response to the thought of the sweet taste. "Just one more." he conceeds.

You hum and bring the pastry in front of his mouth. Minho diligently parts his lips once again and accepts the eclair. Crumbs are all over his shirt and pants, and there are cream smudges all around his pretty red mouth, even stuck between his teeth.

"So gorgeous for me." you whisper as your hips buck involuntarily against Minho's groin. And then you notice that you are not the only one enjoying this.

"You're hard, uh?" you ask with a chuckle, lowering your hand to cup him through his sweats and squeezing him lightly. Minho hisses and you rub his protruding stomach, feeling the soft skin under the fabric.

Minho finishes swallowing and breathes a sigh of relief as he hears you lowering the band of his sweats. “Yeah. It was sweet,” he huffs. "You are sweet. Got me all hard."

You take the opportunity to remove his pants completely to gain easy access to fondle him through his briefs in the process. Minho's breath is is soft and tender, and he smells amazing, all sugary and pretty for you.

"Wanna touch you. Can I, baby?" you ask, finding a comfortable position on the floor, between his parted legs.

The room is warm, but Minho's legs are tensed and his thin hair are fluffy. You caress them and massage the muscles underneath, and you see his fattened cock twitching against his groin. You see a few pearls of precum glistening on the chubby tip, and you wonder if his release would taste like cream if you fed him enough sweets. The thought is enough to rub your legs together, your panties are already sticking to your folds. But this is for Minho, you think.

"You can do anything you want to me." he murmurs, eyes almost closing and head resting on the cushions behind him.

You smile and you scoot forward to wrap one hand around his cock, squeezing it. His swollen cock immediately chubs up even more and wets the fabric of the sweatshirt. The cockhead looks all sensitive, and you tentatively circle the palm of your other hand around it, coaxing a sweet moan out of Minho's lips.

"My sweet, sweet boy." you coo, starting a lazy rhythm of stroking and circling, stopping just to stimulate his spongy head every once in a while. "You are so sweet that I wanna eat you up."

Minho's chuckles breathily and lets out a soft sob as his thighs begin to shake.

"Am I your dessert?" he asks, looking down at you with big eyes and still a few crumbs of eclair on the corner of his mouth. He mindlessly licks them off.

"You so are, pretty. You are my candy, my cake, my chocolate milk." you answer, sliding your thumb against his slit and making him whine slowly. "And I really need to eat you. I am serious."

You lower your head past his leaky cock to brush your cheek against the soft pudge under Minho's belly button. And then you bite him.

The tender flesh is warm and squishy, and the taste of Minho's skin, together with the cream scent still lingering in the air makes you moan against him.

"F-fuck, baby." he mutters, and you feel his cock throbbing in your fist.

With the tip of your tongue you lick at the velvety scar across his lower stomach and then you twirl it inside of his belly button, mimicking the way he usually fucks himself into you. He whines at the movement and his body twitches again.

"Love you." you whisper, keeping your grip steady on him. "Love how soft you get for me. How sweet. Love when you eat well and you look like this. You are so delicious, Mimo."

You keep biting softly at the fluffy fat of his pudge, savoring its taste and jerking him slowly, letting the schlick sound of his wet cock resonate through the room. Minho is pliant under your touch and his eyes are glassy.

"Uhm – I am. I-I am cumming, baby. Sorry." he moans when your finger dips a little into his slit.

"Don't be sorry, honey. You wanna cum?" you ask with a loving tone while your hand slides smoothly on his aching muscle. "Wanna cream on me like the sweet pastry you are? You can, pretty baby. Let it all go for me."

And Minho obeys, as he always does. With one last pump he begins to shoot thick ropes of creamy cum all over your hand and his round belly, covering his pale skin with glossy spurts that accumulate on the curve just above his ribcage.

When he is done, you lap at some of his release and it actually tastes sweet. It could be your imagination or just the fact that you are aroused, but you swear you can taste some of the cream on his orgasm.

"Wow." he puffs, hand covering his eyes in a shy attempt to hide himself. "That was... something."

You chuckle and kiss his tummy one last time before looking up to his face. "Then you will not be surprised when I'll tell you I baked more, right?"

Minho's face blushes to an adorable shade of pink. "Maybe... m-maybe I can eat one more".

©️ jilixthinker, 2024. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sugar Cookie

Warnings: non/dubcon, allusions to abuse and neglect, oral sex, manipulation, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You try to learn some new traditions for your first Christmas with Tony.

Character: Tony Stark

Day Eleven of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - experiencing a new festive tradition 

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stare at the floating screen and suck in your cheeks. It's only your first try but you're feeling overwhelmed. Just like always, you can't follow simple directions. You're a fuck up. 

It makes you wonder how you ever ended up here. In this immaculate kitchen with its shining marble counter tops, sparkling appliances, and many gadgets and accessories. Silver pans dangle from the rack hung over the island and knives are stuck to the magnet hold mounted on the wall. Yet you've made a mess of it all as flour dusts over the gold-veined surface and the smell of burnt dough tinges your nostrils. 

"Miss, is appears you've burnt the snickerdoodles," Friday says in her matter-of-fact way. 

"I did," you groan and plant your elbows on the counter, cup your chin in defeat. "I'm sorry." 

"You don't need to apologise to me," she assures. "You should start again at step one. 'Preheat the oven to 375 Farenheit...' 

"The oven's still on, you drone as you turn your face down. "I've ruined it all. I tried so hard but it's just all spoiled." 

"Miss, you can try again. I've already ordered more ingredients so that you can make everything," she insists. 

You puff. That dang computer. Of course, Tony insists that isn't what she is. She's a companion. She's more than code and she's a lot smarter than you, so you should listen. 

You push yourself up as you stick your lip out pathetically. You've never baked before. Tony knows this but it's a tradition. Not your tradition. You never even celebrated Christmas before. You watched it on the old VHS'. The films about daughters or sons or lovers trying to make it home for the holiday. Stuck between four walls, you always just assumed it was another fantasy. 

"Miss, you should dump the burnt cookies. They are not fit for consumption. And put a fresh sheet of parchment paper down." 

You nod and do as she says. Your hands are still fettered in the oven gloves as you take the tray and carry it to the bin. She opens it and you wince. You're still not used to that. 

You return to the counter and pull off the thick gloves. You tear off a new sheet of parchment and lay it on the pan. A frown tugs at your cheeks until they hurt. What if you can't do this? What if you disappoint Tony? He'd just be another person who you let down. There may not be many of those, but you can count everyone you've known on one hand. 

"Begin with the topping," Friday directs you. "Combine the granulated sugar and cinnamon together in a small bowl..." 

It's easier to let her tell you what to do. Almost like she's thinking for you. Tony does that too. He tells you what needs to be done so you're not so worried. Sometimes though, it's too much. All those expectations. Before, you were only ever expected to be quiet. 

You make three lines of four. The dough balls are perfectly arranged. Now you just need to not mess them up. 

"I would be happy to set a timer, miss." Friday offers. 

"Thanks," you say over your shoulder as you slide the pan into the oven. 

"You've made enough dough for three more batches. In the meantime, you could begin on the fruitcake," she suggests. 

"Uh, sure," you agree. 

"Mmm, smells like a fire," Tony's voice jars you before the companion-programmed interface can give her next command. "What're we workin' on, beautiful?" 

You face him and press your sweaty palms to the red apron with the frill edging. "Cookies. Or cake--" 

"There are a dozen snickerdoodles cooking with eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds left," Friday supplies. "And she was about to begin the fruitcake." 

You cringe and nod, "what she said." 

"What about the meringues? Peppermint? Just like I said?" He asks. 

"Sure, uh," you gulp, "you know, Mr. Stark, Tony... I'm not very good at this." 

"You'll get better, beautiful. Besides, it's tradition." 

"Y-yeah, I know, but I... I don't want to screw up or make you sick." 

"Baby, you're just fine. I know you can do it." He steps closer and puts his hands on your arms, "I see what no one else saw in you, huh? You got potential, you just gotta try." 

"I am. Trying, sir," you say. 

"I know, beautiful," he reaches to tap the end of your nose. "Don't be so mopey, alright? Look at all you got; a gorgeous kitchen, a gorgeous house, a gorgeous man..." 

You flick your lashes shyly and look away. He leans in and you let him kiss you. That's getting easier, even if the other things still hurt. 

"You know, there's nothing else I could ask for," he purrs as he draws back, "well, maybe one thing. Whiskey?" 

He looks at you with his deep brown eyes and that crooked grin. It was that look that comforted you the day you met. When the red and gold receded and revealed the very human man beneath. The first man you knew that didn't loathe you outright. 

"Yes, Tony," you answer and spin around. The liquor cabinet opens as you approach. You thank Friday and take out the dark bottle. A cupboard opens and you pull out a glass to pour. You bring the drink to him and smile nervously. "Here you are." 

"You know, seeing as this is your first Christmas and all, you're learning all my traditions," he leans a hand on the counter and sniffs the whiskey before he sips. You watch him tentatively, "we could start a few new ones." 

"New?" You echo curiously. 

He winks and takes another swig, "yeah, all this sweetness," he looks around at the cluttered ingredients, "I'm thinking something even sweeter."  

"Oh?" You bring your hands together and wring them. "What's that?" 

"Friday, scram," he looms close to you and sets his glass down.  

"Reconfiguring to standby," Friday responds promptly. 

He steps up and frames your hips with his hands. He sucks his teeth as he looks you up and down. You shiver as you're reminded of the night before. 

"How about you hop up here?" He keeps one hand on you as he sweeps aside the bag of flower and canister of baking powder with his other. "And feed me another kinda dessert." 

You look at him. You think you know what he means but you’re not sure. You’ll be embarrassed if you’re right. The last time he tried that you couldn’t stay still. 

“Oh,” you bat your lashes. 

“Oh,” he repeats coyly as he squeezes your hip. “You’re doing all this work, baby, why don’t you let me do some?” 

“Um, later... er, the cookies--” 

“I got a hankering for something better than cookies,” he grabs at your skirt and shoves his hands under the hem. He gropes your ass suddenly as he pulls you flush to him. You squeal in surprise. “What are these?” He pinches the fabric of your panties. “I didn’t pull these out.” 

“Uh, I...” you gulp. You didn’t think he’d be unhappy, you can see through every pair he gave you. “I’m sorry.” 

“Take ‘em off,” his voice deepens as he lets you go and steps back. He crosses his arms as his lips straighten to a dire expression. “Now.” 

“Yes, sir,” you blanch and open, your thumbs catching on your skirt before you can get the panties down. 

You teeter as you shove them to your knees and they fall to your feet. You bend to untangle them and stand. Tony takes them from you and flings them without looking. 

“Now, baby, I’m ready for the full course,” He takes you by the waist and turns your back to the counter. “You gonna serve it up to me?” 

You stare at him, speechless. His thumbs curl into your stomach then ease. He trails his hands to your hips and you yelp as he lifts you. You land on the counter and knock over a bowl as you slap your palms on the marble. 

“Tony!” You squeal. 

He hushes you as he raises the apron and your dress up your thighs, “open up for me, beautiful.” 

“Please, can’t we wait--” 

“I’ve been waiting,” he growls and bends before you can stop him. Not that you would even try. 

He grazes your thigh with his lips and his facial hair tickles you. You quiver as he nuzzles along the crease of your leg and against your pelvis. You tense as he grips your knees, holding them wide as he shoves his mouth against your cunt. 

You cry out again. You spasm as his tongue glides between your lips. His flicks around your clit and you whine. It’s so sensitive you could explode. 

You grasp the back of his head and try to push him away, “it’s still too much--” 

He hums and keeps going, ignoring your protests as he suckles on your bud. The pressure is enough to make you buck. You lean back on your arm and hiss. He puts his hand over yours and presses it to his skull, as if to make you urge him on. 

He wiggles his head as he eats you up unabashedly. He snarls and groans and laps. You whimper and shake, your insides consumed in flames. You can hardly stand the heat as he seeps through to your skin. You push your nails into his scalp and murmur his name. 

“Mmm, delicious,” he slithers against your thigh, pressing a wet kiss to your leg. 

You close your eyes as the sight of his head just peeking out beneath the rumpled apron makes you blush. You bite your lip and shudder as he goes back to his eager tending. He clutches your hand tighter as his tongue swirls around and around. 

The smell of smoke tinges your nose again. You sniff and flutter your lashes. You open your eyes and see the silver curls climbing out of the stove. You squeak and try to twist free of Tony. He grabs your thighs and sinks in fingertips in until you ache. 

“Ton-y,” you eke out, “the cook-ies!” 

“Leave em,” He growls as he snakes his hands under your thighs and hooks his arms around them. He yanks you so you fall onto your back, splaying wider as you crush mixing spoons and bags of chocolate chips and sugar. “I got more than enough right here.” 

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for qwertynerd97 behind the cut; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Yeah,” Billy says after a moment. “I’m not gonna make you do stuff like that. Um, well, like some normal chores and following your curfew and taking your phone with you when you go out, I mean, but not like–um. Yeah.” 

Lynn doesn’t say anything. He just keeps looking into the living room. Billy looks too, but doesn’t see what he’s looking at. His line of sight’s too high to be looking at Tawky, and the TV’s off, and–

Oh. Actually . . . 

Is he looking at the windows, actually? 

Huh, Billy thinks again. 

Lynn stops looking at the windows, or maybe just the living room, and then goes and opens the oven and stares blankly into it for a moment. Then he reaches in bare-handed and–

“Oven mitt!” Billy says quickly, zipping over to him and grabbing a pair of them off the hook they’re hanging on on the way. Lynn stares at him just as blankly as he was staring into the oven, and also just as blankly as he’s been staring at him, and probably he’s thinking Billy is stupid because he’s, like, invulnerable and all, but the thing is–“Secret identity,” he clarifies, and holds the mitts out to Lynn. “You gotta be careful about doing stuff baseline humans can’t, even if you think you’re alone or only around people in the know. And like, you have to make it a habit to do stuff baseline humans would have to anyway, or you might forget to when you aren’t alone. Also Batman didn’t install the new windows yet so I’m not sure if these are privacy ones, honestly, so somebody could maybe see from across the street anyway?” 

Lynn stares at him for another moment, then flicks his eyes down to the oven mitts. Billy feels awkward and kind of like a worrywart, but it is important. He definitely doesn’t turn into Captain Marvel when anybody else even might be watching, and also if Lynn’s keeping those habits from the start it’ll be easier for him in the long run, right? Or at least, Billy thinks it’ll be easier? Like–probably? 

He fidgets a little and tries not to look nervous. Lynn glances at his face for a moment even though his own expression doesn’t change at all, then takes the oven mitts and . . . well, he uses them more like potholders than actually, like, putting them on, but still counts, Billy figures. Lynn takes out all the pans and puts them all on top of the stove, and then closes it and sets aside the oven mitts and turns it off. 

“. . . thanks,” Lynn says more in the oven’s direction than Billy’s. Billy feels a little relieved, because “don’t do stuff baseline humans can’t when it’s not safe to” is a pretty important thing, so far as secret IDs and all go. 

“Sure!” Billy says, then peeks curiously at the food. “So, um . . . is it done?” 

“. . . it has to rest for five minutes,” Lynn says, and then turns away abruptly and walks into the living room to bring back the plates, which is, um, probably something Billy should’ve remembered was gonna need to happen before he took them out there, come to think. 

Whoops. 

Well, he guesses they could use serving dishes, probably, because Batman bought them way too much everything and there are so, so many serving dishes, but that’s more dishes to wash so yeah, Lynn’s definitely taking the right approach here, Billy decides. 

Though he has no idea why dinner has to rest. Like–what does that even mean, “rest”? It’s food. 

“. . . why?” Lynn asks, and holds up Tawky’s little plate with a faint frown. 

“Oh, Tawky doesn’t need as much to eat as you do,” Billy clarifies. Tawky only needs a lot to eat when he’s being a full-sized tiger, and he’s being an stuffed animal the same way Billy’s being a dad right now instead of just Captain Marvel, so he won’t have the stomach space for big meals until, like, the next time they have to save the world, probably. Or a mission. Or something like that, anyway. “Or as much to eat as you probably do, since we’re still figuring that out. But probably not, either way. Like–I don’t need to eat either, I mean, but like, different-sized stomachs and all, sooo . . . bigger plate, I guess. Sorry, is that rude, do you think? I wasn’t trying to be.” 

“. . . uh,” Lynn says slowly, frowning at Tawky’s plate instead. “Okay.” 

Well, it’s not exactly an answer, but Billy guesses he can double-check with Tawky later. It’s kind of more important what Tawky thinks anyway, since it’s him he’d be being rude to, and also he really shouldn’t be expecting Lynn to really get, like, manners and intent versus affect and that kind of thing yet anyway. Although either way having a full-sized tiger in the apartment would definitely not be great for the secret identity thing, even just for mealtimes, so they’d have to figure something out there. 

Well, he guesses they could just go to the Rock of Eternity for dinner, actually? Like, cook in the apartment but pack themselves dinner-picnics or something. Actually, that sounds kinda fun, he’d like to show Lynn what it’s like and maybe explain a little more about what accepting a share of his powers would mean, if he did, and– 

Focus. He definitely needs to work on his focus. That’s way more important when he’s being a dad. He doesn’t want Lynn to ever think he’s ignoring him, for one. 

“I’ll ask him later,” Billy says. Tawky’s probably still reading anyway; he was while Billy was setting the coffee table. He had the biography of Nikola Tesla they’d picked out, which is pretty normal reading fare for Tawky, really. He likes nonfiction a lot, especially the historical stuff. Billy doesn’t really get it, personally.

[lucy90712]

Can you do a imagine where gavi is pretending to be mad at y/n and y/n doing several cute tactics to make him happy and he is just secretly enjoying it🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🥺🥺🥺🥺

My last lecture today got cancelled so I was able to get home before Pablo gets home from training. Quite often he gets home before me and he usually leaves before me but we mostly get to spend the evening together even if I have assignments I will do them sat with Pablo. Our schedules can be intense but we have made things work so we always get to spend time together and when one of us is having a hard time the other does things to help out. We are a good team together which I think has helped us stay in a strong and happy relationship for the last two years. 

While I waited for Pablo to come home I had my laptop out and worked on an essay that I have for one of my classes. I didn't get to do that for long before the front door opened and Pablo walked in and threw his bag and shoes on the floor. Straight away I could tell he wasn't in a good mood something had annoyed him and he was trying to keep himself calm. He didn't notice that I was home at first but when he did I noticed the look in his eyes soften a bit as he never likes to take out his frustration on me which he's not perfect with but he tries and that's all I care about. Today I could tell he needed something to make him forget about today so I forgot about my essay and decided I'd make him his favourite snack to see if that would cheer him up a little bit. 

Pablo has always loved my homemade cookies so I made a batch as quickly as I could and put them in the oven as they only take 10 minutes to cook. While I waited Pablo went and showered and changed so by the time he was back downstairs the cookies were done so I put a few on a plate and gave them to him. He ate one of them and then halved the second to give some to me and I can't lie they were good but they didn't really seem to cheer Pablo up as much as I thought it would. Whatever happened while he was gone must've been worse than I thought as usually cookies does the trick but I'll have to get more creative today it seems. 

In the past when Pablo has had a bad day he likes to watch a sitcom so I thought I'd try putting Brooklyn nine nine on as we've watched that together before and he liked it. Today however it didn't seem to make any difference he just sat there staring at the screen not even smiling in the slightest. I would just ask him what's wrong but I've learnt the hard way that it's not always the best idea to do that as it can just make him more annoyed if he doesn't want to talk and it seems like he won't want to talk about whatever's bothering him today. As a sitcom wasn't working I thought maybe his favourite show might cheer him up but yet again it did nothing his eyebrows were still furrowed and he had a look of annoyance in his eyes. 

After that didn't work I tried every other trick I have up my sleeve from showing him tiktoks of cats I saved to cuddling with him as he loves to cuddle but none of my tricks seemed to work. That's when it hit me that he might be mad at me and that's why nothing I do works as he just doesn't want to be around me. I can't think of anything I would've done to make him mad but then again he can get mad over the most random things sometimes. Seeing as I couldn't make him feel better and may be making him feel worse I decided to just take myself upstairs and work on my essay to give him time to be on his own and hopefully be less mad. 

I tried working on my essay but I couldn't stop thinking about what I possibly could've done to make Pablo mad. We didn't fight before he left for training and we were texting before my lecture and during his break in training and he seemed fine then so I don't know what I've done wrong. Thinking about all of that just made me upset as I never like fighting with Pablo as he's not just my boyfriend he's my best friend too there is no one I'd rather spend my time with than him so when he doesn't want to be around me it hurts. Focusing on my essay went out the window quite quickly when tears started to fall from my eyes as I was so worried about whether Pablo will want to break up with me because I can't handle that right now. 

As my tears started to flow properly I had to stifle my sobs so Pablo didn't hear me as I don't need him knowing that I'm crying over seemingly nothing. That's when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and I panicked thinking Pablo had heard me crying and was going to yell at me for being too emotional. As the footsteps got closer I desperately tried to wipe the tears from my face so if he comes in here I can try and pretend I haven't been crying. Just as I feared Pablo opened the bedroom door and of course he could tell I'd been crying as I know my eyes and face were still red and puffy. He didn't say anything just walked to the bed and sat next to me so he could pull me into his arms which I really didn't expect. I looked up at him to see if he still looked mad but he didn't his expression had softened and if anything he looked like he felt guilty. 

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to make you mad" I said 

"It's ok you didn't make me mad" he said 

"Then what made you so mad that nothing cheered you up?" I asked 

"Training was frustrating and the guys kept making fun of me so I was just in a bad mood then I came home and you made me cookies which did make me feel better but then I wanted to see what else you would do to make me feel better but I see now that doing that was a bad idea” he said 

"So you aren't mad at me?" I asked

"No not at all and I'm sorry that I did that I really didn't mean to make you cry in fact that's the last thing I wanted I can promise you I'll never even do that again I'll always communicate my feelings with you so this doesn't happen again" he apologised 

"You better not do this again" I laughed 

"I definitely won't and I'm going to make it up to you" he said

He started on making it up to me straight away by laying down and getting me to cuddle into his chest as he knows that's my favourite way to cuddle. That wasn't the only thing he did he also played with my hair as he knows that I like that and he gave me a lot of kisses which always make me happier. We spent most of the rest of the day cuddling the only time we stopped was when Pablo ordered food from my favourite restaurant for dinner even though I'd told him I'd forgiven him already he insisted that he still had more to do to make up for making me cry which he said he was going to do for the rest of the week which is fine by me if it means I get to spend quality time with him. 

[kakashixhatakesxwhore]

Poor Communication

Pairing: fwb!Kakashi x f!Reader, Iruka x f!Reader

Summary: During a risqué rendez-vous with Kakashi, he loses himself and goes a bit too far. He leaves you upset and you get pepped up by local sweetheart, Iruka Umino. When he gets back, Kakashi is miffed, but who is he to get in the way of a smile he'd never seen so bright?

W/c: 2.1k

Warnings: Cursing, mean-mean things said about the reader as your inner dialogue, sexual subject material but no real smut, jealousy

A/n: uh i got nothing lmk if this sucks or if you want a pt 2

Masterlist💿

Something pained you, in the pit of your chest and on your left buttcheek.

You didn't even want to look at him while you put your clothes on. But, then again, why would you want to look at him, right now?

The lights flickered on and you turned your head sharply away from him. The tears that teetered on your waterline were ready to fall, but they could be held back if you just didn't look at him - easier said than done.

"I was-"

"I have to go," you said quickly, standing up as you pulled on your skirt.

The words he was forming caught in his throat and Kakashi started again, "Where-"

"Home," you nipped. "My house."

"Okay," he said slowly.

And that was that.

He let you leave with no resistance, because why wouldn't he? Why would he notice something being wrong with you, let alone inquire? Why would he sprinkle a smidge more care into your regular arrangement after smacking you around like he never had before?

It was like he hated you.

Ah, fuck, he probably did the entire time - you were just too fucking dumb to pick up on it. Even though you weren't properly in a relationship with him, your stupid ass deluded yourself into thinking he actually kind of liked you. And it took you until he smacked your ass so hard that he drew blood to realize he never actually would? Ha! What a desperate, loveless bitch - absolutely fucking pitiful beyond belief!

You were thanking the stars that he was sent out on a long-haul mission the very next day.

You wouldn't have to see him for a while.

Which meant you could forgive yourself for how stupid you had been, while your asscheek healed.

But, you refused to forget. You couldn't forget.

How could you forget how fucking idiotic you were? Sharp as a fucking marble, you stupid cunt. How-

Every night, for weeks, just before you closed your eyes, that voice in your head would make you cry. It would say awful things, just to make you sob so hard that you would pass out for the night. You'd wake up with your eyes practically glued shut, which only ever made you feel worse.

It was like you were an alcoholic, but you had swapped booze for a deeply rooted self-hatred.

You were drowning in your sadness, almost willfully, for weeks. Only the veil of mortality separated you from a ghost as you floated hither and tither, around the village, alone, for weeks.

Weeks.

Drowning, until you met a lifeguard.

"Baking something sweet, soon?" Iruka asked you with a dazzling smile as you held a sack of sugar in the middle of a refinery.

"Oh, no," you replied, staring at his grin as if it were foreign. "I drink a lot of sencha."

"Cripes," he chortled easily. "You'll get a few cups out of that sack, eh?"

Unbelievably, you found a small chuckle coming from your throat. You tore your eyes away from his mouth and, in a softer voice, you hummed, "Maybe a few... but something sweet would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"Well, I'm quite the baker, if you ever want a hand," Iruka said without edge.

You took him up, and he had asked you on a date before the cookies were in the oven, the next day.

With as sweet of a voice as you could muster, you told him you couldn't - that you were quite interested - but you couldn't, not yet.

Iruka smiled, to your surprise, and told you that was just fine, that he would wait for you.

Smartly, you didn't believe him. You readied yourself to see him on the town with someone else soon. Of course, you hoped and prayed that Iruka wouldn't let you down, that he wasn't just trying to get something on, but you didn't let yourself delude yourself again.

Instead of letting you down, Iruka began to build you up.

He took you out, all over the village, palling around - to izakayas, to plays, to open valleys, to the simple market square. Iruka never tried to hide you - no - he flaunted his friendship with you, like you were desirable.

It was very unlike another man, who had made sure to keep your meetings absolutely secret, who had only ever wanted to fuck you for entire evenings then act like a regular stranger in the day.

So, when Iruka asked you on another date, a month and change into your blossoming friendship, you took him up happily. That said, your smile couldn't have rivalled his, as it stretched ear to ear.

"Really?" He asked in a light voice. "Are you sure?"

"I'm really sure," you grinned.

Finally, you and Iruka were going steady.

He took you on date after date, though they only felt slightly different to the old hangs. You took that as a comfort, because you two had properly become friends before you had done anything even slightly risqué.

That was the obvious difference between your two most recent relationships; Iruka waited ages to touch you. And, when he did, he was sweet, calm, like he had a goal other than his own release in mind. There was no pain.

You liked it.

You liked it so much that your mind wholly shifted, got calmer, less painful.

..••°°°°••..

"Would you rather broccoli or cauliflower tonight?" Iruka asked gently as he rose from the table set the two of you were sitting at.

"Probably broccoli, unless you were hoping I'd say cauliflower," you murmured with a small grin.

Iruka smiled and took a step toward you. He leaned down to kiss the tip of your nose, humming, "Broccoli sounds wonderful."

You leaned up to connect your lips with his. His smile grew as his lips pressed against yours.

"You're wonderful," you replied as Iruka straightened. "What can I-"

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart," he chuckled, walking over to the kitchen. "It'll be an easy dinner tonight; let me serve you like you deserve."

Blood rushing to your face bashfully, you snickered a small curse and shook your head.

Then, there was a frantic knock on Iruka's door.

He poked his head out of the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed. "Could you...?"

"Yeah-" You were cut off by another series of knocks, now even more solid.

Face contorted in confusion, you went over to the door. Iruka went back into the kitchen and you could hear the faucet run. Just as another round of knocks rattled the doorframe, you screwed the doorknob right and swung open the door.

"Umino, we-" Kakashi's wide eye got impossibly wider as it jumped around your face. "What... Why aren't you...?"

For some reason, he couldn't choke anything out. Typical.

"Why am I not what?" You scoffed. With a roll, your eyes landed on Guy, behind Kakashi, and you smiled sardonically at him, "Hello, by the way."

"Hi," he replied meekly, before Kakashi stood in front of him.

He was trying to get your eyes on him, but you leveled your head to stare straight through his chest.

"Why are you here?" Kakashi asked critically, like he had anything to be mad about.

"I'm spending the night with Iruka," you remarked with a slight contempt. "And why the fuck are you here?"

It was a great question; one that Kakashi seemed to not have an answer for. He seemed to be particularly tongue-tied today. In the beat of silence, you looked up at the silver haired shinobi.

His face was unreadable, as per fucking usual. The only thing that gave you any inkling of how he felt in the moment was the sound of his breath.

He was breathing so shallowly, you thought he was hardly drawing breath at all.

"Well?" You prompted, your voice coming out a bit more hollowly than you would have liked. "Do you want me to get Iru-"

"No," Kakashi said heavily. "It's fine."

"Peachy." With a slight nod, you took a step back from the door. "Alright, then, uh... you two have a... a night."

"Thanks," he spat, coal black eye turning even darker.

You shut the door as politely as you could and then sighed as deeply as you needed to. When you turned, you were met with Iruka in the kitchen's doorframe, a frown etched on his face.

Perhaps you and Iruka needed to have a chat...

• • • • • • •

"Have a night?" He scoffed for the fifteenth time. "Have a fucking night? What the fuck does that even mean?"

"It means you shouldn't drink yourself into alcohol poisoning tonight," Guy reasoned, pulling the blue bottle away from Kakashi. "What's this? Bottle number four? Don't you want to wake up tomorrow?"

"No," Kakashi said bitterly.

Guy just sighed, sliding the unfinished sake bottle to the other end of the table, "I don't understand what the issue is. She was missing, then we found her - you still haven't even told me why you thought she was missing in the first place, when she was just at her boyfriend's-"

"He's not her boyfriend," Kakashi interjected tersely.

Guy delivered a flat look. "She wouldn't spend the night with someone who wasn't her boyfriend."

Kakashi knew that wasn't entirely true, but he pursed his lips to keep from telling Guy about the innumerable nights you had spent together.

He didn't want you to be known as someone who would spend the night with someone who wasn't her boyfriend; that was a reputation blow you didn't need.

Instead, he simply stated, "She never called him her boyfriend. It was just, Iruka."

"Woah, Kakashi," Guy chuckled playfully, though a flash of seriousness darted behind his eye. "Why are you saying his name like he's your rival? Shouldn't we be happy that poor, virgin, Iruka is finally getting some action?"

The thought made his skin crawl and Kakashi thought he understood what his issue was.

He hated the image of someone else touching you.

Oh, selfish, sure - but laughable. You weren't his, he had no claim over you. Stars, what a fool, so whipped over some puss - he was swimming in muff.

Why did he even limit himself to you in the first place?

Well... because you had a different kind of pussy... the kind of pussy that coaxed wild amounts of cum out of Kakashi... the kind of pussy that no other bitch could attain with any amount of kegel exercise... the kind of pussy that Kakashi could get lost in for hours, then could bring him back just as fantastically.

He wanted you bouncing on his cock, and his cock, alone.

"Hello, Earth to," Guy snipped, snapping his fingers in front of Kakashi's unfocused eye. Kakashi looked at him seriously and Guy sighed, leaning over the table, "You really aren't happy for Iruka, huh? Why?"

"I am," Kakashi lied, though poorly. So poorly that it threw him off. "I just... she should... she was my medic."

"She was reassigned to a different grouping years ago," the dark haired man laughed. "You haven't seen her as a medic in forever. Actually, I didn't even know you two saw each other outside of assignments-"

"Well, we did," Kakashi snapped as he reached for that goddamn bottle of sake.

°°••....••°°

He put in a mission request the very next day, after he scraped himself out of bed. Kakashi was told he was on the top of the list, but there was nothing to his standard available - he asked to be put in the next group that was leaving that day for some shit B-rank mission - of course, the Hokage allowed it, though a bit confused.

On the mission, Kakashi fucked the other jonin in the group; a kunoichi named Aina.

She couldn't get him there - he had to think about you. He had to cover her mouth to conjure your perfect whimpers and moans in his mind as he screwed his eyes shut so tightly that they hurt.

He got no sleep that night, but not because he was having so much fun that he didn't want it to end. He told Aina to get going immediately, then tossed and turned, and paced, all around the inn room he had rented for himself.

He was so mad that you had ruined other women for him that he pushed the team to complete the mission within the day.

They were back in the Leaf before supper, just for the entire group to see you and Iruka heading back to the village as well, baskets of wild berries and flowers on your arm and his.

You didn't see the group - didn't see Kakashi - being so absorbed in whatever apparently hilarious story Iruka was telling.

Fuck - Kakashi was ready to start pulling is hair out by the root.

That was what you wanted? Flowers and berries and terrible stories? He could have given you that!

Why did Iruka get to give you flowers? Why did he get to spend whole nights with you?

Why didn't you ever ask to do that with Kakashi?

Just seeing you smile at Iruka, Kakashi knew he wasn't mad at Iruka for stealing his girl, or at you for pushing him away.

He was mad at himself for never realizing that you didn't look at him like that. He was mad at himself for convincing himself that you might have liked him as more than as just a fuck.

He wanted to get to love you, and he wanted you to love him.

Why didn't you want to love him anymore?

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Ten

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Later than usual, sorry! But I've been busy with a whole load of shit ngl, it's just been stress:) Let me know if anyone else wants to be added to the taglist though, I realise my updating is a bit sporadic? Maybe? Just a little? Lmao, anyway here's 10, hope you enjoy!

| Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

taglist: @thelastemzy

Masterlist

Jacket potatoes were a fucking delicacy.

Any Brit back home would tell you that. You could top ‘em with all sorts; Chilli, Tuna, Cheese, Chicken, Stuffing, Coleslaw, Bacon, Gravy, Bolognese— some people even liked them plain. But my favourite, as well as the only real and true way to serve a jacket potato, was with an ungodly amount of butter and baked beans.

Being in the States, it was a rather hard dish to come by. But, seeing as Marshall always appeared to go above and beyond, beans (No, none of that shoddy American shit) could be found in the little basket he’d gone and gifted me the day before. A little wicker bowl full of goodies to soothe that little ache of homesickness. 

I smacked the can down onto the countertop and levelled Rosie with a long stare.

“You’re serious?” She asked me around a wary glance, extending her arm out cautiously to get a better look at the bright blue tin as though she thought the contents might just reach out to try and grab her back.

“Deadly.” I remarked, attempting to keep my smile hidden when I met her question with a raised brow, “You’ll love it.”

Rosie didn’t look too convinced about that fact and yet, she rolled up her sleeves and took a seat at the counter to watch me work, helping out with the few things that she could. 

She had waltzed in through the front door a while earlier, just a second after I’d made it up the stairs, and the grin she’d worn when she had spotted me had had my heart warming and the pair of us wandering into the kitchen, arm in arm and already talking at a mile an hour. 

I was sauteing some mushrooms in a pan after having peeled and diced them up, whilst she kept a keen eye on the warming potatoes. “So Dad’s finally found some inspiration then?” Rosie asked me after a while, peering into the oven.

I smiled when I peered over at her, seeing how the orange glow of it washed over the side of her face to softly illuminate her features. “Seems so, we got a lot done but he was on a roll by the end of it.” I told her in reply, shaking the pan again and blinking at the sizzle that sparked up, “What do you mean anyway? Finally.” I dragged out that last word in a small singsong which made her chuckle as she stood to her full height once more and turned.

“He’s been trying to write for a couple weeks now, I think. Or months.” She shrugged, stepping back to watch the mushrooms fry with a slight wrinkle of her nose, “Not sure, but he keeps complaining about it whenever he’s on the phone.”

With a small hum, my eyes flickered back over to her, then to the pan again, “He didn’t mention it.”

Rosie blew out a faint chuckle and leant back against the counter, knuckles wrapping around its edge, “Why would he? He hates jinxing himself.”

It was cute that she noticed things like that about him, something I’d begun to note in the short time I’d been staying with the two, but I didn’t know... A large part of me wished that Marshall would have said something about it before, or at least alluded to it. It made me feel a bit bad for bowing out so early now. 

Still, my mind was quickly recaptured by the task at hand and then the story that Z deemed to tell me about, apparently a teacher thought that one of her friends was a shoo in for these auditions that they had coming up soon. The familiarity of the scene made me think back to Lottie, to everything that was happening back home, and I wished, silently and not for the first time, that it could be possible for a person to exist in two places at once. 

The spuds took their time baking but soon enough they were ready and piping hot, fluffy on the inside and with a crisp exterior. Rosie gathered up the butter and cheese at my signal, face lighting up at the prospect of being able to drown her own in the latter, whilst I pinched the tops of the spuds with a clean tea towel and plated them up, spattering them with a small amount of herbs.

I was going to keep Marshall’s wrapped up in tinfoil, if only to save it from going all horrible before he had the chance to try such a delicacy, but thankfully he’d worked his way back up the stairs just in time. I wondered how he’d managed it.

“Hey, you’ve got table duty.” Rosie exclaimed as soon as she saw him bustling over the threshold, handing the cutlery she was already holding to him without a second thought, which caused Em to blink down at his hands whilst he struggled not to drop the sudden weight he'd just been shafted with.

“‘Scuse me?” Marshall prompted, brow furrowed as his gaze wandered about the rest of the kitchen. I wondered what he thought of the bubbling pot of red sauce sitting on the hob, as well as the absurd amount of butter both Rosie and I had already lumped onto our steaming plates.

“You can set the table, Dad.” Z explained as she jumped back to help me with the mushrooms, her voice edging the line of a whining lilt, “We cooked! So it’s only fair.”

Marshall stared at her for a second longer before he ultimately snorted, “Right.” He murmured, recapturing his hold on the silver he held and eyes finding mine, before he spun round on his heel and left the room once again with a small smirk. When he returned, his plate was almost ready and just about to be loaded up with– “The hell’s that?”

I withheld my snarky reply in favour of smirking when Rosie answered for me, her eyes widening in the face of her father’s obvious leery expression. “Beans, Dad. El told me it’s one of her favourite meals, she wanted to share it with us.”

It wasn’t hard to hear the undertone there, the kind that told him to keep quiet on how he felt about the bubbling bowl I was currently holding because Z obviously didn’t want me feeling disheartened in any way. It was adorable, as was the stern face she’d paired with it, the same face that her dad found hard to waver against. His shoulders slumped ever so.

“Right.” He repeated for the second time tonight, dragging the first syllable out a tad, “Looks good?” He tried. 

I had to laugh then, “That a question or statement, Mathers?”

His eyes flickered over to meet mine, but I motioned for Rosie to get a start on heaping the cheese we’d grated onto her plate, the girl’s responding grin was giant. 

“I–” Em appeared stumped for a split second before he eventually just pressed his lips together and decided to jump in on helping us. Although he did complain when he spotted the frying pan sat off to the side, “Mushrooms too?” But with Rosie’s short warning of Dad, Marshall only appeared to raise his hands in mock surrender and then moved over to grab the plates so that he could carry them off into the next room.

I shared a conspiratorial smile with the younger girl before we followed after him, the three of us settling into the same seats as we had occupied the day before. Marshall still looked wary, even with his beans being hidden beneath a thick layer of cheese that I figured he had reasoned to himself would mask whatever taste was under it, but Z, to my utter surprise, looked ready to dig in.

“Changed your tune there, lovely.” I mentioned with a sly smirk, my gaze lingering on her long enough to catch the sheepish reaction she bore before she just shrugged and dipped her head around a grin, fork already in hand.

“Smells good.” Was the excuse she used and so I softened my face into a smile too.

“Well you helped so of course it does,” I quipped easily, picking up my fork as well before nudging Em’s forearm, “Come on, you big baby. Just try it. If you hate it, I’ll order you whatever you want. On me.”

That had him rolling his eyes, but he picked up his knife and fork with a determined expression.

I bit back a round of chuckles I could feel bubbling in my throat and used my chin to getsure for the pair of them to get stuck in. Rosie was quick to tear into hers and I was silently thankful for the way the potato easily broke apart under her knife, its texture fluffy and golden.

“Oh wow, this is so good.” She blew out the second that she could, already moving onto her next bite whilst Marshall was still working his way up to trying his own. “When you first showed me those beans? I was so sure I was gonna puke.”

I snorted quietly at that image, perfectly content with the plate of home I’d gone and conjured up for us, whilst Em’s face wrinkled. “Well if you had hated it, you’d have only had your Dad to blame, he’s the one who bought them.”

“I jus’ looked up British shit, they were top five on every list.” Marshall defended before he finally took a bite, slow in the way he raised his fork to his mouth, his eyebrows raising a little as he let the taste settle in, “Shit.”

My eyes narrowed a tad around the smile that I was chewing on to keep hidden but I watched him cut further into the potato, beans and melted cheese puddling around the sides. “That a good shit or bad shit?”

“Three dollars.” Z acknowledged, voice muffled by the food she still had in her mouth.

I laughed at that and shook my head in fond amusement before I turned to Em for an answer. He took another bite, a big one, something I took to be a good sign, and just nodded. My brow quirked in hope. “So good?”

He hummed, one shoulder shrugging, “Ain’t gone die if I finish it.”

Snorting, I could only shake my head at him, hiding my smile behind my fist. “Idiot. You like it.”

Marshall rolled his eyes, though the gesture was obviously fond as he raised his fork to point at me, “Just grateful you didn’t burn down my damn house.”

Rosie’s giggles filled the room and with them we all settled in to enjoy. Marshall asked after his daughter’s day and the girl was all too happy to ramble and rant to him, face lighting up at the prospect of it. She mentioned her English lesson, the book they had started on and how her teacher had explained this one paragraph to her class, then she went into detail about the play that was set to happen just before the Christmas break. I chimed in here and there, putting in my two cents where it was worth, but in truth, I was perfectly content to simply listen and watch on. 

The clean up that followed was mainly made up of me and Z messing around and singing to the music Em had stuck on, never the type to linger in silence. The pair of us did manage to rope the man into joining us once he had loaded up the dishwasher though, something he thoroughly complained about but followed through on all the same. He was just a sucker for his kid's smile, I reckoned, went above and beyond for the girl and it was all too easy to see.

It was a lot later that we all fell into a comfortable silence around the tele, Rosie sat crossed legged on the sofa with her homework whilst I offered help whenever asked. Marshall had joined the two of us a little later, after his phone had rang and he’d stepped out to take the call, he’d padded into the room with only the explanation of ‘Royce’ before he’d fallen into the seat beside me. I’d hummed but was too distracted by Rosie’s newest question to prod him further on it.

By the time she had finished up, handwriting practically perfect, her books had fallen into a heap on the coffee table and she’d slowly but surely scootched her way further up the sofa. I kept my eyes on the tele when I’d outstretched an arm in quiet invitation but hadn’t missed the grin she’d given in turn before she’d settled into my side, head coming to rest on my thigh. I caught Marshall’s watchful stare from out of the corner of my eye but didn’t glance back over, smiling at the scene that played out on the screen whilst my hand smoothed over the girl’s hair. 

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed between us before Marshall’s quiet cough broke the peace we’d since created, but the sky was more of a hazy cast of dark blue now rather than the ruddy auburn that had lined it much earlier. I stifled a small yawn.

Rosie sniffed softly in my lap, twisting a tad to cast her Dad a quizzical glance. Throughout the duration of the film that Z had picked out for us to watch, the man had gotten close enough that he now only had to drop his shoulders to poke at her cheek.

“Bath and bed, kid.”

The scrunch that overwhelmed Rosie’s face at the order had me grinning and so I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before moving my hand to pat her shoulder. “Up and at ‘em, soldier. Heard what the old man said.”

“Do I have to?” Z huffed, just as a hand came up to rub at her eye. Marshall’s mouth ticked ever so slightly into an amused smirk, his fingers replacing mine in an effort to smooth the front of her hair. 

“School tomorrow.” He reminded her all too gently, dropping his hand lower to shuck the underside of her chin which only made the girl smile sleepily. “You know the deal.”

She sighed heavily in retort, but did eventually make the move to push herself up and out of my lap, legs stretching across the couch cushions before her feet found the floor. It was just as she went to stand that she turned to face me though, her expression a little meek but rapidly losing the residual somnolence it had just held. “Will you do my hair again for me tomorrow?”

I was caught by surprise at the question she’d asked. I wouldn’t lie, but I didn’t let the reaction show as I smiled warmly back at her, reaching out to tap a finger on the top side of her hand, “‘Course. Anything you want, lovely.”

Rosie’s little grin had her eyes squinting and forced the corners of her mouth to pinch upwards in a move that only deepened her dimples. She leaned over to give me a hug of thanks, whispering the word into my ear before she pulled away and rounded the sofa, kissing her Dad’s cheek on her way out.

“No messin’ about, Z. An early night, ‘kay?” Em reminded her, leaning against the back of the couch so that he could tilt his head far enough to see her, “I’ll be up soon.” He added, his words met by another charming grin whilst she shook her head in fond exasperation and slipped out of the room, leaving just the pair of us and the tv. 

It was a long while before Marshall disturbed the quiet once more, the film we’d been watching had finished some time ago and so now all that was playing on the screen was a couple repeats of South Park and the odd advertisement. “She’s different with you.” I heard him voice.

With a furrowed brow, I let my head turn to find him. He was perched in the same position he had been, but now with an arm stretched along the back of the sofa and a knee bent to fill the small gap that still separated us. “What d’you mean?”

When he replied, it was low and soft, a murmur if not for the sincerity behind it. “She don’t act like that ‘round nobody.” He told me, fingers jumping in a steady rhythm on the back of the cushion, his eyes peering between mine. “Me, sure. She’s a fuckin’ koala when she wants to be, but with other people… it’s something she second guesses.”

His words confused me. Or rather, threw me. “I don’t get it.”

He dropped his gaze, blowing out a small but mirthful huff through his nose, his thumb dragged along the edge of the sofa. “You known her what, three days? And she don’t think about gettin’ close to you. Sure she’ll be coy with it, sly even, but that’s ‘cause she don’t wanna overstep with you. Like that right there–” Em said, getsuring his chin out towards my lap, I followed the gesture, then blinked back up at him, remembering the way she’d approached me, “She don't do that with people.”

My face must have given away to the fact that I was still trying to process the weight of what he meant, because his smile was soft, warm even.

It made me think of Lottie, who was always so open with her affection, who gave it out without thought or focus, her smile always great, always there. Then of myself. I tended to avoid affection where it mattered, a reason as to why I’d never let many people too close to my heart, why I hadn’t had something fulfilling to divulge when Marshall and I had spoken about past exes, I supposed. It baffled me to see some of the same tendencies I’d shown growing up in Rosie, in a girl too sweet, too loving, too happy to be so aware of how to guard herself.

I looked to him again and let him have his fill, allowed him to see how his words, the sentiment behind them, had pierced through the armour I’d long since moulded around myself. 

One side of his mouth lifted and he used the hand resting on the back of the sofa to circle my wrist, leaning in a little closer, filling that previous gap. “Ro’s had her mom, her sister. They’ve been there. They love her, and she loves them. I know that. But with Kim, it ain’t always parentin’, it’s fun and games. It’s showin’ off, not showin’ up. It’s messin’ around until she finally grows–” 

He paused there, eyes flickering left and then right as his tongue swiped over his lower lip, almost as though he was resentful of the term he wished to use. 

He settled for, “Bored. Or maybe jus’ tired, you know? She’s there until it's her time to step up and do the job she’s ‘sposed to, til it's missed recitals and forgetting pick-up, that’s when she reacts. Pulls away.”

He sighed, gaze caught on his fingers, on the easy way they engulfed my wrist. His thumb brushed over the freckle that dotted the bone, and continued on through a slow exhale, “Ayla, she’s a lot older. She does her own thing, she’s got school, work, friends. Z obviously filters into all that, but there's always been a small divide. I like to think it’s just ‘cause of their ages– it’s how me and Nate worked growin’ up, you know? But there’s this whole idea that fuckin’ messes with my head, like maybe it's all down to me. Ayla’s my niece, but she’ll always be one of my own. I love that girl as much as I love Rosie. More than life itself. But I know I hurt her, havin’ her here, watchin’ me fail and fuck up whilst she was growin’ up. And jus’, maybe I can’t help but wonder if I ever let her know that enough, that I loved her, if it’s that that’s impacted her relationship with Z.”

I was quick in my attempt to soothe his doubts, the hand he didn’t hold jumping over to lay across the top of his own. “I’d call you an idiot, but I reckon you already know that.” I chuckled halfheartedly, though my smile was genuine when his eyes snapped up to meet my own, “You’re an amazing father, Em. I honestly believe that with my whole heart. And it doesn’t take much to see it either. I mean, I was here not even a day and was so quick to see the love you held for your daughter. I saw it in your reactions too when we called, when you spoke of them, however brief it was. I haven’t met Ayla but I don’t think I’d have to for me to see that your worries are just that, worries. I’m sure that girl loves you in the very same sense that I am sure that she knows you love her. That you see her as much more than just your niece.”

My thumb trailed over the back of his hand, skimming knuckles, taking in their slight discoloration, the faint white lines that could have only been age old scars. I dipped my head a tad so that my gaze could align with his shadowed blues, prompting him into lifting his eyes from off the floor.

“I’m also honoured that you think Rosie’s comfortable enough around me to mention the gravity behind it, that you’d trust me with her company, let alone her affection.” I said sweetly, gifting him another smile, it was close lipped but one that appled my cheeks. His stare caught onto it, fingers tightening around my wrist by a fraction in a squeeze that showed only his appreciation. So I squeezed back, fingers fastening over the top of his fist. “Z’s hard not to love, she’s all of your best parts and more. Sometimes…” 

I took a small breath, fretful over saying what I had intended to until Marshall met my flickering gaze once more, silently prompting me on. I swallowed thickly, feeling the force of it travel through my throat, but did follow through, “Sometimes it’s just hard raising kids, I guess not everyone’s made out for the harsher reality of it all. Of having to be a parent and not a friend. I mean, it was forced on me in a way, I’ve been raising my siblings since Danny the day came along, since before I knew what being a mum meant. What one was.” The weight of that admission had me reeling for a split second, at the truth it held. But I pursed my lips before allowing my eyes to find Marshall’s once more, “Kim, I’m sure she tries, I’m sure it’s more than my mum ever did, ever could do, but it’s okay for you to fear that it’s not enough for Z, too.”

Marshall worked his jaw, blinking for a second before he eventually spoke, voice rasping with the emotion he felt. “Kid deserves the world.”

I found myself grinning at that, the teary kind which glossed over your eyes but was strong enough that you couldn’t prevent the fluid motion of it. It was without thought that my arms came up to wind their way around his neck and I relaxed further in the gesture when I eventually felt his face come to rest against my shoulder.

“She does.” I murmured, hand cupping the back of his neck, fingers resting over the fine hair which lined his nape. “She does.” I heard myself repeat again as my eyes slipped closed. 

When we parted, I watched as Em knuckled the corner of his eye, grunting faintly to clear his throat and rid the room of any tension that then clouded us. I felt the corner of my mouth twitch, but did look away towards the tele when he started to shift once more, giving him a sense of security that he hadn’t been caught out, that I wouldn’t dig too deeply into his reaction. 

“Thanks.” He murmured after a stunted moment and it was only then that I glanced back over to him. I smiled in turn.

“Nothing to thank me for.”

When we parted ways for the night, I chose to head on up to bed, mind so full of thoughts that I found it hard to latch onto a singular one, whilst Marshall stopped at the bottom of the staircase to gift me a quiet goodnight, eyes caught on the reflection of moonlight that crept its way across my cheek, the sight mirrored on his own face.

I didn’t know it then but I would eventually, he’d never felt so inspired.

So as I’d slipped beneath my duvet, my mind stuck on the words we’d shared, Marshall was back down in the studio, writing away once more. But this time, it was for a completely different reason.

[underoossss]

Let me help - Miguel O’Hara – 2

pairing: miguel ohara x f!reader

warnings: none

an: I wanted to continue their story so here’s a part two! these two get close and realize some things 🗣️

part 1 | masterlist

★★★★★★

“And then he shows up in his spider suit and a tutu around his waist!” You exclaim, arms going up in the air in an animated gesture.

You’re retelling your day to Miguel. He’s sitting on your couch –in your new apartment– lounging back and listening to you with an amused look on his face. He’s traded his suit for sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, looking relaxed and at home at your place; like he belongs there more than your carefully selected plants. You steer clear from that line of thought, there’s no point in believing he can like you more than a friend. You’re his friend, that’s why he’s so caring. Why he helped you find, furnish and paint the apartment. Why he always lets you hang out with him even if it’s just to scroll on your phone next to him while he works.

You’d finished your patrolling earlier today –there were no villains to catch– and had your ballet class with seven other variants of Spider Gwen before coming home and showering. Miguel arrived an hour ago, bribed by the idea of fresh double chocolate cookies you were going to make. He’d worked for them though, being your sous chef as you prepared the dough and warmed up the oven. Now you’re sitting sideways on your cream-colored couch, clutching a pink throw pillow to your chest as you laugh at today’s surprise.

‘How was your day?’ Miguel had asked and it somehow led to you telling him about Scarlet Spider showing up to ballet class to learn how to dance. He’d claimed you had an unfair advantage in battles, and he wanted to improve his fighting too. You had no idea what he meant, but who are you to keep him from learning something new? The anecdote he gave you to tell Miguel is a bonus.

“And did Ben, do it?” He asks, eyes scanning your face like he’s done from the moment he opened a portal to your living room. You’re not sure what he’s looking for when he does that, all you know is that you’ve noticed him doing it more frequently and that he must stop. Your heart stalls in a wonderful sort of panic every time he does. “Finish the entire class?”

“Yes he did but–” Your words are cut off by the sound of your timer going off. “Hold on handsome, I gotta get the cookies out of the oven.”

Leaving the throw pillow on the couch you stand and walk to the kitchen, Miguel’s stare a warm feeling as you pass him by. The sage colored walls you painted are washed in golden light as you turn on the light and proceed to turn off the oven. The decadent smell of chocolate fills the air the moment you take the cookies out and set them on the counter; a closer look confirms it’s going to be a delicious batch. You don’t know when Miguel left his place on the couch to follow you, but he’s leaning on the doorway when you turn around.

“You can’t eat them yet babe, they’re too hot.” You shake your head, an inevitable smile on your face as you meet his eyes. How is it that one person can make you feel so much joy? It’s been two months since you moved away from home with Miguel’s help, and though you’ve worked hard on yourself to be yourself more freely, you can’t deny his encouragement and support has made the process even more joyful. His presence alone brings you a sort of calmness you’ve never felt before.

“You should see how happy you look.” Miguel says as softly as his eyes gaze at you, again. With a fond shake of his head, he moves closer to stand in front of you, your back to the kitchen counter. “It’s good to see you happy.”

You look up at him, your smile turning sheepish as you meet his soft stare with an unsure one. “Happy in my home world, you mean. I’m always happy when…” I’m with you, you want to say but bite your tongue. “I’m in the society. Which brings me back to the story.”

Moving away from him and perching on the opposite countertop you pick up where you left off. You also purposely ignore Miguel’s searching gaze; it’s like he knows you’re changing the topic –you kind of are. Instead, you crisscross your legs and continue your story. “So Ben  goes through the class and leaves a changed man. Poor guy couldn’t feel his toes. 889 Gwen was teaching the class and she’s all business. She had him do pointe shoes on his first day can you believe that? He nailed the jumps though, gotta give him credit for that.”

“He kind of signed up for an advanced class pulguita, what was he expecting?” Miguel chuckles, motioning with his hand for you to go on as he moves to stand in front of you again.

Everywhere you move, he follows. As if the universe knows you’re trying to keep your distance to conceal your feelings, yet it pushes him closer to you to see if you’ll break. You honestly might.

“You’re right.” You laugh softly, accepting his hand when he reaches out. It makes your stomach flip. “I don’t think he’s ever coming back to class.”

“Probably not.” Your friend concedes, pretending to think about it.

“But then as all of us left the studio –you so kindly let us use, thank you again– three variants of me were walking the opposite way. They were repulsed by the idea of me doing ballet! Can you believe that?” You shake your head in amusement, eyes focusing on the cooling cookies. “What’s their deal?”

“All variants are different; you know their backstory is different than yours.” Miguel shrugs, his voice shifts into something almost sad when he notices the liveliness in your tone disappear. “I know you wanted them to be like all the Gwens.”

You frown, meeting his eyes briefly before looking away. He’s right, you were disappointed when they didn’t get along with you. You were different, a little more playful, had a little more fun; you didn’t see being Spiderman like a chore, it was something you were chosen for. There’s no use in saying it didn’t hurt when they acted this way because it did. Not finding a friend in yourself kind of messes you up.

“You’re right.” You mumble, lost in your thoughts. “They don’t care if they have friends or not, where I hate loneliness; they’re stoic but I cry if I get mad; they hate you and I love you and…”

You sense a skip to a heartbeat that you assume is yours as you sigh and look at Miguel. “And they hate ballet. Ugh, I got sidetracked, where was I? In the story?”

Miguel grins, a warm thing that flusters you right away. “You saw your variants as you left ballet.” His voice’s gotten low and soft, like a sweet caress to your ears. You love it when it does that, however rare it may be.

“Right! You should’ve seen their faces, the Gwens thought it was funny.” You chuckle, then furrow your brows. “Is it right to say their face when it’s also my face? I mean they’re technically me? You’re the multiverse expert here.”

Miguel takes a step closer, his height casting a shadow over both of you. You look up at him –you’d curse how tall he is if it wasn’t so attractive to you. “It’s their face.” Miguel says, briefly squeezing the hand that’s holding yours. “There’s only one you.”

Your stomach flips at his words, at his proximity, at the look in his eyes. The air around you changes, charged with something new but still familiar. It makes your heartbeat louder in your chest and even though you want to shy away from Miguel’s gaze –the one that’s not left you the entire evening– you can’t. Instead, you take your time and look; if he does it, so can you. You’re not expecting it to leave you so breathless.

It's not only his handsome features. It’s the openness and vulnerability shining in them as they all but adore you that makes your mouth run dry. You backtrack to all your previous interactions: his guidance when you joined the team, him helping you move in, the way he holds you close when you’re overwhelmed, the silent way you communicate when you’re both working in his lab.

“Have you always looked at me like this?” You ask, a breathy whisper between the two of you. Both of your hands holding one of his tighter, grounding yourself in the present moment.

Miguel’s free hand moves to cup your cheek, and you lean into his palm with the overwhelming need to be close to him. He nods. “Probably as long as you’ve loved me.”

His words make your eyes widen and Miguel smiles as your mind races to figure out when he could’ve found out. “Oh.” You squeeze your eyes shut.

They hate you and I love you.

Miguel’s hand on your cheek shifts to hold your chin gently, prompting you to open your eyes again. “It’s true, you know? I’m in love with you.” You confess again, knowing he values honesty. Knowing you can tell him everything, yet never realizing it could be this easy.

“I should’ve noticed sooner.” Miguel shakes his head, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. You’re sure he catches the shaky breath that escapes you, and the thrumming of you heart but you don’t care.

“I should’ve too.” You beam up at him, your blood buzzing under your skin with joy. “But I was too busy not letting it show that I didn’t notice how obsessed you are with me, babe.”

You begin to laugh at Miguel’s eyeroll, but he promptly shuts you up with his lips on yours.

It should be embarrassing, really, the way you melt in his hold and sigh at the feeling of finally kissing him. His soft bottom lip and gorgeous cupids bow you’ve wanted to touch for so long. Miguel’s arms go around you and press you close to his body, his shoulders hunching as he bends down to kiss you better. And it’s not embarrassing, not when the way he’s kissing you shows you he’s wanted you just as much. The subtle graze of his teeth soothed by his lips, and the way he opens you up to him.

 It’s passionate and slow, intoxicating in the best way. The two of you savoring of the feeling of intimacy you’ve been craving. His hands begin to wander, like he doesn’t know how to pull you any closer, while yours get to finally touch his hair and relish in his answering hum. It’s crystal clear to you, now. The pull between you and Miguel was always meant to be –that’s why your variants hate him and you adore him. That’s why you were close from day one.

“There’s only one you.” Miguel repeats his words from earlier, they’re whispered over your lips as you pull away. The tip of his nose rests next to yours, and you peck his top lip self-indulgently one more time.

“You might be biased.” You tell him, beaming up at him and rejoicing in the way his eyes soften. They look and look and look, and now you know what it means. “Or you want a cookie.”

“Both.” Miguel’s breathy chuckle is music to your ears as he takes a step back to let you hop off the counter.

“We could eat these watching a movie?” You smile over your shoulder, moving the cookies from the baking pan to a plate. “Hm?”

Miguel takes the plate of cookies and moves back to the living room instead of answering. “Come on, pulguita.” He says over his shoulder, relaxed and at home in your apartment.

“I should be offended when you call me that, you know.” You grin, grabbing napkins and joining him in the living room. “It’s not my fault you’re tall.”

“It’s not mine that you’re short…” Miguel smirks, then his features soften. “Pulguita.”

Hiding your joy and all the love that’s been locked away for so long seems impossible, so you don’t. Instead, you climb on Miguel’s lap where he’s settled on the couch and kiss him again, a barely-there brush of lips. His hands find your hips, fitting there perfectly like they were made to be there.

“You’re lucky I like it when you call me that.” You’re still delighted at the evening’s turn of events, and it must show on your face because Miguel leans in to kiss you again. Like he can’t help not to.

“I meant what I said earlier.” He whispers, looking into your eyes; serious but loving, Miguel in a nutshell. “I love seeing you happy.”

“I’m so happy.” You nod, happy tears gathering in your waterline as you compare the terrible thoughts and feelings of the previous months with your current life. How you thought everyone would be better off without you, but now notice the impact your love and care have on others. The man in front of you being an example. “It seemed impossible back then, but I am now.”

With a gentle touch, Miguel wipes a happy tear with a grin on his face. “That’s good, mi amor.”

“That one’s new.” You murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth before leaning back. “Miguel….”

“Hm?”

“It’s thanks to you, you know?” You say softly, focusing on your finger tracing his cheekbone. “I’ve done my part but… thank you, for everything you did to help me.”

Miguel begins to shake his head but your hands on his cheeks stop him. When his eyes scan your face, they find the sincerity that lies there because he looks away briefly in vulnerability. “You don’t have–” He starts then stops himself, grinning at your shining smile. “You can count on me for anything.”

“I know, but enough feelings or else I’ll cry again.” You whisper with a head shake, shifting on the couch so you’re sitting sideways again –your side to his front. “Pick a movie, handsome.”

Miguel takes the cookies from the coffee table, offering them to you as he turns on the TV. You never would’ve thought this could happen; that choosing your happiness would look like this. With the man you love, in your own place and doing the things you bring you joy. It feels like a dream, even more so when Miguel brings your body closer to his as whatever movie he chose starts.

★★★★★★

reblogs are always appreciated 🥹

[strangersteddierthings]

Gut Instinct: Chapter 5 - Saturday

[Art] [Ao3] [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Interlude] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five]

He decides on spaghetti. Mostly because tomorrow is grocery day and all he’s got is spaghetti ingredients. He presets the oven before getting some water into a pot to boil. He slices some French bread to make cheesy garlic bread and sets it to the side to finish later. He’s too tired from the day’s events to make meatballs, though, so he just browns the ground beef and pours the spaghetti sauce over it to heat up, moving onto the noodles and then back to the finish the bread.

While waiting for the ding of the timer for the garlic bread, Steve sets the table. Two plates, two forks, two glasses of water. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before for Robin but this feels different to him. Munson is a stranger, someone he barely even registered in school. When he spoke with Munson yesterday, that had to be the most words they’d ever exchanged. Steve was in school with him all four of his years there and so self-absorbed for most of it that he didn’t give anyone his parents wouldn’t have approved of the time of the day.

And now here he is, being a creep because it feels like every time he blinks, he sees all of Munson on display in the bathroom, boxers barely leaving anything to the imagination. He’s also thinking about how Munson had been standing. Like he was trying to be on display, standing as tall as he could while trying to look like he was disinterested in his surroundings. A conclusion Steve comes to because he’d done the same kind of postering when he was in high school; a way to draw attention and gauge the interest of people around him.

“Smells good in here, Harrington,” Munson’s voice brings him out of his thoughts. Steve, who was staring down at his dinner plate, looks up. Munson looks more relaxed, or at least, less terrified. His hair is still wet, making the Henley wet where his hair touches, and it looks longer and more tangled than when he got in the shower. It’s painfully clear that Munson did not use the conditioner. He’s just a few feet away from the table, his clothes in a ball in his hands. Munson looks good in the Henley, looks good in Steve’s clothes, and something like possessiveness runs through him.

Steve says, “Hope you like spaghetti,” because he thinks his brain has quit working for a moment, and he needs to get that going again. “Uhh, washing machine’s this way.”

They get Munson’s clothes going, mixed with some of Steve’s because he’s not running an entire wash cycle for that minuscule amount of clothing. He leads the way back to the kitchen, picking up the pace as he hears the timer. Munson fades into the background as Steve gets back into cooking mode.

He rescues the bread from the oven, using a nearby fork to transfer the bread from the baking sheet to a dish, depositing the sheet in the sink. Drains the water from the noodles and plops them into a Pyrex bowl he knows has a lid. He takes those two out to the table and sets them within reach of where he set the plates before returning to the kitchen to pour the sauce into another bowl, grabs some serving utensils and heads back to the table. He deposits the spoon into the sauce and the tongs into the noodles before pulling out the chair for Munson, heading around to his own seat.

“Did you… make this?” Munson asks, voice pitched a bit like he might be holding himself back from either laughing or having a mental breakdown. Steve's been there, he gets it.

“Hmm?” Steve hums as his brain starts to process what Munson said. Munson hasn’t sat yet, but he is approaching the table like it’s a startled animal that will bite him. Steve reaches across the table to drag the noodle bowl closer, removing the lid. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

“Like from scratch?” Munson has reached the table and is looking between the chair Steve pulled out for him and Steve himself. His face looks a little red.

“I guess?” Steve says as he drops a tongful of noodles onto the center of his plate. He then gestures at Munson’s plate with the tongs. “You hungry?”

Almost instantly Munson drops into his chair and pushes his plate closer. Steve drops a generous helping of noodles onto the plate, then ladles the spaghetti sauce on top, pushing Munson’s plate back to him before continuing to serve himself.

Munson eats like it might be his last meal ever. Or, more accurately, like it's the first one he’s ever eaten. He eats slowly, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of each bite. He closes his eyes when he takes a bite of the bread and Steve finds himself drawn to the look of bliss on his face.

When Munson’s eyes snap open suddenly, Steve doesn’t have the needed time to pretend he was looking at something else, so he decides to just be embarrassed about being caught, feeling his face heat in a blush but not looking away. If Munson is uncomfortable being stared at, he hides it well. “You made this?”

“You already asked that.”

“Yeah, but when you answered you sounded unsure so…”

Steve huffs a laugh, looking away and down to his own plate where he’s been twirling the same noodles around his fork for possibly the last five minutes. “Yes, I made this. Why are you so unsure of that? It’s spaghetti. Anyone can make spaghetti. There’s, like, two ingredients. Canned sauce and noodles.”

“I’ve never had anyone make me dinner before,” Munson almost whispers those words, but Steve hears them, head whipping up to look at Munson. His face is red, probably embarrassed by what he just said out loud. He doesn’t look at Steve, instead focusing his attention on the piece of garlic bread he’s shredding atop his plate for unknown reasons.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve remembers the mention of a Wayne, but he doesn’t know who that is. A person, clearly, since Max is going to ask him something if she sees him. So, Steve asks, “Wayne never made you dinner?”

Munson looks at Steve again, brows scrunched and with a slight frown on his face, like he can’t believe Steve knows who Wayne is. Which Steve doesn’t, but he realizes his question makes it seem like he knows a lot more about Munson than he truly does.

“Well, of course he’s made me dinner before but…” Munson trails off, eyes sliding away from Steve’s face to stare at a point behind him somewhere. “I guess it’s just been a while.”

“A while?” Steve isn’t trying to pry into Munson’s life, he’s just prone to asking most of the questions that come to his mind as soon as he thinks them.

“That’s just… how it goes, right? Growing up your family feeds you ‘cause you can’t do it yourself, but eventually you learn how to microwave a frozen dinner, right, and then they don’t have to worry about it. You can tell ‘em it’s one less thing they gotta worry about, feeding you, you know?” Munson says, then scoffs. “Or you don’t know. I dunno. Doesn’t matter. Wayne usually works doubles at the plant so he’s not home at dinnertime anyway. Besides, I meant like, someone not related to me hasn’t ever made me dinner, so thanks or whatever.”

Steve chooses to ignore the scoff and pointed words of ‘you don’t know’ and nods because he does know, actually, to an extent. When his parents were around his mom would make dinner. But the older he got, the less they were home. Steve had to learn to cook for himself. He took a cooking class in middle school just to learn the basics. Then, the more he learned, the less his mom cooked even if they were home. But Munson’s talking about his family, implying Wayne is family. One more thing on the list of Things Steve Knows About Eddie Munson.

It seems he’s been silent too long because Munson raises a questioning eyebrow at him. Steve doesn’t want to make assumptions or draw conclusions, so he avoids talking about family entirely and says, “Well, if you’re sick of frozen dinners then stick around. I’ll make you dinner every night. Breakfasts, too. You’re on your own at lunch time, though.”

“Why?”

Steve understands Munson’s baffled question. Why should Steve offer dinner to him, much less breakfast, too? They're strangers, still, and Steve’s not sure if Munson’s even accepted his truce. But Steve’s trying to be a better person than he was, and he’s got the means to help other people, so he’s going to. It also helps that Dustin cares an awful lot about Munson, and honestly? That alone would be enough for Steve to do anything in the world to make sure Eddie Munson ends up okay. He's not going to deny that the crush he's started to develop is playing a minor role in the offer, too. Saying all that out loud feels loaded, too heavy, so he decides to try a joke and says, “wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to not fix you breakfast the morning after, yeah?”

“Fuck,” Munson whispers, before meeting Steve’s eye. He heaves a sigh, like he’s lost a bet, but he’s amused by it and says, “yeah, Harrington, I’ll sleep with you.”

Steve almost chokes on his own spit. He shoots Munson a smile and then shoves the rest of his garlic bread into his mouth, so he doesn't have to verbally respond. The rest of dinner is silent.

Munson insists on helping clean up dinner. Steve tries to tell him that wasn’t necessary, since he is a guest in Steve’s house, but it seems unless Steve is going to physically restrain him, Munson is helping.

Being honest with himself, Steve really hoped Munson would just let him clean up alone. He needs a moment to collect himself. When Munson had just looked him in the eyes and said he’d sleep with him Steve’s brain had stopped functioning for a few seconds before he remembered that he’d offered to sleep in the rec room with him. He’s glad Munson’s taking him up on the offer, he’ll only be a few feet away if Munson starts to have a nightmare or something. However, he wants a moment or two to himself right now. When Munson said ‘yeah, Harrington, I’ll sleep with you’ his traitorous brain had supplied an entirely different meaning to that, making Steve hot under his shirt.

Not surprising to Steve, he's always had a thing for people who challenge him, that push back. Back in school he'd watched every single one of Munson's cafeteria rants, tracking his every movement with a carefully neutral expression on his own face. There hadn’t been attraction then, Steve found him kind of annoying, but he did admire him. Admired that Eddie wasn’t afraid to just be himself, or make his opinion on every little thing the entire cafeteria’s problem.

Or, maybe, he did have a little bit of a crush. Steve can’t really tell looking back. He likes Eddie now and that’s kind of scrambling his thoughts about the past.

“Where, uh, is the lid for this?” Munson asks, pulling Steve from his thoughts and reminding him of the situation. Munson, helping him clean up.

“The lid drawer is there, the one next to fridge,” Steve says. “There is no organization so, uh, good luck.”

Munson snorts and it sounds amused.

Under Steve’s instruction, Munson dumped the remaining noodles and sauce into a tupperware container and the bread into a Ziploc. Steve gathers the dirty dishes and washes them. This is done in silence mostly.

When Steve’s finished the last dish and set it to the side to dry, Munson has long finished his task and is leaning against the far counters. His arms are crossed and he’s looking down at the floor so all Steve can see when he tries to look at his face is hair.

“So,” Steve starts.

Munson doesn’t lift his head, but he echoes, “so.”

“To bed, then?”

Munson nods.

[nekrosdolly]

isolation

you and your beloved albert talk it out after an argument.

cw; baking, arguments, slight spousal neglect, albert is emotionally inept and always wants to be right, minor injury, albert wesker doesn't enjoy sweet things, reader likes to bake, reader is pissed off for most, if not all, of this, hurt/minor comfort, mentions of divorce, minor gaslighting, empathy discovery like WHOAAA, soft re4 wesker, .

pet names; darling, dearest (reader receives)

a/n; i really don't like this one if i'm honest but i need to force myself to write to keep my creativity going :/

you're upset. you and albert had a fight before he left for work and in typical albert fashion, he's ignoring the problem, which is how much time he spends at the lab. you know he loves you, so why do you seem like an afterthought most of the time?

now, you've been with him long enough to know that by the end of the day, when he's done at the lab, he'll try to sweet-talk his way out of really talking about the issue. it's annoying, truthfully. nothing gets resolved unless it's bothering him, too, and most of the time, it doesn't. 

you're baking your frustration out as he's just coming home. given that he's boiled you down to just a stay-at-home partner, you have nothing to do but do housework, and thus, nobody to talk to but yourself. when you're buried within your conscience like you have been, your emotions fester. 

like normal, he walks through the front door, takes his shoes off as well as his outercoat and sets them aside before scouting for you. 

"darling?" he calls out, first checking your bedroom and then the living room, before finally coming across you in the kitchen. he smiles softly at you as he approaches, his cold arms wrapping around your waist from behind. he presses a kiss to your neck as usual.

"i missed you today, dearest," he murmurs, watching as you brush eggwash onto the pastry you're baking. you'll be the only one to eat what you're making, given that your husband can't handle sweets the way you can. 

"yeah." you're unenthusiastic. you're still mad. he's pissing you off even more just by touching you and acting like nothing's wrong. he doesn't like your tone but brushes it off and gives you another peck. he senses your irritation and gives you a little squeeze.

"come now, darling, don't be so sour. " he sighs, resting his chin atop your head. you don't respond. instead, you turn to face him with the brush containing eggwash in your right hand tucked behind your back. using your left, you cup his face and lean in to kiss him, wearing a faux smile. he smiles softly, thinking you'd come around already.

he should've known better. he realizes that the moment the very sloppy and wet brush makes contact with his cheek, then right over his mouth. frozen, he stares at you. the eggwash is cold and wet and very unpleasantly viscous on his face.

"why did you do that?" he asks after rebooting his brain, blinking owlishly at you. he's yet to wipe his face off. the yellow-tinted liquid slowly dribbles down his face and gets into his mouth when he speaks.

you shrug and return to your pastries. all you really need to do is let them bake. albert walks to the sink and washes his face off of the eggwash, also spitting to get the flavor out. he dries his face off on his sleeve and keeps his distance as you put the tray of chocolate croissants in the oven and set a timer. 

it's not that he doesn't know what he's done wrong, it's more of how he's to address the situation. you typically let it go, which was his goal, but you're still upset. as if that was hard to tell by any means. you leave the kitchen, and thus abandoning him with his inner monologue. he notes the dishes in the sink from your baking escapade and decides there's nothing better to do than clean them while sorting his thoughts out.

he nicks himself on the knife you used for the dough once or twice because he's deep in thought. a human thing for him to do, but that's what you bring out in him- humanity. if he didn't love you, you'd be dead or a test subject. he sighs softly, dabs the blood off his hands with a paper towel nearby, and decides to finish the dishes later, even though the sink nearly full irritates him greatly. 

he instead decides to seek you out. if you're this mad, he should at least try to resolve the issue, right? finding you isn't difficult, you didn't go very far so you could check up on your croissants. you'd hate to mess them up.

he slides on the couch beside you with as much silence as he can manage, his phone out and in his hand to pretend like he's checking his messages (looking through his contacts), his arm along the back of the couch. he's quite literally just a space away but you're wired, like a caged animal, and he's not pushing his luck. every now and then, he looks over at you.

"what is it?" you ask, not sparing him a glance. you stare straight ahead at the wall across from you. 

"you're upset." he sets his phone aside.

"right." 

"why-"

you ache to slam your head against the wall as you cut him off. "if you've forgotten our argument this morning, then im afraid that's your own fault."

"right. okay." he runs his thumb over his lower lip in habit. it's very obvious to him (and likely anyone else) that you're tired of his shit. thoroughly fed up. you've been together nearly two years and nothing's changed, has it?

no. 

you turn your head to look at him. "is that all you have to say? genuinely? just "okay"?"

"what would you like me to say?" he furrows his eyebrows

you scoff. he can't be serious. "maybe that you're sorry? would that be so difficult for you? to admit that you're wrong for once?"

he's silent this time, calculating his response to have the best outcome. the last thing he wants is a divorce. he slips his glasses off and sets them aside, his free hand running through his hair

"im sorry," he starts, and you feel a little bit of reprieve, "that you feel that way."

not the best apology you've ever heard. definitely some room for improvement.

"what else are you sorry for?" you prompt, crossing your arms over your chest. he shifts in his seat, his elbows on his knees. 

"... i suppose i'm sorry for keeping you so couped up in here. i know how it feels and yet, despite that, i've done it anyway." his hand finds your knee and gently squeezes. his cheeks are red and you've succeeded in making him somewhat ashamed for being mean to you.

your hand on top of his, you give him a soft smile. "i accept your apology. you're forgiven." 

he nods, but his blush doesn't leave. it's like he's discovering empathy for the first time... 

instead of saying anything else, he scoots close to you and drapes himself over you. a soft chuckle escapes you as he remains quiet and unable to look at you. he drips neediness, the want for your love, as he feels bad for making you feel bad.

you give it to him, of course. it's not like you to deny him too much. gentle, warm fingers running through slightly stiff, gelled platinum hair. he doesn't care that you're messing it up, just that you're home and you're okay now. you're not mad at him anymore, you're not going to leave him because he's arrogant and mean.

"im a mean guy, aren't i?" he mumbles, still unable to meet your eyes.

"yes, you are. like a wet cat, honey." the slight smile in your voice is too audible and while he knows you're teasing him, he feels bad. he nods and kisses your temple.

"but i love you. you're my wet cat." a half-smile forms on his lips, which you turn your head to kiss.

"i love you as well."

[merowkittie]

Pampering gojo because I’m crying so bad RN and I love him ๐·°(৹˃̵﹏˂̵৹)°·๐

You’re sitting face to face on the floor in your living room. Your legs are on top of his and his legs are by your side. He holds a pink bottle of nail polish and blue in the other, he’s smiling at your lost expression at the TV. Your favorite show is on and you’re so distracted by the visuals, the light reflects off of your face and on to the small nail Polish in his hand. The lights are dim and it smells like vanilla and cinnamon from the oven and the candles around the room.

You look back at him with a smile and get back to massaging his hands. You take the nail Polish and place it on the coffee table. Then you begin, slowly pushing down onto the back of his hands, flipping his palm and drawing circles up to his wrists then slowly dragging your finger nails up his fore arm, and back down to the back of his hand.

You do that for a couple of more minutes and when you’re done, kisses are pressed along his hands, up his arms and one last one on his cheek.

“Are the cinnamon rolls done yet, baby?” He asks you. His voice is low, like a purr of a cat and his eyes are lidded, so relaxed.

Shaking your head no you put up ten fingers showing him, ten more minutes. He nods and places his forehead on your shoulder, breathing you in.

His white hair tickles your nose and your cheeks. You can feel his hands start to play with your locs. He twirls them and tugs at some. Your own hands come to play in his hair. Your fingers scraping at his scalp and the nape of his neck. He basically moans at your gestures and kisses your neck softly, ensuring you to go on.

“You’re such a puppy, toru..” You whisper softly into his ear. Not wanting to speak louder than normal or speak at a regular tone because of the quiet atmosphere around you two.

Those hands of yours left his hair and started to travel down his back, massaging those tight knots of his, though being wary of any bruises or recent scars he may have gotten from recent missions. Only you’d know how overworked he’d get and the stress that left on his broad sore shoulders.

He groaned as you worked your way around his back to undo those knots, your gentle but rough hands soothing him in ways he’s never been touched or treated before.

You begin to hum softly in his ears, letting time past as you both relish in each others touch. The oven timer rings and you unfortunately pull away from your man. He whines in protest but stops when you put your finger up in front of him and give him a stern look, like a parent to a child.

The cinnamon and icing fills the air again but stronger and Gojo feels the drool forming in his mouth already. Your sweet voice calls him over to the kitchen and you look divine standing there in those dim lights. Your brown skin illuminated and glowing from a candle on the counter. Your locs are pulled back by a bunny headband that gojo put on you earlier so you could do matching face masks. He’s so enticed by your entire essence.

“Satoru?” You lick your finger from the icing tilt your head at him. He can tell you’re a little confused from his staring so he just smiles at you and walks over.

He gets settled across from you on a stool and is about to grab one of the piping hot cinnamon rolls but you slap his hand away with a “shoo”. Instead, you grab a roll and place a hand under his chin, leaning over to feed it to him.

Gojo looks at you like you’re the only woman left on the world and he knows you’re the right one for him as he takes a bite out of that sweet cinnamon roll.

[adashoflavendermelancholy]

Joining and Mistakes

Ace liked being on the Whitebeard ship. It wasn’t just that the crew was nicer than some. It also had nothing to do with Whitebeard. Not really, that is. Pops was the main reason that he joined the crew. But, there was many other reasons. Like how easy it was to wander around the ship and not get caught. How he could listen into as many conversations as he wanted. Haruta often joining him during that. Or scare the others by leaping out of nowhere. Izou pretended to never get spooked by them, but the small twitch of their fingers told Ace otherwise. Then there was Thatch who jokes around with him. Always there with a funny comment or advice. Ace could swear the man was reading his mind sometimes.

With so many great people on the ship Ace wanted to help where he could. It was easy with the strength he had to lug things around of those a little weaker. Lighting the polite on fire so that the ovens, and heaters when they went out. Even easy for him to fight when the others didn’t want to.

No matter how he helped, at the end of the day it didn’t feel like enough. He knew that he spent too long trying to kill the old man. It was his fault and they shouldn’t trust him. The idea that it was just because pops took a liking to him that they even tolerated him… hurt. Ace wanted to prove that he was a great crew member that could not only pull his weight but others too.

Which is how they ended up in this mess. Ace was dead tired. He had been listening to everyone doing little jobs here and there. No one had mentioned anything to him about them. If he heard that something was annoying Ace would handle it. Unless it needed more than a glance to figure out how it worked. He moped the deck so the others wouldn’t have to. Cleaning the bathroom sucked but, that was just part of cleaning the bathroom. Hearing about Thatch and his tendency to not do his work had Ace sneaking into Thatchs rom to see if he could help. Turns out it was rather easy. If Ace kept a record of how much he was eating and if he caught anything. Marco would sometimes find siblings that had been escaping their check up locked in his room. While he didn’t like the locking up of a sibling it was nice to get everyone’s check up done. Ace made note of that and only locked them away in the medical bay after that.

After two months, 3 weeks, and six days Ace was tired. He was running low on medication. Something that Deuce said they would have to go out for. He didn’t think it was a good idea to leave just yet though. Not when he was still trying to prove that he belonged here. The reason this was a problem, was why everyone on the deck was now staring at him. Deuce next to him not quite letting him stand up yet.

“I’m fine.” Ace hissed, feeling more embarrassed then anything else. Just what kind of idiot falls out of the crows nest? Especially when he was just finishing up his shift up there. Honestly, Ace wished the sea would just swallow him up.

Deuce didn’t back away, still looking over his head. “Yeah, and I don’t have blue hair.” He said, making Ace pout more.

“Is everything alright son?” Pops asked, Ace couldn’t bring himself to look at the mans eyes. Not after literally falling face first into his drinking cup.

“I’m fine…just tired.” Ace muttered.

Deuce, the traitor, then ruined it. “How much medication do you have left? Should we take a detour sooner?”

Ace could hear the question resonate over the deck. Worry crossing their faces. Ace glared from under his bangs at Deuce. If it wasn’t for the small smirk on the mans face, Ace might have thought it was an accident. No, no he wouldn’t have. Deuce was the pettiest person Ace knew. There was no way that he would ever think the man didn’t mean to do anything. “It’s fine.”

“Ace.” Deuce said, now leaning in. “You ignored my question last time. I’m gonna have to look and count how many you have left. That’s not a problem unless you’ve been doing something you shouldn’t.”

“There my medication I can do what I want.” Ace said, back before his mouth could shut up. Deuce stopped smirking.

Rubbing his face Deuce knew. It was too late to take it back. “You are so stubborn and annoying. Dad we’re going to the next island for a pick up.” Deuce called out. Walking back to him room. He would have to write a report on this.

Leaving Ace to deal with the aftermath. Everyone wanted to know what Deuce meant by all that. Ace was trying not to answer. Looking anyway but at them. When Pops ruined it. “Son, what do you take medication for? If you need to stop at an island more often we can change course.” He said, sounding worried.

‘Why do people keep trying to bully men and ruining things?’ Ace wondered. He couldn’t not answer now. “It’s really fine. I was just close to needing a refill anyway. No need to go out of your way.” Ace mumbled. It wasn’t like he would die.

“Passing out isn’t something we wouldn’t worry about.” Marco said, tilting his head.

Thatch crouched next to him. “Are you going to die on me? After all the training I did for you?” It was a joke, and one that lifted the air a bit.

“No, I’m not going to die. I- It’s just narcolepsy nothing deadly.” Ace said, looking at Thatch. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Deuce just liked scaring people.

The others nodded, not really sure what that was. Ace relaxed now that they were leaving him alone. It was only once he got back that people began bothering him again. Now that they had a chance to read up on what Ace had. Pops even making it so Ace didn’t take the crows nest shifts anymore. Much to Ace’s annoyance. Not even letting him help around as much as he had been.

[cuttergauthier]

New Leaf | Two

Au Summary: In which a hockey sister falls for her enemy who also happens to be her brother's new teammate.  Yn Matthews and Matthew Knies never got along, what happens when Matthew becomes a Maple Leaf.

Matthew Knies x Matthews au

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN

Social Media | Real Life

National Hockey League | Toronto Maple Leaf

Word Count: 1.8k 

Au's Masterlist

Warning: This Story will contain Mature Language, Alcohol consumption, Against, fluff, Time jumps

I woke up at 7 a.m. so I could take a shower and have time to get ready.

Tomorrow, Matthew is going to be making his NHL debut. I talked to his brother last night, he said he was going to be in town at around 8 a.m.  He said he would take an uber to my apartment before going to see his brother. The boys have an early morning practice today with the rest of the day off.

I know sooner rather than later I have to tell my brother about the fact that I know Matthew’s family. I’m so excited yet nervous to see the Knies family in Toronto I can’t even let myself worry about my brother right now.

I went and took a shower, once I was done, I curled my hair and did some natural makeup. I decided to wear some black washed high waisted skinny jeans with a beige long sleeve scoop neck bodysuit. Once I was done getting ready it’s 8:15 a.m.  i texted Phil to see if he was on his way.

Yn: have you guys landed yet?

Phil: Yes, i’m on my way to your place right now!

Yn: Perfect, i’m making myself some breakfast, do you want some?

Phil: Yes please, i’m starving!

Yn: You got it, see you soon!

I put my phone on the kitchen counter before making my way to the fridge. I opened the door and grabbed some eggs and an avocado. I made my way to the oven and started cooking the eggs. I put two pieces of toast in the toaster, one for me and one for Phil. Once they were ready I mashed the avocado and put it on the two pieces of the toast before putting the egg on top. As I was about to sit down to eat there was a knock on the door. I walked over and opened the door. Phil was standing there smiling.

“Hey Yn, I missed you” he said before wrapping me in a hug.

“I missed you too Phil, come in, I made avocado toast.” I said smiling.

“Yum.” he said as I closed the door and we made our way to the kitchen.

I put his plate on the table and he sat down.

“Do you want anything to drink?” i asked.

“Water please.” he said, i chuckled.

I went to the fridge and grabbed him a bottle of water.

“Thank you” he said when i give it to him.

“You’re welcome.”

We ate in silence, once we were done i put our empty plates in the sink and we both made our way to the living room and sat down on the couch.

“So I need to ask you something,” he said nervously.

I looked at him, raising my eyebrows.

“Oh no, is it bad?” i ask

“Depends how you look at it”

“What is it?”

“My parents are taking Matty out for dinner later on, they want you to join us, they miss you”

“Oh god” I groaned.

“Will you join us?”

“Yeah, but only because I miss your parents, if Matthew gets on my nerves I'm leaving.” I said seriously.

“Perfect and don’t worry he’ll be fine, especially since it’s with my parents” he said and i nodded.

“Does he know you’re here right now?” i ask.

“No, i didn’t tell him but i know he had practice this morning”

“True… what time are we going to dinner with your parents?”

“5:30, Then my parent’s want to explore Toronto with him and who better to show us around then you” he said smirking.

I rolled my eyes.

“Fine, I guess it can be that bad right?” i said

“Nope you’re going to have fun” he said, making me chuckle.

Phil left earlier to go to John Tavares’ house, that’s apparently where Matthew is staying, I told him I would meet them at the restaurant.

I am currently studying a little bit before I have to leave. My phone rang next to me, i looked to see that my brother texted me.

Auston: Are you busy later?

I stared at the text nervously, what do I tell him? I can’t exactly lie to him. But if he didn’t know about me knowing Matthew he’s going to now.

Yn: Going out to dinner! Why?

Auston: with who? And I wanted to see if you wanted to come over.

Yn: with a friend and his family, they want to explore Toronto after dinner, i thought i would since i’ve been living here for 2 years.

Auston: HIS?!?! Who is he? Is he not from Toronto? How do you know him? Please tell me it’s not a hockey player?

Yn: His name is Phil, HE is just a friend, no he’s not from here, yes he plays hockey but not in the NHL, you do know his brother thought.

Auston: How do you know this guy? And where does he play? Who’s his brother?

Yn: Stop being so overprotective, he’s from Arizona, he currently plays for a team in Slovakia.

Auston: Oh, so you went to high school with him? And you didn’t answer my question!

Yn: not exactly 5 years older than me, but he’s a good guy. We have a lot of the same friends back home, his brother is the same age as me. He and I have the same group of friends!

Auston: You still didn’t answer my question, who’s his brother?

Yn: He’s your new teammate, Knies.

Auston: YOU’RE FRIENDS WITH KNIES?!?!

Yn: Not exactly… he has all the same friends, but he and I aren’t exactly close, but yeah i guess.

Auston: Why the hell did you never tell me this before?

Yn: It’s not like it was a secret, I honestly thought you knew… he’s in some of my pictures on insta with our friends, i just never tagged him.

Auston: You are lucky that i love you… you still should have told me when he got drafted.

Yn: I know… i’m sorry.

Auston: he better not hurt you, or i’ll hurt him!

Yn: his brother and parents love me, they would put him in his place if he ever hurt me, you don’t have to worry!

After I answered him I saw it was now 4:30 p.m. so I put my stuff away and grabbed my purse and leather jacket since it’s still a little chilly outside and made my way to my car.

I didn’t want to be stuck in traffic so I made my way to the restaurant earlier.

I got stuck in a little bit of traffic so by the time I arrived at the restaurant it was 5:20 p.m. I’m 10 minutes early so I texted Phil to see if they are already here.

Yn: Are you guys here yet? I just parked.

Phil: Yes we just got here, just tell the waitress, my mom made a reservation it’s under knies.

Yn: Perfect on my way!

I got out of the car and made my way inside. The waitress looked at me and smiled.

“Hey, welcome to (Restaurant) do you have a reservation?” she asked nicely.

“Yes, it’s under Knies,” I said.

“Perfect, right this way” she said.

She led me to the table. When Michaela, Phil and Matthew’s mom saw me, she smile happily and got up to give me a hug.

“It’s so good to see you sweetheart, I missed you so much” she whispered in my ear.

“It’s so good to see you too, I missed you guys”

When she let me go, their dad wrapped me in a hug.

“I’m happy that you could join us” he said.

“Same here”

He let me go and we all sat down.

We ordered our food and talked.

“How’s university?” Michaela asked.

“It’s good, I only have one exam left and i’ll be done with my second year.” I said smiling.

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow morning” I said, her eyes wide.

“I hope we aren’t keeping you from studying,'' she said worriedly.

I chuckled. Matthew was staring at me.

“No, I've been studying non-stop. I need a break, so being here is perfect,"I said smiling.

“Good, you shouldn’t be overworking yourself”

“Matthew, are you excited for tomorrow?” I asked him, and he looked surprised that I actually talked to him.

“Yeah, but also nervous” He said

“You’ll be fine bro” Phil said, patting his back.

“The guys will have your back, you’ll be fine” I said, smiling softly. He gave me a smile and nodded.

Once we ate, we made our way into downtown Toronto, I showed them around. Once it was getting late, they made their way to their hotel. Matthew stopped me before I was able to leave.

I turned around and looked at him confused, he doesn’t like me so why would he want to be alone with me?

“Can we talk alone for a few minutes?” he asked.

I nodded slowly. We started walking on the sidewalk, he didn’t say anything.

“Are you going to say whatever you wanted to say?” I asked.

He sighed before his hand made its way to his hair.

“Just so you know, if you don’t feel the same way we can go back to hating each other” he said making me really confused, what the hell was he going to say?

I furrowed my eyebrows at him.

He took a deep breath before blurting out his feelings.

“I like you, like a lot… I just can’t keep hiding how I feel. I wanted to tell you last summer before I left for Minnesota but I never got the chance. I know this is probably the worst time to tell you since I’m about to be your brother’s teammate, but I really needed you to know.” He said.

I stared at him with wide eyes. My mouth kept opening and closing, I didn’t know what to say. I like him too but I just thought he hated me. Matt looked really nervous looking at me, he started shaking his head.

“Look, just forget I ever said anything, we can go back to hating each other… I’m going to go” he said and he turned around to walk away, I snapped out of it. I grabbed his hand and pulled him to me before smashing our lips together. Matt just stood there in shock before realizing what was happening before he started kissing me back.

Our lips moved in sync, Matt moved his hands on my waist and pulled me closer to him.

We pulled away breathing heavily, our foreheads touching, Matt smiled down at me.

“Does this mean you feel the same way?” he asked, smirking, I chuckled.

“Yes it does.” I replied smiling.

“Does this mean that I can take you out on a date after the game tomorrow night?” he asked

“I’d love that, but maybe we shouldn’t tell my brother right away since he doesn’t even know we know each other” I said and he nodded.

“Good idea,” he said.

We made plans for our date tomorrow before I made my way home.

That night I went to bed with the biggest smile on my face.

[lukedanger]

Owlcatober - Day 12 - Home

Anevia's victory after the crusades for @owlcatober

[Ao3 Link]

===

The end of the Worldwound and the deconstruction of the Wardstones had signaled something more in Mendev. Anevia had expected much as Galfrey feared when the idea was first discussed: anger, disbelief, even riots from people fearing for their safety. Yet instead, it signaled something new.

Anevia smiled as she looked out the window - no longer was she looking across a cobbled street to another house in a densely packed city. Now she could see the clear blue sky of Golarion, and on the other side of the canyon she could just make out the top of the Lost Chapel. The Worldwound would likely take generations to heal, but around places like Drezen or Pulura’s Falls the corruption was being purged - and with that, nature could begin to heal.

Which, of course, meant that the whole self-sufficiency issue was now something they could tackle. And as Anevia could smell what she was waiting for, she knew that it was time. Pushing herself off of her perch, she made her way downstairs and towards the back of the house.

The kitchen they had set up for themselves was relatively small - not much larger than the one they had in Kenabres, but at least now they had a proper dining room with some separation. And as Anevia stepped in and could feel the heat, she smiled. Kneeling in front of the oven, she looked at what she had baking inside and smiled as it was just about done.

Historians would talk about the Fifth Crusade in terms of heroic deeds by brave knights and knaves, of an army of mortals fighting alongside angels and archons against the horrors of the Abyss, of political upheaval as Mendev finally cracked under a century of total war. About how the Battle of the Threshold was a decisive moment that saw Drezen’s Angel of Salvation defeat the Architect of the Worldwound and finish off Deskari once and for all. The Mendevian Crusades had ended in victory, yes, but Threshold was the small victory.

Sliding the wooden peel under the loaf, Anevia grimaced a moment as she worried it was stuck to the bottom of the oven. Another push, though, and she had the peel underneath and was able to pull it out. It already smelled so good, and Irabeth would be back soon.

It still needed to sit out for a bit, to cool and to be easier to cut, but she had waited years already. She could wait a couple more minutes.

She could hear the steps of a horse, followed shortly after by someone in plate harness dismounting. Anevia tensed out of habit, but as she listened she heard only one person and relaxed. Just in time.

A minute later, the door opened and Irabeth stepped inside, no doubt eager to take her armor off. “‘Nevi?” she asked.

“In the kitchen!” Anevia called back. “It’s cooling now!”

“Wait, you actually-” Irabeth hurried through the dining room. She knew what Anevia had planned.

And as the paladin stood at the door to the kitchen, she stared at the bread. It was not the first loaf made from wheat that had been grown in the former Worldwound - the muldnal that answered the Erastilians’ prayers for aid in restoring Drezen’s farmland had been given that honor - but it had its own importance.

“So, ready to taste victory?” Anevia asked, cracking up as she could not contain how silly that sounded.

The fact that she was in a position to say such a silly thing, that she and her wife could now make their own bread, in their own home, with ingredients grown in walking distance from where they lived rather than relying on distant shipments from southeastern Mendev or beyond?

As Anevia had said this would be the moment she declared victory. All in the comfort of her home instead of yet another battlefield.