#totally fish flavored

[mattsqueakerdraws]

Fish Taco?

Sebastian taco

[asgardian--angels]

it's kind of funny to me, albeit very interesting, that I'm a very picky eater and yet have also become a locavore and something of a 'foodie' per se, I really enjoy food (and cooking!), and going to unique and sometimes upscale restaurants serving ~local ingredients~ and I really value a quality dining experience and learning the character of new places through their food. yet I got a 29 on that picky eater test lol

[magpiepills]

The Late Shift

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f reader

Word count: 597

Summary: Tim eats it from the back.

Warnings: SMUT. Oral f receiving, etc etc

A word from the author: just a quickie with Tim! This was a thot that got out of hand idk. I promise nobody gets knocked up in this one. ACAB even if I do sometimes write about banging them.

It’s 11:39 pm. You should be at home, but instead you’re on your knees on top of Detective Rockford’s desk. Papers are getting crinkled, pens are rolling onto the floor, and your cheek is mushed against the worn wood veneer. Tim’s got your hands cuffed behind your back.

He adjusts in his squeaky chair and spreads you open with his thumbs, rubbing them up and down along either side of your wet pussy lips. He takes his time, admiring your body. When he has enough of playing with you, he guides you back, knees on the edge so he can eat your pussy from behind.

He doesn’t even loosen his tie, and the shoulder holster stays on. You can hear calls coming in for him over his radio, but he pays it no mind. He groans and laps at you, drinking up every drop of wetness that pours from your clenching hole.

He eats you messily, groaning as he savors your cunt like a delicacy. He grips and squeezes the meat of your ass, pulling you against his face, dragging his nose through your folds as you squeal, getting a little thrill at how you squirm as he flicks his tongue over your asshole. He focuses on your clit, sucking hard as he pushes a thumb into your messy entrance, he pumps it, loving the slick sounds you make for him. He busies his free hand with your nipple, reaching between your legs to tug it and roll it between his long, thick fingers. You could never deny how much you like letting him do this to you.

You love letting him take total control, letting him expose you, completely naked while he didn’t even take off his wedding band. You love the danger of it, knowing someone could walk in. You love how much he loves making you feel like his, at his mercy. You love the burning sting when he smacks your ass hard. It was enough to make you come, the vulgarity of it. You felt the tightness winding in your belly, the tremble in your thighs. You’re barreling towards it, gasping his name, and then it’s gone. His hands, his mouth, gone.

“No!” You mewl, struggling to see where he is, why he would do you so wrong. He’s nodding at a garbled voice coming brought his radio, furrowing his brows as he sucks your flavor from his thumb.

“Copy,” is all he says before he tosses it back onto his desk and wipes his face with a crumpled napkin he fishes from a paper lunch bag. “Come on. I gotta go. Up.” He helps you ease off his desk, and holds your pants for you to step into, he takes one last moment to lift and squeeze your tits, on full display with your hands still cuffed.

He kisses and sucks at your peaked nipples, staring longingly at them as he pats his pockets to locate his key ring. You slip back into your loose top once your hands are free, and step soberly toward the door.

“Nuh uh, sweetheart. I don’t think so,” he stops you with a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Come on, Tim, do you really have to?”

“Gotta follow the rules.”

He cuffs your wrists behind your back once more and rubs your elbow gently with his thumb, a gesture no one would notice, should they look.

He takes you back to your holding cell, sliding the bars in place and checking the lock is engaged before throwing you a wink, palming his still turgid member and disappearing back out of the cell block.

Overtime (Part 2?)

[inbabylontheywept]

Realizing in hindsight that the only reason I was so skeptical about your camp story is that being covered in a combination of crusty, sticky pink residue and rotten fish oil for days on end while sleeping on a wooden floor in the Arizona heat sounded like such unbearable sensory agony that I wanted to convince myself it was fake, because I didn't want to believe that anybody had genuinely been through that. I'd have walked out of that place with a rucksack of pink ooze and either find my way back to civilization or become crispy pink buzzard chow after day 2.

Like, legitimately, I think about my reaction to that post a lot. The imagery was so deeply unpleasant that I was desperately scrambling to convince myself it wasn't true like I'd just found out my spouse was a serial killer. There was no torture, no death, no hunger or disease, just a bunch of sweaty guys being covered in sticky fruit-flavored slime, subjected to unpleasant smells, and sleeping blanketless on the floor. And you can't even smell! You were spared a good third of it! Yet your experience still horrified me worse than any war story, medieval torture device or horror movie for reasons I cannot hope to fathom.

idk, I've had this ask stewing in my head for months, but I keep forgetting to actually write and send it. In my heart of hearts, I knew your story was perfectly plausible. I was just grasping at straws, praying for you to admit that no, nobody has ever showered in off-brand Gatorade and then not slept for 3 days while being expected to attend uni lectures. It's all untrue, a ruse, a trick, and such things could never happen outside of the cruelest depths of hell. Santa Claus is real, teachers live in the school, babies are delivered by storks, and the pink sauce incident never happened.

My mom pulls me into a warm hug after I scrape my knee. The plastic egg I found under the couch opens to reveal a piece of chocolate. A dollar magically appears under the pillow where I'd put my tooth. All is well. I am safe. The universe is kind, and whoever's running it loves me.

It's a sunny August day and I'm holding a popsicle on the swingset. I'm using my plastic dinosaurs to act out an improvised battle between good guys and bad guys as I sit on the carpeted floor. I'm playing Fossil Fighters on my dinged-up Nintendo DS in the plush brown armchair by the window.

I add the carrot nose to my snowman. Candy plops into my Halloween bag. The speaker on the classroom wall announces that school's out for summer, and we all bound out the door with wild glee, free at last.

Panting, wheezing, I drag my battered form back into the cobbled-together wreckage of my innocence, only one arm remaining with which to drag myself, blood and intestines trailing behind me as the storm rages overhead, washing my entrails downstream. I huddle underneath what remains of my once-pristine shelter from the cold and wet, pulling the shards back together as best I can as the wind howls angrily, hatefully. It's no use. It's broken. It's gone. It cannot be repaired. My innocence will never return to me. The rain seeps through the cracks and lands upon my face.

The rain is pink, I realize, and I cry.

First off: I haven’t actually been on the receiving end of this before and I have to say, it's an almost literally gripping experience. I felt this rat for the last three paragraphs.

Incredibly well done. Second: If you just didnt' want to believe, that's fine, I barely have room in me for medium fries - a grudge would just pour out the top, too much tea for my cup. But you don't have to like, gaslight yourself into thinking the story is totally normal and believable (I always stretch my stories out a little) or beat yourself up over it for months. I meant it when I said we're good, you and I. It still makes me happy to see a comment or a like or, rarely, a question like this from you.

If it's just something that pops into your mind every now and again, I dunno, don't sweat it. I'd hate to give you a complex. Did I mention that I loved that writing for this? Incredible experience.

[star--stilinski]

Going off on your “stiles being accidentally hot”. Think of like a beach date but then you notice how all the girls are looking at him but he’s obliviously stiles not realizing he’s gained muscle from all his lacrosse training

(Then you prove he’s yours) WHAT?! Who said that?!

(Sorry I’m a freak)

anon is referring to this post.

did i make this ask from a different account?? i feel like we type the same. also that last part looks like the one meme of the spongebob fish looking back... ykwim?? too lazy to find it.

i would like to apologize to all blondes about to read this fic. my condolences.

☆

scott is spraying stiles down, head-to-toe with SPF 50. the way the sunscreen looks on his skin as it soaks in is downright criminal, honestly, and it seems you're not the only one who's noticed.

there's a pretty blonde bitch staring at your boyfriend.

okay, well, wait a second there. she's not a bitch for admiring him. there's been no tell that he's taken.

yet.

you frown and take a drink of the margarita lydia asked you to hold. there's a lipstick stain on the can where her lips were imprinted, but that doesn't sway your gaze from the blonde as she takes notice to his newfound abs. they're not crazy chiseled like derek- but they're definitely there.

meanwhile, bless his heart, your idiot boyfriend is singing along to the song blasting from the speaker scott brought, and he's using the sunscreen bottle as a mic. he turns to you and points as he sings the lyrics like the performance is just for you, and this does make you smile.

"is that a fruity marg? for me?" he drops the sunscreen and takes lydia's drink from your hand. before you can protest, he's already taken a big swig, and there's a shine on his bottom lip when he swallows. "that is really good. wanna taste?"

"what? i already had a taste. besides, it's-"

and then he's kissing you, pressing the strawberry flavor into your mouth. you flush bright pink and he pulls away, bobbing his eyebrows at you with a grin. "good, right? sorry, you just look really nice in that swimsuit."

you're aware, with the way his eyes dip down to peruse over your cleavage and hips, that 'nice' is code for 'unjustly fuckable.' and you kinda wish he would say it. but alas, scott is calling his name to throw a football back and forth and you brought your book for a reason, so you part ways with a mutual look of longing.

from your spot on the beach, the veiw is great. the white sands, the pretty waves, your boyfriend's pecs, the blue sky. really, the scenery is hard to beat. stiles' hair is stuck to his forehead after getting dunked by isaac and liam. oh, and your book is good too. you've been stuck on the same page since you sat down.

and there's two younger teenage girls fawning over stiles under a canopy next to you guys. lydia swirls her half-empty drink and scoffs at their giggling, glancing at you. "don't tell me they're the ones getting to you."

"what ever could you mean?" you bat your lashes at her dramatically. "they're just young girls who can appreciate hard work on a man, anyway."

"those aren't young girls." lydia nods past you, eyes darting between something. when you turn your head to look, there's that gorgeous blonde again with what seems to be her friend. both of them are slim and tall, and totally hotter than you. and eyeing stiles, much more boldly this time.

"careful babe, you're showing your teeth." lydia turns back to her own book and languidly flips the page. you close your eyes and huff out a sigh.

"it's probably just the newfound biceps, right? and the hair. he deserves some flattery."

"go cool off, i can't focus with the smoke blowing out of your ears." lydia hums without looking up.

you stand. "i'm gonna go for a swim."

"watch for sharks."

you glare at the two women across the way. "yeah, i will."

but just as you begin to make your way to the ocean, the football the boys were throwing veers off course and rolls over to the two younger teenagers, stopping right at their bare feet. you pause, watching as if in slo-mo as stiles jogs up and apologizes, seeming oblivious to their blushing and giggling. one of them hands him the ball back, and he beams down at her gratefully. they squeal when he jogs off.

you don't realize your fists are clenched until you're already in the water. they're little girls! that is totally normal! why are you being so territorial, as if he's gonna even know they like him!

you splash some water on your face, calming at the gentle sway of the tide, the cool temperature of the ocean lapping at your skin. yeah, you're fine. it was just a blip. just a blip. you're chill.

you turn towards the beach to beckon lydia in, but halt as you see blonde bitch and her croonie talking to stiles closely. you're so not fucking chill right now-

cool it, take a breath. you clench your jaw and shut your eyes, grounding yourself. you will not play overbearing girlfriend just as soon as stiles is getting attention. he needs to know that you're not lying when you call him hot and sexy and pretty and everything else that is true. this is perfect confirmation.

your eyes open because you hear a pretty, high-pitched laugh. it's the blondie's equally-gorgeous friend, who tucks her hair back and bats her lashes at him. he rubs the back of his neck, which he usually only does when you get suggestive with him.

and then blondie caresses his perfect, freckled bicep.

oh hell no.

you storm out of the water and right up to their little conversation, grabbing stiles by the wrist. "hey, can i talk to you for a sec?"

but you're already moving, practically dragging him along behind you as you make your way to the edge of the open beach, where there's a large rock sectioning off what's open and what's not. you pull stiles around it, stomping through shallow water to reach a completely empty, private side of the beach.

you don't think about who could stumble over or how the long grass tickles your ankles- you're already pressing stiles up against the large rock and kissing him blind.

he makes an "mmph!" noise when you first crash your lips onto his, but enthusiastically returns the kiss with a hand sliding to the back of your head. you barely come up for air as you lap your tongue into his mouth roughly, hands splaying across his naked, smooth torso. you press your whole body up against his, needing more more more of him. you need him all over you, need him to know who he chose and why. your mouth travels to his neck, and it tastes salty sweet when you start the makings of a dark hickey.

"hoooly- i'm- i'm, uh, not suggesting you stop, like at all, but i am a bit curious on what i, uh- fuck- did to get here? j-just so i can..." his words trail off as your fingers trace underneath his swim trunks. a strangled noise leaves his throat when you press your hips into his growing erection, raking your teeth lightly across the new mark at the same time.

"stupid fucking girls practically throwing themselves at you," you mumble bitterly before going in for another heated kiss. "as if it's not obvious we're together."

he pulls back from the kiss and you open your eyes to glare at him, only to be met with a cocky smirk and wide eyes. "are you saying you're jealous?"

you pull your body off of his, shoving his shoulder lightly. "don't look so happy! she was practically stripping you naked with her eyes."

he cups your neck with his hand, reminding you of how big it is. stiles' eyes lose the self-assured glint and go soft, flitting all over your face as he parts his lips. "you're not mad, are you?"

"at you? no." you feel his other hand slide around your hip and over the top of your ass, pressing your body back up against his not-so-subtly. "at the girls practically prowling around you like you're some piece of meat? yes."

his eyes zero in on your lips as you lick them, furrowing his brow a bit like he has to focus in order to finish his thought. "i didn't even know she was flirting. i wouldn't have..."

but you don't let him finish, stretching up to kiss again and he deepens the kisses quickly, his hands pulling you in. you mouth down stiles' neck and chest, slowly sinking to your knees in front of him. before you got far, he was all breathy encouragement. but when you look up at him, face to face with his happy trail and low-hanging trunks, his jaw goes slack and his eyes glaze over in anticipation.

"oh, are we- are we doing-? okay, yep, yepyepyep i am very cool with this, yeah-" he helps you slide his trunks far down enough as you kiss along his subtle v-line. he sighs, brows upturned for you. "all yours, it's all yours."

you nod, smirking to yourself when he has to clamp a palm over his mouth as your hands begin what your tongue will soon replace.

☆

stiles stumbles out from behind the rock a little while after you, red in the face and littered in hickeys. scott turns to you with a scrunched up nose, feigning disgust. "dude. seriously?"

you blink at him, wide eyed. "what? i was just checking on a jellyfish sting!"

lydia raises her drink to you, not looking up from her book. "impressive time."

"you think so?" you smile sweetly at her.

"unless he's always that quick."

"you guys are disgusting." scott gags as he escapes you two.

☆

im gonna be late for work because of this

[cupcraft]

Some easy cooking/meal tips as an adult grad student:

You dont need to chop amazingly perfectly and meticuously. At the end of the day chop safely and however. If it tastes good its good.

Instant things can make things 1000% easier for yourself. Instant mash/instant mac/instant rice/instant pasta/etc. Add Frozen things. Add premade things. Your dishes don't have to be from scratch at all aspects ever. Do what is easiest for you and delicious!

You can use pre-ground spices. I know, yes, whole spices and roasting them and grinding them and using a mortar/pestle yourself is delicious and wondrous. But you can use preground spices to save time. You can use a food processor to blend spices/garlic/etc. together.

If you struggle with making too much food (ie food waste concern), try to make dishes you know will freeze well that way you can have leftovers that store for a long time (ie potatoes dont necessarily freeze well imo, whereas rice freezes just fine!). I also recommend just halving recipes and try to shoot for as many portions is suitable for you.

Uh oh made too much rice? What do I do and i dont want to freeze it? 1-2 days in the fridge and you have rice that is going to make an excellent fried rice. You always want to use old rice! And you can put whatever you want in it!

Canned food is okay. Canned food is okay. Canned food is okay. Eat canned meats, fish, vegetables, etc. Imo some canned veggies arent my favorite flavor wise but if you like it and it works USE IT.

Add mayo to each side of your bread when making grilled cheese. It'll make a great brown crust in a buttered pan.

American/processed/velveeta like cheese is fine. Its delicious it melts well its totally fine. Stop demonizing processed foods and "preservatives". Velveeta/kraft cheeses are going to melt so perfectly for your grilled cheese the end.

Instant pots & slow cookers & air fryers can make your life a lot easier, and at least for instant pots/slow cookers I find them easier to clean!

Meal planning will really help you. Plan what you want to eat every week (or as far ahead as it helps you). Pre-cut vegetables. Buy meat in bulk and freeze/thaw as needed. Etc. Prepping/planning will make your life easier!

You can often buy shrimp that is pre-peeled & deveined, and even pre-cooked. This makes cooking time easier and faster.

It's okay to order takeout if you dont have the energy to cook. Its okay to order takeout if you do have the energy to cook. Enjoy and treat yourself.

Preboiling your potatoes (tender but not fully done) then baking them can make a crispier roasted potato.

[dee-writes-anime]

Too Much? Just Enough

FEATURING Toge Inumaki x Reader

SUMMARY You never considered that you might be too loud for your quiet, warm-hearted boyfriend... maybe you were selfish not to.

CONTENT WARNINGS fluff, insecurities, inumaki being the sweetest, maki being maki (sigh)

AUTHORS NOTE finally got a day off from schoolwork to do some writing! Here is Inumaki's justice as promised! Enjoy! <3

The festival grounds were alive with color and sound, the air thick with the smell of sizzling food and sweet treats. Lanterns swung gently in the evening breeze, casting a warm, golden glow over the crowd as they meandered through stalls of games, souvenirs, and food. The laughter of children mixed with the shouts of vendors calling out their wares, while the steady hum of excited conversations filled the background.

You had been buzzing with energy the moment you arrived, eyes wide as you darted from one stall to the next, dragging Toge with you, your fingers intertwined with his. There was something about festivals that just lit you up from the inside out—the music, the lights, the sense of celebration—it was like fuel for your soul. You’d barely stopped talking since you got there, your voice a cheerful lilt that seemed to match the lively atmosphere around you.

“Toge! Look at this!” you called, pointing to a stall selling a dizzying array of masks. Kitsune, tengu, and oni masks hung from wooden beams, their vibrant colors catching the light. “We should get matching ones!” you grinned, already picturing how adorable Toge would look in one.

Toge turned to look, his violet eyes sparkling under the glow of the lanterns. His lips quirked up in a small smile as he gave a soft nod, the affectionate look in his eyes sending warmth through you. He didn’t have to speak for you to know he found your excitement endearing.

“Fish flakes,” he said quietly, agreeing with a subtle nod.

Without hesitating, you picked out a kitsune mask for yourself and handed Toge a matching one, the white face of the fox sharp and mischievous. Toge slipped it over his head, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you both admired each other. He gave you a small, amused hum, clearly pleased by your reaction.

Yuta and Maki caught up with you two at the mask stall, Yuta laughing softly at your energy while Maki gave a small shake of her head, though the smirk tugging at her lips showed she wasn’t completely disapproving.

“Wow, you’re like a kid in a candy store,” Maki teased, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against one of the beams. “What’s next? Gonna drag us to every food stall here?”

“I might!” you shot back, grinning widely. “It’s a festival, Maki, you gotta go all in!” You tugged at Toge’s hand. “Besides, Toge’s totally down for it. Right?”

Toge’s lips curved upward again as he nodded, clearly amused by how much fun you were having. He squeezed your hand gently, his way of encouraging your endless energy. You knew you could be a lot, but Toge never seemed to mind, always steady and supportive, grounding you even when you were a whirlwind of enthusiasm.

Panda joined your group next, a huge smile on his face as he approached with a paper bag full of festival snacks. “Hey, did you guys see the yakitori stand? I got some for everyone!” He pulled out a few skewers, handing them out. “Except Toge, of course,” he added with a playful wink.

Toge waved it off, his eyes warm as he accepted the gesture regardless. You, on the other hand, eagerly accepted the skewer, practically bouncing on your feet.

“This looks amazing, Panda! You always know where the best food is!” you said, taking a big bite. The savory, smoky flavor hit your taste buds, and you groaned in delight. “This is so good!”

Panda laughed, nudging Yuta with his elbow. “See, someone appreciates good food.” Yuta chuckled in response, though his focus seemed more on keeping track of everyone in the bustling crowd than the food itself.

As you continued walking, the festival’s cheerful chaos buzzed around you like a soft hum in the background. Every so often, you’d stop to point out something new—a game stall, a street performer, another food stand you just had to try—and Toge followed you without complaint, his fingers never once leaving yours. Every now and then, you’d feel his thumb gently rub against the back of your hand, his silent way of grounding you in his quiet affection.

The two of you had always balanced each other that way. You were the loud, excitable one, the one who wore your emotions on your sleeve, while Toge was your quiet, calm counterpart. He never had to say much; his presence alone was enough to make you feel secure, supported, and understood. He let you be yourself—wild, energetic, loud—and never once made you feel like you had to hold back.

It was this easy, natural rhythm between you that made being with Toge feel like second nature. You could bounce from one thing to the next without worrying about exhausting him or overwhelming him. His patience was unwavering, his affection always subtle but present in the small gestures—the way he watched you with soft eyes, the way he adjusted his pace to match yours, the way he squeezed your hand every time you rambled on excitedly about something new.

And right now, your focus was on a nearby game stall. “Look, Toge! It’s one of those water gun games! You know, the kind where you have to shoot the target and fill up the balloon? We have to try it!”

Toge glanced at the stall, then back at you, his lips pulling into a half-smile. You could tell he found your excitement infectious, even if he didn’t express it the same way you did. He nodded, and with a little tug, you pulled him toward the stall, waving at Maki, Yuta, and Panda to join you.

As you grabbed the toy gun, determined to win, Maki strolled over with a smirk. “You’re really not gonna get tired of this, are you?”

You grinned at her, determined. “Nope! Toge’s got my back, right?” You shot Toge a teasing glance, and he gave a small hum of agreement, his eyes watching you with that familiar warmth.

That’s when Maki made the offhand comment. “I’m just surprised Toge doesn’t get tired of you. I mean, you’ve been going non-stop since we got here.”

Her comment was casual, even light-hearted, but something about it lodged itself into your chest, a small ache blooming out of nowhere. You laughed, the sound coming out more awkward than you intended. "No, Toge’s fine," you said, glancing up at him with a smile that felt a little too forced. "He doesn’t mind, right?"

Toge’s eyes flicked toward Maki for a second before turning back to you, and he shook his head softly, dismissing the comment entirely. “Bonito flakes,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. But even as he squeezed your hand to show he was fine, something in Maki’s words dug into your chest, planting a small seed of doubt.

Have you been too much? You were always like this—loud, full of energy, constantly dragging Toge along with you. But now that Maki had pointed it out, it was hard not to think about it. Maybe you were overwhelming him, and he was just too polite to say anything. He was quiet by nature, after all, and here you were, chattering away, pulling him from stall to stall without a second thought.

You tried to shake it off, but the thoughts lingered as the night went on. Every time you raised your voice, every time you pulled Toge along to the next thing, the doubt crept in a little more. Were you exhausting him? Were you being selfish, assuming he was fine with all of this? You couldn’t tell anymore.

As the festival wound down, the bright lights and energetic atmosphere slowly fading into the quiet of the night, the change in your mood hadn’t gone unnoticed. Where there had once been boundless excitement, your energy had dulled to a faint flicker. It wasn’t like you to walk in silence, not with Toge’s hand still held in yours, not with the buzz of festival joy still lingering around everyone.

You kept replaying Maki’s words in your head, wondering if maybe she’d noticed something you hadn’t. Maybe Toge really did get tired of you—maybe you were just too much, too loud, too energetic. The thoughts wrapped around you like a heavy blanket, making it hard to laugh or smile like you had been earlier.

The silence became so unusual that even Yuta, ever so kind and careful, furrowed his brow as he walked alongside Panda and Maki. He glanced between you and Toge, noticing your unusually quiet demeanor.

"Hey, are you okay?" Yuta asked, his voice soft with concern. "You’ve been a little quiet for a while now."

Panda, always the more boisterous of the group, chimed in with a good-natured grin. "Yeah, you were about to eat all the festival food earlier, and now you’re barely saying a word. You good?"

You forced a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "I’m fine," you said quickly, though your voice lacked its usual vibrancy. "Just... tired, I guess."

Yuta gave you a curious look, but he didn’t press further. Panda, too, noticed the shift, his usual lightheartedness momentarily subdued. Even Maki, though she didn’t say anything, shot you a glance as if wondering if her earlier comment had something to do with your sudden change in mood.

Toge, however, had been watching you the whole time. He hadn’t let go of your hand, and every few minutes, he squeezed it, as if reminding you that he was still there, that he was still by your side. His violet eyes flicked to you again now, a gentle worry in his gaze that only you could read.

“Salmon?” he asked softly, his tone inviting, asking if everything was really okay. But you just gave him a small, reassuring nod, despite the growing heaviness in your chest.

"I’m fine," you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper this time. "Really."

Toge wasn’t convinced. The quiet between you two had never felt so heavy before, so unnatural, and he knew something was bothering you. But he didn’t push you in front of the others, content to wait until the two of you could have some privacy.

The group lingered a little longer before eventually making their way back to the dorms, the lanterns of the festival becoming faint dots of light in the distance. Everyone was laughing, chatting about the fun they'd had, but you remained quiet, your mind lost in its spiral of self-doubt. It wasn’t like you to hold back like this, but you couldn’t shake the worry that maybe you had overstepped, that maybe you’d drained Toge with your constant chatter and boundless energy.

When the group finally reached the dorms, Yuta waved everyone off, smiling softly. “Goodnight, guys! It was fun.” Maki gave a brief nod of farewell, Panda let out a big yawn, and you mumbled something in response, your mind elsewhere.

Toge didn’t miss a beat. Without a word, he tugged your hand gently, guiding you toward his dorm. His fingers were still laced with yours, his touch grounding, comforting, but also insistent in that quiet way of his. He wasn’t going to let this slide—not tonight.

As you followed him through the hallways, the familiar comfort of the dorms all around, your heart started to beat a little faster. You could tell from the way Toge moved—quiet but purposeful—that he wanted to talk. And the thought of sharing what had been bothering you, the insecurity you’d been trying to shove down all night, made you nervous.

Once you were inside his dorm room, the door clicked softly shut behind you. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamp on his desk casting a gentle warmth over the space. Toge turned to you, his gaze soft yet determined, and led you over to sit on the edge of his bed.

He sat beside you, his hand never leaving yours, and he tilted his head slightly, as if to say, I’m listening.

“Mustard leaf,” he said softly, his voice a gentle prompt. Talk to me.

You stared at your intertwined hands, your heart racing as you tried to figure out where to start. The words were stuck in your throat, tangled up with the doubt and insecurity that had been eating at you all night. You didn’t want to burden him with this—you didn’t want to be that person, the one who constantly needed reassurance.

But Toge was patient. He gave your hand another small squeeze, his thumb brushing gently across your skin, a silent encouragement. He was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath. “I... I just... I’ve been thinking about something Maki said earlier,” you began, your voice quiet, hesitant. “About me being... a lot. Too much, maybe. And I started thinking, what if she’s right? What if I’m just... exhausting you?”

The words came out all at once, tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. Your voice wavered, the insecurity you’d been trying to hide now laid bare. “I mean, I know I can be loud and excitable, and you’re so quiet, so calm. I just started thinking... maybe I’m overwhelming you. Maybe I’m too much for you, and you just haven’t said anything because you’re too nice.”

Toge’s eyes widened slightly, his grip on your hand tightening as he shook his head, his expression full of quiet urgency. “Salmon,” he said, his tone firm but tender. No. You’re wrong.

You looked up at him, your eyes starting to sting with unshed tears. “I know you’d never say anything to hurt me, but... if I really am too much, I want to know. I don’t want to make you feel like you have to put up with me.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you, the air thick with emotion. And then, Toge reached up, his free hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch was warm, steady, and when you met his eyes, you saw nothing but sincerity and affection there.

“Tuna mayo,” he murmured, shaking his head again as he brought his forehead to rest against yours. You’re perfect the way you are.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and for the first time that night, the weight on your chest seemed to lighten just a little. But the doubt still lingered, clinging to the edges of your heart. “But... how do you not get tired of me?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m always dragging you around, talking so much, being loud... I feel like I’m the opposite of you.”

Toge pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours as he gently brushed his thumb against your cheek. He shook his head again, his expression soft but insistent. He brought a hand to his heart, then pointed to you—You’re what makes me happy. You’re the one I want to be with.

You blinked, the tears finally spilling over as the weight of his words sank in. He wasn’t just tolerating you. He wanted you, all of you—the loud, excitable, chatty parts of you that you’d been worried were too much. They weren’t too much for him. They never had been.

“Kelp,” he whispered again, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. I love you the way you are.

You let out a small, shaky laugh as you wiped your tears, a wave of relief washing over you. “You really don’t mind?” you asked, your voice still thick with emotion.

Toge smiled softly, shaking his head once more. “Salmon,” he murmured, his thumb still brushing gently against your cheek. Not at all.

And for the first time since Maki’s comment, the doubt that had been weighing you down finally began to melt away. Toge didn’t just accept you—he cherished you, loudness and all.

With a soft sniffle, you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he held you close, his chin resting atop your head. “I love you, too,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

Toge’s hand gently rubbed your back, soothing and comforting as he pressed another kiss to the top of your head. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the quiet strength of his presence wrapping around you like a protective shield.

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the dorm and the steady beat of Toge’s heart beneath your ear. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was warm, peaceful—filled with the unspoken promise that, no matter how loud or excitable you were, Toge would always be there, holding you close, loving you just the way you were.

And as you snuggled into him, feeling the gentle rhythm of his breathing against you, you felt something return—a spark of that boundless energy, that loud, excitable girl that Toge loved so much. Because with him, you didn’t have to be anyone else but yourself.

[toxycodone]

GOD modern Laios would make such a good little trophy/house husband 🥺 he LOVES cooking dinner for you when you come home after a long day of being the breadwinner. you get to spoil and dote on him and he gets to spend all day doing nerd shit and taking care of the house (he LOVES cooking you dinner and seeing the look of relief on your face coming home to a clean house & warm meal after a long day)

on your anniversary you come home and he's cooked a fucking 5 star meal- like the kinda shit you only get at some fancy ass overpriced restaurant . After dinner you suprise him with a huge intricate Lego set you know he's been wanting but wouldn't ask for because it's soooo expensive & he nearly cries.

He spends like 2 hours going down on you out of pure joy alone before letting you tie him to the bed and ride him until he DOES cry- whimpering "thank you" and "I love you"'s over and over before you've even let him cum. tears falling down his flushed cheeks and eyes rolling back in his head as he writhes against the restraints, so desperate and grateful for whatever you give him. such a good boy, your perfect little house husband 😌

GOOOOOOD YES

okay. Since we got minimum wage retail Laios confirmed by Kui. House husband Laios is so fucking real.

Laios who’s a total part timer since meeting you, he works for pocket change and like. Bare minimum benefits just to keep things comfy for the two of you while he basically puts everything in savings. (Until like one day he just quits tbh when yall are really settled in)

But like in my mind he works under the table at Senshi’s restaurant for cash + to learn about cooking! They go on fishing/hunting/hiking trips together and go to the farmers market to get fresh produce and Senshi teaches Laios everything he knows.

He cleans up your apartment every day. Like, he’s not the best or a maid or anything. He’s just a dude. But he does recognize that he’s immensely privileged and does his best to show you hey. He does care. And he wants you to not have to bust your ass after coming from a full time shift. He does basic things like dishes and stuff and on the weekends you guys maybe spend an hour or two maximum cleaning on the weekends together

LAIOS. PACKS YOUR LUNCH. He love love LOVES doing this and he has little sandwich shapers to make them into little dinosaurs or dolphins or something. And he does bentos with cute little pins and molds and he lovingly spends time on this. I think he genuinely enjoys doing this stuff and testing out new recipes.

And cooking in general!! Like that is how Laios shows he loves you forreal. He genuinely pays attention to your tastes and tries to “gourmet” your favorite foods. (I’ve been rereading the manga and when Marcille’s upset he offers to try his best to make whatever she wants to eat out of monsters and it’s so cute…). Like you want grilled cheese? How about grilled Brie on fresh made bread? Bagels? Oh yeah he tried a new recipe at Senshi’s at 4 am, here’s fresh out of the oven pastries. It’s so cute.

I think. He loves like those random ass kitchen gadgets too. He 100% has an ice cream maker and he makes custom flavors for you.

And he just loves watching you eat. It’s such an expression of love. He works so damn hard to make you smile and make you happy. And his food never sucks because 1. Senshi teaches him everything 2. He ALWAYS tests recipes before going way too hard with them. Like he pays attention to your palette so if he made something gross or something just. Not to your tastes you’d let him know in the trial stage.

And GOD. Laios is just a fucking sex toy I swear. He’s genuinely like. A subby service top. He wants you to absolutely use him however you want but he likes to be the one that’s doing most of the work because he likes to spoil you with his body…(also he cums super easily in my hc so if he tops he’s able to like. Pull out and give you head or switch positions when he’s getting too close)

But when you spoil him and ride him…tell him how handsome he is and how much you love him. yeah he’s crying and whimpering about how much he loves you and how you’re just so fucking perfect. It makes your head spin because Laios genuinely makes you feel like you’re the only person on earth for him.

[suzukiblu]

do you have any kryptonians hcs that you think would be fun to see incorporated in more fics out there? like cultural stuff & biology

Ones I've seen before and really like:

Kryptonians purr

Kryptonians are built physically harder/denser/heavier than humans and don't have much "give" in their bodies

Kryptonians can tell that humans aren't the same thing as them, but humans can't QUITE tell that Kryptonians aren't the same thing as them; there is just the tiiiiiniest bit of uncanny valley there when they aren't deliberately trying to pass for humans, though

Kryptonians immediately just "recognize" other Kryptonians as being Kryptonian ( though maybe this one is at least IMPLIED in canon, though I've never been totally clear on that one--but like, a stronger version of it, if that makes sense?? )

Ones I've been slooowly forming myself for personal use:

Kryptonians have different voices and different hearing, in the sense that a Kryptonian has more tones/nuance in their voice and can HEAR more tones/nuance in a voice, and a lot of other species' voices sound flat or toneless to them because they lack those additional tones

"chiming" as a way for children to get their parent/caretaker's attention; basically a specific musical little sound that they make

Kryptonians typically only being physically expressive or emotive with close family members/friends, and vocal communication frequently being more emotive/descriptive for them than physical is

Kryptonians come in just sliiiightly brighter colors than humans do--eyes, hair, skin, etc

it takes a long time and extended time together to "learn" someone's heartbeat

food is generally served on specific complementing dishware, in terms of color/shape/specific meal

most clothes involve multiple layers, mainly a fitted undersuit that covers as much skin as possible, and then an overrobe or two that hide(s) the shape of their bodies as much as possible; specific cuts of drapery are a big thing in their fashion

wearing house crests is a Big Deal all the time and involves certain rites of passage/ages/etc

diet being fairly simple and minimalistic; they have rice but not really bread, eat more fish than red meat, and cuisine tends to concentrate on very subtle and natural flavors; there's not typically a lot of different things on their plate and they don’t generally use chemical preservatives in daily life

to a Kryptonian it'd be a LOT more normal that Kon and Match got made in test tubes than it'd be that Jon and Chris got made via natural births, and there would absolutely be a "is cloning worse or is just leaving your kid's DNA up to chance worse??" kind of argument going on there, culturally speaking

( also I could go on for a fucking MINUTE how Jon being a successful and healthy hybrid who is also apparently fertile enough to have at least one descendent alive and well in the thirty-first century is an insane and weird thing that makes very little sense that I DESPERATELY wish came up in more of the fics/canon that I see involving or mentioning him; seriously, Kryptonian DNA is so complicated that Bizarro syndrome is a regular thing in clones produced from it even by people who SPECIALIZE in cloning, but the kid who just got whatever random genes won the random race is the one who came out perfectly stable and healthy and has ZERO health issues/concerns? like, EVER?? hOW, canon. HOW. )

I will actually live and die on the hill of "Lex is more genetically compatible with Kryptonian DNA than Lois is" because fuck a) biological determinism and b) loving couples DO frequently have to deal with genetic incompatibility and that's just much more interesting to me narratively, and also I love the weird little not-quite-tragedy of that concept, both in how Lex refuses to be an ally to someone he actually is so naturally “compatible” with and in how Lois would have genetic compatibility issues with someone she loved so much and was loved BY so much

ONE DAY I will write the fic where Jon is actually NOT a healthy hybrid and has a ton of health issues from birth and can't even use any Kryptonian powers without having a freaking asthma attack or HEART attack, resigns himself to it just being an unavoidable Kryptonian-human hybrid thing and that he'll never live up to his dad or grow up to be "Superman"--and then one day an oblivious newborn bb clone Kon shows up out of the blue in perfect health with EXTRA superpowers and very publicly declaring that HE'S gonna be Superman someday, and everyone in the Kent family has to just deal with that and how they all feel about it. ONE DAY.

[yournightmary]

Loser!Ellie HCs

content warning:: fem!reader, modern!AU

AN:: first time writing, literally scared shitless🔥 english isn’t my native language🙏

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who made a pasta recipe once (probably from instagram reels), and became a self-appointed master chef. Forgot about the fact that it took her 3 tries to even cook the pasta.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who can’t stop saying flavor instead of scent. She just genuinely doesn’t see the difference.

“What flavor do you want?” she asks you while holding up two colorful packs of wax melts. She bought a wax burner and used it to melt chocolate so she can have chocolate covered fruit anytime she wants. Used it 2 times total.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who vapes. I’m sorry but that’s the truth. She just loves to puff on her cute little mixed berries disposable. Also, keeps saying she can quit anytime she wants, she can’t.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who uses axe body spray. If someone asks about it she just says it works better, but she actually likes the scent. Kind of her guilty pleasure.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who hated on the sims franchise her whole life only to find out you’re a fan. She pirated the whole series (DLCs and all) off of some russian website in one night. Got like 20 different viruses but at least her girl could play the sims 2 happily.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who is terrible at foreign languages yet has a duolingo streak that over 500 days. She knows how to say ‘the apple is red’ in german and can barely pronounce her order in mexican restaurants.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who is chronically online. Constantly posting shit to her insta stories, sending you tik toks 24/7 and all that stuff. One time she got so invested in a facebook group drama that she didn’t reply to your texts for the whole day.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who wears the most unfunny-funny shirts you can imagine. Stuff like ‘women want me, fish fear me’ and ‘eat, sleep, game, repeat’. And they’re always either way too big or way too small.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who always said she doesn’t want any pets, that it’s too much of a commitment for her… Then she found the ugliest kitten she’s ever seen on the street and took it home without thinking. Let you choose the name but calls him ‘stinky’ no matter what. Like mother, like daughter.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who couldn’t tie her shoes until she was 15. That’s it.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who is so lovestruck for you that I can’t even explain it. She’ll always do the cheesiest things possible, like standing before your house with roses, a bluetooth speaker and a promposal poster or bringing you every little thing she found on her walk that ‘reminded her of you’.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who doesn’t like to go out on dates. She’d rather stay at home with you, watch a movie, make dinner together (you’ll be the only one actually cooking), maybe paint something or just spend time together doing nothing… Would really enjoy a date at the planetarium though.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who is a total yapper. Can and will talk about anything and everything for hours on end. And if you mention an interest of hers? Oh god, get ready to see a powerpoint presentation about it. Literally the definition of ‘☝️🤓’ but in a good way.

I’m so scared to post this it’s not even funny☠️ Hope you liked it <3

[bloodlust-1]

BG3 CHARACTERS AS CANDY

Just my headcanons 🥰

Laezel

hot tamales. God these burn my soul but I feel like the pain is pleasure for her.

Halsin

Swedish fish. Shaped like fishy’s and sweet :’) he’d probably be amazed just by the shape of these. Definitely is popping in a couple at a time

Gale

I feel like Gale has old taste, idk 😭 so — here’s some butterscotch candy. Depending on who you ask they either LOVE or HATE these.

Shadowheart

Chocolate lover. She could tell you which ones are cheap and good quality. White, milk, dark, cookies and cream? Oh yeah — that’s for her.

Astarion

Gushers, something for him to suck the juice out of for a fun treat. These would probably get all stuck up in his fangs tho 😂

Karlach

sweet baby, ik she’d love a lollipop with some gum in the middle as a reward. She’d probably even blow some bubbles afterwards 🥹

Wyll

Starbursts. He’d totally be trying to suck off these bad boys from his teeth. I get the vibe that his favorite flavor would be the orange ones.

Minthara

Black licorice…These are soo bitter, but Minthara would be that one person to absolutely obliterate these

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

[pissclump]

This Is Gonna Get Worse Before It Gets Better

Chapter 1

HIIIIIII!! This is my first attempt at writing a multiple part fic with an actual story line, so if it sucks, PLEASE tell me. My original plan for the story was a Toby x Reader, but I may end up making it a Toby, Masky, and Hoodie x Reader. Anyways, I'll try to update as regularly as I can. Reader is depicted as female. This story is cross posted on my AO3 as well: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61232158/chapters/156483289 <3

Warnings: swearing, use of cigarettes, violence, eventual smut in later chapters

A frustrated groan escaped your lips as you ran your fingers through your hair. As if being a broke college student wasn't bad enough, you also had treacherous amounts of homework. Your evenings were usually spent with Kimberly, your roommate who quickly turned into a close friend. It didn't matter if you were out all night or just staying home doing nothing, you were content as long as you were in her presence. Tonight, however was different. Kimberly has been gone all day. And she won't be back for the next two. She said she was feeling homesick and insisted going back home to stay with her parents for the weekend. You were bummed about her being gone all weekend, but you knew it would be selfish to attempt talking her out of it. Which is how you ended up in your current situation; sitting on your couch with your laptop attempting pointless assignments until you eventually give up and submit whatever half-assed effort you gave. After at least three hours of repeating the same cycle, you finally had enough. In almost an instant, you slammed your laptop shut, setting it aside.

You stood up from your couch and stretched. Sitting in one place for so long can make you cramp sometimes. You're almost used to it by now. You walked into your room and grabbed the first pair of shoes you could find before leaving your tiny apartment. The stress from school never failed to steadily increase your need for nicotine. Luckily, your usual gas station was only about a five minute walk from home, so there was no need to take your car and waste gas. Swinging the door open, you were met with the smell of cheap air freshener. Behind the counter sat just the man you wanted to see. Mr. Kurtz was always a delight to talk to. He also had no problem selling you cigarettes despite the fact that you weren't legally old enough for them yet. You're only a year away from being 21, it's really not that big of a deal, is it?

"There she is! Haven't seen you all week. How have you been, kiddo?"

"Evening, Mr. Kurtz. I'm alright. Just getting my ass kicked by school and stuff. Nothing new."

The older man let out a noise that sounded like a mixture between a huff and a chuckle. He turned his back to you, now facing the variety of cigarettes behind the counter.

"Let me guess. The usual?"

"You know me so well."

He let out another huff of laughter as he pulled your favorite brand from the shelf. He didn't even bother to ask for an I.D. He never did. Which was what led you to become a regular at his store along with his sickeningly friendly personality. You rummaged through your pocket until you found enough cash to pay your total.

"Thanks again, Mr. Kurtz. I'll see you again soon."

You grabbed the fresh pack of cigarettes and flashed him a friendly smile.

"Sure thing, kiddo."

Immediately upon exiting the store, you opened the small box and removed one of the cigarettes before placing it between your lips. You keep a lighter on you at all times. You fished it from your pocket and lit the end of the thin cancerous stick. Taking a long inhale, you closed your eyes in relief as the familiar flavor of tobacco filled your mouth and lungs. This is exactly what you needed.

The walk back home was uneventful. Finishing your cigarette, you stamped it out on the ground just before climbing the stairs to the small apartment you and Kimberly shared. With your key already in hand, you inserted into the keyhole on the doorknob. However, when you twisted the key, you weren't met with the familiar 'click' sound it always made while being opened.

“𝘏𝘶𝘩… 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵.” You thought to yourself.

You jiggled the doorknob, and sure enough, it was already unlocked. You shrugged it off and stepped inside, closing the door back behind you. You stood in silence for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. Something was off. You weren't sure what it was, but the moment you stepped through the door, the sudden unshakeable feeling of dread took you over completely. It was almost as if you were being watched. No, you 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 being watched. You reassured yourself that it was just your imagination, but your instinct told you to get out of there as quick as you could and never look back. Before you could process another thought, a hand made its way from behind you and was clasped over your mouth.

"W-we've got you n-now!~"

Your first instinct was to scream, however it was muffled due to how hard this fucker's hand was pressed against your mouth. You opened your mouth and bit down on the hand before you with all the strength your jaw could give. However, it only resulted in an increase of maniacal giggles from your perpetrator. He wrapped his other arm around your torso and held you tightly in place. You could taste the blood and small bits of flesh in your teeth from his hand and nearly gagged.

"𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨? 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜?"

The only other plan of escape you had was to try and struggle free from his grip. You tried your hardest to pull yourself free from his death grip, but your efforts were about as useful as a lamp without a lightbulb. You grunted in frustration as his hold on you only tightened. You then felt something cold and metallic press against your neck. You tried to crane your head to the side for a better look, but quickly whipped your head back up was you felt the sharp object slide against your skin. Small droplets of blood dribbled down to your collarbone as you hissed in pain at the uncomfortable sensation.

"You're a f-fuh-feisty one, a-aren't ya?"

"Who the FUCK are you?! What do you want from me?!"

Before he had time to answer you, you heard heavy footsteps coming from the hallway. Approaching you was a man in a white mask. It was painted with eerie feminine features, but what caught your attention the most was the crowbar resting in his palms. Your breath quickened with every step he took closer to you. You felt like you were on the verge of fainting from hyperventilation. This was the first time you had ever experienced anything like this, and you prayed that if you survived by some miracle, it would be the last. The masked man took a few more steps until he was just inches away from you. He leaned down so that he was at eye level with you and just stared before letting out an annoyed scoff.

"For fucks sake, Rogers, you've got the wrong one."

What.

"Huuuh? You mean sh-shes not our t-t-target?"

The man release his grip on you and you immediately collapsed to the floor. Your legs were shaking too much for you to stand on your own right now. Hell, your whole body was shaking. You looked up from the ground at the man who had restrained you. Like the other one, his face was also covered. Except instead of wearing a mask, he wore bulky orange goggles and what seemed like some type of mouth guard.

"No. But she is now. She's seen too much."

Oh, fuck no.

Adrenaline shot through your body as you stood up and bolted towards the kitchen. Quickly, you threw open a few drawers and looked for literally anything to defend yourself with. You wrapped your fingers around a large kitchen knife and defensively yielded it in front of you. This only caused the goggled man to let out another sickening giggle.

"Look, M-Masky, she's g-g-gonna try to f-fight back! H-how cute!"

The masked man let out an annoyed sigh, clearly losing his patience with the other man's antics. "Let's just get this over with."

"Get the FUCK away from me! Fucking psychos!"

You didn't have the guts to approach and attack them. Your mind raced as the masked man started taking long slow strides towards you. You then did the only other thing you could think of to slow him dow. You threw open the fridge door and grabbed the unopened gallon of milk with shaky hands.

"I SAID FUCK OFF!"

With all the strength you could conjure up, you threw the gallon of milk directly at his head at full force, causing it to bust open on impact. He let out a grunt of both pain and annoyance and stumbled back a few steps. He clearly was NOT expecting that. The goggled man began to howl with laughter.

"HAH! Sh-she got you good, d-didn't she, Masky!"

"Shut the hell up, Rogers!"

He turned his attention back to you. He was a lot less intimidating when he was covered in milk, but still intimidating nonetheless.

"You fucking bitch!"

He wiped the milk from his mask with his arm and practically pounced on you. Your back hit the hardwood floor with a thud, the impact knocking the breath out of you. You threw you arms in front of you in a pathetic attempt at defending yourself, but before he could lay another hand on you, you heard the front door open. Another man with his face hidden made his way into your field of vision. He was wearing a tight ski mask with a poorly drawn frown on the front, covered by the yellow hood of his shirt.

"Both of you. We need to leave. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere until I've bashed this whore's skull in!"

"You don't have much of a choice. Neighbors heard the commotion and called the cops."

"Oh for FUCKS sake!"

With that, he roughly shoved you back to the ground and released you before heading towards the door with the hooded man. They were both followed by the shorter male with the goggles. He turned his head towards you again before walking out with the others.

"I'll see you ag-gain soon, p-princess!"

What the fuck. What the actual fuck. You were unable to move from your spot on the floor. Tears made their way from your eyes as your entire body shook. You definitely weren't gonna be sleeping tonight after that.

[waddingham]

oH Ted as the 'someone coming every week to cook and stock her fridge with meals'!! your brain does so much good work and I am so thankful we get to reap the benefits <33

yeah!!!!!! and i couldn't think straight until I got rid of it!!! here take this it's killing me!!

×

She begs Phillip to keep her on. She begs him, tries to double his fee even, to keep him from total retirement, but he's steadfast in his decision. 

The thought of hunting down another chef is horrific. But he gives her no choice. 

She blows through them like tissues for three months, suffering over-complicated meals, over-powering flavors, chefs clearly trying to impress as if she wants a Michelin star meal every night. She doesn't – if that was what she wanted she knows exactly where to get it. 

When she's at home she just wants good food, that's easy to reheat and easy to eat. Which is how she ends up finally succumbing to Leslie's repeated insistence that she give his man a chance.

“He comes over once a month,” he tells her, more than once. “Puts together some things we can freeze and just pop in the oven. Simple enough for the boys to do it, so Julie and I can have at least a couple evenings where they can feed themselves.”

He brightens when she gives and asks for his info, and when she gives him a call, she's struck dumb hearing his American accent.

She's running out of options, so she takes a chance on him.

×

She taps her fingers on the counter, waiting for the doorbell, checking her watch when she finally hears it. He's perfectly on time, but she feels like she's already searching for a reason to be disappointed with him.

He has a pleasant smile for her, though, and a friendly demeanor and a firm handshake and a handsome face – none of which she can immediately find fault in as they introduce themselves.

“I'm sure you're busy,” he says as she leads him to the kitchen. “So I appreciate you taking the time to let me peek at the kitchen and ask you a couple questions.”

“Of course,” she says, used to the procedure by now. Most of them have some kind of sheet they have her fill out, usually via email, but she doesn't mind taking a moment to meet the person who's going to be cooking her food.

“Oh, this is nice,” he compliments, looking around the kitchen, as he sets down the backpack hooked on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she says, gesturing for him to claim a stool. “Though you can probably infer from your presence that it gets little use.”

“That's okay, I'll go easy on it,” he chuckles, pulling a binder from his bag and opening it up on the counter. “First, though, I wanna make sure I know what I'm cooking.”

He doesn't have a questionnaire or the like, it seems. The lined paper in front of him is blank before he scrawls her name at the top.

“How many people am I cooking for, first of all?” he says without looking up.

She licks her lips, her gaze shifting. 

“Just me.” She keeps her tone matter-of-fact. She hopes.

The way he glances up makes her doubt whether she managed it.

“Makin’ it easy on me already,” he says with a soft smile, adding a 1 to the corner of his sheet. “You have any allergies or dietary restrictions?” 

“No,” she says, then adds, “Though, I do have the tendency to drop meat for a while every so often.”

“A part-time vegetarian?”

She cracks half a smile. “Sure.”

“Okay,” he chuckles. “What kinda meals are you after? Breakfast, lunch, dinner?”

“Dinner, mostly, though I won't say no to the occasional breakfast. Mostly out of curiosity.”

She doesn't think any of the chefs she's hired have offered to make breakfasts.

“I make a mean frittata,” he grins. “What do you like, then? What are some of your favorites, so I can get a feel for what you want?”

“When I eat at home, I want quick and easy,” she says. “The less steps for me, the better. I don't want extravagant, elaborate meals. Shepherd's pie, any kind of pasta, soups, salads. Fish, chicken, red meat on occasion, not every week preferably. Anything veg heavy will probably be a hit with me.”

He nods, taking rapid notes in what must be a very familiar format to him. He fires off a few more questions for her, elaborating a bit further on what she likes before switching gears.

“Anything you absolutely don't want?”

“Not especially,” she says. “I don't like to limit a new chef too soon. I'd rather you make me your best and I'll let you know.”

“Uh oh,” he smiles.

He does that a lot.

“Am I on trial?”

She opens her hands up, giving him a small smile and he chuckles.

“I've had six chefs in ten weeks,” she tells him. “So yes, maybe a little bit.”

“Why didn't they fit the bill?” he asks curiously. “So I can avoid a similar fate.”

“I don't think they quite believed me when I told them how simple I wanted things,” she says. “Too many sauces and sides and heat this up separately and put this on this. If I want a five course meal, I know where to get one. When I get home from work, I want to throw something in the oven or dump it on a plate and microwave it, not anything glamorous.”

He looks pleased to hear it – he seems to actually relax slightly, as if he'd been uncertain he could deliver on what she wanted.

“Well, I can guarantee you that going too fancy will not be a problem with me,” he says, writing a few more things down. “I'm used to basic.”

“Good.”

“I've got Tuesday afternoons free, if we're doing every week.”

She nods.

“Between noon and four, if that works for you.”

“I'll be at work, so you'll have free reign,” she says, opening a drawer on the island and pulling a house key from it. “Make yourself at home.”

“Alrighty,” he says, taking it from her. She watches him pull a roll of masking tape and a ring of maybe half a dozen keys from his bag. He rips off a piece of tape and labels it with an RW before adding it to the keyring. 

“If you ever have any requests, that number you have is my cell. Shoot me a text before Tuesday if you want it that week, or you can leave me a note.”

“Okay.”

“And let me know if you think of anything else you want me to know,” he says, starting to pack everything away again. “If you hate olives or can't stand Bleu cheese.”

“I love olives,” she says emphatically. “And there's no kind of cheese I will refuse.”

“Cheese is the best, right?” he remarks. “They're all good. Yellow, white, hard, soft. Even stinky, moldy…still good.”

She snorts a bit, but fully agrees.

“I'm pretty much always stocked with fresh mozzarella to nibble on so feel free to help yourself.”

“Oh, don't tell me that,” he says, shaking his head. “I'll clean you out every week.”

She chuckles as he throws his backpack over his shoulder. 

She sees him out, intrigued now to see what he cooks up for her.

×

When she gets home on Tuesday, there's a delicate cacophony of smells hanging in the air and she remembers for the first time today – after a long, trying weekend – that Ted was meant to come.

And apparently did.

The kitchen is spotless (thank God – chef number two had a tendency to slack on the cleaning up bit) and she eagerly makes her way to the fridge.

Each covered pan has a strip or two of tape on top – 35 minutes @ 175° the small square one requests. Thank God. One singular step.

If it tastes like shit, she's going to cry.

It reveals itself to be a lasagna and she flips the oven on, lets it get hot while she peeks at the rest of what he's made, then pops it in the oven while she goes upstairs and gets comfortable.

She notices the extra pan by the kettle when she comes back down, this one without a lid, left on a trivet. 

Three neat rows of shortbread lie within it, a note flat on the counter in front of it.

A little extra treat – maybe a bribe so I don't end up being Disappointing Chef Number 7 – and a thanks for giving me a shot. I'm told these are a winner with a cup of tea. 

He's signed it with a mustached smiley face that makes her chuckle.

They smell divine. She can't resist prying one up and taking a bite.

“Oh, fuck me,” she mutters to herself, looking at the biscuit with a bit of wonder as it melts on her tongue, perfectly sweet and salty.

Oh, wow. She glances at the oven, then the pan in front of her.

She might have struck gold.

×

Everything is delicious. He's clearly not a professional five star chef, but every bite has her in disbelief.

It's just so good. She was skeptical, but he even nails a shepherd's pie for her, dumping cheese on top without her even requesting it. Nothing is unpleasant or poorly made, nothing has her thinking to text him and tell him she didn't love it. His portions are more than enough for her and she frequently takes what's left to the office with her. She has never taken lunch with her to work. Ever.

His cooking tastes like dining at a friend's house, like family made it, like he loves cooking for people and puts it in every bite.

And the biscuits. She finished the pan before the week was even out, unable to help herself.

She's a little bit devastated when there are none on the following Tuesday. 

She leaves a note the next time she expects him.

Any chance for biscuits again? 

She's ecstatic to find a fresh pan when she gets home.

She's nursing her last three by the weekend, determined to make them last long enough to request more.

×

I hope no notes is a good thing?

She's been meaning to text him, tell him how pleased she is with everything he's made, but it continued to slip her mind.

How am I doing?

No notes is a very good thing, she sends back. Everything has been absolutely delicious.

Oh good :)

I love to hear it

The biscuits have become a problem though

No biscuits next week then?

God no

I'm hooked on them

Don't do that to me

You got it boss

×

She almost laughs at herself when she gets home.

She's turning down dinner dates and good-looking men in favor of a date with the container labeled prosciutto stuffed chicken breast in her fridge that she's been thinking about all day.

He'd probably get a kick out of the fact that his food is so good it's ruining her dating prospects, but that's most definitely not something she'll be telling him.

She gets herself a little bit of this week's salad while she waits on the oven – romaine with candied walnuts, dried cranberries, gorgonzola, sliced green apple with a deliciously sharp vinaigrette. She peruses the fridge in her typical Wednesday fashion – on Tuesday evenings she's made a habit of grabbing the first thing she sees and letting him surprise her – looking for the small container of sauce that the lid of the chicken makes mention of.

She chuckles when she sees it. Some of his notes on things have gotten more elaborate, sometimes teasing, sometimes with a wine pairing suggestion, sometimes just with a little smiley face. The lid for the sauce only says creamy pesto, but there's masking tape wrapped in a spiral over its sides, covered with writing.

I know, I'm gonna get in trouble for making a separate sauce for something but all you gotta do is dump it on when it's done! It's worth the extra step I promise! 

She snickers around her salad, setting it on the counter. 

It's well, well worth the extra step.

×

When she gets home on Tuesday, she's unexpectedly greeted by a strong, delicious smell and noise from the kitchen. She leaves her heels and her coat before turning into the kitchen.

Ted's at the stove, looking almost mortified as he immediately starts apologizing.

“I'm sorry, Rebecca, I'm so behind today, but this is my last one and then I'll clean up and get out of here–” he rambles, but she's taking him in more than listening. Namely, she's taking in his tired bloodshot eyes and his disheveled hair and the way his hands shake as he gestures to the mess of the kitchen. 

“I'm sorry–”

“No, Ted, it's alright,” she insists. “It's not a problem.”

“I'm almost done.”

“Are you okay?” she asks gently.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I just need to finish this…”

She frowns and rounds the island, unconvinced and unsettled – he's almost frantic with energy.

“Come here.” 

He frowns as she pulls him away from the stove.

“No, it'll burn–”

“In which case I'll survive with one less meal,” she says firmly, pushing him to the dining table. “Sit.”

He does – reluctantly – and she gets him a glass of water.

“Take a deep breath. Relax,” she insists before stepping to the stove. The pan there has a sauce in the making, a plate of meatballs next to it, as well as a pot of water getting hot.

“What needs done here?” she asks.

“I can–”

“Stop,” she commands, lifting a brow at him before he can rise. “Sit. Just tell me.”

“The, the cream needs to go in,” he says. “Give it a second, then the other two little bowls there, the Dijon and the Worcestershire and then the spices.”

“Okay,” she says, keeping her voice steady, hoping it'll relax him, show him she's far from upset that he's still here.

She follows his instructions, pouring the measuring cup of cream in and mixing it with the little whisk that's already there. She lets it get hot, then adds the rest, stirring it in.

“What am I making?” she asks with a small smile.

“Swedish meatballs,” he supplies, sounding distracted. “One of my favorites.”

“Swedish, hmm?”

“Well, I can't speak to them being authentic,” he says. “Recipe was my mom's. And she's definitely not Swedish.”

It smells delicious – whatever spices she just added were warm and aromatic and it makes her mouth water.

“What next?”

“Uh, turn the heat down and let it simmer,” he says. “Needs to thicken.” 

She dutifully turns the stove down and then joins him, taking a seat next to him. 

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he deflects, “I'm fine. Just…didn't sleep so good and then this morning was…I'm fine.”

She doesn't push, seeing how much effort he's putting into forcing a smile and changes course.

“Do you have anywhere else to be today?” she asks.

“No, no, you're my last client on Tuesdays.”

“Then stay,” she insists, gesturing to the stove. “Looks like enough for two.”

“I shouldn't,” he tries, shaking his head. “I should get out of your hair.”

“You're not in my hair,” she asserts. “I would enjoy the company and I'm most certainly not complaining about getting a meal fresh off the stove.”

He looks her over for a moment, presumably looking for any hint of falsehood before he nods a bit haltingly.

She smiles.

“Should, uh, should put the meatballs back in to finish ‘em,” he murmurs. “And get the noodles on.”

“Yes, chef,” she says, giving him a wink when he finally smiles. 

“I'll do it,” he says, and she lets him this time for how much calmer he seems. She occupies herself by offering him a drink and pouring herself a glass of wine. He accepts a couple fingers of a scotch he's apparently had his eye on for the last few weeks and she watches with interest as he takes a sip.

“Oh, that's nice,” he mutters. 

“The only one I buy anymore.”

“You have excellent taste, I have to say,” he remarks. “Thank you.”

She helps him get the rest of the dinner together and is glad to see him relax more and more, until he's smiling easy as they both sit at the island with bowls of noodles and meatballs.

“Well, it smells fantastic,” she says, eagerly stabbing a forkful of noodles and half a meatball.

It's delicious. Creamy and warm and truly everything about it screams comfort food. 

“Oh, Christ,” she mumbles around it. 

“Yeah? That one a winner?” 

She nods emphatically, eyeing him as she chews.

“Nothing you make is bad,” she mumbles, watching him take his own bite.

“That's ‘cause I only make what I know I can make good for you,” he chuckles. 

“Why's that?” she asks. He can take a chance on her – he's built up plenty of faith in him already. One bad meal isn't going to have her canning him.

“Oh, to impress of course,” he says with a crooked smile that she returns. 

“You've already done so,” she says. “I haven't had a single thing I didn't like.”

“I'm very happy to hear it,” he says, sounding very genuine about it.

They eat slowly because conversation comes very easily. Whether it's the drink or the distraction of her company, he's light-years away from the frazzled ball of anxiety she was met with.

“Safe to assume you don't enjoy cooking much, huh?” he asks her as they both scrape their bowls. 

“I don't think I would mind it if I had ever learned,” she muses. “But I've had a cook for most of my life and learning how now just to feed myself seems more trouble than it's worth.”

“You've had a cook most of your life?” 

“My parents kept one when I was a kid, and then when I was married, my ex-husband insisted on a cook,” she says, half rolling her eyes. “Thank you, by the way, for not inundating me with pork pies and sausage rolls and roasts and dousing everything in gravy.”

“I enjoy a good gravy, but, oof, that's heavy eatin’ right there.”

“Too heavy,” she agrees. “Though my tastes were rarely taken into account.”

He hums as he wipes his mouth and she finds understanding in his eyes.

“How long were you married?” he inquires.

“Twelve years,” she says slowly.

“That's a lot of gravy,” he says more seriously than the words might call for. She hears his meaning plain enough.

“Yes. It was.”

“Well,” his tone brightens a bit, “now you got me to make whatever you please.”

“Too right,” she chuckles, sipping her wine. “And it's always spectacular. I don't know how you do it, what you're lacing everything with…”

“Oh, I just make sure I put a little love in everything, that's all,” he grins.

She takes in the sight of him, smiling and content, his creased eyes warm, and she likes this. She's enjoying this. She likes him. 

It's so hard to know though, even as his eyes move over her face, the quiet stretching long, if she likes him or if she's simply missed enjoying a comfortable meal at home without having to do it alone.

Her eyes drop, aware of how intensely she’s looking at him. She's not sure when it happened but they're both turned completely towards each other on their stools, leaning on the counter, and his fingertips are right there at the edge of hers – the mere straightening of her fingers would bring them into contact.

“I appreciate you letting me stay and have some of your dinner,” he says softly.

“You made it,” she offers with a grin.

“You paid for it,” he returns.

“It's not a problem at all,” she says, meaning it wholeheartedly. “It's nice to have some company.”

“I'm gonna be honest with you, Rebecca, you don't seem like a woman who would have any problem finding company.”

Her brows lift alongside the corners of her mouth, a little internally delighted by his boldness.

“I think I'll take that as a compliment,” she grins.

“As it was meant,” he assures.

“In which case…I'll amend to say it's nice to have such comfortable and easy company.”

His cheeks round, his gaze dropping in something akin to bashfulness and she thinks it really might just be him that's growing on her.

“I’m glad you stayed,” she says, her smile slanting crookedly. “Even if I pretty much made you.”

“I didn't wanna impose. You were very kind to give me a second to…calm down.”

She's not sure if it's embarrassment, exactly, or shame that has him toying with his glass instead of looking at her.

“Felt like I was trying to catch up to myself all day,” he admits.

“I know the feeling,” she sympathizes.

He's quiet for a moment before he responds. 

“My ex-wife was supposed to come out with our son in the next couple weeks here, but she called and they pushed it back until the summer.”

His frown is back and his gaze is faraway, but she doesn't speak.

“Been here for almost a year now and they still seem to be getting on just fine without me.” He sounds like he wishes he could say it with detachment, but it comes out rather devastated. 

“They're in the States?” she asks gently, pulling him back to here and now as he shakes himself a bit. 

“Yes.”

“Why don't you go see them?” she tries, though she's very aware she's got the bare minimum of facts.

“‘Cause I'm still stinging from her snapping that she just needs some goddamn space,” he says, giving her a twisted, wry little grin. 

She frowns but he shrugs, lifting his drink to his lips. 

“S’pose it's about time to just get over it,” he mumbles.

“That's not easy to get over,” she says kindly. “Especially from someone you love.”

“No, it's not,” he agrees. “Ain't much love to lose these days, though. You're probably right, should just take matters into my own hands, hop over the pond.”

“Don't go too long,” she says, only half teasing. “I shouldn't be left to feed myself for a prolonged period of time.”

He smiles again and the sight has warm satisfaction melting in her.

“Oh, if I go anywhere I'll set you up, don't you worry,” he assures her.

“Thank goodness.”

It's odd how difficult she finds it when she rises and steps away. A part of her wants her to stay put, keep the space between them minimal, but she writes it off as a result of just how long it's been since she had sex.

“Now, I don't see any biscuits,” she says. “But I suppose I'll give you a pass this week.”

He rises with a soft chuckle, following her with his own dish to the sink. 

“No, no, I'll do it,” he says as he starts to clean up from dinner. “Unless you need your kitchen back.”

She starts gathering dishes – he must clean as he goes, because it's not nearly the mess she'd imagine would come from cooking four whole dinners. 

“Oh, for what? You think I have a chef on the side coming over tonight?”

He turns, expression scandalized, a hand landing on his chest as if he's been shot.

“Tell me you'd never.”

She chuckles, joining him at the sink, hands full.

They clean up together and then she pours them both another drink before she claims a stool, content to watch as he puts together a batch of biscuits. She watches him move comfortably around the kitchen, chatting easily with her, and it's making an impression, one she's blatantly ignoring.

She half expects him to try to leave her once they're in the oven and has her excuses for him to stay at the ready, but he sits again, waiting the half hour they need to bake at the island with her. He asks her about her job, how she came to own the club, and conversation wanders to and fro.

“I'm intrigued to see what you've cooked up for me this week, chef,” she remarks at one point.

“You know I ain't really a professional chef, right?” he chuckles. “I dropped out of culinary school actually.”

“Really? Why?” 

He lifts a shoulder. “I wasn't having fun. I love cooking, I love making food and feeding people, but I didn't wanna do it the way they train you to, you know, cooking in a restaurant or joining the race to be the next big something. I like doing it this way. Getting to know people and cooking what they like. Feels like I'm paying the bills by cooking for friends and that's…” He clicks his tongue with a nod. “That's just perfect for me.”

“Well,” she says, smiling at how clearly he loves what he does. “You're still a chef. Definitely to me at least.”

He rises when the oven chimes, giving her a smile. 

“That's enough for me.”

The biscuits have filled the kitchen with the warm scent of vanilla – the same scent that's usually still barely lingering when she gets home.

He stays long enough to let them cool slightly and cut them and she watches as he arranges them on the trivet by the kettle, just as he always does. He packs his things up then and she sees him out, exchanging smiles and goodbyes.

She's still smiling when she finally goes upstairs to change for the evening and it takes her a while to identify the feeling.

She feels like she just got home from a really, really good date.

×

It wasn't a date, so she doesn't know why she's disappointed when she doesn't hear from him again over the week. She doesn't contact him either, trying to recategorize the evening in her mind. 

She's very pleasantly surprised, in that case, when she comes home the following Tuesday and he's still there. She knows by the smell of something sweet and nutty filling the air before she even gets to the kitchen. 

It's spotless this time. He's not all anxious energy this time either – he smiles when she peeks in, looking rather uncertain about his welcome, but it still makes something deep in her chest ache.

It's rather nice. To come home to a smile from someone.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello.” She lets her smile ease his uncertainty and her tone ask her questions for her.

“I, uh, wanted to say thank you,” he explains. “For last week, when I was…when I wasn't feeling so great, for being so kind, letting me hang out for a while.”

She starts to wave it off again, but he continues.

“I made a little something special for ya. Something I can't really leave for you to reheat later,” he says, gesturing to the ovens. “If you want a little snack?”

She nods eagerly, kicking her heels off toward the stairs before she joins him.

He pulls a dish from the oven and sets it on the counter. He fiddles with something there, but she doesn't see what until her turns, sliding a round plate to the center of the island between them.

Whatever it is is perfectly golden brown, looks delicious and smells heavenly.

“Honey baked brie,” he informs her. “With some walnuts and some fig jam, tiny bit of rosemary.”

“Oh my god,” she almost moans. “And it's what, wrapped in pastry?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he smiles. “Thought it might be something you like.”

“I can tell you already you're correct,” she says, rounding the island to find them some forks. “I can't wait to taste it.”

“Let me know how you like it.” She frowns, but he's got a small smile when she looks up. “I'll let you…”

“You think I'm going to eat that entire thing myself?” she asks, lifting her brows as she pulls two forks from the drawer.

“Well, I know how much you like cheese,” he chuckles.

“I'll share,” she says, handing him a fork. “With you.”

She doesn't even have the patience to sit down – she slices her fork through the pastry and creamy brie begins to ooze out. She scoops it up with some pastry, catching a nut and a bit of fig and shoves it in her mouth. 

“Careful, it's hot–”

“Fuck me,” she mutters without thought.

It's delicious. Creamy and sweet and savory, the pastry flaky and buttery. It's rich and indulgent but not sickeningly so and she’s in love.

She's bringing another bite to her mouth when she realizes he's just smiling at her, pleased as punch.

“Please eat some,” she begs around her bite. “Because I can not eat all of this and I will if you leave me alone with it.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, cutting off a bite for himself. 

He hums, pleased with his handiwork. “Mm. Not to toot my own horn, but that's good.”

“Mm!” she hums, getting an idea. She steps away to the wine cooler, squatting down to look for one of her less frequent whites. She comes back with a pair of glasses and an off-dry Riesling.

“This was a bit too bright and citrus-y for me, but it might be gorgeous with this.”

“Okay. You’re the sommelier here, not me,” he says as she pours, then slides a glass to him.

“Oh, please, your pairings are always spot on.”

It does go nicely, complimenting every bite.

“God, this is lovely,” she tells him. 

“I'm glad you like it,” he mumbles around his own bite. 

“Did you make the pastry?”

He shakes his head. “No. Normally I would, but I didn't decide on this until I was shopping today and that takes some time.”

“How long did this take?”

She listens with interest as he explains how he made it, amazed at how straightforward it sounds.

“Christ, it sounds like I could make it.”

“Uh oh,” he says, eyes widening. “Am I talking myself out of a job?”

“Oh, hardly. Even if I figured out how to make everything you cook for me, I'd still keep you around,” she admits. “You’re good company.”

“Well, that's nice to know,” he smiles, eyes soft.

“Also, knowing how to definitely doesn't mean I actually have any desire to cook any of it myself,” she chuckles. “So you still have plenty of use.”

She winks with her teasing as his warm laugh has him tucking his chin, his crows feet deepening. 

“I see how it is.”

She can't help but take him in, delighted by how carefree he is today. God help her, she really does like him – she wants to know him better. He's so genuine, so unselfish and generous, and she wants to keep him smiling.

“Thank you,” she says when she finally really can't eat any more, maybe a quarter of the round of brie left on the plate. “That was very kind of you.”

“No, thank you,” he echoes. “It was nice last week, to sit and eat with someone and I needed it.”

She nods get agreement, leaning her hip against the counter.

“I won't, uh, make a habit of just hanging out here, though,” he says, presumably to reassure her.

Her brows tip, eyes on his as she lets out a disappointed, “No?”

His lips part, but he doesn't manage to form a response. It hardly matters – they're communicating plenty in their gazes, trading glances at each other's lips. The moment stretches, and stretches, her breath changing to suit the surplus beats of her heart at the intensity in his warm eyes.

He leans closer, tipping his head, and something jolts through the center of her when he kisses her. She returns the gentle pressure, daring to part her lips to close them against his. Her fingers curl into her hand at her hip with restraint, fighting the urge to sink into his hair or pull him closer.

It's too delicate, this lovely feeling, and draws a tenderness up through her she hasn't been able to find for months.

He eases back slowly and she catches the breath he stole. Her eyes open, finding his still closed and she watches his parted lips begin to tighten as he fights a smile. The sight inspires one of her own, pulling at her cheeks as he opens his eyes, the smile winning and straightening his mustache out.

“I, um…”

She rolls her lips into her mouth, not even trying for words. She has none.

He can't find any either.

She drives forward again, prepared this time with a little extra breath in her lungs, a little more confidence. He kisses her back with a little more something too and she can't restrain her hands anymore from rising to hold his face. She tries to imbue the motion of her lips with plenty of invitation, but it's not until she pulls back and he follows, wavering toward her, that he steadies himself with a hand on her hip. Her attention goes straight to the heat of it through her dress as it slides to a more respectable height on her waist.

“You are very welcome to linger here as much as you like actually,” she exhales.

“Oh, I feel welcome,” he says, voice low.

She grins, pulling him in again. “Do you?”

“I sure do.” 

He barely gets the words out before they're kissing again. She opens to him, tastes the brie and honey and the dry sweetness of the wine and finds it appropriate that he should be so indulgent. His hands finally make their way around her, narrowing the space between them even more. She's not sure when her arms found their way around his neck but they tighten there in response.

He doesn't let her go far when they part again, dropping a kiss on the corner of her mouth, her cheek. Her eyes close with the sensation, the scratch of his mustache and his warm lips. 

“I really like cooking for you,” he murmurs.

The way he says it makes it sound like a deep confession and she feels silly for how fluttery it makes her to hear. She smiles against his lips and discovers this isn't new information to her. It's in every bite.

“I know you do,” she says low in his ear. “I can taste it.”

“Can you?” He sounds surprised and pleased.

“Yes.” She guides him back to her lips. “I can.”

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 16

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

@garbagemilkshake and I thought that something a bit more on the fan service side would be fun for this week's chapter art and I totally didn't write a whole additional scene to make it happen.

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Folate.

You were sick of spinach.

It seemed to only have two settings: crunchy or snotty. Donnie had done his best to be creative, but it was within those two confines that you were stuck. Any sort of cooking preparation reduced the leaves to slim slime. It was tolerable enough baked into Florentines or strung up through pasta, but as time wore on, eating it became a chore. You found yourself sifting through your food to gobble down the spinach first so you could have a few blessed bites without it.

The same went with salads. While there were any number of preparations or sauce options, at a base level you were eating roughage. The greens came in a litany of hues, but their flavors hadn’t ranged much. Spinach blended in while radicchio stood out, but the concept at its core was a monotonous one. The real trouble came with pesticides and bacteria. While Donnie couldn’t smell the latter, their proliferation meant he could scent when a product was off. You shopped at a number of places to get the best produce, but you were still riding a 50/50 line where the vegetables would need to be tossed, just in case, for your growing fetus’ health. 

You didn’t want to hang your entire folate consumption on spinach, but the matter had seemingly been taken away from you. Fortified cereals were either too processed or blander than if you had eaten wheat straight from the plant. From there, other fruits and vegetables scaled with trace amounts except for asparagus. You once enjoyed the stalk roasted and beside a nice fish, but your body’s shifts had started.

You could no longer digest the vegetable properly.

The first time it had happened, you couldn’t identify the issue. You ate a day’s worth of food and you were awoken in the darkened early morning with stomach cramps. They persisted until you had a bowel movement and the next day Donnie poured over the causes. Your lunch was swapped out, but you ran on a meal plan for dinner which meant a repeat of the same effect. You had a snack of only asparagus on a hunch after that and the ensuing bathroom trip was a third time shame on you before you cut it out of your diet.

Calcium.

Your giant vitamin wasn’t doing enough.

It was yet another thing you had trouble noticing at first. Your legs had been achey, but there weren’t necessarily alarm bells for you. Days where you were a little more stationary at work had the same effect. You were moving into your tenth week of pregnancy and, while there certainly wasn’t enough weight inside you for those sorts of aches to build up, you figured maybe it was your little bean. Donnie had examined your gait and further reassured that you had yet to walk differently. Your hips were relatively fine, but you found that particularly in the morning, your calves pinched. Donnie rubbed them to encourage blood flow, but felt no makings of muscle tension.

It was the calcium.

You hadn’t even needed to bring it up during your eleventh week visit with Dr. Kuro.

You had simply winced when getting off the exam table and she caught the movement with flicking ears.

She promptly informed you that low levels of the mineral were often related to muscle cramps as calcium aided in contraction. Donnie’s gaze had gone glazed for missing something so obvious, but Dr. Kuro talked him down. She had seen glimpses of his intense concern over making every little thing right and put you both side by side in chairs. She spoke to the supposed rules of pregnancy and, without trying to scare either of you, specified that you could do everything right and things might not go as intended.

She perforated the fear with a teasing that if you followed all the scare tactics then you would be left with nothing to eat at all.

Dairy became a staple in your diet after that.

It wasn’t something you obsessed over prior, but it became a necessity. You had trouble downing a glass of milk straight for what it did to your intestines, but sprinkling cheese and the like throughout your dishes added the necessary pop. Your legs loosened near immediately and your required baseline of calcium was raised. That came not with a heftier pill, but a larger dosage and further blood tests. Dr. Kuro reminded you that you were finding the norms for something totally unique so there would be some adjustment. As long as nothing ever got too uncomfortable, you were safe to experiment.

You swore to tell Dr. Kuro about every single little change that happened to your body after that.

You doubted she minded.

Vitamin D.

In your uneducated days, fish had seemed like some damning entity to pregnancy. Whispers of mercury levels and haunting tales of sushi made the entire ocean into something to be avoided. It was further perpetuated by the dreaded colossal fish oil pills, which were supposedly the only substitute. Maybe because of their name, but you had always equated fish oil with snake oil in your mind. That was an issue for pregnant people you had thought before and had never minded expensive baubles that looked like edible glass.

You hadn’t had any restrictions before. 

Now that you did, you found that your misconception was just that. 

Fish was good for pregnancy. 

Mostly. 

It all seemed obvious enough until you actually began to learn about the product. In an annoying pendulum swing, what went from bad to good then apparently went rotten again. Nearly all commercial salmon was brightened to its signature orange via a color additive. Natural caught fish touted an organic brightness, but then there was talk of fishing practices. Sustainable or not was difficult to find out by design and hatcheries supposedly lost the necessary nutrition value. You were damned if you did and damned if you didn’t and all the while there were imaginary eyes on you.

It was an inkling you had because you had been there. You could see yourself, heavy with child, and surrounded by whispers about what you did or did not eat. The judgment was imminent and, though no stranger could probably tell you were pregnant, you were aware of others. You watched on as those who were perceived to be carrying had to act as if they weren’t being whispered about. People had endless things to say about business that wasn’t theirs. Others would soon think they had a say in what you did with your body and baby and you were haunted by that fact.

Donnie was both worse and better in that regard. Your mate respected you, but he was also beholden to his science. Before you were pregnant, there hadn’t been much mention toward what you consumed. Your mate had his own long stemming issues with food that he was slowly recovering from to this day. His interest in it waned with the more dishes he tried and he’d long phased out of drives to cook. He now did it for the sake of balancing household work, but his time of experimentation had passed. 

Your baby was an entirely new entity. 

Right when his interest had settled, he had been forced to become hyper aware of consumption yet again. A new life that was not his own depending on it and therefore he couldn’t just throw random supplements to keep it going. He wanted the best for your child and that came with knowing all about where each morsel came from or did. In an instant, he was trailing company ledgers to find out an entire life cycle of any given product. He didn’t knock his enriched foods of old, but he saw them differently. There was science to what the body could absorb and digest. He lived by your vitamins, but saw their limitations. Anything synthesized resulted in a poorer uptake of nutrients than from what he was now forced to categorize as real food and then just like with fish as a concept, so came the counter swing. 

Those same labs that made the vitamins and supplements also often had a hand in the fortification of those supposedly real foods. The scare tactics around genetically modified foods was a hoax at best. He had gone on long winded tangents about how selective breeding fell under the umbrella which had been done long before the idea of intercepting genes in seeds was a concept. Unfortunately it mattered little what your mate thought on the concept as larger companies had long been pillaging the market. They affected germination only to boost dividends and destroyed small farms in the process. They eliminated competition both literally and amongst the very produce they sought to monopolize. The swinging pendulum of the good and bad of industry was exhausting your mate.

It hollowed him out for his basal attitude, which you had long known to be staunch. He voiced his opinions boldly and his current one regarded what you ate. You were fine with taking his opinion at first, since you were actually interested in those. Your interests aligned there and that was why you let him sift through vegetables. You wanted your baby to be just as happy and healthy so it was easy to let him sniff out pesticides or leaves wilting from unknown branches of E. coli, but the moment you got to fish it went a proverbial overboard.

There were many types of fish. Some were farm raised and others came from fancy fishmongers. There was preparation. There was an endless ocean of what could and could not be done to get a fish to a plate. Before you even began your discussion, you could sense discomfort wafting off of him. The factors were as endless as the unknowns about your baby and it was unsettling especially to the man who preached science as his gospel. It was the only sense he had for many years and seeing it round on him illustrated the failings of society. For every advancement in food safety, there was a greedy corporate hound there to dismantle it.

He played his own part with Genius Built. Your forkfuls were bites of a moral conundrum. Donnie approached the debate on the side of banning fish. Its industry above all others posed the greatest risk. You had landed on the side of wanting to eat it. Instead of a fight, you had both stewed in silence. 

Together you had exhausted all information. You were prepared for Donnie to persuade you. Instead, he waited. He knew duality better than most. The norm was usually choosing whatever lesser evil pertained to the individual. In this area, you chose for him. 

You were growing your child after all. You compromised and set a standard that would be applied to whatever foods came next. There would be a limit on how much time you could weigh the benefits of a food item. If it became a headache, then it would be thrown out. If you felt strongly about eating something, then exceptions could be made.

You would do your best and that was all you could do.

Protein.

After the limitations were set, you could tell Donnie thrived under the parameters. With a time limit, he could no longer go on adding pros and cons until it drove him mad. He had a certain window in which to research and that eased his mind. While all of it was dedicated to you in some way, you liked having him around attentively instead of distracted by research about how to do right by you or your baby.

You also stepped in. After fish had illustrated the dark side of food consumption while pregnant, you made yourself present during the meal planning. You sat down with him once a week and did your best to decide together what to eat. You picked out things you were craving and built up around that. When you weren’t particularly feeling anything, you then chose lighter fare and left days open for exploration. You used them up eating out at restaurants where the components of a dish were known. You acknowledged your privilege in getting to do so, but balanced it amongst what seemed like waning time with your mate.

There would soon be another person vying for your attention and you were more aware of it in your thirteenth week. It marked the occasion where there was a stark drop off in the chance that you would miscarry. You made the date an entire night out with your mate and he partook without reservation. Those consecutive visits that you thought might be tedious suddenly blossomed into a journey.  That live feed, static cam footage of what was happening inside of you continued to grow and with it your confidence. You were going to have a baby with the love of your life and you spent a balmy July night wrapped up in that knowledge.

You then spent the next day planning meals around chicken.

It felt like a comical omen of things. For as fantastical as your world was, there was an inevitable dose of reality. Donnie’s endless pocket book did little when crafting a daily menu. You guessed the less sensible of his type of elite had someone else do this sort of thing, but Donnie had never been anything less than hands on. You owned a set of aged mismatched Tupperware like anyone else. You filled containers with a rice medley and tried to dole out even amounts even while the vessels varied in shape. They came with you as you went to work and you waited in the same line when it came time to reheat your food in the microwave.

It was grounding.

In the world where Dr. Kuro was taking notes like she would soon publish multiple prize winning scientific papers, you were still you.

You had no plans of quitting this life when the baby was born.

Donnie had more than enough time to take the role of a stay at home parent and you relished the thought. You pictured him with towels on his shoulder for spit up and the ensuing gag he’d surely make for each diaper. You bet he would fashion himself a mask to preserve his nostrils and he’d strap in with an entire suit to protect his person from fluids. There was no way he’d actually be able to subvert the dirtiness that came with babies and you bet as soon as Lady Nagami found out that she would be  wringing her hands at the increased income stream coming her way. 

Your husband in an apron.

Your husband with a lump that looked just like him sleeping on his chest.

Your husband exhausted in the middle of the night as he soothed a sobbing infant.

You mooned it all until someone popped your bubble with a comment about your food having long finished warming in the microwave.

You excused an additional 15 seconds to get that extra boiling temp amongst teasing groans.

You ate with your coworkers and caught up on gossip.

Things were looking up. 

Iron.

Spinach was back.

In reality, it had been back. 

It was your most dreaded super food.

It had been haunting you since your days of calcium.

Popeye vexed you in ways you couldn’t quite articulate.

You almost wished you could chug down a can like him in one gulp.

You would swallow your daily dose whole and be done with it.

Instead, you reconsidered your position on fortified foods. It was in your fourteenth week that you walked right up to where Donnie was sitting at his desk. He spun his chair to address you openly and you cleanly told him, “I need a break from spinach. I want to barter on juice and cereal!”

He approached the metaphorical table with folded hands in front of his mouth. “Go on.”

“You make the juice and we do a cereal taste test.”

You had clearly thought over your proposal and he dropped his act. He accepted and asked if he had forced the greenery on you. You told him that he hadn’t, but you were on your last nerve with the repetition. You both ruminated on all the benefits as a way to give spinach it's time before you let it go. You left the chance open that you might return to it, but in the meantime you ordered a juicer.

It was delivered the next day and Donnie studied how best to utilize it. The planter Spencer had sent over soon multiplied. Where one box hung ornamental flowers, another soon sat with wheat grass and additives. Actual herbs were located amongst your other vegetables on the roof and with that, you planned an exploratory trip to a farmer’s market that weekend. 

The sun cooked the summer day and your large hat did little amongst the persisting heat. Even Donnie in his layers seemed worn by it and you ended up purchasing drink after drink. You found a particular blend of fresh juice and lemon ginger tea to be a hallmark amongst your sips. Donnie probed the purveyor and found him to be satisfying enough that he purchased a set of juices from the stand. You haul was then supplemented with a few produce items you didn’t grow yourself and you returned to send them through the blades of your machine. 

Each morning that followed would come with you and Donnie teasing each other with concoctions in the kitchen. You made up for the loss in fiber from fruit by tossing in things like flax through the juicer. It seemed like a silly act at the time, but you and your mate both found that it mixed in well. A spice grinder soon appeared and you were putting peppery spins of drinks for the sake of it.

By the fifteenth week, you welcomed spinach back, but only if it was joined by the quintessential apple a day and a few other vitamin boosting and flavor covering pals and ground beyond its textures and into something new.

You got used to lugging around colorful sips in a handy insulated bottle and it was something you toted around. Most places cared little in the city if you had a water bottle and you took advantage of that. You found it easier to sip mindlessly while you did other activities. It worked almost as an idling method while you thought, which was something you did in front of a wall of cereals.

Donnie’s glasses were especially flared in their dual colors as he analyzed the lot and you waited nearby. You had long learned at this point not to be swayed by anything written on the packaging. You were chained to ingredient’s lists. They were the closest you could get to the honest truth of a food’s make-up and Donnie had modified his glasses to sweep through that and a company’s procedure with only a glance.

“Options!” Your mate spoke suddenly and surged forward.

You sucked from your straw and leaned against your cart as you waited.

Donnie picked things off the shelf in a growing stack.

You watched them increase to a brow raising level before he walked the balancing act over to you.

He lined them up in a standing row and swept a hand over top. “Here’s a viable selection, my dearest.”

“That’s more than I thought.” You leaned forward on the cart’s handle to overlook the bounty.

“Quite.”

“You always think it’ll all be sugary.” You refused to move and stepped up on the lower cart bar.

Donnie grabbed the basket so it wouldn’t move.

“Take out that third one. Catalina Crunch is not a cereal. They like to pretend. It’s totally just cardboard meant to be eaten dry.” You pointed.

He plucked the selection free and returned it to the shelf.

“A few of these are the same brand.”

“I selected within your taste preference.” He returned just as the cart started to roll and stopped it with his foot. “Shall we further narrow?”

You sighed as if put out and hopped off the cart. Donnie took his turn to lean as you joined his side. He watched you instead of your choices as you flipped through the boxes. You plucked two from the same brand whose names were one word off and compared them back to back. There was an odd difference in calories while all the other nutrition facts seemed the same. The ingredients list revealed little, but time crept up on you. You ended up tossing out both options and left the store with seven total cereals.

You parted from Donnie and the bags at the door when you got home. Your husband was none the wiser as he twisted with his totes and made sure everything was closed. He sauntered over to meet you in the kitchen and paused when he saw you had a litany of bowls out. He reviewed the many dishes and you turned to him with two spoons and a sparkling gaze.

“We’ll need a rinsing process or a new utensil each time for an adequate taste test.” He spoke with metered affection.

You leapt at him and he took your weight with a hefty squeeze.

You were sat down, but he didn’t leave where he was pressed to you as you dolled out cereal.

You opened a box at a time and he poured the milk with a flourished grace. You teased him about what kind of barista he would have been and he scoffed at the concept. You went on through your first bite to mention how he ground his own beans. By your third and fourth bowls you added how finicky he was about water temperature. He was darting his eyes by the sixth bowl as you detailed his organic cotton filters and his gooseneck kettle.

By the last bowl, you had two cereals chosen and an alternate line of work for your husband.

You spun a yarn about your twilight years as Donnie cleaned up. The rest of the cereal was sealed off and bound to be downed by that exact man. You would join him on a few of the options for the sake of it, but he never particularly cared to down a food as long as it was inoffensive to him.

He listened attentively to your tale about how your kids would be grown and moved out. They’d have illustrious careers and the two of you would give up city life. You’d find a lake that better mimicked Donnie’s biodome and buy it outright. He’d improve the ecosystem, set up a nature preserve, and the café on the edge of the grounds would fund it. You would live in a house connected to it and spend lazy days surrounded by nature and the sweet smells of coffee.

“Will they come to visit?” Donnie whispered as you finished up your story.

“Our kids?” You looked at him.

He nodded one anxious time.

You smiled and took your time in dusting cereal flakes from his black ensemble. “Every year.”

That response seemed too tepid for him, but you weren’t done.

“Instead of just Christmas, they take the whole last few weeks of the year off to stay with us. The oldest picks up pond study where your knees have been giving you trouble and our youngest whines about how there aren't better shops nearby. You remind them that you asked for their lists beforehand so you can order everything, but they always forget.”

Donnie slacked and came in closer.

“Then there’s the surprise visits and we lose count. One of them gets dumped and drives out and shows up in the middle of the night looking like a mess. You spend the whole night cheering them up and plotting some poor kid’s take down. Sometimes they get bored and pop in with a silly, ‘we were in the area.’ Then there’s the grandkids. They love the water and their pop-pop.”

“Pop-pop?” The illusion was broken and Donnie chuffed.

“You would want something silly like that.”

“Papa.” Donnie spoke with a sharp edge.

“Isn’t that for dads?” You teased.

“Could be for both…” He had a soft, unrelenting smile.

You guessed it was. 

Exercise.

“It’s been three months.” Donnie spoke as he moved the sofa.

“Mhm.” The bundle of your mat was clutched to your chest.

“Well?”

You feigned a listless gasp.

His cheeks puffed out the slightest amount as he set the furniture aside.

“My beloved Donatello, corrupted by gossip!” You continued on and rolled out your mat.

Said man rounded toward you with his displeasure.

You laughed and spread out your hands to get the corners down.

He waited with a grouch above you.

You cutely rolled onto your back and looked up at him.

He had to school himself to keep his features annoyed.

“I know what you’re asking, but I kind of want to hear you say it.”

He frowned deeply.

You sat up long enough to locate your resistance band.

He paced mentally and it showed in the slightest bob of his body.

You flopped back down with less grace and stretched the band between your hands.

“What happened with Coral and Nelson?” He all but snapped the truth of his question.

Your grin split your face.

He dropped down to squat beside you and waited.

“You’re so cute.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Patently incorrect. I do not have enlarged eyes, rounded cheeks, or comparatively small bone structure.”

“You’re describing babies.”

He was further put out and a protesting whine caught in his throat.

“Adorable.” You told him with full admiration.

He wilted with his large arms. “Darling…”

“I’m not teasing you.”  You explained. “I really do think so, Sweet. I’ve thought so since the moment we met. I thought you were handsome and then I thought you were cute.”

“Your taste…” He ushered and clearly held himself back from touching you.

You stretched with the band and brushed the backs of your hands together for the sake of it.

He churred softly.

“Okay, so the pilates move I’ve been having trouble with…” You laid down and gave the resistance band some length before hiking your legs up and tucking your heels into it.

He watched on with some gripe oozing off of him.

You would tell him what he wanted to know, but couldn’t help but drum up suspense. “So there’s a machine to do this in, but theoretically I shouldn’t need it.

You stretched out your legs and the band came with you. You wrapped the rubber around your palms for a good hold and brought your legs straight up into the air. You kept the band from snapping away with pointed toes and then tried to split your legs, but your heels caught on the rubber.

“See.”

Donnie let go of some of his complaints and his head wove in observation. “What is the machine like?”

“It has separate bands for each leg.”

“Easier to split.” He hummed.

“Exactly.”

“Socks?” He wondered.

“I can’t use them. Too much grip.”

He frowned and stood to approach your legs.

“She’s still doing the class, obviously.” You snuck in. “Coral, I mean.” 

Donnie continued to examine your feet.

“I think she likes it. It’s not really a super sweaty kind of workout. I think it's fine. I get that it's a low impact exercise, but some of the ways the teacher can stretch are terrifying…! Like she’ll do a jackknife, go into control balance, and then she backwards somersault into a crab!”  

“Is this how you were told to do it?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“Your teacher, she’s a career instructor?”

“Yeah, after doing ballet when she was young.”

He nodded once before tapping your legs.

You brought them down and safely freed the band.

“I’m unfamiliar with resistance training, but I recognize a pulley.”

He urged you to sit up.

You did so and watched as he went for your gym bag. He gathered a toning tube and traded it out for your loop band. After stowing the other item, he returned and had you sit with your legs out. He started with your right and slipped the handle around your foot. He then wound around your back so the band stretched and pulled against the resistance to do the same to your left foot. “Now try.”

“It’ll slip when I stick my legs out.”

He openly thought. “Being on your back isolates leg muscles, but the band should compensate. Does the motion require your legs to straighten?”

It was your turn to ponder. “No…? I’m supposed to go up, out, and in to stretch the pelvis.”

“Rendering start position irrelevant.”

You nodded and laid back.

It took some adjusting to lay comfortably on a rubber cord, but you eventually managed. Once you were settled, you pulled at the band with your knees folded and were careful in raising your legs up. You soon had them extended high and rolled outward for the necessary spreading motion. The band undulated beneath you, but stayed in place until you completed one rep of the exercise.

“We got it!” You cheered and did a few more for the sake of it.

“Discuss with your teacher if this is appropriate.”

“And if not I’ll find out why.” You sent him knowing affection.

He lavished in it.

“So Coral and I have done seven total weeks of pilates. That’s three more than the three month deadline of asking Nelson out.”

Donnie’s head lifted with attention.

You held out eye contact.

His pupils darted through a few imagined scenarios before he finally looked at you. 

“Their first date is next week.”

He perked up with high brows. “Really?”

“Yup.”

“How?”

“He asked her.”

Donnie got to his knees and addressed you fully. “Explain.”

You laughed and continued to stretch your legs. “They say exercise boosts confidence. Nel’s never really had that, but he’s been doing this circuit training thing since his last girlfriend or whatever. The three month deal deadline came up and Coral said she was looking for the best time to spring it on him which is so weird for her. I figured she would just blurt it out, but I guess it’s different since they’ve known each other for years. Anyway, she got home from the gym one day at the same time as him. He made them both quinoa because it’s good after a workout or whatever and boom, he served it up, told her there was a place that makes way better, and asked if she wanted to go.”

Donnie slowly took in the information.

“Oh and she did blurt out asking if that was a date. I guess he laughed and said it was if she wanted and she berated him for being noncommittal.”

“They’ll last weeks at most.” He chuffed.

“Or forever. No in-between.” You chuckled.

You folded your legs to end your exercise and watched Donnie trace the movement.

“Wanna try?”

“My prosthetic.” His gaze pinched. “I can fashion an attachment.”

“Like I’d start you here!” You playfully sat up. “I’m a bonafide intermediate!”

“I see…” He deferred to you even though he had leagues of fighting experience that made that statement particularly inaccurate and gave you an idea. 

“We should remember the grip thing…” You got off the mat so he could get on. “Since you’re new and all.”

He took your spot. 

“It’s better-no safer with bare skin and it would be way too much trouble for you to change into your gym clothes so you should ditch your pants…”

He saw right through your game with narrowed eyes. 

You waited with excitement that would have had your tail wagging if you had one. 

He was obvious in giving up for a show and arched to get his waistband. “You are the intermediate.” 

“Yay!” You cheered as softly as you could before biting your lip at your husband’s chiseled form.

💜 NEXT 💜

Thank you to my beta @tmntxthings 

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Ace Trappola - Beach Wear Vignette

"An amazing and memorable summer"

[Uninhabited Island – Cottage]

Ace: HIYAH!

[wind magic]

Ace: Awesome, bullseye! Finish 'em off, Housewarden!

Riddle: I don't need you to tell me twice. HUP!!

[fire magic]

Ace: That's a Housewarden for you! Alllright, let's nab all the parts ASAP.

Riddle: You've improved, Ace. But the number of robot attacks seems to be increasing.

Ace: Yeahhh. Maybe Gantu's finally taking it seriously?

Riddle: …Everyone is so elated by the resort and surfing, but I believe we should take a breather to think more seriously.

Riddle: At dinner, we should speak to determining a security system.

Ace: So I got stuck patrolling around the cottage based on Riddle-ryōchō's suggestion…

1. Let's do our best! 2. I'll join you.

Grim: Nyahaha! Gantu's robots ain't no match for me～!

Stitch: Yeehaw ♪

Ace: NO, BUT SERIOUSLY, WHY AM I STUCK WITH THESE GUYS!? THIS DOESN'T MAKE ME FEEL ANY SAFER!

Ace: Stitch is one thing, but you two from Ramshackle're not really good for fighting!

Grim: Whaddya say～!? Humph, I ain't gonna save you if you're attacked by a robot.

Ace: That's my line. Don't get lost wandering around on your own.

Ace: Anyway, [Yuu], you better not leave my side, especially 'cause you can't use magic.

[nods]

Ace: Eh, I mean, I guess we don't really run into any of those robots at night anyway, so I think you'll be alright.

Grim: Alllright, so let's get this patrol on the road. Follow me!

[Uninhabited Island – Tropical Forest]

Ace: Wheew～ The breeze's nice. It's great to have since it's still pretty humid at night.

Ace: I was worried what would happen bein' stranded on this deserted island and all…

Ace: But thanks to us having that cottage, I'd say we're survivin' pretty comfortably.

Ace: If we didn't have Stitch or our upperclassmen, we'd probably have been stuck sleeping in that cave the whole time.

Ace: Thanks, Stitch.

Stitch: Ehe!

Grim: Funyaa! Hey, I also was out there collecting vines and branches and fruits and any other stuff out there we could use!

Ace: Sure, you're helping in your own little way, but when it comes to the fruit, you were basically eating them as soon as you found them.

Grim: That’s… Uh… Yeah, I was tasting to make sure it was good! It woulda been bad if you all got upset stomachs, after all!

Ace: If you eat everything yourself, then that's no longer taste testing.

Ace: Eh, I mean, it's not like I really want fruit, anyway. All of Floyd-senpai's dishes were totally delish.

Ace: The white fish sauté, the seafood simmered in coconut milk, the carpaccio, and that fruit salad...

Ace: All those dishes tasted like they came right out of a restaurant. There's no way I'd be able to go back to normal food after that.

Stitch: Right!

Grim: I wanna barbeque again! I can't get enough of that juicy, savory flavor of all that shellfish～

1. The grilled shrimp was delicious.

Ace: Totally. It's gotta be the fact that all these ingredients are super fresh that it tastes so good.

2. The meat was good, too.

Ace: I totally get it. I'm still a growing boy, y'know? Fish is good and all, but it's just not enough without some actual meat.

Ace: The cottage and food are getting' more and more extravagant, so it really feels like we're at a private beach resort.

Ace: Gettin' to be more of a celebrity getaway, 'stead of us being stranded. Honestly, I've always wanted to experience something like this.

[Grim's stomach growls]

Grim: Funyaa～ …All that talk of food's making me hungry. Hey, hey, why don't we go back to the cottage already?

Grim: The other guys are also out patrolling, so they'll all be fine without us.

Ace: Don't be stupid, Grim. Riddle-ryōchō and Azul-senpai are still at the cottage.

Ace: If it's found out that we slacked off, we'll definitely lose our heads.

Ace: C'mon, we're basically living that resort lifestyle, no one wants to be wearing that heavy collar around. Let's just do our job and patrol.

Ace: And besides, Gantu's capturing robots won't pop out at us, so… Just going on a stroll while chattin' it up ain't bad once in a while.

Ace: Honestly, being around my Housewarden, or my basketball clubmates day in and day out just kinda tires me out.

1. Yeah, seems like.

Ace: I knew you'd get me.

2. Doesn't look like it to me…

Ace: You don't get it at all. 'Sides, it's called being polite not showing how tired I am!

Ace: Putting that aside… This has been pretty great, hasn't it? We all got to go surfing together, too.

Ace: Whatever else there might be, don't you think this is turning out to be an amazing and memorable summer?

[Uninhabited Island - Tropical Forest]

Ace: Putting that aside… This has been pretty great, hasn't it? We all got to go surfing together, too.

Ace: Whatever else there might be, don't you think this is turning out to be an amazing and memorable summer?

Ace: Sucks that my phone battery died so I couldn't take any pictures…

Ace: But when we get back to campus, we totally gotta brag to Deuce that we had an awesome vacation on a tropical island.

Grim: Yeah! Deuce is probably super depressed right now.

1. It would have nice if we could all have come together.

Ace: I wonder～ Well, I guess he does have a ton of stamina, so he might have been super useful gathering water and food.

2. It would be nice to come together next time.

Ace: EH, NEXT TIME!? I mean, sure, we're having fun and all, but I definitely don't want to get stranded like this a second time.

Ace: But hey, I guess I feel sorry for him that he was the only one left behind.

Ace: Guess it wouldn't be too bad to invite Deuce and we all go somewhere together for summer vacation.

Stitch: Ohana?

Grim: Hm? You talking about Deuce? Yeah, he's another one that I look after.

Ace: I question who's looking after who, here…

1. He's our friend. 2. We get along well.

Stitch: Great!

[rustle, rustle]

Ace: Hm? Did you guys hear something behind us?

Grim: Probably just the leaves rustlin' in the wind. Look at you, a real worrywart.

1. Huh? Where'd Stitch go? 2. Wait. Stitch is gone!

Ace: Stitch? If you're still here, say something.

Ace: No way. I got a bad feeling…

Ace: EH!?

Grim: Hey! Stitch! You better not be trying to scare me… HRMPH!

Ace: Shhhh!!! Both of you stay quiet.

Ace: I knew it… Something huge is coming this way.

Ace: Is it an enemy? Shoot, of all times to show up, it had to be right when we lost Stitch.

[rustle, rustle, rustle!]

Grim: Eek… Th-Those footsteps are getting closer!

Ace: I'll do what I can to stop them. So you two need to head back to the cottage and go get my Housewarden and Azul-senpai.

Ace: When I give you the signal, run and don't look back. …It'll be fine. I'll be able to fight them off, at least until you get back.

Ace: …Here we go.

Ace: [YUU], GRIM! RUN!!!

???: GRAAAWR!!!!

Ace: I WON'T LET YOU PASS ME!

Ace: I'll beat yo… Uh, wait. Huh?

Floyd: Boo～! Whaddya think, did I scare you?

Ace: FLOYD-SENPAI!? AND STITCH!?

Ace: O-Oh, come on～～! Don't scare me like that!!

Floyd: Aha! Look how scared you were, Crab-chan. Hilarious!

Stitch: Yahahaha!

Ace: Hey, you, Stitch～! You totally abandoned us when you realized Floyd-senpai was near, didn't you?

Ace: And here I was praising you so much, and that's how you repay me?

Floyd: Just let it go. "I won't let you pass me," you said? Don't think I've ever said that kind of line before.

Floyd: [whistles] Crab-chan, you're so coool～ You thought so too, right, Shrimpy-chan?

1. You were totally cool. 2. Thanks for protecting us!

Ace: Ughhhhh! Floyd-senpai, stop teasing me!

Ace: And the rest of you better not join in, either! Don't tell anyone about what just happened.

Grim: Nyahaha, maybe I will, maybe I won't～

Ace: If Trey-senpai or Cater-senpai, or even Deuce hears about it… They won't ever let me live it down.

Floyd: Ah, don't get all crabby on me. There's some chilled jelly waiting for us when we get back to the cottage.

Ace: Whose fault do you think this is…

Ace: No, it's fine, I guess I am pretty hungry, so I'll take that jelly and call it even.

Ace: Sigh, I feel so tired all of a sudden. And the best way to get rid of this icky feeling is…

Ace: To eat some delicious food again tomorrow with everyone and just have as big a blast as I possibly can!

Requested by Anonymous.

[stardustmuncher]

get to know me!!

okay, wow. guess who has not expected their art to get any attention at all, let alone even incoming requests for art. i apologize if i haven't done ur request yet btw, i've been awfully busy!

however, since i am getting traction and my bday is today (yippi to me, even tho my age is now much too serious) i think its appropriate for me to do a bit of an introduction post..

so without further ado, i present t you...

ME!

hello!! my name is aj, aka stardustmuncher we're being all official with name tags and stuff

i'm bi and use any pronouns! like, fr, any pronouns. get creative guys.

i like to think of myself as somewhat of an artist. i wanna study animation one day, so that's pretty cool i guess.

i'm american, not proudly but i'm still surviving.

also, i'm a total band kid. i'm apart of my school's percussion ensemble, which is neat. it's pretty cool, i suppose.

some of my other hobbies include:

attending drama club like the nerd i am

writing for my school paper

listening to music

sleeping a bunch

hanging out with my friends and being idiots

baking

fashion. (i'm a huge fashion nerd..)

i'm an artist, sure. which means i'm in a lot of communities, i guess. my fandoms consist of:

the owl house (proudly a goldric shipper)

gravity falls

five nights at freddy's

mouthwashing

sally face

don't hug me i'm scared

hamilton

heathers the musical

mean girls

class of 09

helluva boss/hazbin hotel

the spiderverse series

nimona

miraculous

tim burton films

the amazing digital circus

i also LOVE my music, like a bunch.

some of my favorite artists are:

tv girl

chappell roan

olivia rodrigo

mitski

the moldy peaches

tyler the creator

lil peep

dazey and the scouts

laufey

adrienne lenker

pinkpanthersss

madilyn mei

now... my favorite songs.

anyone else but you by the moldy peaches

do the act like you've never met me by tv girl

nuts by lil peep

prom queen by beach bunny

kiss her you fool by kids that fly

break it off by pinkpanthersss

before he cheats by carrie underwood

good luck babe by chappell roan

hot to go by chappell roan

not allowed by tv girl

hate yourself by tv girl

now.. just some fun facts abt me!!

for no particular reason, i am cross-eyed. like i js came out this way idk??

i wear the same barbie pants like every other week. i love these pants.

honestly i prefer chocolate over fruity flavors, they're js better

always looking for more music recommendations, hmu if you got smth good

dms are always open if you need to vent :D or if you just want someone to yap ur interests to, either way

also art requests r always open. i will draw it like one day or smth but ive been busy.. maybe this next week ill draw again

big stuffed animal fan, i sleep with the same three everynight

i have a guinea pig named amity, yes after the toh character

i also have a fish named mr blubs

and two dogs and two cats, i love my pets so much

also i love queer stuff, im way too easy to queerbait i fear

always open to friends and mutuals, just ask!! <3

some of my fav youtubers r louis mcclung, chadchad, drama mama/benoftheweek, drama kween and heather grayce

thanks for reading this total yap session, hopes this helps the people of the tumblr site to know who i am!!

much love,

aj (stardustmuncher) !!