#tray warmer

[homekitchenary]

Different Types Of Coffee Drinks And Their Taste

Are you a coffee enthusiast looking to explore the rich variety of coffee drinks types? Dive into our latest blog post on Home Kitchenary. Learn about the most popular coffee beverages, their unique characteristics, and step by step guides to crafting them at home. From frothy cappuccinos to smooth flat whites, this article is your ultimate guide to becoming a home barista. Don’t miss out brew your way to perfection.

[luveline]

angsty request coming!!! hotch taking care of an overworked reader who hasn’t been sleeping!! maybe the team notices r has been a bit scattered or feverish and hotch steps in!!!

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k Hotch knows, technically, that what he’s doing tonight is out of bounds. He just doesn’t care —can’t find it in himself to regret his actions as he shepherds you from the office and into his car. Doesn’t give your wide-eyed surprise any notice, doesn’t offer explanation as he takes you into the department store between the office and his apartment and tells you to choose. 

“I don’t understand.” 

He nods toward the lines of pointelle camisoles and shorts, gestures to the longer silken trousers, “Choose something to wear.” 

You blink hotly. He’s flustered you, but that’s easy lately. “Do they have anything warmer?” you ask. 

He takes your arm gently into his hand and turns you an inch, where the jersey material pajamas hang from the wall. There’s a nice brown coordinating set right in front of you. He guesses your size (he knows it from practice), pulling a hanger from up high to offer you. “Yes?” he asks. 

“Why?” 

“You’ll need them.” 

You rub your face. “Okay, yeah. I like those ones.” 

He folds them over his arm. He can feel you gaze on the side of his face as he takes you to the register and pays without giving the total any mind. Hotch doesn’t care how much anything costs, he only wants it to be soft. If it weren’t crossing a line, he would’ve found you new underwear, too. 

He accepts the bag from the cashier and guides you out again. “Is there anything else you need?” he asks you. 

“For what?” 

“You aren’t going home.” 

“I’m not?” 

He shakes his head gently. He isn’t being intimidating, only straight forward. Hotch obviously isn’t in the business of kidnapping women, especially coworkers, friends, he just knows now that this won’t be solved without some tough love. “You’re staying with me, if you don’t mind.” 

“Why would I mind?” 

Lethargic, you follow him to the car and get back in the front seat. He turns the heated seats on and watches you sink into the leather, clearly pleased, tired eyes slipping closed every now and then in the ensuing silence. 

Regretfully, you startle as he parks, roused from whatever hooks that had finally managed to hold you. Heat, he thinks, is key here. 

“I’m making oatmeal and cocoa,” he says as he opens the door, waiting for you to follow suit before he continues, “and you can go and get changed. You know where my room is?”

“Sure.” 

“Alright, good. You can make yourself comfortable there.” 

“In your room?” 

He sends you a loving and agitated look over the door. Really? it says. You and Hotch have been trapped in an excitable will-they won’t-they situation for months, and he’d think by now the obvious answer to it all is we most certainly will. “Honey, yes. Unless you’d be more comfortable in Jack’s?” 

“Does he still have the race car bed?” 

“Afraid so.” 

You hum, and lead the way to the house. Hotch hands you his keys, something in his chest tightly squeezed to see you turn the house key in the lock, to let yourself in, and to hold out your hand expectantly for the department bag. You head to his room like you do it everyday. Hotch resists the urge to call you back and kiss you with your jaw held in his hand —it’s not the point. 

He gets a strange pang a few minutes later, stirring the pot of easy-sachet oatmeal, a rare pang of regret. Perhaps he’s being too headstrong, letting his worry guide him like this, pushing you to come home with him and to sleep in his bed. You might be at the same level as he is, but it still feels a little like pulling Spencer home with him and demanding he dress and eat as Hotch likes. 

I’ll apologise, he thinks, setting your oatmeal and cocoa on a tray, conscious of the sun setting outside, night swiftly falling. If he really is going to say sorry and have you go home, you’ll be disrupted again. There’s a possibility Hotch has made this ten times worse. 

He climbs the stairs and finds you laying on his side of the bed with your nose turned into his pillow, a damp sheen to your skin. You’ve washed your face, and changed into the new pajamas, just a little too big for you where you’ve curled around your hands. 

“Honey?” he asks softly. 

“Sorry,” you say, twice as quietly as he had, “just, it smells so nice in here.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“I’ll move.”

“Just sit up,” he says, thinking of you in the office with your jittering and your glass-eyed stare. “I’ve brought you something.” 

You nod heavily and do as he’s asked, again. He sets the tray on your lap and you look up at him. It’s the look that does it, really. The half circles under your eyes are nothing to him beyond proof that you aren’t sleeping, the bloodshot in your sclera, it’s all inconsequential. What floors him is the unquestioning trust to be found when you look at him. He doesn't kid himself when he thinks that this could lend itself to love. 

“You know why I’ve asked you to come home with me?” he asks carefully. 

“I worried you.”

He puts the tray in your waiting lap, gracing your chin with a quick stroke underneath, feather-light. “I haven’t abused my power?” 

“Buying me new clothes and making me dinner?” you ask softly, evident delight on your face as you notice the squares of chocolate that have begun to melt into your oatmeal. 

“Forcing you home with me and sequestering you in my bedroom.” 

“It’s not how I thought it would happen,” you confess, gathering a heaping mountain of oatmeal onto your spoon, “not the first time, at least. I guess I should worry you more often.” 

“No,” he says, holding your chin between his fingers until you meet his serious gaze. “You shouldn’t.” 

Your eyebrows do something he can’t name, but there’s a word for what it inspires in his chest. “I won’t,” you promise. 

[mixpro]

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[moon-ttokki-x]

♡ ‧₊ ot8!𝗌𝗄𝗓 𝗏𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌' 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 ‧₊ .ᐟ

pairing: ot8!skz x reader imagines

summary: just a snippet of what i think skz would do for you on valentines' day

genre: pretty cute and sappy, lots of fluff, slight crack, mentions of eating

a/n: yet another year of having no valentine, but at least i can buy chocolate half off

Chan who surprises you and shows up at your door with a bouquet of flowers and an outstretched hand. He's in a dark fitted suit, handsome as always, and there's a big smile on his face as he runs off the cheesiest pick up lines, handing you a singular rose as he does. He waits in your living room while you get ready and then offers his arm as you both walk to his car. He takes you to a classic night out, a candlelit dinner in some city restaurant, the lights low and ambient music swirling around your heads. Hushed giggles and feeding each other bites of food are done over intertwined hands.

"You look beautiful under the lights, baby. Here, eat some more..."

♡

Minho who pretends to forget what day it is and leaves you feeling a little downcast. That is, until you're in your office working and the cats walk in, each holding a rose of a different colour; one red, one pink, and one white. He appears at the door with a smirk on his face and strokes your hair as you whine about him pretending to forget. The roses are clutched tightly in your hands as he leads you to the kitchen, where there's a small arrangement of gifts. He isn't one for grand gestures but you're satisfied and cosy, sitting in his lap as you open little trinkets, the cats watching on.

"You're so cute when you whine. You really thought I forgot, huh?"

♡

Changbin who is also a hopeless romantic, who is endlessly in love with you, who shows up to your workplace with a hand full of heart-shaped helium balloons and a big grin on his face. He loudly declared his love for you in front of your coworkers, completely unashamed, and watches with a massive, cute smile on his face as you turn the colour of the balloons he's holding. But the gigantic, warm, though slightly crushing hug he gives you is warmer than your cheeks.

"Happy Valentines Day, bunny! Here- Ah, your face has gone so red..."

♡

Hyunjin who told you to show up at his apartment at exactly six o clock dressed in something classy but comfortable. He blindfolds you as soon as he opens the door and leads you to his living room, where he's set up two canvases opposite each other. There's a platter full of finger food, two glasses and a bottle of some fancy drink he took from the company. He's hung fairy lights around the room and he watches affectionately as you show him your slightly messy impression of the love of your life. His is much better, but he kisses you anyway and says he'll hang it in his room above the bed.

"You're so talented, my love. I'm going to hang it up right away..."

♡

Jisung who pretty much kidnaps you as soon as your shift at work ends, telling you to dress in one of his hoodies. When you come out of his room, he's set up a massive mess of pillows, cushions, and fluffy blankets in front of the TV, which is set up to play a game. He hands you a controller and tells you he's ordered so much food. You know he's done it so you can both spend time together without it ending in the kitchen burning down, but it's appreciated nonetheless. He lets you beat him every time and watches you sit up in victory and cheer at his defeat, your fingers covered in cheesy french fry salt.

"Aww, jagi, you keep beating me. When did you get so good at this?"

♡

Felix who, when you come home, surprises you by setting up a few things in the kitchen so you can both bake and make a few things together. He sets up bowls of chocolate and lets you add the food colouring, turning each bowl pink and red. You both dip strawberries and candied orange slices into the bowls, dripping chocolate over the counter before laying them on a tray to set. You mix the rest of the chocolate together and pour them into heart-shaped molds, marbling the colours together with fingertips stained pink.

"Sunflower, we made such a mess! At least the counter isn't stained pink..."

♡

Seungmin who takes you shopping to the cutest little pop up store, telling you to dress in pink, cream, and white. He meets you at your door and holds your hand as he drives you both there, letting you browse excitedly amongst the shelves for mini figures and plushies. You both come home loaded with a ton of accessories, cuddly toys, and matching items. He then sets up pink lights around your bathroom mirror and takes a whole album's worth of selfies with you.

"I like these necklaces... come on, let's be matching. It'd be cute..."

♡

Jeongin who takes you to the arcade and doesn't even try to let you win. It turns into a competition of who can do the best and he keeps kissing you while you're playing the games so you lose your focus. He teases you each time and promises to let you win the next time. He doesn't, and it's all in good fun until you whine about him being too competitive. He just kisses you again and makes it up to you by taking you for a night-time joyride before stopping at a petrol station, where you both buy convenience store snacks and lie on his car roof, talking about everything.

"Look at all the pretty stars up there. I think you shine way brighter..."

a/n: happy valentines' day to all of my loves ♡ !

[heliosunny]

Lucky Egg Anaxa? Unless someone has already requested it

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Anaxa x Reader

The Lucky Egg Dispenser was tucked in the corner of a bustling shopping district, wedged between a neon-lit café and a magic supply store that specialized in beginner-friendly spell kits. You had walked past it dozens of times, always amused by the ridiculous concept—spend a few credits, get a mystery egg, and see what hatches. Most people treated it as a harmless novelty, something fun for kids and collectors.

But today, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you stopped in front of it. Before you knew it, you had inserted the required amount and turned the crank.

With a soft chime, an egg rolled into the collection tray. The display screen above flickered with a message:

Congratulations! Your egg will hatch in 3 days. Take good care of it!

Three days? Most of these eggs were just decorative trinkets with tiny charms inside. This one… felt different.

Tucking the egg carefully into your bag, you exhaled.

Three days.

The egg sat on your bedside table, warm and pulsing like a second heartbeat in the quiet of your apartment. It had been two days since you got it from that stupid Lucky Egg Dispenser.

At first, you thought it was just some novelty, something that would crack open to reveal a mechanical pet or a glowing stone. But this thing… it felt alive. You caught yourself staring at it more often than you’d like to admit, your fingers hovering just above the shell, feeling the faint warmth it gave off.

What was going to hatch from this?

"Guess I'll find out tomorrow."

The next morning, something was different.

The egg had grown warmer. The glow had intensified, flickering like a candle on the verge of going out. You reached out, fingertips brushing against the shell. The moment you touched it, a sharp crack split the air.

You jerked your hand back.

Another crack. Then another. The shell was breaking apart, jagged lines spiderwebbing across its smooth surface. You barely had time to react before the egg burst open with a sudden flash of light.

And then, he was there.

Slumped on your bed, half-covered in shattered shell fragments, was— a person. Or, at least, someone who looked like a person.

His hair was damp, strands clinging to his face as he slowly pushed himself up. His single eye locked onto you, intense and piercing, while the other was covered by a dark, ornate eyepatch.

"You’re mine now."

"...What?"

"You picked my egg. You waited for me. That makes you mine. Obviously. The name is Anaxagoras by the way."

You opened your mouth to argue—but his gaze pinned you in place.

"Tch. You look surprised." His tone was blunt, unimpressed. "What, did you think you were getting a pet? Some tiny, harmless thing?"

You had no words. None at all.

"Doesn’t matter." He stretched, rolling his shoulders as if testing his own body. Then he turned to you again.

"You’ll take care of me, won’t you?"

There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. Just the unshakable confidence of someone who had already decided the answer.

You said nothing.

Just stood there, staring at the strange man who had just hatched from an egg on your bed like this was normal.

Nope.

Not dealing with this.

Slowly, carefully, you took a step back. He tilted his head, unimpressed.

"Running away?"

You didn’t answer. Just kept backing up until you reached the door to your room. Your fingers found the handle, twisted it, and I slipped out, shutting it behind you. The lock clicked into place.

You stood there for a second, listening.

Silence.

Maybe… maybe he’d disappear if you left him alone. Maybe this was just some weird, elaborate illusion. A trick of the mind. You’d go outside, take a walk, come back, and your bed would be empty. The egg would be gone. Everything would be normal again.

With that thought, you grabbed your coat, shoved your hands into the pockets, and left the apartment.

The city was the same as always. The hum of magic-powered trams, neon signs flickering in the afternoon haze, people moving through the streets. You walked like nothing was wrong, like today was just another normal day.

Stopped by a café. Got a drink.

Browsed a bookstore, ran your fingers along the spines of titles you weren’t planning to buy.

Took the long way home.

You didn’t check your phone. You didn’t think about the locked door. You didn’t think about the man who definitely wasn’t real still sitting in your room.

At least, you didn’t think about it until—

"Why do you look so surprised?"

There he was.

Standing right in front of you.

Same hair, same eye, same outfit he had hatched in. Like he had walked right out of your apartment and followed you the entire way.

"I’ve been following you" he said, tone completely matter-of-fact.

"Wha—"

"You didn’t notice?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "That’s pathetic. If you can’t even sense when you’re being followed, you’re clearly incapable of protecting yourself."

"Well?" He crossed his arms. "Aren’t you going to say anything? Or are you just going to keep pretending I don’t exist?"

Your brain was still trying to catch up.

He was real. He was standing in front of you, completely unfazed, like it was the most natural thing in the world to hatch from an egg and then casually stalk you through the city.

Before you could react, a gun materialized out of thin air, appearing in his grip. No incantations, no dramatic movements—just instant manifestation.

BANG

You flinched hard. The sharp crack of the gunshot echoed through the street, causing a few distant heads to turn. But before panic could set in, you noticed what he had aimed at.

A fly.

Or at least, what used to be a fly. Now it was nothing more than a tiny burnt mark on the pavement.

Anaxa exhaled, looking mildly annoyed as he lowered the gun. "Sorry. It was annoying."

You just stared at him.

Then at the gun in his hand.

Then back at him.

"You—" Your voice came out strangled. "You just shot a fly."

"Yeah. I did." He blinked at you, as if waiting for you to say something less obvious.

You ran a hand down your face, trying to process. "You shot a fly."

"And?" His eye flicked toward you, utterly unimpressed. "You should be thanking me. That thing was buzzing near your ear for at least five minutes. It was bothering me."

You inhaled sharply. "You shot a fly."

"You’ve said that three times now. Are you broken?" He narrowed his eye slightly, scanning you with what almost looked like genuine concern. "Did your brain short-circuit? That’s unfortunate. I just got you, and you’re already defective."

You just gaped at him.

He sighed, shifting the gun between his fingers before it disappeared—vanishing just as easily as it had appeared. "Anyway. Let’s go."

That snapped you out of it. "Go where?"

"Home." He gave you a look like you were the weird one for asking. "Obviously."

You took a step back. "I don’t even know you!"

"That’s not true. You know my name. I’m Anaxagoras. You’re mine." He tilted his head. "And you’re not very smart if you think I’m letting you wander around alone when you clearly can’t defend yourself."

You blinked rapidly. "I—"

"Case in point," he continued smoothly, as if you hadn’t even tried to argue. "You didn’t notice me following you for half the day. You flinch too easily. And you look so unguarded it’s almost laughable. What if someone else had found you before I did? You’d be dead by now."

You exhaled sharply, gripping your temples. Your brain was fried. Completely and utterly fried.

There was a man—a man who hatched from an egg—standing in front of you, casually materializing and firing a gun like it was nothing. And now he was acting like you were some helpless child who couldn’t be trusted to walk outside alone.

This was too much.

You needed a reset. Something normal. Something grounding.

Food.

Maybe if you sat down and ate something, your brain would start working properly again.

You grabbed Anaxa by the wrist before he could start walking. He tensed slightly at the contact, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you. "What?"

"We’re eating first" you said, already dragging him toward the nearest restaurant.

"Eating?" His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t resist. "We can eat at home."

"I am not going home with you yet. We are going to sit down somewhere, I’m going to eat something warm, and you are going to—" You glanced at him, realizing you had no idea if he even needed food. "—do whatever you want, I don’t care."

Anaxa made a soft tch sound, clearly unimpressed, but let you pull him along anyway. "Fine. But if this is some attempt to delay the inevitable, it won’t work."

You ignored him, spotting a small ramen shop on the corner and steering him inside. The place was cozy, filled with the rich, savory scent of broth and fresh noodles. You picked a table and sat down, finally letting go of his wrist.

Anaxa sat across from you, looking around briefly before his eye settled back on you. "You look less stupid now."

You sighed, rubbing your face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You were about two seconds away from mentally shutting down," he stated bluntly. "Now you look like you can at least function."

You scowled but couldn’t even argue. He wasn’t wrong.

The waiter came by, and you ordered your food. Anaxa didn’t order anything, just resting his chin on his hand as he watched you with that same unreadable expression.

You drummed your fingers on the table. "You’re really not gonna eat anything?"

"I don’t need it," he said simply. Then, after a pause, "But if you tell me to, I will."

You frowned. "That’s… weird."

"No, it’s not."

"You just said you don’t need to eat."

"I don’t." He tilted his head slightly. "But if you want me to eat, I will."

You stared at him. "That’s even weirder."

He shrugged, unimpressed.

The food arrived, and you dug in, hoping the warmth of the broth would help ground you. Anaxa, true to his word, didn’t touch anything. He just sat there, watching you, like he was analyzing every move you made.

It was unnerving.

"Can you not stare at me like that?"

"No."

"...Why?"

"Because I want to."

You groaned, shoving another bite of noodles into your mouth. This was going to be a long meal.

You sighed, slurping up the last of your noodles, and set your chopsticks down. The warmth of the broth helped, but it didn’t magically fix the fact that there was still a man who hatched from an egg sitting across from you, staring like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Anaxa hadn’t moved once. Hadn’t blinked much, either. He just sat there, elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand, eye locked onto you.

It was weird. Unnerving. You needed a distraction.

Dessert.

You got into another place, ordered something sweet, hoping the sugar rush would give you enough energy to deal with whatever the hell this situation was. When it arrived—warm, fluffy pastries drizzled with syrup—you picked one up and took a bite, savoring the taste.

And then you looked at Anaxa.

Still watching.

You sighed through your nose. “You’re really not gonna eat anything?”

"I told you. I don’t need it."

You narrowed your eyes, then, on impulse, grabbed a piece of pastry and held it up to his mouth. “Then just chew it. For my sake.”

He blinked, seeming vaguely surprised. “You’re feeding me now?”

“You’re the one acting like a guard dog,” you muttered. “Might as well feed you.”

For a second, you thought he was going to refuse. But then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward and took a bite straight from your fingers.

…That was weirdly intimate.

But before you could dwell on it, Anaxa started chewing.

And kept chewing.

His mouth was still full, but you pushed another piece at him, and he took it without hesitation. Then another. And another.

It was ridiculous.

His usually sharp, composed expression was ruined by how much food he had stuffed into his mouth. He was chewing mechanically, like he wasn’t even used to the act, but he didn’t stop you from feeding him.

By the time you were down to the last piece, his cheek was slightly puffed out from everything he had crammed in there.

You tried to hold back a snort. “You look stupid right now.”

Anaxa just gave you a blank look, still chewing.

Then he swallowed everything in one go, setting his elbows on the table. "Are you satisfied now?"

You shook your head, unable to hide the grin tugging at your lips. “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen all day.”

"I fail to see how that was funny."

“You chewed for a full minute straight.”

"And?"

You just laughed, shaking your head as you finished the last bite for yourself.

At least now he wasn’t just staring.

You leaned back in your chair, feeling a little more grounded now that you’d had a full meal. Maybe warm food did help. At least, you could think a little clearer now.

Anaxa, meanwhile, had finally stopped chewing and was watching you with that same expression.

You exhaled, finally letting reality sink in. This wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t an illusion. This wasn’t something that would disappear if you ignored it long enough.

You did hatch something from that egg.

And now he was here.

And judging by how he had been acting all day—stalking you, critiquing your survival skills, eating just because you told him to—there was something deeper at play.

“So. What are you?”

Anaxa raised a brow. “That’s a stupid question.”

“No, really. What are you? I get that you came from the egg, but what does that mean? What does that make me?”

At that, he tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was reevaluating something. Then, without a word, he lifted his hand.

A faint glow flickered between his fingers, and something materialized— A thread. No, not just a thread, something more like a bond. It shimmered in the dim lighting of the restaurant, thin but undeniably real. It stretched between his hand… and you.

“So” you muttered, “the egg really did choose me.”

"Obviously." He flicked the thread lightly, watching how it pulsed in response. "The moment you turned that crank, it was decided. You’re my master. This bond is proof of that."

“Master?”

"That’s what I said."

You stared at the glowing thread, then back at him. “So… what can you do?”

Anaxa blinked, caught off guard by how fast you got to the point. “You’re not even going to question it?”

“Would it change anything?”

He considered that for a moment. Then smirked. "No. It wouldn’t."

“Exactly.” you muttered. “So? What can you do?”

His smirk widened slightly, amused by your directness. He let the thread fade and leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table.

"Many things."

“Like?”

"Fight. Kill. Protect. Track. Destroy. I can eliminate threats before they even think of harming you. I can ensure no one so much as looks at you the wrong way. I can wipe out anything that stands in your path."

“That’s a lot of violence.”

"Is that a problem?"

"I don’t need a walking weapon."

"That’s unfortunate. Because that’s what you got."

You exhaled, looking at him for a long moment. "Alright, then. If you’re mine, then I should be able to make requests, right?"

"That depends on what you ask."

“Good,” you said, finishing the last sip of your drink. Then you locked eyes with him. “Because I think we need to set some ground rules first.”

Anaxa blinked again. Then huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh. "Fine. This should be interesting."

A few days had passed since Anaxa hatched, and while you were slowly getting used to having him around, he was still ridiculously overbearing.

You’d barely gone anywhere alone—if you so much as turned a corner without telling him, he was suddenly there, watching, waiting, making sure you weren’t about to get yourself killed. It was suffocating.

But also kind of funny.

Because for all his sharp instincts and deadpan remarks, Anaxa wasn’t exactly used to regular human behavior. And that gave you an idea.

A prank.

Something harmless. Something just to see how he’d react.

So as you walked side by side down the street, you subtly reached for the ice-cold bottle of water in your bag, already planning to flick some at him. Just a little—nothing crazy.

"Don’t think about it."

You froze.

Anaxa hadn’t even looked at you. He was still facing forward.

Your grip on the bottle tightened. “What.”

"You heard me."

You frowned. “Did you just—read my mind or something?”

Anaxa finally glanced at you, looking unimpressed. "No. I simply predicted your next move."

“…Excuse me?”

"Your expression changed three seconds ago, which means you had a new thought. Your hand moved slightly, signaling intent. And given your recent behavior, it's likely something irritating." He sighed. "I’ve already accounted for every possible action you might take in the next five minutes. Trying to surprise me is a waste of time."

You gawked at him. “That is insane.”

"No, that is intelligence." He smirked slightly, just enough to be infuriating. "You should try it sometime."

Your jaw dropped.

Oh, it’s on.

You weren’t sure how, but you were going to catch him off guard one day. Even if it took years.

You had tried. So many times.

You planned. You strategized. You executed.

And yet, every single prank attempt on Anaxa had ended in humiliating failure.

The moment you so much as thought about messing with him, he knew. It was like he had a built-in prank radar, and no amount of creativity or misdirection could fool him. He would predict everything.

You threw a pillow at him? He caught it without looking. You put salt in his tea? He smelled it instantly. You tried to trip him? You ended up tripping instead.

At this point, you had no choice but to admit defeat. For now.

So you gave up on pranking him and focused on something else: a dungeon run.

It was a routine thing. You ran dungeons occasionally to rack up points, earn some cash, and hone your skills. Anaxa had been glued to your side since hatching, but this time, you left him at home.

Not because you were scared of bringing him—he was probably the best bodyguard in existence—but because you needed to do something on your own.

You headed out with your usual party, braving the stormy weather as you entered the dungeon. It was a decent run—some challenging fights, some good loot. Nothing too crazy.

But what you didn’t account for was how long it would take.

By the time you and your party emerged, the rain had gotten worse. Heavy drops soaked through your clothes, chilling you to the bone. And, of course, you had forgotten your umbrella.

So you huddled under one of your party member’s umbrellas, standing very close to stay dry. Maybe even a little too close. You laughed at something they said, nudging them playfully, completely unaware of anything unusual—

"You're awfully comfortable with them."

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

Turning sharply, you found Anaxa standing just a few feet away, completely unfazed by the downpour. His hair was slightly damp, but his expression was the same as always.

In his hand was your umbrella.

“...Why are you here?”

"You forgot this." He held up the umbrella, his voice calm. But then his gaze flickered toward your party, who was still standing close. "And I was curious."

Your party members exchanged glances, sensing the tension in the air. One of them awkwardly cleared their throat. “Uh… is this a friend of yours?”

Anaxa didn’t answer. He just watched you, waiting.

For what, you weren’t sure. But the storm wasn’t just in the sky anymore. It was standing right in front of you.

You let out a quiet sigh, feeling the weight of Anaxa’s gaze on you even as you turned back to your party.

“Guess I’ll head home. See you guys later” you said, waving them off.

Your party exchanged looks but didn’t question it. “Yeah, see you. Don’t let your friend glare us to death on the way out.”

You shot them a dry look but didn’t bother defending Anaxa. Mostly because… yeah. He was definitely glaring.

Without another word, you took the umbrella from his hand, popped it open, and started walking. He followed silently, his footsteps perfectly in sync with yours.

The walk home was… tense.

Not that he said anything. If anything, his silence was worse. Normally, Anaxa was either making sharp remarks, throwing blunt observations at you, or predicting your next move like some smug, all-knowing entity.

But right now?

Nothing.

By the time you got home, his hair was damp, strands clinging to his face from the rain. You frowned, tossing your wet jacket aside before turning to him. “Sit.”

Anaxa raised a brow. "What."

You crossed your arms. “Your hair’s wet. I’m blow-drying it.”

He blinked once. Then, for whatever reason, exhaled through his nose like he found that amusing. But he did as you said, sitting down without complaint.

You grabbed the hairdryer, plugged it in, and stood behind him, fingers threading lightly through his hair as you began drying it.

Still, he said nothing.

You huffed, ruffling his hair as you worked. “Alright, what’s your deal?”

"What deal."

“You’ve been quiet this whole time.”

"No, I haven't."

“Yes, you have.” You fluffed his bangs to dry them faster. “You’re usually the one lecturing me about every little thing I do. But now? Silence.”

Anaxa remained still, letting you dry his hair.

You sighed. “Look, if this is about the dungeon thing, I was just doing my job. That’s all.”

"I know."

…That was it?

You frowned, turning the dryer off and running your fingers through his now-fluffy hair. He still hadn’t moved.

But something about the way he sat there—the way he let you do this without a single complaint—felt off.

Like a storm had passed, but the tension still lingered in the air.

Even after everything—the rain, the silence, the weird tension—you and Anaxa somehow ended up bickering before bed.

It started with something stupid. You didn’t even remember what exactly, but it spiraled into another one of your usual back-and-forths.

"You should be more aware of your surroundings."

“I was literally fine.”

"You were unaware of my presence."

“Because I wasn’t expecting you to stalk me in the rain like some horror movie villain.”

"A lack of expectations leads to vulnerability."

You groaned, flopping onto your bed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Anaxa.”

His eye twitched. “Anaxagoras.”

“Anaxa.”

"Anaxagoras."

“Anaxa.”

"Anaxagoras."

“Anaxa.”

"Anaxa—"

Silence.

You blinked.

Anaxa blinked.

You stared at him. His expression remained eerily neutral, but you could see the moment he realized his mistake. His jaw tightened just slightly, and he looked like he was mentally rebooting.

Slowly, painfully, his eye closed in resignation.

“…Fine.” His voice was low, grudging. “But only you may call me that.”

You grinned in triumph, stretching out on the bed. “Good.”

He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he stood near the doorway. His usual sharp gaze flickered toward you, but this time, he didn’t say anything else.

Not even when your breathing slowed.

Not even when sleep pulled you under.

You fell asleep easily, comfortably.

Anaxa, on the other hand, remained wide awake.

His eye lingered on your peaceful form, watching, thinking. Even as the room settled into silence, he made no move to rest.

Instead, he simply stood there, keeping watch—like he always would.

You woke up feeling well-rested—until you turned your head and saw the towering pile of books stacked haphazardly around your room.

What. The. Hell.

You groggily sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to see more books. They were scattered across the floor, some open, some closed, some stacked so high they threatened to topple over. The smell of ink and old paper filled the air.

And right in the middle of this chaotic mess, Anaxa sat calmly on the floor, flipping through yet another book.

You stared at him in horror. “What… is all this?”

Without looking up, he turned a page. “Books.”

You inhaled sharply. “I can see that, Anaxa.”

"Then why did you ask."

You groaned, pushing aside a book that had somehow made its way onto your bed. “Where the hell did you get all these? We don’t own this many books.”

"I retrieved them."

“…From where?”

He finally looked up, "From various sources."

That was not an answer.

Your headache worsened as you stared at the sheer number of books surrounding you. Titles about history, science, politics, philosophy, technology—some about this world, others about subjects that made your brain hurt just looking at them.

Wait.

Your stomach dropped. “Don’t tell me you—”

"I read them all."

Your jaw dropped. “In one night?”

"Yes." He closed the book he was holding and grabbed another from the pile. "Most of them were inefficiently written, but I extracted the necessary information."

You pressed your palms against your temples. “That’s not normal.”

"Neither am I."

You groaned, glancing around at the literary apocalypse that had consumed your home. “Please tell me you at least plan on returning them.”

"No."

“ANAXA—”

You inhaled deeply, staring at the absolute disaster of books flooding your home. You couldn’t live like this.

So, naturally, you went for the most drastic measure possible.

“I’ll burn them.”

Anaxa, still flipping through a book, barely spared you a glance. “No, you won’t.”

You grabbed the nearest book and held it up threateningly. “Watch me.”

That got his attention.

Before you could even think about setting it on fire, Anaxa moved.

One second, you were holding the book. The next, it was gone—snatched from your hands so fast you barely even registered it. He tossed it back onto the pile like nothing happened, his gaze sharp.

"Do not." His voice was firm, not angry, but absolute. "You lack the authority to destroy knowledge."

“I lack the patience to live in a damn library.” You glared at him. “Clean this up, or I swear—”

Knock. Knock.

Both of you froze.

The air in the room shifted instantly. The argument forgotten, tension replaced it. You exchanged a look with Anaxa. He was already on alert, his body subtly shifting into a more defensive stance.

You exhaled, stepping toward the door. “It’s probably nothing—”

"Wait."

But you had already turned the knob.

The door creaked open, revealing a figure standing just outside—a man draped in a dark cloak, his face shadowed. Something about him felt wrong.

Before you could even greet him, his hand moved.

BANG.

A gunshot rang through the air.

The man jerked back, staggering. He didn’t fall—just hissed, clutching his side before his eyes flicked toward Anaxa.

Anaxa, who had already drawn a gun, his aim perfectly steady, his expression cold.

The man clicked his tongue and, without another word, ran.

You barely processed what just happened before Anaxa stepped forward, his eye narrowing as he watched the figure disappear into the streets.

"Tch. Coward." He lowered his gun but didn’t put it away.

You swallowed hard, adrenaline still rushing through you. “…What the hell was that?”

"An attempted murder."

Your heart was still pounding, but something caught your eye—a small object glinting on the ground.

You bent down, picking it up. A badge.

The design was strange—an unfamiliar symbol etched into the metal, a twisting shape that made your head hurt if you stared at it too long.

“…Anaxa” you called, turning it in your hand.

He glanced down, eyeing the badge. Then, recognition flickered across his face.

"I’ve seen this before."

You blinked. “Where?”

"One of the books." He turned away, stepping over the scattered mess of texts he had dragged into your home. "This symbol belongs to a cult. A rather peculiar one."

A cult? That explained why that guy felt so… wrong.

You frowned. “What kind of cult?”

Anaxa picked up a book, flipping through the pages until he landed on the one he wanted. He held it up, showing you a faded illustration of the same symbol. “They believe in the revival of an ancient being. One that is expected to bring the world to a ‘new state.’”

“Define ‘new state.’”

"Destruction. Rebirth. The usual nonsense." He snapped the book shut. "They offer human sacrifices to fuel their goal. An inefficient and foolish method."

You exhaled sharply, gripping the badge. “Why would they come after me?”

“They weren’t after you.”

“…Then who?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced at the badge again, then at the scattered books around him.

"They may have sensed something about me."

That alone was unsettling. If he was their target, then what exactly did they know?

----

Tracking them down wasn’t difficult.

Anaxa was efficient. Between the books he devoured and his own unsettling ability to predict outcomes, it didn’t take long to find their gathering spot.

A massive, ancient tree stood before you, its gnarled roots twisting through the earth like veins. The air was thick here, charged with something unseen.

“This is the place” you murmured, gripping your weapon.

"Naturally." Anaxa stood beside you, his stance casual, but you knew better. He was ready.

Shadows flickered beneath the tree’s canopy. The distant sound of hushed voices reached your ears.

“So. What’s the plan?”

He smirked slightly, rolling his shoulders.

"We do what we must."

And with that, you both stepped forward, disappearing into the darkness.

Anaxa moved like a force of nature.

One moment, the cultists were gathered in their eerie chants, their cloaks blending with the shadows beneath the great tree. The next, gunfire rang out, and bodies crumpled before they even realized what hit them.

"Pathetic." Anaxa’s voice was cold as he reloaded effortlessly, stepping over a fallen figure without a second thought. "They waste their lives on delusions."

You weren’t paying much attention to his massacre—you had your own job to do.

Slipping through the chaos, you avoided direct combat, focusing instead on the scattered documents and maps tucked away in makeshift altars. The more you could find about their leader, the faster you could end this.

Because in the end, that was the goal.

Not revenge. Not heroics.

Just peace.

You weren’t interested in whatever twisted faith these people had. And neither was Anaxa. He wasn’t fighting out of righteousness or hatred—just cold efficiency. Every bullet he fired, every movement he made was meant to erase the problem.

Because problems like these?

They got in the way of your life. His life. Your shared, quiet, normal life.

You rifled through some notes, eyes scanning messy handwriting about their leader’s whereabouts. Not far. Just deeper into the forest, a hidden ruin beneath the roots of this very tree.

You turned back to Anaxa just as the last cultist standing let out a strangled gurgle, collapsing to the ground.

“Find what you needed?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just slaughtered half a cult.

You nodded, holding up the documents. “Yeah. Their leader’s underground.”

"Then let's be done with it."

The underground ruin was exactly what you expected—dark, damp, and crawling with the last remnants of this cult.

You and Anaxa moved fast, cutting through whatever was left of their resistance. It wasn’t much. The ones left behind weren’t fighters—they were zealots, clinging to their faith even as they died screaming.

Eventually, you found him. The leader.

A gaunt, hollow-eyed man draped in ornate robes, standing before an altar, his expression eerily calm despite the carnage surrounding him.

"You are too late," he murmured, his voice carrying through the chamber. "The cycle will begin anew. The great one—"

BANG.

Anaxa shot him in the leg without hesitation.

The man let out a choked scream, collapsing onto one knee. His breath turned ragged, but his eerie smile didn’t falter.

"You cannot stop what has already been set in motion," he rasped. "Sacrifices have been made. The gate—"

Anaxa was in front of him in an instant.

You barely saw him move. One moment, he was standing beside you; the next, he had grabbed the man by the front of his robes, yanking him up with ease.

“I am not interested in your nonsense” Anaxa said, voice eerily calm. "You have wasted my time"

Before the cult leader could respond, Anaxa's hand—no, his fingers—sank into the man’s chest as if the flesh and bone were nothing. A sickening crack echoed through the chamber as Anaxa pulled his arm back, widening the gap in the man’s torso as though he were tearing paper apart.

You watched as the cultist’s chest cavity split open, ribs snapping under Anaxa’s grip. A hollow, gaping wound remained where his heart should’ve been.

The man let out a wet gasp, eyes wide with shock, before his body twitched and fell slack.

Anaxa let go. The corpse hit the ground with a dull thud, utterly ruined.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. “Well. That’s one way to do it.”

Anaxa shook the blood from his hands, not even sparing the body another glance. "I took the most efficient route."

Of course he did.

You stepped past the corpse, glancing at the ruined altar. Whatever ritual they had planned—whatever insane goal they were working toward—died with that man.

Anaxa turned to you, wiping the last of the blood from his fingers.

"Shall we go home?"

By the time you got home, exhaustion was hitting you hard.

Your legs ached, your head pounded, and all you wanted was to collapse into bed and not exist for a few hours.

But then—

You opened the door.

And there they were.

The mountains of books Anaxa had hoarded still sat in your home like a damn dragon’s treasure pile.

You stared at the disaster before you, something inside you snapping.

“Nope,” you said, voice flat. “I’m done. I’m burning them.”

"No, you’re not."

“I am.”

"You are not."

“I am, Anaxa. I swear to every god and force in this world, I am setting fire to this damn mess—”

Before you could even think about moving toward your lighter, Anaxa appeared in front of you in an instant, his hands gripping your wrists, effectively stopping you in place.

You struggled, glaring up at him. “Let me go.”

"No."

“Anaxa.”

"You lack the capability to properly organize this knowledge. It is better under my possession."

“Oh my god, I don’t want to organize it, I want it gone—”

Anaxa leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. “You are being irrational.”

Your breath hitched, and suddenly, you were very aware of how close he was.

His grip on your wrists was firm, his fingers pressing against your skin—but not painfully.

“You hoarded like, a hundred books in one night. I think that’s way more irrational than me wanting to burn them.”

"Incorrect. My actions were logical. Yours are emotional."

“Oh, shut up.”

You yanked one of your hands free and jabbed his cheek with your finger.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there. You glaring, him staring. His hand was still wrapped around your other wrist, but he wasn’t holding it too tightly anymore.

"You are amusing when you are frustrated."

You groaned, dropping your head against his shoulder in defeat. “I hate you.”

"No, you don't."

Damn it. You really didn’t.

----

After all the chaos at the dungeon, and the strange cult, you figured your friends deserved something for always having your back.

So, you decided to cook for them.

The problem? You weren’t exactly a master chef.

But thanks to someone’s obsessive hoarding, you had plenty of resources to learn from.

Anaxa had finally cleaned up the disaster he’d created—mostly because you forced him to by threatening to burn everything again. You even bought shelves so he could actually store his ridiculous book collection instead of letting it take over your floor.

And now, one of those books—a cooking guide—was in your hands.

You flipped through it, scanning the recipes. “Alright,” you muttered. “Let’s do this.”

Anaxa, lounging nearby, raised a brow. “You are attempting to expand your culinary skills?”

“I’m testing out different dishes for my friends” you said, already gathering ingredients. “Since they always help me out.”

"Logical. It is good to maintain positive social relations with allies."

You shot him a look. “You could just say it’s a nice thing to do, you know.”

He smirked but said nothing.

What started as a simple plan quickly spiraled into something bigger.

Every day, you tried a different dish, experimenting with flavors and techniques. Some turned out amazing. Others… well, let’s just say there were a few disasters along the way.

And Anaxa?

He was your official taste tester.

At first, you weren’t sure if he’d even care about food. But surprisingly, he gave some of the most detailed feedback you’d ever heard.

"Too much salt. The texture is acceptable, but the flavor balance is slightly off."

"This one is adequate. Not outstanding, but not offensive to the palate."

"Interesting. The layering of flavors in this dish is commendable. You are improving."

And sometimes—when you made something really good—

He would go completely silent after taking a bite. Then, after a long pause, he would just say, "More."

It was almost funny seeing someone as composed as him get that into food.

After a week of testing, you finally decided on the perfect dish.

A warm, comforting meal—one that was simple yet flavorful, something that would make your friends feel appreciated.

You set the final plate down in front of Anaxa, watching as he took a bite.

A pause. Then, he gave a slow nod. “This is the best one.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I think so too.”

----

Peace never lasted long in your life.

Not because you were reckless. Not because you sought out trouble.

But because trouble always found you.

And now, with Anaxa by your side, that fact had only intensified.

The cult wasn’t the last problem you faced. Far from it. Strange anomalies began surfacing—events that defied logic, creatures that shouldn’t exist, distortions in reality itself.

At first, you thought they were just isolated incidents. Freak occurrences. But after the third time you and Anaxa had to deal with something that shouldn’t be possible, you realized this wasn’t a coincidence.

Maybe that was the reason he was sent to you in the first place.

"You attract chaos" Anaxa had commented once, standing over the remains of a creature that had melted into nothingness after you defeated it.

You scoffed. “I attract chaos? What about you?”

"I am the solution to chaos."

That was debatable.

But as time passed, and the two of you continued dealing with these anomalies, you started to notice something unsettling.

If Anaxa had ended up with someone else—someone dangerous—

What would have happened?

Would he still be this person in front of you? Cold, blunt, but genuine? Or would he have been twisted into something else?

You weren’t naïve. You knew people would kill for power like his. The thought of him in the hands of someone truly evil made your stomach turn.

But he wasn’t with them. He was with you.

And despite the chaos, despite the exhaustion, despite the endless stream of bizarre encounters—

You didn’t hate this life.

You glanced at Anaxa, who was casually flipping through a book, as if the two of you hadn’t just fought some reality-warping entity an hour ago.

Yeah.

This life wasn’t so bad.

[leona-hawthorne]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 16th. theodore nott — salty.

theodore nott x reader

summary ; theodore is so down bad that he is physically unable to tell you when your cooking is bad… words ; 1.1k warnings ; fluff, established relationship

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Theodore Nott had always carried himself like a shadow. Quiet, deliberate, and never fully there, no matter how much space he occupied. That’s what made it so surprising when he fit into your home so effortlessly. Your family loved him—even your dad, who usually approached your boyfriends with the kind of silent scrutiny that could crumble a lesser man. Theo just smiled that soft, unassuming smile of his and charmed them all without even trying.

He’d been staying with you for a week now, his presence so natural that it felt like he’d always been there. You’d find him in the kitchen in the mornings, sipping tea and chatting with your mum. At night, he’d settle into the living room with a book or play chess with your dad, his brow furrowed in concentration. And then there were the quieter moments, the ones you liked best: him leaning against your bedroom doorframe, his eyes on you as you talked about nothing and everything, the easy silence that followed when words ran out.

It had been your idea to invite him for the holidays. He’d mentioned in passing that his dad’s estate felt empty this time of year, and the thought of him alone in that cold, sprawling manor made your chest ache. So you’d asked, your voice hesitant and hopeful, and when he said yes, the relief had been immediate and overwhelming.

Now, you were determined to make this week—this moment in your lives—as perfect as it could be. That’s why you were standing in the kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon, your sleeves rolled up and flour smeared on your cheek, determined to bake him cookies. You weren’t much of a baker, but Theo loved sweets, and the thought of him lighting up at something you made just for him was enough to keep you going.

“What are you doing in here?” his voice startled you, low and amused from the doorway.

You turned to see him leaning against the frame, his hair slightly mussed and his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweater. He looked so at home, so utterly comfortable, that your heart gave a little squeeze.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, moving to block his view of the counter. “Don’t look.”

His eyebrows lifted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You realize that makes me want to look even more, right?”

“Theo,” you warned, pointing a flour-covered finger at him. “If you ruin the surprise, I swear—”

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll stay out of your way. For now.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he backed away, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face. Once he was gone, you turned back to the mixing bowl, your focus sharpening. The recipe was simple enough—butter, sugar, flour, and a handful of chocolate chips. What could go wrong?

When the cookies were finally in the oven, the kitchen smelled warm and inviting, the kind of smell that wrapped around you like a hug. You cleaned up the counter while they baked, feeling a little thrill of accomplishment. Maybe you weren’t hopeless in the kitchen after all.

When the timer went off, you carefully pulled the tray from the oven, the golden-brown cookies practically glowing in the light. They looked perfect. You couldn’t wait to see Theo’s face when he tried them.

You found him in the living room, sprawled on the couch with a book open on his lap. He looked up as you entered, his eyes softening when they landed on you.

“What’s this?” he asked, sitting up as you held out the plate of cookies.

“I made these for you,” you said, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “Happy holidays.”

His expression shifted, surprise melting into something warmer, something that made your stomach flutter. “You baked for me?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Don’t make it a big deal, okay? I just thought you’d like them.”

“You’re amazing,” he said simply, taking the plate from your hands. “No one’s ever baked for me before.”

“Really? Nobody?”

“Not unless you count house-elves,” he said with a wry smile.

You watched as he picked up a cookie, turning it over in his hand like it was something precious. He took a bite, and for a second, his face didn’t move. Then his jaw worked slowly, his expression carefully neutral. His smile froze in place, but his eyes—his eyes gave him away. They widened, just a fraction, a flicker of something like panic crossing his features before he masked it.

“It’s… really good,” he said, his voice a touch higher than usual.

“Really?” You leaned closer, searching his face. “You’re not just saying that?”

His lips curled into a grin, even as he chewed with obvious effort. “Would I lie to you?”

“Yes,” you said flatly, narrowing your eyes. “Theo, are you—”

“Babe, I swear,” he interrupted, setting the plate on the coffee table. Before you could press him further, he leaned in, cupping your cheek with one hand and brushing his lips against yours.

The kiss was soft, quick, and completely disarming. For a moment, you forgot everything except the feel of him, the way his thumb stroked your cheek, the warmth of his lips against yours. But then a strange taste hit your tongue—not sweet, like you’d expected, but salty.

You pulled back, your eyes widening in realization. “Theo,” you said slowly, horror dawning on you. “Was there… was there salt in the cookies?”

He blinked at you, too calm for someone who’d just been caught. “Maybe.”

“Oh my god.” Your face burned as you clapped a hand over your mouth. “I can’t believe I…”

“They’re not that bad,” he said quickly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!” he insisted, grabbing another cookie. “Look, I’ll eat another one. See?” 

“Don’t you dare eat that.” You lunged for the plate, but he held it out of reach, grinning like a fool. 

“Too late,” he said, biting into it with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Delicious.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, and he laughed—a low, warm sound that sent your heart spiraling. “You’re the worst,” you muttered.

“And yet,” he said, leaning closer, “you love me anyway.”

You peeked at him from between your fingers, your cheeks still flushed, and he smirked. Damn him for being right.

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[thinemoonshine]

୨୧ 𝓱𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝓪𝐧𝐝 𝓱𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 ୨୧

—⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ in which (y/n), enhypen's 8th member, and her feminine habits lead to the boys developing their own as well

enhypen 8th fem!member x hyung line genre: fluff type: oneshot word count: 723

bringing her scrunchies everywhere (l.hs & p.js)

"Use this," Jay says upon noticing (y/n)'s struggle and helps tie her long hair up into a loose ponytail as she eats her breakfast.

(y/n)'s brows raise and she emits a closed-lip gasp of surprise, occupied with chewing her rice before smiling gratefully at him when he takes the seat in front of her. "Thanks! Where'd you find it?"

"On the couch," the older replies with his lips pulled into that casual, charming half smile of his.

"I think I saw one on the coffee table too," Heeseung chimes in and (y/n) makes a mental note to check on it. Later on, she does in fact find her scrunchie— and not just one of them but two.

After leaving her scrunchies and hairties practically everywhere, Heeseung and Jay tend to be the ones picking them up or the ones to find them— leading them to unintentionally be her very own scrunchie lockers.

Award shows? Heeseung will probably have a pink hairtie around his wrist, hiding under his sleeve. Jay will probably have some stuffed into the pocket of his pants.

En-O' Clock? Jay has some new scrunchies he randomly bought for her still in his bag while Heeseung picked her hairtie up from the makeup room when she got dolled up.

Basically anytime in the dorm? Oh, the scrunchies are layered on their arms like warmers. They might even be using one for their own hair— just walking around the dorm with a palm-tree on their crown held together by soft, fluffy rubber ties.

using flowery coasters (s.jy)

"Look at these new ones I made! Aren't they cute?" (y/n) asks excitedly while showcasing Jake her freshly made pieces of crochet coasters on their coffee table.

He gasps dramatically with a hand flying to his mouth, eyes widening and brows raising to express surprise before he grins brightly at the girl. "Wow~~ These are beautiful, (y/n)! I still can't believe how fast you made these! They're perfect!"

"Thank youuuuu!!" She elongates her word, emphasizing her gratitude towards him for complimenting her works before she looks up at him curiously. "Which one do you like most?"

Jake gazes down affectionately into her expectant eyes, chuckling at how purely ebullient she is and hums thoughtfully with narrowed eyes shifted towards the choices of handiwork. "I like that one."

He points to one in beige with dark green-stemmed yellow tulips adorning its circular shape and (y/n) gives him the piece before choosing another with the same design but different coloured tulips to match with his.

"We have matching ones!" She chirps, holding hers next to his before she goes to find the other members to gift the remaining coasters.

Jake smiles warmly at her furthering back before at the soft material in his hand. Ever since then, he's left the coaster on the table and uses it whenever he has a beverage. A hot drink, cold drink, bottled, canned or boba— uses it for every type.

If he finds another member using it, he won't hesitate to just snatch it before putting it under his drink aka. 'its rightful place,' as Jake calls it. As the collection grows, so does his greed. He is not sharing.

giving his arm/hand (p.sh)

(y/n) crochets, paints, does diamond art, basically all that artsy d.i.y stuff. And sometimes, she needs extra hands to keep things steady— and somehow, Sunghoon's always there.

"Can you hold this for me?" She asks Sunghoon to hold her crochet hook while she tries to untangle the knot in her thread. He holds it, and very stably too.

She's doing some diamond painting and accidentally knocks her small tray of colourful jewels— Sunghoon already has his hand out, palm facing upright and (y/n) naturally puts her sticky canvas on it like it's a dish, not wanting to accidentally knock it away while picking up a few fallen beads.

They're having a photoshoot and (y/n)'s called onto the set but has a mini fan in her hold— Sunghoon magically appears to take it from her then proceeding to stand obediently at his post, watching her and waiting patiently until she finishes to give her back her stuff.

She's out shopping for clothes and groceries— Sunghoon's there with a shopping basket hanging on one arm and her clothes on the other.

Some even say that Sunghoon's her personal assistant.

ᡣ𐭩ྀི₊ ⊹ masterlist ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙

𝜗𝜚 hi, it’s romi here!! thank you so much for reading to the end!! if you enjoyed it, don’t forget to leave a heart and reblog—they give me some motivation, ya know? but please do not spam like!! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

copyright © 2024 thinemoonshine all rights reserved

[itacats]

Butcher Shop Connection

FT: Simon x gn!reader

Warnings: DV, abuse, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

SUM: A quiet butcher named Simon finds his routine shaken by a regular customer whose shy demeanor masks a darker secret. Drawn to their kindness, Simon discovers troubling truths about their life, including a dangerous and abusive partner.

As tension builds, Simon is thrust into a harrowing situation where his loyalty and courage are tested. Lines blur between protector and avenger, as a late-night call for help leads to a violent reckoning.

The story weaves themes of resilience, healing, and the lengths one will go to safeguard someone they care about, culminating in a final confrontation that promises justice—and a chance at a new beginning.

A/N: Welcome to my newest installment, a story that dives deep into resilience, love, and the fight for safety and freedom. This series is both an emotional journey and a thrilling ride, weaving moments of quiet vulnerability with intense, heart-pounding confrontations.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 1 - Butcher's Charm

The door swings open with a soft creak, the cheerful chime of the bell overhead ringing out like a friendly greeting. It’s the kind of sound that makes you feel seen, welcomed, part of a world warmer than your own. The butcher shop smells as it always does: a heady blend of freshly cut meats, earthy herbs, and the subtle, comforting tang of smoked sausages hanging in the display. It’s a place that feels alive—bustling yet intimate, orderly yet full of charm.

Your gaze sweeps over the familiar surroundings, the polished glass counters gleaming under the golden afternoon light streaming in through the wide storefront window. Behind the counter stands Simon, his figure both unassuming and magnetic. He’s wearing his usual dark apron, the fabric smeared with streaks of blood and marinade, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose the edges of tattoos that peek out like secrets.

The sight of him brings a smile to your lips. It always does.

“Hey there! The usual?” Simon asks as you approach the counter. His voice is deep, smooth, and unhurried, carrying a warmth that seems to settle the frayed edges of your mind. His eyes catch yours, and the corners of his lips lift in a shy smile that hints at a deeper, quieter affection he seems almost afraid to show.

“Yeah, the usual,” you reply, trying to keep your voice casual. But the flutter in your stomach betrays you, as it does every time.

Simon moves with practiced ease, pulling the knife from his station and making clean, precise cuts into the slab of meat on the cutting board. It’s mesmerizing to watch him work. Each movement is a dance of skill and confidence, his hands steady and deliberate. Those hands—they tell a story. The scars scattered across his knuckles and fingers speak of mistakes learned from, the faded tattoos of a life lived in vibrant bursts, the slight tremor in his right wrist of long hours and hard-earned experience.

He glances up at you as he wraps your order, his expression soft and attentive. "Anything else today?" he asks, the question lingering like an invitation.

You shake your head, trying not to linger too long on the way he looks at you, as if you’re the only person in the world. “No, this is great. Thanks, Simon.”

He hands you the package, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment—a fleeting touch that leaves your pulse racing. You catch the way his gaze lingers, like he’s searching for something, but before either of you can speak again, the bell rings, and another customer walks in.

As you turn to leave, you glance over your shoulder. He’s still watching you, his shy smile now tinged with a quiet longing that makes your chest tighten.

Simon’s days are long, filled with the constant rhythm of knives slicing through flesh and bone, the hum of the cooler, the occasional clatter of metal trays. He loves his work, but it’s repetitive, a steady drumbeat in a life that once felt more unpredictable.

And then you walked in.

He remembers the first time he saw you, how your laughter bubbled over as you joked with him about the weather. You were bright, a spark in the monotony, and though he’d stumbled over his words that day, he’s gotten better at hiding how flustered you make him feel. Each time you visit, he finds himself lingering over your conversations, replaying the way you say his name or how your eyes light up when he teases you with a dry joke.

But Simon’s never been one to take risks when it comes to his heart. He’s spent years guarding it, locking away his past—the late nights in dive bars, the fights that left his hands bloodied and his spirit bruised. He’s a man remade, quieter now, content to find peace in his craft and the simple pleasures of routine.

And yet, here you are, stirring something in him that feels like both a risk and a refuge.

You leave the shop with your neatly wrapped package in hand, but your thoughts are still with Simon. There’s something about him—the way he’s steady but not stagnant, reserved but not cold—that pulls you back, week after week.

Over the months, you’ve pieced together fragments of his story. The tattoos on his forearms, faded and slightly smudged, hint at a wilder youth. The small scar on his cheek, which he once told you was from an accident in his first week as a butcher. The way he talks about his grandmother’s recipes, his voice softening with nostalgia, makes you wonder what kind of family shaped him into the man he is now.

And then there’s the way he looks at you. It’s a look that makes you feel seen in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying, as though he’s peeling back the layers of who you are and seeing the raw, vulnerable core.

You wish you had the courage to let him in. But courage is hard to muster when your life is split between the warmth of moments like these and the icy grip of what waits for you at home.

As you climb into your car and start the engine, you glance back toward the shop. Through the window, you see Simon helping another customer, his hands moving with the same practiced precision. For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine what it would be like to linger in that warmth a little longer, to let him know the parts of you that you’ve kept hidden.

But for now, the thought is enough.

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[lazy-ahh]

ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE

pairing mark grayson x gender neutral reader

childhood best friends aren't supposed to stare at each other's lips. they don't linger in quiet moments, hearts pounding, stealing glances that last a second too long—close enough to cross the line, but too scared to take the leap, scared of ruining the one good thing close to perfection in their lives. mark grayson knows this. you know this. yet here you both are... two idiots who'd rather choke on their words than admit the truth.

you and mark have been best friends for years—through sixth grade, high school, his early days as invincible, and all the chaos that comes with being a teenager stuck in puberty one day and thrown into superpowers the next. you'd call the two of you close, very close actually. perhaps maybe too close?

or at least, that's what it feels like when his hand brushes yours and neither of you pull away. when you're in a crowded room and it's like the world narrows down to just his laugh, just your stupid jokes, just the way he looks at you like you're the only person who matters.

the two of you know each other's schedules by heart. both of you know exactly how to cheer each other up after a particularly rough day. your inside jokes are a language only the two of you speak, and every 'accidental' touch lingers a second too long and leaves the two of you feeling satisfied just for a brief moment yet desperate for more. compliments are mumbled, quiet things—meant only for his ears only, or yours. it's the way he brings you your favourite snack after a tough mission, the way you patch up his wounds without being asked. it's the way this doesn't feel like just a friendship anymore.

meh, might just be overthinking it.

you huff through your nose, chin propped on your palm as you watch mark launch into yet another rant about seance dog—this time at william, who looks like he's two seconds from drowning himself in his chocolate milk. your lips twitch when mark's voice pitches higher, hands waving wildly as he makes some ridiculous point, and poor william, you're honestly impressed that his exasperated expression could become more... exasperated. your amusement drifts away after a moment though, when your eyes trail down to mark's arms.

you try not to stare. really, you do. i think. but it's hard because mark's sleeves are rolled up to his elbows like come kind of cruel joke, and his forearms are doing that thing where the tendons shift under his skin when he gestures. and god, his hands—calloused from hero work, fingers splaying mid-air like he's trying to physically sculpt his terrible arguments. your eyes catch on the rough knuckles, the faint scars from battles, the way his fingers flex—strong, but oddly graceful, like he could crush steel or trace a whisper down your spine with the same hands.

you swallow hard, throat suddenly dry as your brain betrays you with the image of those fingers—rough palms skimming your waist, the heat of them gripping your hips, the way his thumb might—

you blink rapidly, your gaze drags up (slowly, very slowly) over the curve of his biceps, the way his stupid "i bench-press buildings now" shoulders stretch his sweater when he throws his arms out. puberty had already been generous to mark grayson, but superpowers? superpowers were obscene. his waist is still narrow, but his chest is broader, his back tapered in a way that makes your teeth ache when he leans forward across the lunch table. and his thighs—

"hey, you good?" mark suddenly asks, his hand pausing from waving in front of your face.

you jerk upright, your face feeling warmer. "what? yeah, pssh. of course i am, why wouldn't i be?"

he grins, dorky and adorable and oblivious. "you were staring at me like i grew a second head or something."

oh, if only you knew.

william shoots you a knowing look, his lips twisting into a shit-eating grin as something positively devilish glints in his eyes. he leans across the lunch table, elbows knocking into his tray. "ohhh, someone's got it bad," he sing-songs, wiggling his eyebrows. "c'mon, spill - are they hot? because that," he points at your face, "is the look of someone who's thirsty. absolutely dehydrated-"

both you and mark snap your heads toward william in perfect sync - though your expression quickly morphs into pure horror, cheeks burning so hot you could power a small city. mark's reaction is worse - his eyes go wide, his grip tightening around his juice box until it crunches ominously.

"y-you like someone?" mark asks, voice cracking in a way that would be hilarious if it wasn't so devastating. there's something heartbreaking in the way his shoulders slump, like a golden retriever who just got told 'no walk today.'

your brain short-circuits. "no! yes? i mean-" you flail, hands waving wildly like you're trying to physically bat away the conversation. why are you sweating? why does this feel like you're being interrogated for the murder of a family of five? and why, why does mark look at you like you just kicked his favourite action figure into oncoming traffic?

you sigh in defeat, face falling into your hands. "it's complicated..." you messed up. big time. well—okay, you didn’t, but it feels like you did. why are you even panicking? it’s not like mark’s your boyfriend. not like you’re promised to each other or whatever.

you’re one second away from digging yourself a hole and rotting in it forever when you feel a hand settle on your shoulder—warm, solid, mark’s—giving you a gentle squeeze. you peek through your fingers, and there he is: looking at you with those stupidly soft brown eyes, the corners crinkled with quiet concern. his thumb rubs a tiny circle against your collarbone, and god, it’s unfair how easily your body melts under his touch, tension evaporating like he’s got some secret superpower just for calming you down.

"hey, it’s fine." his voice is so soft, so close, you swear you could dissolve into a puddle right here in the cafeteria. "it’s not like i’ll beat you into a pulp if you have a crush." he jokes, pulling his hand away to nudge your shoulder with his knuckles instead. you try not to pout at the loss of warmth.

"yeah, you’re right," you sigh, finally dropping your hands—but not before shooting him a sidelong glance. "sorry for, y’know. emotionally collapsing over nothing."

mark clutches his chest like you’ve stabbed him, lips twitching despite his very serious pout. "it’s not nothing. i can’t believe you’d hide a crush from me. after all we’ve been through?" his voice dips, faux-dramatic. "the trauma. the bonding. my undying loyalty—"

you kick his shin under the table, but your grin ruins the effect. "god, you’re insufferable. fine. our relationship is clearly toxic." you lean in, stage-whispering, "you’re obsessed with me. it’s unhealthy."

"oh, totally," he deadpans, matching your lean until his shoulder bumps yours. "real stalker behavior. i’ll start sending you creepy letters next."

"promise?" you say without thinking—then freeze. shit.

mark’s smirk softens, just for a second. "only if you write me back," he murmurs, so quiet you almost miss it. then he’s straightening up, clearing his throat. "but, uh. yeah. toxic. i’m a monster."

you roll your eyes, propping your chin on your palm again as william gags dramatically, clutching his stomach like the mere idea of feelings is poisoning him. the conversation ironically spirals into william's love life, ending with him scoffing, "hard pass on your advice, grayson. unless ‘eternally single’ is the aesthetic i’m going for."

when the bell rings, the three of you shuffle out of the cafeteria, splitting off down different hallways—mark with a half-wave over his shoulder, william already texting someone (probably to complain about you two). you should be thinking about your next class. about the quiz you didn’t study for.

instead, your traitorous brain replays mark’s voice, low and teasing: only if you write me back.

stupid. it’s stupid how your heart still stutters like you’re some middle-schooler with a crush. how your fingers twitch at your side, phantom-warm where his shoulder had brushed yours.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the glow of your monitor is the only light in your room when you hear the familiar tap-tap against your window. even before you pull back the curtains, you're already reaching for the first aid kit under your bed—because mark grayson might live next door, but he always comes to you like this, bleeding and beautiful in the moonlight.

"missed the front door again, huh?" you tease as you help him inside, but the joke dies when you see the bruise blooming across his ribs and the way there's that stupidly familiar black eye on his right eye. good thing it's not as bad as the last times. "shit, mark."

"i've had worse," he mumbles, but winces as you press a disinfectant wipe to his side. his skin is warm under your fingers, sticky with sweat and city grime. for a while, it's quiet—just your careful hands, his steady breathing, and the way his eyes track your face like you're the only solid thing in the world.

then, softer: "...sometimes i wonder if i'm even making a difference out there."

your fingers pause. "hey." you tilt his chin up, thumb brushing the cut on his cheekbone. "you saved seven people tonight. i heard it on the scanner."

"and how many did i not save?" his voice cracks, raw in a way that has nothing to do with physical wounds.

you don't have an answer for that. so you just lean your forehead against his, noses almost touching, his breath warm against your lips. "you can't carry the whole world, vincible."

he remembers when you first called him that, years ago, all sarcasm and raised eyebrows ("invincible? really? more like vincible if you keep tripping over your own feet"). now, it’s something else entirely. now, it’s the way your voice dips, tender and knowing, like you’ve carved a home just for him in that single word. vincible. his chest tightens.

the nickname—once teasing, once a joke about his dumb superhero name—comes out so soft now it might as well be darling. sweetheart. mine. mark's pulse stutters at the way your voice wraps around it, at how your thumbs brush his cheekbones like he's something precious. he wonders, distantly, if there's even a difference between vincible and i love you when you say it like that—all fondness and quiet understanding, like the words are just different shapes of the same feeling.

(he knows which one makes his chest ache more. he wonders, desperately, if you can feel how ruined he is for you—if you notice the way his breath hitches when your thumbs brush his cheekbones, if you know he’s memorized the exact weight of your sighs. it’s pathetic, maybe, how easily you unravel him.)

"you’re staring," you murmur, but you don’t pull away.

mark should say something clever. something normal. instead, his traitorous heart whispers: you’re my whole world.

what comes out is: "shut up."

he exhales, shaky, and leans into it—just slightly, just enough to make your heart pound against your ribs. when you pull back, his eyes are dark and searching, lips parted like he's about to say something that'll change everything.

instead, he whispers, "you'd make a terrible motivational speaker, you know that?"

you snort, swatting his arm. "and you'd make a terrible patient. always whining."

"only for you," he says, so casually it aches.

(and god, does he mean it. he’d whine, beg, bleed for your attention if it meant you’d keep looking at him like this—like he’s worth the effort. like he’s yours.)

there it is again—that look. the one where his gaze drops to your mouth for half a second too long, where he wonders if you’d taste like the iced tea you’d been drinking or something sweeter. where your hands, still cradling his face, tremble just a little, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from leaning into them completely and placing a tender kiss on your palm. the air between you is charged, suffocating, alive.

(he wants to ruin this. he wants to have this. he does neither.)

then mark grins, breaking the spell. "maybe i should hire you as my personal doctor."

"with what money?" you laugh, shoving him. "last i checked, 'professional martyr' doesn't pay well."

he clutches his chest in mock offense, but his laughter fades too quickly. and just like that, two hours had passed already, but it felt like only minutes. (time always bends around you—stretching and collapsing like taffy, leaving him dizzy.)

at your window, he hesitates—hand gripping the frame like it’s the only thing keeping him from crawling back to you. shoulders tense, throat tight with all the words he won’t say: stay. ask me to stay. please.

"see you tomorrow?" he finally asks, half-turned toward you like a question.

you swallow the stay on your tongue. "yeah. tomorrow."

(and maybe tomorrow, he’ll be brave. maybe tomorrow, he’ll say it. maybe—)

the moment passes. again.

2k words is crazy i'm not even gonna lie- and if you made it to the end—thank you. no, seriously, you reading this means the world to me. this is my first one-shot in forever, so i’m equal parts nervous and stupidly excited. constructive criticism is appreciated here, i would love to know how to make my one-shots better: more yearning? write banter that feels natural (how do people even talk, lmao) do we need more yearning chat? also, angst might be coming, so watch out for that lol

[aashwarr]

30+ Must Have Food Mods for Realistic Gameplay By Ashley Plays

Miscellaneous.

MadeinBrazil Water Filters

Custom Food Interactions

Custom Drink Interactions

Canned Soda

Small Spaces Mixer

Improved Spa Day Tablet

Icemunmun.

Custom Recipes

Martini Shaker

Around the Sims.

Functional Tea Pots

Edible Junk Food

Edible Chocolate

Alternative Picnic Baskets

Oni.

Oni's Recipe Pack

Takoyaki Hot Pan

Littlbowbub.

Grannies Cookbook (Add-Ons)

Hot Chocolate Machine

Home Barista

TianaSims.

Coffee Time

French Press

TianaSims Cookbook

Somik & Severinka.

Cookbook S&S

Functional Baby Food

Chocolate-Covered Strawberries

Functional Beer + Beer Bottles

Functional Whiskey, Cognac & Vodka

Functional Champagne

Functional Wine Bottles

Bar Cocktails

Functional Drinks Tray

Functional Stands

Functional Blender and Protein Shakes

Functional Bottle Warmer

Functional Set for Sakes

[homekitchenary]

Discover the World of Coffee Types, Tastes, and More

Are you a coffee enthusiast eager to explore the endless varieties of coffee? Dive into the fascinating world of coffee drinks types and uncover the unique flavors each one offers. From the bold and robust espresso to the creamy and indulgent latte, coffee kinds drinks can delight every palate.

This comprehensive guide on Home Kitchenary breaks down the different types of coffee drinks, explaining their ingredients, brewing methods, and taste profiles. Whether you're a seasoned barista or just starting your coffee journey, this article is your go-to resource for discovering your next favorite brew.

Start your coffee adventure now and make every sip count.

[ratskinsuit]

•𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭•

Hazbin Hotel Lucifer Morningstar x gn!Reader

———————————————————————

“Lucifer has been very stressed lately due to all of the work being piled onto him, the things going on in heaven, and Charlie’s hotel idea. So as his loving partner, you decide to help him destress a little bit in a very fun way.”

Tags: Smut, Oral sex, Lucifers little whimpers, exhibitionism? , Dom!Reader (Kind of), Sub!Lucifer, x Reader, Office blow jobs

MDNI

(Please enjoy this fanfic, it may not be the best because I haven’t written smut before, criticism is welcome.)

———————————————————————

You have noticed that recently your husband, Lucifer, has been more stressed than usual. He has been neglecting his needs, locking himself in his room and burying himself in his work. He hasn’t been eating as much and he has bags under his eyes. You rarely see him out of his office, never seeing him at any meals.

So you decided that you would go and try to convince him to take a break. You made him some tea and something for him to eat, a grilled cheese, some warm tomato soup, and some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. After gathering all of the food on a tray, you head off to his office. Once you reach the office you put the tray in one hand and knock on the door three times.

“Come in.” You hear his tired voice say from the other side of the door.

You grasp the door knob and with a hum push it open and step inside, closing the door behind you.

At his desk Lucifer looks wrecked. He is sitting in his dress pants and a dress shirt, wrinkled and messed up, his sleeves pulled up to his biceps. His face furrowed in concentration, his eyes slightly bloodshot, with bags under his eyes. One of his hands is in his hands in his hair, gripping it tightly between his fingers in frustration, his bling licks messy.

He looks up as you enter and smiles tiredly. “Ah hello my love, do you need something?” He asks, sitting up straighter and trying to fix his shirt to not worry you.

You hum and bring over the tray setting it on his desk. “Well I know how stressed you have been lately, so I brought you some lunch and tea.” You say, setting his food out for him.

He gives you another smile, hey this time Warmer. “Oh thank you so much hunny, I completely forgot about eating.” He says, taking a sip from the tea and sighing.

You smile at him, and go behind the desk, stroking his hair with one hand, and the other rests in his shoulder, his face softening as you play with his messy locks, a most comfortable look now on his face.

“You really should take a break you know, all this stress isn’t good for you.” You say, and in response he lets out another sigh. “Well I can’t just take a break whenever I want, I mean I have duties hunny, I can’t just abandon them.”

“Are you sure? Not even just a tiny break?” You try to reason, your hand continuously petting his hair, and the other massaging his shoulder, trying to convince him. It seems to be working a bit, as he relaxes into the chair his eyes half lidded, yet his stubbornness still prominent.

“I don’t know…” He murmurs, rolling his arms as you massage them.

You pout, taking your hands off of him, causing him to whine a bit. You think for a moment, before an idea comes to you, a mischievous smirk making its way onto your face.

He notices it immediately and gives you a questioning look. “What are you thinking about hun?”

”Well how about I give you a little stress reliever while you work, hm?” You say, and before he can say anything getting on your knees and crawling under the desk.

“W-wait hunny what are you doing..? We can’t do this, s-someone might walk in, and- and I have to…” He trails off with a whimper as you begin to unzip his pants.

“Just keep quiet and keep doing your work and nobody will know.” You say with a wink, as you take out his red, already leaking cock.

He stares down at you before resting his arms on his desk, and whimpering, already breathing noticeably harder, even though you haven’t even touched him yet.

You stroke him a couple couple times. “Go on handsome, keep doing your work.” You say teasingly, and he whines a bit, grabbing his pen and trying to resume reading and signing.

You move your head closer to the head of his throbbing member, giving him a few kitten licks causing him to jolt,

“D-dear I don’t think I can do m… my work like this…” He say quietly, looking at you with a pleasing look on his face.

You ignore it, giving him a quick smirk as you begin to lick all around the shaft, starting from the base and moving up, earning you a groan from the man above.

You suck on the tip, swirling it around in your mouth with your tongue.

“F-..fuck darling ple- agh.. please stop teasing me…” Lucifer whimpers, squirming in his seat, panting harder now.

You continue to ignore it, your your tongue pressing against the slit, a loud moan rumbling above you.

You glance up to see your husband looking worse than before, his cheeks red, eyes watery, and hair somehow even worse than before. “My lah… love please…” He begs, more tears welling up in his eyes.

You decide to give him a break, and slowly start taking him into your mouth, going deeper down his shaft as he lets out a moan.

“Oh h-hell please p-p-lease oh agh… hng…” He moans, and squirms, obviously very pent up. He tries to thrust up into your mouth but you place my hands in his thighs, digging your nails into them, pulling an unhappy whine.

Once you reach the base you begin bobbing up and down, your tongue massaging his shaft.

“Oh h-hu- d-darling… please, I- Hng… I… hah.. fuck.. please..” Lucifer squirms and and moans loudly above you, one hand tangled in his hair, the other on the desk, breathing heavily, his eyes closed in pleasure, cheeks flushed.

With one of your hands you massage the inside of his thigh, causing him to get louder. “Please, I want- darling- m-mmm, nhg… please.. wanna, I need to- fuck…gonna- g’nna c-“ He babbles above you, barely able to make sentences, yet you can tell his close.

While you desperately want to tease him you decide against it, knowing he would probably break down with how stressed he already is.

You begin to suck and bob faster, you husband whining and pleading above you, you determainef to make his reach his peak.

“W-a- agh.. c-come.. fuck, gonna HNG, d-arling oh s-sa- Ang..” A few moment later mr moans out and releases, you swallow it all down, riding him through his orgasm until he is overstimulated and trying to get away.

You release him with a pop, standing up and wiping your mouth. Lucifer looks 10x worse than before, his hair sweaty and sticking out in all different ways, his face flushed red, his eyes half lidded and teary, still shaking from the aftershocks.

Despite this you give him a kiss on the forehead and a pat on the head. “I expect to see you at dinner tonight.” You say, before leaving.

———————————————————————

Well there is my first ever smut fic, and first fic in years! Criticism is accepted. Hope you enjoyed!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

[aestherin]

KEEP MY HEART

goal 32: you but in meow

NOTE: i finally finished despite procrastinating hehe this was sitting in my drafts for more than a week help me 😭

You probably should have told Scaramouche that you have already arrived at the home address he sent.

If you did so, maybe you wouldn’t be outright welcomed by his mother instantly opening the door after a few knocks.

You’ve already seen her before during some of their games, albeit from a far distance. She looked pretty from afar, yes. But she was heavenly up close. With her long deep violet locks weaved into a simple braid, her perfect skin that gives no evidence of her being a mother of a boy already in college, and her electrifying eyes… you’re starting to realize where Scaramouche got the godly genes from.

“Good afternoon, uh— madam?” You greeted awkwardly. “I’m here to visit Scara, no, Kunikuzushi. He’s a… friend!”

At your introduction, the older woman let you inside their home and motioned you to sit on the sofa. She swiftly made her way back and forth the kitchen and provided you with a tray containing some drinks and some snacks.

You told her that she didn’t have to, but she only smiled in response. As she sat down in front of you, you started to drink from the glass, only so that you can find something to distract yourself from the awkwardness.

“So that’s why your built looked familiar. You’re probably the same woman I saw in the pictures with my son. You’re his girlfriend, right?”

You coughed.

Before you can even reply, Scaramouche’s mother motioned upstairs. “Nevermind that, I don’t want to keep you for long. My son’s room is upstairs, first door from the left.”

“Also,” she lightly muttered as you were getting ready to go upstairs. “Please do treat my son well. I’ve put him through a lot, you see.”

An apologetic smile was plastered on his mother’s face. Was this what Scaramouche meant when he was messaging you? Was his mother somehow enlightened and came to a realization about their issues? You wanted to know, but you didn’t want to pry.

Besides, the main reason why you came here was so that you could uplift Scaramouche’s mood.

“I will.”

Meanwhile, Scaramouche was cooped up in his room, restless. He’d admit it to no one, but anxiety was slowly creeping in his heart at your lack of replies to his message. Why did you suddenly stop replying? Were you getting to him safely? Did you somehow get lost and went to some place with no reception?

‘Damn it, I should’ve just picked her up,’ he thought.

‘Should I call her?’

‘But what if —‘

Three knocks brought his thoughts to a halt. “Kuni? It’s me, [Name].”

Of course it’s you. You're the only one allowed to call him that anyway.

Heavy and hurried footsteps stemmed from the other side of the door once you made your presence known.

“[Name],” he breathed immediately upon swinging his door.

You were welcomed by his disheveled yet still attractive appearance as well as the sight of his room — simple yet stylish with tints of mainly white, black, and blue. The room looked so cold, yet the comforts of his white bed helped it seem warmer. Apart from that however, a warm and furry feeling on your legs also welcomed you.

“Meow.”

You broke eye contact with Scaramouche and instead took a peek at what the little ball of black fur was doing below. His cat (as you assumed) was now cuddling you, purring restlessly against your feet.

“That’s weird.”

“Huh?”

“He usually doesn’t like strangers,” Scaramouche said.

He then eyed you as you crouched down to pick up his cat. “Well you see Kuni, they said cats tend to mirror the personalities of their owner.”

“Who the fuck even said that?” He raised his brow. “And even if that’s true, so what?”

“Well you like me, so of course Scarameow likes me.”

Scaramouche huffed. “Scarameow?”

“You didn’t give him a name, right? I feel bad not calling him anything, so I just thought of that on the spot.” You grinned. “Besides, it seems like he likes it.”

You cut yourself off by lightly poking the black cat’s nose. “Don’t you, Scarameow?”

The man just sighed at the approving purr of his own pet. He was left speechless by how easily his cat warmed up to you. It really weirded him out, considering that it was the very same cat that always just hisses at other people aside from his owner.

“But why that… horrendous name?”

You looked back at him only to flash a disapproving frown. “Horrendous? Isn’t it cute?”

“No.”

“What?” You gasped. “Can’t you see he’s literally a cat version of you?”

“It’s like he’s you… but in meow…”

He speedily brought his palm up to his lips in an attempt to conceal something. It was a poor attempt, however, as the muffled noises he tried so hard to stop forced their way out.

And for the first time in so long, he finally laughed.

KEEP MY HEART — scara x reader smau

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NOTE: my reference for thinking of scara's bedroom haha >> [click here]

TAGLIST I (closed)

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[i2rizz]

Off The Menu

Synopsis-Sae was ready to reject another blind date—until he saw you. In a split second, he grabbed your hand and called you his girlfriend… now what?

|masterlist

Sae Itoshi sighed, staring blankly at his reflection in the restaurant’s polished window. Another week, another ridiculous matchmaking attempt set up by his parents. He had long since lost count of how many girls he had been forced to meet—polite, well-mannered, and eager to please, yet none of them stirred anything in him except mild irritation. This was no different.

He adjusted his cuffs, already dreading the upcoming interaction. As if on cue, the woman his parents had picked for him arrived, all soft smiles and delicate features. Sae barely glanced at her before standing up out of courtesy.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Itoshi-san," she said, bowing slightly. Her voice was smooth, practiced.

Sae nodded, wordlessly sitting back down, already thinking about how to make his exit. He’d usually wait a while, indulge in small talk, then let them down gently. He didn’t owe these girls anything, but he wasn’t unnecessarily cruel either.

This time, though, he wasn’t in the mood to play along. His patience was running thin.

His sharp eyes roamed the restaurant, searching for something—anything—that would help him out of this predicament.

And then he saw you.

You were moving between tables with a tray in hand, dressed in the restaurant’s uniform, oblivious to his stare. The name tag pinned to your shirt gleamed under the warm lighting, the letters forming your name. A name he had never said aloud before but now seemed like the perfect solution to his problem.

Before he could second-guess himself, he stood up.

"(Y/N)."

You froze mid-step, your eyes snapping toward him. A flicker of confusion passed over your face as you tried to place him, only for your expression to morph into full-blown bewilderment when he strode towards you with purpose.

"S-Sae?" you repeated, hesitant. You knew who he was, of course. Everyone did. It wasn’t every day Japan’s soccer prodigy called you by name as if you were close.

He ignored your confusion. His hand found yours before you could protest, his fingers curling around your wrist with a firm yet oddly gentle grip.

"There you are. I’ve been waiting for you," he said smoothly, his usual indifferent tone replaced with something warmer, something convincing.

You blinked at him, stunned, and then at the woman he had left at the table. She was staring at the scene with wide eyes, her perfectly painted lips parted in shock.

"Excuse me?" she said, standing up hastily.

Sae turned to her, his expression unreadable. "I appreciate you coming today, but I don’t think we need to continue this any further. I already have a girlfriend."

The air around the three of you shifted immediately.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your skull. "I—WHAT?!"

The woman’s expression twisted. "You have a girlfriend?" She turned to you, eyes scanning your uniform. "Then why were you on a date with me?!"

Sae didn’t even blink. "My parents set it up. I never agreed to it."

The woman sputtered in disbelief. "And you’re telling me you’re dating…" She gestured to you, looking almost offended.

You clenched your fists, resisting the urge to throw the tray at Sae’s head.

"Sae, you absolute—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he did the unthinkable.

With one smooth motion, he pulled you against him and kissed you.

Your mind blanked.

The tray in your hands nearly slipped as warmth engulfed your lips, his scent—clean, expensive cologne mixed with something distinctly Sae—flooding your senses. His touch was firm yet surprisingly gentle, his lips molding against yours in a way that felt practiced yet not forceful.

You had kissed before—of course you had. But this? This was different.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a declaration, a performance, a statement that you belonged to him in this very moment, in front of a woman he was supposed to be wooing.

The woman gasped audibly, and that was what snapped you back to reality.

You shoved Sae away with enough force to make him stumble a step back. Your face burned, whether from anger or embarrassment, you weren’t sure.

"What the hell was that?!" you hissed, gripping your tray like a lifeline.

Sae, completely unfazed, simply wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb before glancing at the other woman. "See? I’m taken."

The woman looked between the two of you, absolutely livid. "You’re an asshole, Itoshi."

Sae only shrugged, as if he had heard the insult a thousand times before and had long since stopped caring. "Maybe. But at least I’m honest."

With that, she grabbed her purse and stormed out of the restaurant, her heels clicking against the marble floor with each furious step. The moment she was out of sight, you turned back to Sae with fire in your eyes.

"I’m going to kill you."

He tilted his head, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. "If you do, who’s going to pay for your silence?"

"Silence?!" you seethed. "You just used me as your fake girlfriend, kissed me without my permission, and embarrassed me in front of my coworkers!"

Sae looked completely unbothered. "Worked, didn’t it?"

You were this close to launching a plate at his head.

Instead, you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down. You couldn’t afford to get fired.

"You owe me. Big time."

His gaze flickered with something unreadable. "Fine. What do you want?"

You opened your mouth to retort, but then, a thought occurred to you.

A wicked idea.

Your lips curled into a slow smirk. "Oh, you’ll find out soon enough."

For the first time, Sae looked mildly concerned.

You took your tray and walked away, leaving him standing there, watching you, an amused yet cautious glint in his usually cold eyes.

Game on, Itoshi Sae.

[multiharlot]

honeymoon phase // matt murdock x age gap!reader

summary: your friends cannot stand you and your newlywed husband

warning: so much fluff and sweetness you might need to see a dentist and a doctor after reading. hope u have insurance or live in a country that cares about you. wanted to give you guys this after the drama.

series masterlist || main masterlist || add yourself to my taglist!

SORRY FOR THE LATE UPLOAD I'VE BEEN GOING THROUGH SO MUCH IN MY PERSONAL LIFE BUT I'M HERE NOW. HERE'S SOMETHING SWEET BEFORE MORE OF THE DRAMA

the morning after your january wedding was cold. but the morning after you'd returned from your island resort honeymoon was even colder. which was to be expected since it was only just the beginning of february. but you were the warmest you'd ever been, including the time you spent in the warmer climates of thailand, which you and your husband had just returned from. you laid entangled in silk sheets, his arms woven tightly around you, holding you close to him as he slept soundly.

a soft smile emerged on your face and you lifted your hand, bringing it up to his face and placing your hand softly on his cheek. stroking the stubble with your thumb.

"your hand. is cold." he mumbles, his eyes still closed and his mouth barely moving.

"and your face. is warm." you tease, tucking your other hand under his other cheek, sandwiching it between his face and the pillow and giving him a quick peck on the nose.

"leave my face alone." he groans, pushing your hands away.

"that's no way to talk to your wife." you pout playfully, and he opens one eye, peaking over at you and smiling softly before closing his eyes again.

"my wife. i like that." he hums, re-wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his chest, bringing the blankets up to your shoulders as he tucked his face into your chest.

you just smile, raking your fingers through his hair and cradling his head against you as he hummed happily.

"how do you feel about-"

you were interrupted by the door being thrown open, you feel your spirit leaving your body as matt shoots up, pushing you behind him.

"WELCOME BACK HONEYMOONERS" foggy shouts through the loft, making matt relax, a sigh leaving both of your lips.

"i'm gonna kill him." matt shrugs nonchalantly, and you just shake your head, pushing his arm slightly as you lean down, grabbing matt's sweatpants from the floor beside you.

"no you're not." you roll your eyes, standing up out of bed and pulling on his pants and throwing on his columbia hoodie.

" i could." he frowns, throwing on some clothes, his frown still etched onto his face as you slide open the bedroom door.

"hi fog." you smile, and foggy excitedly wraps you into a hug.

"if it isn't my favorite murdock!" he exclaims, rocking the two of you side to side.

"first, you break into our house. then you tell me that you like my wife more than me, your best friend." matt frowns, pulling you from foggy's hold and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest and tiredly placing his head into your shoulder.

"sorry to break it to you matt, but i'm pretty sure everyone likes your wife more than you." karen responds as she walks into the loft, a bag of bagels and a tray of coffee cups in her hands.

"that's what i'm saying! it's like you didn't listen to my speech at your wedding." foggy smiles, throwing his arms up.

you throw your head back as you laugh, matt grumbling into your neck.

"i'm touched. truly." you smile, placing your hand on your chest.

"i'm not" matt pouts, and you roll your eyes, turning around and placing your hands on in chest.

"you're my favorite murdock." you smile, leaning forward and pressing a short peck on his lips.

"that makes me feel a little better." your husband smiles against your lips.

"okay enough being gross. karen brought bagels and coffee and we have a new case we need to discuss." foggy quickly interrupts, pulling you from matt's grip and plopping you onto the couch.

"you relax. and you, sir, come to the table." foggy directs matt as he throws a blanket over your lap.

your smile widens as karen hands you a cup of coffee, the latest seasonal drink and an your favorite bagel (with enough cream cheese to drown yourself in, of course. you're sophisticated)

"you're an angel" you sigh as you stare at the coffee and bagel in your hands.

"you owe me a lunch date. i wanna hear all the honeymoon deets" she smiles at you as she walks towards the table where foggy was forcing a pouting matt to sit down.

"absolutely!" you agree, tucking the blanket under your legs and reaching forward to place your coffee on the table so you could dig into your bagel.

****

the next day you found yourself perched on top of matt's lap in his office. soft giggles emitting from your lips as he placed gentle kisses along your neck and collarbones.

"how'd i get so lucky?" he says softly against your lips

"i'm actually a government plant" you shrug, and he snorts, leaning in to place his lips on yours.

"oh jesus, seriously?"

you jump, pulling your lips away from matt's and turn to see foggy frowning in the doorway.

"hi fog, sorry" you say as you sheepishly sink into matt's chest.

"when will the honeymoon phase be over? i work here too ya know!" he groans, shutting the door behind him.

"if it helps, i brought coffee?" you say, nodding your head over to the counter where the large coffee traveler sat.

"it does" foggy frowns before walking away momentarily to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"maybe i should go?" you whispered to your husband, and he frowned, dramatically pouting at your suggestion.

"no."

"y/n i love you so much, you two disgust me." foggy smiles sarcastically before sitting down in front of matt's desk.

"i know" you say proudly, standing up from matt's lap.

"where're you going?" matt frowns, and you lean down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

"leanne's. i'll see you at home?"

matt nods his head and you say bye to foggy as you walk out of the office.

"i love my wife." matt smiles proudly, making foggy roll his eyes.

"you're gross."

"i'm happy you think so"

************

taglist:

@luvr-bunnyy @glowstick-lesbian @anothersworld @Mrbillymontgomery @inas-thing @fuck-goes-oneddiemvnsonss @nia_um @multibishh @takeyour-pants-off @Afootnoteinyourhappiness @slut4murdock @multibishh @alexxavicry @drunkangels @desert-fern @caseket @dvredevil-s-initivls @thychuvaluswife @scoliobean @babyblue0t7 @lewd-alien @Yourbane @lucienofthelakes @mcueveryday @chaoticcoffeequeen @dustyinkpages @garden-of-bri

[vandersbf]

Fluffvember 16

Hug // “This isn’t a negotiation, friend”

Tags: Gn reader, reader x vander, pre relationship, fluff, sick fic

warnings: reader is sick with a head cold

author’s note: sick ficccc hell yeah dude

You’re drifting in and out of consciousness, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion and sickness. Heavy blankets are pulled over you, burying you in a cocoon of warmth and protection. You reach for the tissue box again, scooting to sit up in bed a little more. The room is empty, the door shut. After a second, it starts to set in that this isn’t your room. There are kid’s drawings littered about the walls, familiar clothes draped over the back of a chair, and it’s significantly warmer in here than your apartment. 

Your cold-addled brain is slow to put together your memories. You slump back into the pillows and the incredibly comfy bed as you slowly start to remember the night before, coming into work despite your stuffy nose and fatigue, and it had only gotten worse until you passed out behind the bar. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by the door opening. “You’re awake,” Vander appears in the doorway, holding a tray of food. “How’re you feeling?” 

“…’m a’ight.” You wince at the sound of your voice all congested. “This is… your room?” You ask as he steps closer. 

“Sure is.” He sets the tray down on the bedside table, reaching out to check your temperature with the back of his hand. “You’re feeling warmer.” He says, his tone worried. “Lay down, alright? You need your rest.” He puts a firm hand on your shoulder, forcing you down to the sheets. 

“This be’ ‘s really warm.” You slur, reaching to pull his hand down with you. 

“That’s the fever talking, my dear.” He chuckles. “You want me to stay with you a while?”

”M al’ight.” You struggle against his firm hand. “T’ink I can go back to my place,” 

“This isn’t a negotiation, friend. Can’t have my favorite server stumbling sick through the streets, now, can I?”