#tried to have some toast and it was Sour :(((((((((

[nexus-nebulae]

ough hate hate hate finding out a food has gone bad by biting into it

[itneverendshere]

pogue reader getting sick but she can’t call out, but rafes fr mad at you about it

changed it a bit just bc i want to show reader's progress regarding her hyper-independence, they're already dating and past the "i love you" phase, i felt like some progress had to be made by this point, especially bc this is after their big fight in this. hope you enjoy <3

don't want less, don't want more - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

The floor beneath you feels like it's tilting, moving under your feet like a boat rocking on rough water. You blink a couple of times, hoping that’ll shake the haze taking over your vision, but it doesn’t do much. 

The bar lights over your head are too bright, and the music thumping from the speakers makes your head feel like it’s trapped in a vice. The clink of glass, every laugh, every order shouted at you feels like a hammer driving nails straight into your skull.

You swallow hard, trying not to gag. Your throat’s raw, and your chest feels tight, but you’re powering through it because you don’t have much of a choice. Not a choice at all.

"Whiskey sour, extra sour!" some country club douchebag yells from the other side of the bar.

His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. You force a smile and nod, reaching for the bottle, but your hands are shaky. You catch yourself on the edge of the bar before you can drop it.

This morning, you could barely get out of bed. Fever burning through you like you were standing too close to a bonfire, throat too sore to talk, and your head pounding so hard you thought you were going to pass out just brushing your teeth. 

You tried calling in. Tried. Told your manager, Greg, that you were sick as hell, couldn’t make it, but the guy just grunted like he always does. "Can’t afford anyone calling out today," he said. Like the world was going to end if you didn’t show up to sling drinks for a bunch of rich assholes.

So here you are.

You rub the back of your neck, trying to loosen up some of the tension building there, but it doesn’t help. Nothing really does at this point.

"Hey!" The guy who ordered the whiskey sour snaps his fingers in your face. "You deaf or something? Whiskey. Sour."

"Got it," You mutter, trying not to let your voice crack as you finally pour his drink. 

Your vision swims a little as you set it down in front of him, and for a second, you think you might actually faint right here at the bar.

That’d be something. Faceplant into a bunch of overpriced cocktails in front of half of the Kooks on this island. Greg would probably just step over you and ask you to get back to work.

You lean against the bar for a second. Your stomach rolls, threatening to revolt, but you choke it back. You can’t afford to be sick here. Not when you’re already in trouble with your manager for barely making it on time. You think back to the half-assed breakfast you tried to eat—if you can call a slice of toast breakfast—and how your stomach rejected it like poison.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Rafe coming in. And suddenly, you’re even more aware of how wrecked you are.

You know he still struggles with how independent you are sometimes. You’ve always been the kind of girl who handles things on her own, and Rafe has this tendency to think that means you don’t need him.

Today, though? You need him more than ever, but you couldn’t bring yourself to call for help.

You immediately know it’s gonna be a thing.

His eyes lock onto you from across the bar, and even through the fog in your head, you can see that look on his face. He’s pissed. Of course, he’s pissed. His jaw’s clenched like he’s biting back whatever rant he’s about to drop on you, and you can already feel the tension creeping up your neck.

Great, as if you didn’t feel bad enough already.

You try to stand a little straighter, look a little less like you're one second from collapsing, but your legs are jelly, and the room’s still spinning like you’re on some messed-up carnival ride.

You don’t want him to see how bad you’re hurting right now. But today? You’re too out of it to even try and explain.

He strides up to the bar, looking sharp, as usual. Meanwhile, you probably look like death warmed over. His eyes are scanning you, taking in the pale face, the way you’re gripping the edge of the bar like you’re about to keel over. You see his lips tighten, and yeah, he’s definitely about to lay into you.

“You didn’t call,” he says, voice low but definitely annoyed. He leans in, trying to keep this between just the two of you, but with how loud the bar is, it still feels like a confrontation.

“I’m fine,” you lie, forcing a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. 

Rafe’s eyes narrow. He’s not buying it. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Why didn’t you call me?”

You hate that you feel guilty.

“Because I’m handling it,” you say, voice softer now. But even you can hear how weak you sound.

It’s not convincing. Hell, you’re not even convinced.

He crosses his arms, looking down at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t figure out. “Handling it? Baby, you can barely stand.”

You let out a sigh, trying not to let it turn into a cough.

"I’m fine," you repeat, but even you know it sounds pathetic at this point. Your head feels like it's full of cotton, you’re not sure if you’ll make it through the next few minutes, let alone your entire shift.

But pride’s a bitch.

Rafe just stands there, arms crossed, staring at you like he’s waiting for you to come clean. You can feel his frustration, but there’s something else, too. Worry. It’s in the way his eyes keep flicking over your face, how his fingers are tapping against his arm like he’s holding himself back from just scooping you up and carrying you out of here.

"I heard from Topper," he finally says, like he’s been holding that card in his back pocket. You blink, trying to keep up. "He saw you at the club earlier, said you didn’t look right."

Great. Freaking Topper. Of course, idiot couldn’t mind his own business. You can almost picture him, all dressed up in some preppy golf outfit, spotting you from across the course and making a note to text Rafe the second he saw something off.

Rafe’s still watching you, waiting for a reaction.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with some excuse, some way to brush it off, but your brain’s too foggy, and all you manage is a weak, "I was fine then."

He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? 'Cause Top said you looked like you were about to hurl on the 9th hole." He’s trying to keep his voice low, but you can tell he’s annoyed. Not at Topper, not even really at you—just at the whole situation.

You want to snap back, tell him you’re fine, that you’ve got it under control. But instead, all that comes out is another tired sigh. “Greg wouldn’t let me call out. Said they needed me.”

“You serious?”

“Dead-serious.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches so tight you think you hear his teeth grind. His hands come out of his pockets, flexing like he’s about to hit something—or someone. He runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to calm himself down before he says something he’ll regret.

But you know him—he’s never been great at holding back when he’s pissed. And right now? He’s definitely pissed.

“Greg said that?” His voice is low, but there’s this dangerous edge to it, like he’s two seconds away from losing it, “You should’ve called me. I would’ve come down here, I would’ve—”

“I know.” You cut him off because you do know.

He would’ve dropped everything and come running. That’s exactly why you didn’t call. You didn’t want to be the a burden again. Like you said, you’re still working on yourself.

Rafe leans against the bar, his whole body radiating this intensity that makes you feel both comforted and nervous.

“So, let me get this straight,” he says, voice louder now, not even bothering to keep it low-key anymore. “You’re sick as hell, and that asshole wouldn’t let you stay home?”

You wince. He’s drawing attention now, people at the bar starting to glance over. You hate seeing him like this, but you don’t have the energy to smooth things over.

“Rafe, please—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No, seriously. What kind of fucking manager forces someone to come in when they’re this sick?” His voice carries, and a couple of the other bartenders are giving you looks, like they can’t decide if they’re more surprised or impressed by Rafe’s audacity, "You’re killing yourself for this job, and he doesn’t give a fuck.”

You glance toward the back, hoping Greg’s still in the office and not witnessing this meltdown. The last thing you need right now is more heat from him. But of course, your luck sucks, because just as Rafe’s ramping up, Greg strides out from the back, clipboard in hand, that same stupid scowl on his face like he’s already annoyed at everything.

Rafe spots him instantly, and if you thought he was mad before, now he’s on a whole other level.

"Greg!" Rafe calls out, loud enough that half the bar turns to look. Your stomach sinks. This is about to get ugly.

Greg stops dead in his tracks, his eyes flicking to Rafe and then back to you. He knows. He knows exactly what’s about to happen, and he’s already losing the upper hand.

“Yeah, Rafe?” Greg’s voice is weak, almost shaky. Like he’s trying to keep it together, but he knows he’s got no chance. Rafe’s family literally owns half the island—Greg’s just some middle manager with too much attitude.

Your boyfriend steps forward, slow and deliberate, closing the space between them like he’s already won this thing.

“You made her come in today?” His voice is calm, but it’s that scary kind of calm that’s worse than yelling. The kind that makes your stomach drop because you know the person holding it together is barely holding back.

Greg opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is this pathetic mumble. “We… we were short-staffed.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow, his lips pulling into this cold, humorless smile. “Short-staffed?” He glances at you, and you feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You really didn’t want this to turn into a scene, but here you are. “You see how she looks right now? You made her come in like this?”

Greg’s eyes flick back and forth between you and Rafe, and you can see the panic starting to set in. He’s sweating now, probably realizing that this little power trip he’s on is about to bite him in the ass. “She didn’t… uh… say she couldn’t work…”

“She told you she was sick,” Rafe cuts him off, voice like steel. “You’re the manager, right? Thought that meant taking care of your staff. Guess I was wrong.”

Greg’s mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to think of something to say, but nothing’s coming. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, knowing any move he makes right now could get him fired. Hell, maybe even blacklisted from every job on the island. The Cameron’s have that kind of pull.

“I-I didn’t realize how bad it was,” Greg finally stammers, but even he doesn’t sound convinced by his own excuse.

Rafe takes another step forward, practically towering over Greg now. “You didn’t realize?” He laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “Look at her, man. How could you not realize?”

You wince as the room seems to get quieter, everyone watching this power struggle unfold. You’d rather be anywhere but here right now, but you also know that Rafe’s not letting this slide.

Greg takes a step back, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“I-I was just trying to keep things running. We… we were slammed.”

Rafe’s smile drops, and now it’s just pure ice. “You think that’s a good enough reason to put my girlfriend’s health at risk?”

Greg looks like he’s about to pass out himself at this point, but he manages to mutter, “No… no, I—I didn’t mean…”

“Here’s the deal, Greg,” Rafe says, voice low but dangerous. “You’re gonna back off. Let her finish this shift if she wants. If she doesn’t? She’s out, no questions asked. And next time, when she says she’s sick, you listen.”

Greg nods so fast it’s like his head’s on a swivel. “Of course, of course, Rafe. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just—”

“Good,” Rafe interrupts, already turning away like he’s done with this conversation. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Greg just stands there, wide-eyed and frozen, clearly too scared to even argue. He stammers some half-hearted apology, but Rafe’s already turning back to you, brushing the whole thing off like it was nothing.

You look up at him, still in shock at how quickly Greg folded. “You really didn’t need to do that.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the bar with that easy confidence he always has. “Yeah, I did,” he says, his tone softening now that it’s just the two of you. “I’m not gonna let some nobody push you around like that.”

You sigh, feeling both relieved and slightly embarrassed. “You know he’s probably gonna hate me even more now.”

Rafe smirks, like that’s the least of his concerns. “Who cares? He won’t say a fuckin’ thing. Trust me.”

“Everyone’s going to say a thing, baby. They’re gonna think I have some kind of privilege because I’m dating you.”

Rafe’s smirk softens. He steps a little closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear him over the dull roar of the bar.

“Let them think whatever they want,” he says, his hand brushing against yours. “You’ve been busting your ass here long before I ever stepped in. Nobody can take that from you.”

You bite your lip, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, judgment and curiosity. He’s right in a way—you’ve been working extra hard. But still, it’s hard to ignore the feeling that now, everyone’s going to assume you’ve got some special treatment just because of Rafe’s name.

“It’s not about that,” you murmur, “I just—don’t want people thinking I can’t stand on my own. I don’t want to be the girl who hides behind her boyfriend’s power.”

Rafe tilts his head, studying you with that look he always gives when he knows you're holding back.

“You think that’s what this is?” His voice is steady, his tone a little softer now. “This wasn’t about power, baby. This was about someone treating you like you didn’t matter. And I’m not letting anyone—anyone—do that to you.”

He’s not wrong.

Greg didn’t give a damn about how sick you were, only about keeping the bar running, like you were replaceable. And you hate how right Rafe is, how much you needed someone to step in, even if it makes you feel a little helpless. You swallow hard, the tightness in your chest easing slightly, though your body still feels like it’s been run over by a truck.

“And you’re not working anymore today, or the next week for that matter. You’re gonna get your ass in my car and we’re going to the doctor.”

You nod, knowing there’s no arguing with Rafe when he’s like this, but part of you still feels guilty.

Not for needing help exactly, but for not being able to handle it all on your own. You've always been the girl who grits her teeth and gets through it, but today? Your body is screaming at you that you just can’t. Not anymore.

Rafe’s watching you closely, like he’s waiting for you to argue, but you don’t. You’re too drained. The adrenaline from the confrontation with Greg is wearing off, and now all you feel is this bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m not going to a doctor,” you say, even though you know you probably should. “Just home. I just need to sleep.”

He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to read between the lines of what you’re saying, but then he just nods. “Fine. But if you’re not better by tomorrow, I’m dragging you to urgent care. No arguments.”

You give him a weak smile, trying to show you appreciate it even though you feel like crap.

“Deal.”

Without another word, he moves around the bar, ignoring Greg’s gawking and the way everyone’s still sneaking glances at you two. He gently takes the towel out of your hand, sets it on the counter, and slips an arm around your waist.

It’s the first time you’ve felt stable all day, leaning into him like you might actually make it to the car without collapsing.

“I don’t think I can afford an appointment.”

He looks at you like you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. His arm tightens around your waist, steadying you as you start to sway a little on your feet.

"Not worried about the money.”

You try to shake your head, but the movement makes you dizzy, and you stop, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

"I just don’t want to be that person, you know? Relying on you for everything."

He gives you a side glance, eyebrows raised.

"Baby, you’re not relying on me for everything. You’re literally sick, and I’m not about to let you tough it out just because you’re too stubborn to ask for help. We’ve talked about this a million times.”

"I guess," you mumble, letting your head rest against his shoulder as you walk towards the door.

"No guessing about it," he says, softer now, his fingers brushing your arm in a way that makes you feel more grounded. "You’ve been holding down the fort for too long. Let me take care of you for once."

The air outside hits you like a slap, but Rafe keeps you close, leading you toward his car. Your legs are weak, the fever still simmering under your skin, but his body warmth keeps you upright.

"Thanks," you whisper, even though it feels weird to say. You’re not used to thanking people for basic care, but with Rafe, it feels different.

He pauses, opening the passenger door for you.

"You don’t gotta thank me, okay? I’m just doing what anyone who loves you would do."

Your heart skips at that. You’re still not used to how easily he says stuff like that, like it’s no big deal. But he’s rubbing off on you, because you can say it just as easily now.

“I love you too, sorry for being a pain in your ass.”

Rafe chuckles as he helps you into the car, leaning down to make sure you’re settled before he shuts the door. He bends down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"You're always a pain in my ass," he murmurs against your skin, grinning as he pulls back just enough to look at you. "But you’re my pain in the ass, and that’s what matters."

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips despite how wrecked you feel. The fever, the headache, the exhaustion—it all takes a backseat, at least for a moment. 

Knowing Rafe’s always got your back? That makes it a little easier to breathe.

[celestie0]

Hey!! Do you have any ihm headcanons for gojo and y/n?

I honestly love them both so much especially reader. Your writing is amazing

suuure!! i mean they're not like officially in a relationship yet so these will just be kinda random facts about them i supposeee, some separate and some together :0 but i hope they're still interesting haha <33

in holy matriphony headcanons

ᰔ note. for anyone new here, these headcanons are based off of my gojo x reader long fic series called "in holy matriphony"!! header art by @/3-aem

ihm!gojo woodworks in his free time. he’s building a coffee table right now. he passed out in his workshop last weekend because he accidentally inhaled too many wood stain fumes

ihm!gojo already has a college fund set up for his future kids (he started it when he was 26 lmfao)

ihm!gojo on that note is veeery financially responsible (unlike ihm reader hahaha)

ihm!reader only chose nursing for her post undergrad plans because she dressed up as a nurse once for halloween and it drove choso crazy and that’s basically what she ended up rolling with for the rest of her professional career 👍🏼 (a questionable yet relatable decision)

ihm!gojo’s ex-wife, who shall still remain mostly a mystery, is actually someone he’s known since he was four years old (childhood friends to lovers type beat)

ihm!gojo’s favorite weekend pass times are hanging out with juno, taking his boat out to the lake, and watching SNL

ihm!reader secretly really wants to go for a ride on the lake on ihm!gojo’s boat but she’s spent so much time yelling at him for parking it halfway across her driveway curb that she feels like asking would be damage to her ego

ihm!gojo & ihm!reader were actually veeeeeery civil with one another when they first met, like very sweet neighbors, but then obviously things became sour down the line haha

ihm!gojo eats a generally pretty clean diet other than the occasional takeout on a friday. he PIGS out when he’s sold a house though. also, he’s a massive slut for home baked goods especially if they were made just for him. one time juno brought him a plate of (very burnt) chocolate chip cookies and he damn near cried (it’s the thought that counts)

ihm!gojo became a real estate agent fresh out of college but his actual major in college was entirely unrelated to marketing, sales, or business (shall be revealed later) 

ihm!reader was voted prom queen not once but twice when she was in high school and she believes that’s when she peaked in life

ihm!gojo gets sent on business trips to foreign countries pretty often by his brokerage firm to assess new housing markets and he always tries to bring back souvenirs for everyone in the neighborhood (except reader because he once brought her a stuffed animal from the airport in taiwan but he saw her throw it away in her garbage bin on trash day :( …she’s so mean sometimes)

whenever ihm!gojo & ihm!reader have arguments over things, they always vent about it to their neighbors in passing, and reader gets so pissed off when neighbors take gojo’s side because she’s literally lived there her whole life and yet they have the audacity to advocate for HIM

ihm!reader holds a lot of resentment towards her father because he was a heavy smoker for the entirety of his marriage to her mom, and so she suspects the reason her mother has cancer in the first place is because of the secondhand smoke 

ihm!gojo is obsessed with avocados. he eats avocado toast everyday. and he makes a meaaaaannn bowl of guac. he only has one avocado tree in his backyard right now but he would like to have a whole farm of them someday

ihm!gojo is really social, he loooves to talk to people and get to know them and ask them for their whole life story even if he just met them like two minutes ago lol, but his actual close knit  group of friends is only like 3-4ish guys

ihm!gojo gets frequently invited to his clients’ dinner parties, christmas parties, thanksgiving meals, kids birthday parties etc lmfaooo but he often has to politely decline

ihm!reader’s doctor is very concerned for her symptoms of insomnia (due to her abnormal sleeping schedule from nights shifts) because she already has risk factors for alzheimer's from her mother and insomnia only increases that risk

ihm!reader’s favorite store ever is costco. she wants her ashes to be spread across a costco parking lot

a/n. hope u enjoyed :0 much love!!

[skeltnwrites]

Tides at Moonrise ☾⁺˖⋆₊

After being attacked by demobats in the Upside Down, Steve experiences some supernatural changes.

vampire!steve, bf!steve, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort / TW season 4 spoilers, vomit, arguing, drinking blood, very minor descriptions of injury and gore, mentions of death and cannibalism, spooky elements 6k

a/n - steve and dustin are such a fun pair to write i miss the iconic duo that they are

── .✦

“Fuck,” Steve croaks, swiping at the thread of spit swaying from his lips. He glowers at his reflection in the toilet bowl, muddied brown from a piece of chocolate but mostly bile. The sting of acid coats the back of his throat and sours the length of his tongue. 

It’s been four days, going on five, and he hasn’t been able to keep anything down. You’ve tried toast, soup, crackers, protein shakes, and every other sick food on the list. And now in a desperate attempt, you’ve ruined his favorite candy for him too. 

You press a water bottle to his bicep, “Here.”

“No.” His hands tremble where they’re braced against the porcelain rim. “I can’t.” 

“Stevie. It’s just water.” 

“I will. Just, not yet.” His tone is callous. He’s not mad, at least not at you. A culmination of feelings fester in his chest like a swarm of bees gearing for attack. But he won’t take this out on you. Won’t let himself. 

He sinks back on his heels, decidedly finished. 

You snake an arm around his middle as if to say it’s okay. You’re both exhausted from a string of sleepless nights. Finding the proper words requires a level of energy you don’t have. He prefers your touch anyway. 

The half-hearted embrace lacks the comfort you hope to find. The skin of his bare back is like ice against yours. It’s a foreign sensation, though becoming less and less so each day. 

Steve sags into your warmth with the entire brunt of his weight. His strength fades with each passing night, as your worry grows in equal measure.

A finger scratches the coarse gauze plastered to his tummy. It’s still snug, exactly how you fixed it. You only trouble him with changing his bandages if it’s necessary. You’re thankful that the road rash across his back has scabbed over. It’s healing fine, but it’s not pretty. Like a pair of fiery wings hung from his shoulder blades.  

You coax Steve back into your shared room. He’s averse but can’t afford a fight. 

It’s late morning. Bright enough to project bars of sunlight across your sheets. Steve winces at them, among a number of other things, as he crawls into bed. Even through the glass pane, the sun stings. It’s not unbearable, but an uncomfortable heat, like a sunburn. 

You reinforce the makeshift curtain where it’s unfastened itself. It’s a throw blanket you really miss now that you sleep beside a human ice pack. Someone is bringing blackout curtains to cover the blinds. You think it was Mike who offered, but you aren’t really sure. Your brain is fuzzy with fear and fatigue. The last week has tangled itself in your mind like an unraveled spool of thread. The only strand of it you’re focused on is what’ll help Steve. 

He seeks your hand when you join him on the mattress. There’s enough indirect light seeping in to highlight the sickly shade he’s become. Signature golden, sun-baked hues have drained from his skin like a bleached photograph. And while he hasn’t eaten or seen the sun in days, it just doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this situation does. 

You all have your theories– how this is linked to the Upside Down or a part of Vecna’s plan. But everything circles back to that night. Steve was shredded by demobats and took a chunk out of one with his teeth in revenge. Something about their bites or swallowing their blood did something to Steve. It changed him, right down to his DNA. 

Dustin’s tried to present several possibilities from a scientific standpoint. Gene mutations, parasites, cellular regeneration, infections, but there are always holes in his explanations, always things that don’t quite add up. But you’re running out of time. You feel it, Steve feels it, everyone does. He’s grasping at a fraying rope, wilting like a dying flower in your palms.  

Steve calls your name like a beacon from your thoughts.

“I can hear how anxious you are,” he says when you face him. 

You have to be the strong one right now. You shake your head. “I’m not. It’s okay.” 

He softens like melting snow and scoots closer until he’s more on your pillow than his. “Don’t lie. Please.” 

“I’m not,” you whisper, not caring that he won’t believe you. 

Steve sandwiches your fingers between both of his palms; draws soothing shapes across the marbled green and purple of your knuckles. “I can hear your heartbeat, you know. It’s racing.” 

Your first instinct is to call his bluff, then shove away any embarrassment and lock it up in a box deep in your brain until all of this is over. But he’s not lying. He’s a stupendously bad liar. And at this point, he could tell you he has x-ray vision and you wouldn’t be that surprised. 

“I can hear the blood pumping through your veins too.”

“Is that… new?” 

“No. It was just so chaotic before. I couldn’t focus on it.”

You study his eyes. They’re a shade of brown you never expected to become your favorite. Hooded and half-lidded with the weight of too many things for one person to carry. You try hard to commit them to memory because you’re afraid if they close they may never reopen. 

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. 

“You’re not.” You blink away the salty sting as fast as it arrives. “You don’t know that.”

“I got it out of my system. I feel fine.”

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s not,” he lies.

“It’s bullshit.” 

He snaps you a harsh look, seemingly triggered by your tone or choice of words. “Okay– well, shit, babe. What do you suppose we do?”

You sit up, ripping out of his grasp. “I dunno, Steve. Go to the hospital? The fucking government lab people? Literally anyone– we clearly don’t know–”

He scoffs, wrenching himself up with the help of the headboard. “Yeah, because the nurses will totally believe the part about the sentient vines that tried to strangle me. I mean clearly something– fucked, has happened to me. Something they aren’t going to know how to fix!” 

“Then the scientists! They might know! They’d have a better clue than us.” 

“And where do you suppose we find these scientists who El said were killed with Brenner?” 

“I don’t know, Steve! But it’s worth looking! You’re worth getting real help for!” 

The yelling is squashed by an even heavier thing that is silence. Steve isn’t sure what to say and neither are you. 

This is not the first time you’ve argued since that night. There’s enough stress between the two of you to stretch to the other side of the earth and back. And more than enough fear to turn both of your heads gray. You’re irritable and angry and so desperate for a night of sleep where you aren’t tormented by your loved one’s deaths. And you feel like your best friend in the whole world is walking a tightrope straight into death’s door. 

“I am okay,” he promises quietly. “I’ve been through worse. I have.” 

“What like getting in fist fights? Getting drugged by Russians? This is different, Steve. Something’s wrong.” Your voice raises and then wavers before breaking completely; like the keystone pulled from an arch, everything crumbles. 

Steve gathers you into his arms like you’re made of putty, scooping and pulling like you’ll slip right out of his hold. You inhale a staggered belt of air and choke on a sob into his collarbone. He seals you against his chest, not caring about the scrapes and cuts and bruises; not caring if they reopen and stain the mattress red. 

He cradles you for an innominate amount of time until you slacken and your sniffles morph into congested snores. His gaze flickers across your face, tracing the bend of your brows and the seam of your lips. He hates this; having to convince you he’s okay when he’s not. He needs to be stronger, to be there for you as much as you’ve been for him. Steve won’t lose you in this pit his body’s created. He can’t. 

ᯓ★

It’s evening when you wake. You can tell because the white glow framing the window has ebbed into orange. There’s a pounding at the base of your skull and a sharper pain, like two barbs behind your eyes. You remember why your eyes are puffy, why you aren’t warm in Steve’s embrace, and why someone’s knocking very loudly on the door all between one shuddery breath. You feel sad but you should be grateful. That’s the longest bout of sleep you’ve had all week. 

You tug away from your sleeping boyfriend and steal his water bottle off the nightstand. The static has to be shaken from your legs before you can drag yourself to answer the door. You know it’s Dustin before you open it because he’s the only one who knocks this impatiently. 

“Okay, I think I’ve figured it out,” he starts as soon as your face slides into view. “I was looking through my monster manual– and I know what you’re gonna say– this isn’t some game, Dustin,” he mocks your voice in an inarguably awful impression. You’d chastise him if you didn’t have such a killer headache. 

He prattles his way into the kitchen beside you while you search for that damn bottle of painkillers. Words are spilling out of Dustin’s mouth like a burst dam. You love him like a brother, and you appreciate him even more for what he’s saying, but you aren't catching a lick of it. The medicine is right where you forgot it beside the tower of dishes in the sink– mostly yours since Steve, well, you know. You take a swig of water and pop three pills. 

Dustin stops his spiel to ask, “Should you be taking that many?” 

“Yes, unless you want me to bash my head into the wall.” 

“Okay, fine. Whatever. As I was saying, if this really is the case, I think Steve’s a vampire!” He beams at you like this is great news; like he said something completely normal. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve huffs from the other side of the counter, a blanket strung across his back and bunched in the front like a cloak. He scrubs his nose, either squinting from being woken up or narrowing his eyes at Dustin in irritation, you aren’t sure. 

“I’m serious,” Dustin defends. 

“I’m going back to bed.” 

“Wait, Steve! Let me explain!” 

Steve entertains an explanation for one reason only. You told him to. Seven hours of sleep does nothing when you haven’t eaten for as long as he hasn’t. His stomach is twisting itself in knots and frankly, he doesn’t want to spend the last days of his life hearing about characters from Dustin’s nerdy game. 

But you both sit and listen and decide his theory actually kind of makes sense this time. Steve won’t admit it and you’re trying to be skeptical– raise all the right questions and find any holes– but your heart lurches at the possibility that you finally have an answer. A cure. 

Steve’s aversion to sunlight, his paling complexion, not being able to keep human food down, hearing your goddamn heartbeat– it all clicks. He’s a fucking vampire. 

“And vampires need blood!” You shout with Dustin. 

“You can’t be serious,” Steve glares at you. “I’m not a vampire.” 

“Weirder fucking things have happened here.” Your eyebrows knit together, mind swirling with endless thoughts. “I mean, how did we not consider this? You were bit by a bat!”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because it’s crazy!” 

“Steve!” 

He shakes his head in disbelief. You love him so much you’re desperate for anything, even illogical answers. He refuses to play along. 

“Will you just try it? See if it works first?” Dustin asks. 

“Do you realize what you’re asking me? To drink someone’s blood? Are you out of your mind? Where would we even–” 

Dustin cuts him off, shrugging, “I know a place.” 

“You know a place?”

“Yeah. I know a place. Don’t question me.” 

Steve stares, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s pig’s blood, from a farm.” 

“Christ, Henderson. I’m not drinking pig’s blood. You psycho.”

“Steve, don’t be like this,” you plead. “How can you know if you don’t try? Maybe you’ll like it?”

“‘Don’t be like this?’ Are you you kidding? I’m not doing it– that’s gross!” 

“Okay, okay. What about a steak? Like a really bloody one? Will you compromise?”

Steve makes a funny face. “Fine.” 

ᯓ★

“This is not the way to the grocery store,” Steve realizes out loud, heaving himself up in the backseat of his beamer. 

It’s overcast and nearly sunset but he’s dressed in long sleeves and brought his blanket-cloak for extra protection. Steve always loved the sun– pool days, barbecues, beach vacations, all of it. Now he can’t enjoy the heat of it from his bedroom without hurting. It’s like a punch to the gut, realizing you may never see his sun-kissed hair or trace his moles by his parent’s pool again. 

“Ding. Ding. Ding,” Dustin goads from the passenger seat beside you. 

“You guys are assholes. Especially you, Henderson.” 

“Wasn’t my idea.” 

Steve meets your gaze in the rearview mirror. He supplies his signature Steve pout. But only the tiniest slice of your brain is worried about that. You’re fixated on how bloodshot his eyes are. How deep they sag, even after sleeping as much as he has. You can deal with Steve being mad at you; what you can’t deal with is Steve being dead. 

You think he’s starting to come to terms with the plan because he doesn’t argue further. But he really just doesn’t have it in him to bicker. He thinks it’s a stupid idea. He’ll probably throw up, either at the smell or mind game of drinking it or whatever the hell’s wrong with his body. And pigs have all sorts of diseases, don’t they? It very well could make him more sick than he already is. 

When you arrive, Steve’s cheek is smushed against the car door. He’s been dozing in reluctant fits for most of the drive. 

The farm is fucking creepy, to say the least. It’s not dark yet, but the clouds are drawing shut over the last bit of light. And the long, gravelly path up to the house is freaking you out. This is the kind of place where people in movies get murdered. 

“You’re sure this is the right place?” You ask Dustin, shifting the car into park. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

You crane over your seat. Steve’s curled in on himself like an earthworm. The long drive was just a catalyst to knock him out. 

He’s been wired at night. You’ve spent hours up with him and the moon, trying any and everything that comes to mind– reading, movies, baths– none of it’s worked so far. But he’s exhausted during the day no matter how much he sleeps. At least the nocturnal-ness makes sense now. 

“We can’t leave him in here,” you say.

“Why not?” 

“What if he wakes up? Sees he’s in the middle of fucking nowhere by himself? He’ll think we left him.” 

“What if he makes a scene in front of the farmer? He’s not exactly on board with this plan.” 

You sigh, defeated. You can’t send Dustin alone. If he gets slaughtered, you don’t think you’ll be able to live with yourself. Plus Dustin already called this guy to arrange this and explained the pig’s blood was for a project for film school. Dustin doesn’t exactly look old enough to pass as a college kid so that parts up to you. 

“Okay, come on.” You open and click the door shut as gingerly as the car allows. 

Dustin isn’t spooked but he is cautious. He scans the pines beyond the house, the truck parked under the sycamore tree, and the underside of the porch. No murderers, yet. 

You knock and put on your best film school student face. 

A long-bearded man in his seventies at least, cautiously eyes you through the crack of the doorway. “Can I help ya?” 

“Hi, we’re here to buy pig’s blood. For a school project,” you say. 

“Oh,” he grumbles, setting aside a shotgun before unlatching the slide bolt. “Forgot you was comin’.” 

The man ushers you inside. The foyer looks normal enough– framed family photos and wooden side tables and a floral rug. There’s no blood stains or screams or machetes lying around. That’s a good thing. But you can’t shake the uneasy feeling. It follows you through the house like a ghost. 

“I sell it by the gallon. Five dollars for one. How many ya need?” 

“Uhh. Two?” You glance at Dustin for reassurance. 

He frowns and shrugs. 

“Alrighty. Let me grab ‘em from the basement.” 

The basement? Those are keywords in a scary movie. He probably keeps his victims in the basement. Or worse, his weapons. 

“This place is creepy as shit,” Dustin leans over and whisper-yells as soon as the guy’s out of earshot. “We need to get this blood and get the hell out of here!” 

You swallow hard and think of Steve alone in the car. He’s not being brutally murdered right now. He’s not running for his life through the cornfield. He’s not–

“Here ya are, kids.” He lugs two dark red jugs onto the kitchen table. 

A thought crosses your mind that it’s human blood. How would you know? Are you about to force your boyfriend into cannibalism? 

You fumble with your wallet, willing your hands not to shake as you pass him a ten. 

“Now where’d ya say you go to school?” 

“Bloomington.”

“Purdue.” 

You blink stupidly at the man, scrounging your throat for excuses and pulling them up painfully by each word. “He’s going to Purdue– Well, he wants to. When he gets in he’ll go there! I go to Bloomington.” You purse your lips and nod excessively, like that’ll really top off the story's believability. 

“Right,” Dustin chuckles nervously. 

He cocks an eyebrow, “Well, okay then. Hope yer film goes well.” 

“Thanks!” 

You yank a gallon off the table and Dustin snatches the other.

Night has officially settled in, and the wooden porch steps creak loudly beneath your weight. For a moment before Dustin reminds you, you forget you left the keys in the car and convince yourself the old man has taken them and you’ve just become the star of the latest blockbuster. 

Steve startles awake when Dustin slams his door. He lurches into the back of your seat as you floor it in reverse. 

“What! What happened?” He shouts. “Guys, what the hell?” 

Dustin releases a dramatic sigh, slumps into his seat, and lays the back of his hand over his forehead. “We almost died, Steve.” 

“What!” 

Your hands are slick against the steering wheel. You’re still half expecting the farmer to materialize in the middle of the road with an axe. 

Steve bends over the center console and shakes your shoulder. “What happened?” 

He pulls you back into reality. He’s good at that. Except for before when Dustin convinced you that this was a good idea in the first place. 

You describe what happened in a poor attempt at good storytelling and Steve quickly determines that you and Dustin are just a pair of ‘paranoid idiots’. 

He perks up on the way back, offering to drive and booting Dustin to the backseat when you agree. Dustin gets dropped off at his house on the way to yours, leaving you, Steve, and two gallons of pig’s blood in your kitchen. 

“Should I heat it up, or like, mix it with something?” You ask. 

“It was your crazy idea, honey.” 

“It was Dustin’s. And I’m asking how you’d like it. You’re the one drinking it.” 

“I’d like you to throw it out.”

“Steve.”

“Mhmm?” 

“I can put it in a shot glass?” 

A wide smile divides his lips; the kind that makes your tummy flip. You ache for it as soon as it fades. 

“I hate you,” is said with such affection it can’t mean anything but the opposite. 

“I love you too. Seriously, though. How do you want it?” 

He takes it raw. Too afraid that combining it with real food will upset his stomach regardless and too afraid heating it up will trick his brain into thinking it’s human blood. You take a small glass from the cabinet and fill it halfway. Enough for a few big sips but not enough to set any absurd expectations either. 

Steve gags when you pass him the cup. You can’t blame him. It smells the farthest thing from appetizing. There’s a musky, metallic quality to it, like a box of screws that have been sitting in a garage for ages. 

“I can’t do this,” he decides. 

“Come on, Stevie. It might help.”

“No. You’re insane. Do you smell that? It’s rancid.” 

“It’s not rancid. You tore that bat's throat apart with your teeth. You’re telling me you didn’t taste its blood? At all?” 

Steve clicks his tongue. “I don’t remember! It was a heat of the moment thing– not supposed to be my dinner!” 

“I can count you down?” 

“No, no. Just,” he lines his nose over the cup for another whiff and scrunches his face in disgust. “Give me a minute.” 

A minute turns to three which turns to ten. But you can be patient. 

“I can try it first,” you offer.

“Absolutely not.” 

You don’t insist. You weren't exactly keen on offering in the first place; the smell really is strong. 

Without warning, he launches the cup up to his lips and takes several hefty gulps like he’s chugging a beer. And Steve’s determined, he empties it in one attempt, peeling the glass away and leaving a crimson mustache behind. A fist shoots up to stifle a burp and scrub his mouth after. 

After dating for so long, you can read Steve like a book; sometimes, you think you know him better than yourself. But this is the first time in a long time, you truly cannot decipher his expression. His lips twitch into a weird satisfied almost-frown and his lashes flutter like hummingbird wings. 

“What? How was it?” 

“It was… it…” He shakes his head, “I dunno.” 

“You don’t know?”

“Yeah, I don’t–” He snags the jug off the counter to pour another glass. 

You gawk, open-mouthed and floundering as much as a fish on the shore. “You like it?” You manage to ask. 

He takes another few sips, smacking on the aftertaste and analyzing. “I mean it’s… I really hated it at first. And it doesn’t taste good still. But, I don’t know, it’s like filling, I guess.”

“That’s good, right? You don’t feel nauseous?” 

“No.” He grins, relief washing over his features. “What the fuck.” 

“Dude, you’re a fucking vampire.” 

“Does that mean I’m like, immortal and shit.” Steve blinks at his hands like they might grow an extra set of fingers. 

You aren’t ready to process that possibility and instead, turn to open the fridge. “Do we have garlic?” You ask. Glasses clink as you card through the side door, retrieving the jar of minced garlic. You pop the lid and shove it under Steve’s nostrils. 

He wrenches away at the sudden potency of it. But it’s not repulsive. It’s the same scent he remembers.“Maybe I’d have to eat it?” 

“Or it might be a myth?” 

“I hope it is. I really like garlic bread.” He licks his lips, fishing for leftovers. “Is it bad if I have another glass?” 

Steve drinks half a gallon of pig’s blood like it’s orange juice. And weirdly, it doesn’t gross you out one bit. You’re just grateful to see him smile. To see him digest something and not immediately chuck it up. 

After four glasses, he belches accidentally and tumultuously with a groan. A strong hand grips your waist for support, the other propped against the countertop behind him. 

“You okay? Are you gonna be sick?”

He shakes his head, pinching his eyes closed. 

“Are you sure? What’s wrong?” 

“Dizzy,” he mumbles, searching for you in the sliver of vision still there. It’s like somebody’s strapped anchors to his eyelids.  

Heat flashes the inside of your body like lightning. Your first thought is poison. Some kind of poison. The farmer poisoned him? No. Drinking that much blood would poison anybody, right? Should you call poison control? Force Steve to throw up? Several trains of thought overlap and intersect into one inescapable explosion of anxiety. 

“Here, come here. Come sit.” You encourage Steve’s full weight into your side, underestimating how heavy he is. You stagger sideways, catching yourself on the stovetop with your free hand. On the way to the living room, he rams a shin into the coffee table and nearly takes you both out when you fail to warn him to step over a shoe. He’s easier to manage when he’s shitfaced, you think. Maybe this is like being drunk for him on some level. Blood drunk. 

But you make it to the couch; collapse into the cushions with the full force of two adults and pretend it doesn’t hurt when Steve headbutts your chin. Your limbs get organized for optimal comfort– Steve’s legs slung across your lap and his face tucked against your collarbone. 

He’s deadweight against you. Awake but just barely. And only fending off sleep for your sake; he can feel how scared you are. 

“‘s like a sugar rush,” he says, slow as a drop of honey. “‘m so tired.” 

“You feel tired? That’s all? Not sick?” You press a cheek into his crown, combing the untamed mop of bedhead starting at the roots. 

There’s an attempt to shake his head but all you feel is a twitch. He hums no and sighs, “Feels good.” 

His breath is freezing. You can’t help but shiver. Your fingers rake through his hair. One trails down to linger over his pulse point. It’s steady, not abnormally slow. At least if he is dying, he’ll die content. 

Steve isn’t the only person you love. You love the kids like they’re your siblings and some of their parents like they’re your own. But your love for Steve is uniquely distinct. You love him in a way you aren’t sure you could love anyone else. And you can’t lose that. You can’t lose Steve. 

He tilts his face up and he unsticks his eyelashes like they’ve been brushed with glue. “Relax.” 

You nod, too afraid to rely on your voice. A fingernail scratches the crusted stripe of blood cutting his chin in half. He looks peaceful, for once. “Sleep,” you whisper. 

That’s about the easiest thing anyone’s asked him to do all week. He feels as light and full as a balloon, trusting you to tether him to earth if he floats—your arms are a string of safety. He feels okay for the first time since that night. More than okay, even. 

Steve staples you against the couch but he’s more of a weighted blanket than a barrier. You have no intention of leaving his side anyway. You’d swear you aren’t tired but you fall asleep anyway. 

ᯓ★

It’s warm, uncharacteristically warm. You’re pinned on your side in a tight-knit cocoon of blankets. And you feel great, for once– no headache, no nightmares, nothing of the sort. It’s tempting to go right back to sleep but you begrudgingly open your eyes because this can’t be right. It’s not. You’re alone. Even in the dark, that’s obvious. Steve’s a restless sleeper and more often than not is holding some part of your body for comfort. What’s weirder, you’re in bed. You definitely didn’t fall asleep in bed. 

It’s too hot. You miss the unfamiliar cold of Steve’s skin. Where is he? 

You shove the layers off your body and sit up, blinking harshly, and swallowing harsher to chase the dryness away. Your feet are flimsy under your weight so you grip the bedpost for balance. You feel brittle as a pie crust, like you’ve been baking under that duvet for years. 

For a brief moment, you consider that you actually have woken up from a nightmare. Which parts are real and which parts aren’t, well, that’s hard to distinguish. But that still doesn’t explain Steve’s absence. 

You fumble around on the carpet beneath the bed for Steve’s bat. Stack one hand on top of the other, choke it at the base, and always point away– exactly how Steve showed you. You try not to fixate on the blood-rusted nails, but the image of a mangled demobat sticks to the forefront of your memory like a tattoo. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the squeal it made when you struck it. 

It’s eerily silent in the hall and just as black as your bedroom. Steve’s not on the couch where you hoped to find him but his keys hang from their rightful home by the door. He wouldn’t leave on foot, right? 

You slink into the kitchen and when it also comes up empty, you panic. You check inside a cabinet and then another, but he couldn’t fit inside if he tried. You realize the sink has been emptied and the countertops cleared. But why make the effort to clean it just to leave? Some kind of twisted goodbye favor? 

Something frigid skims the bare back of your arm and your heart stops. You lurch forward a few feet before barrelling around, bat outstretched between you and… Steve. 

He’s in a fresh pair of pajamas and his hair is slicked back behind his ears. His complexion is dewy, glowing with the moonlight spilling in from the window. He looks alert. 

“What the hell! Where the fuck were you?” 

Wide eyes comb over you. A warmness has returned to them, a sweetness too. And suddenly you don’t really care about where he was when he tells you, “I was just in the bathroom.” 

“With the light off?” You bark, still upset and climbing your way down the defensive fence you put up. Outbursts aren’t limited to just him, you have your reasons, and he knows that. But you know you need to reel yourself in before this turns into something it shouldn’t. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Did I wake you? I just– hey.” 

The bat clinks against the tile where you drop it. You lunge into Steve, interlacing your arms across his shoulders in a fierce hug. 

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” He spreads each palm across opposite ends of your back. 

“I thought– I thought you left or– or you died, or something.” You gasp wetly into his sternum, clinging to him like he might blow away if you breathe too hard. 

“I didn’t leave. I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

He shushes and soothes you for a long period before you lean back for a better look at him. “You’re okay?” You blubber. 

“Yeah, I feel way better,” he promises. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I scared you.” The pad of his thumb strokes a loop from the end of your brow to the bridge of your nose and back.  

“I almost took your head off with that bat.” 

He chuckles but it lacks any real amusement; he can’t find a joke through all his concerns. A set of kisses are sewn from your hairline to your chin. “I’m sorry. Are you hungry?” 

“It’s like four AM,” you wipe your nose with the flat of your hand. 

“So? You’ve been busy taking care of my ass. When was the last time you ate?” 

You make a noncommittal noise. You really can’t remember. 

“Exactly. Let me make you something. What do you want?” 

You let Steve cook for you. He’s happy to return the favor, take care of you for a change. And you’re just happy he’s happy. 

All vigor appears to be restored. He stands tall, moves swiftly, and works sprightly, maybe even more so than before. It feels too good to be true. Perhaps you’re dreaming now. 

He doesn’t notice he’s cooking with the lights off until you mention it. And he swears they don’t bother him like the sun does when you question him, just another newfound ability that he can see in the dark. But he flicks the light on for you and you find his face is a shade that is much more Steve. Not as golden as before, but not as lifeless, either. 

When you get situated at the dining room table under dim lights with a plate full of steaming food, you thank him. 

“Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you, dummy.” 

You shake your head. Gratitude is not needed. “I missed you.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

Silly apologies aren’t needed either. “Don’t be, please. Nothing you could do.” 

“No, I should’ve listened to you, from the start. I hate to admit it, but you and Dustin were right.” 

A touch of a smirk finds your lips. He’s so stubborn, you love it as much as you hate it. “We need to call him. Tell him it worked.” 

“Inflate his ego some more?”

“Exactly,” you crack into a grin and he watches fondly, despite your mouth full of food. “But seriously, he cares about you, Steve.”

“No, I know. I know. I’ll call him.” 

There’s a dip in the conversation. You observe each other like you might never have the chance again. A mutual understanding eclipses any prior tension. You’re both alive and you’re both endlessly grateful. 

“We should visit Max. The others too. I’d like to see them.” 

You nod, an attempt to self-soothe more than a confirmation of his request. Tears prick your waterline like sand spurs and spill in quicksilver lines down your cheeks before you can stop them. 

Steve scoots his chair against yours, shovels you into his lap, and begs you to tell him what’s wrong in one fluid motion.

“I’m just so glad you're okay, Stevie. That’s all.” 

“I’m okay,” he assures and he repeats it again and again until you believe it. 

His fingers are icicles where they sweep the length of your arm. It’s a stark reminder of what’s changed. 

The love of your life, Steve Harrington, is a vampire. The idea is peculiar, sticks out in your thoughts like caution tape. But it presents some sense of consolation too. 

Steve’s a vampire. He moves like a mouse and can see in the dark and hears your heartbeat from across the room. Admittedly, you hate that last part a little bit. It’s fucking bizarre and something that’ll take time to get used to; even more for Steve than for you. Most importantly, he’s still sweet on you. Still selfless enough to nurse your wounds before his. Still loving enough to kiss your tears as they fall. 

This new phase is just that– a new phase. It brings things to learn and even more things to love about Steve. It’ll take a lot worse to tear you apart.

[thecharacterchronicler]

District Girl (Part 3) || (Peacekeeper) Coriolanus Snow x Reader || Smut

Outline: Coriolanus meets you again and, as a bad thunderstorm approaches, you invite him to take shelter in your cabin…

Word count: 3’686

Warnings: obsessive and possessive behavior, power imbalance, virgin female (implied) and rough explicit sex.

Author’s note: I tried to fulfill a request I received while sticking to the original idea I had for this part 3, so I hope whoever (anon) asked for it will be okay with this one being a bit rough. I promise I’ll try to write a much sweeter, more romantic, one shot of the reader losing her virginity to Coriolanus for you soon. Thanks for inspiring me with your request! 🖤 (Though I’m not sure I’ll know how to write sweet and romantic Coryo…)

((Part 1 )) - ((Part 2 ))

It had been cloudy since morning, causing the humidity in the air to rise above what Coriolanus usually deemed acceptable. It was still warm, even without a trace of sunshine, hidden behind menacing black clouds. Far in the distance, he could hear the distinctive roar of a thunderstorm approaching from the mountains, electricity almost palpable in the air.

Coriolanus didn’t enjoy sunny days either, mostly because he couldn’t get used to the uncomfortable climate of District 12, but standing between broken shacks, on a dirt road that would probably flood and turn into mud as soon as rain would start falling was a whole new kind of hell to him.

Hopefully, the party he was supposed to keep in check would end soon. It had barely started, with the two newlyweds couples returning from the justice building, gathering with their guests in a narrow space of grass between two cabins. Music was playing, but he didn’t like how wrong it sounded in his ears. People were joyfully chatting, trying to ignore the presence of peacekeepers nearby, watching them in search of an excuse to break out this gathering before it could turn sour because it somehow always turned sour in district 12… But maybe it would be the approaching storm that would put an end to the festivities first, allowing Coriolanus to go back to the barracks and have the rest of the afternoon to rest.

Standing tall, stoic, with a hand on his weapon, he watched the party unfold as some kids ran off to gather branches and burnt grass. He didn’t know the traditions for a wedding in this district but it sure seemed kind of pathetic to him. If it was his wedding, he would have made sure that it was a special day, he would have worn his best outfit and he would have made sure that his guests did too… Unlike most of the ones present today, still in their mining clothes and covered in dust. He also would have made sure that he had a proper venue where to celebrate his wedding, not a small patch of burnt grass near a row of sad cabins. And surely, he would have made sure that no storm was threatening to ruin it all.

“Hurry up or we won’t have enough time to get the fire going for the toasting.” You instructed a group of kids, as they placed a few fragile branches in your hands before running off again. You looked worried, your eyes on the black clouds in the horizon.

Coriolanus’ entire body reacted to your voice, briefly breaking his steady posture. He gazed at you, an irrepressible smirk appearing on his lips at the sight. You looked lovely. Even better than usual. Of course, you - out of all the other people - had had enough respect for the newlyweds to show up to their party wearing a nice and clean dress. The color brought out your eyes, making it all he could see for a moment. Until he lowered his gaze to your silhouette, noticing how it hugged and highlighted your lines and curves in the best way possible. It was as if the dress had been tailored for your body. Flawless.

Even if he wasn’t invited to the party and was instructed to keep his distances unless anything important occurred, he was happy to see you. He could watch you from where he kept guard, admire your beauty and make sure he memorized the contours of your body in that dress to entertain him later, when he’ll be alone in the showers. It wasn’t so bad after all.

The kids brought back another batch of branches to you and you placed them in a pile on the ground, taking a step back as a couple leaned down to light them on fire. All the guests applauded when red flames appeared, you included, as if lighting a fire was some kind of victory… Maybe it was after all, in such a humid climate.

A second couple did the same thing, starting a smaller fire next to the one slowly gaining strength and it pleased the guests just as much. Coriolanus held his breath when he saw you step up again, expecting you to follow suit on the odd tradition with a man that wouldn’t be him. You were dressed so nicely, your hair so beautifully arranged, that it finally occurred to him that it could be your wedding too.

No, he wouldn’t allow it. You were his. You had tasted him and he had tasted you, you knew each other intimately, you couldn’t belong to another man. Not anymore. Not when you could have him.

Instead of lighting a third fire, you handed both brides a loaf of bread and they proceeded to impale it on a branch, the grooms held it above the dancing flame and everyone watched as the bread slowly cooked. In the Capitol, cakes and desserts were served at weddings not… Toasts ?

He shook off his grimace of disgust. He wasn’t sure if it was because he kept being surprised by everyone’s lack of dignity in this district or if he was still slightly unsettled by the idea of you, marrying someone else.

A louder bang resounded through the street, bringing everyone’s attention to the mountains from which menacing clouds were quickly approaching. It was brief, everyone preffering to focus their attention back on the darkening bread held above the fire rather than on the weather, except for you. Coriolanus locked eyes with you, his heart strangely racing in his chest. He wanted you to notice him, but the possibility you might ignore him again, like you had a few days ago at the Hob, made him uneasy. He had showed you how good he could be to you. How lucky you should feel that you had somehow managed to catch his interest. But maybe you would provoke him again, just so that he could show you who you belong to once more.

A few very explicit images bloomed in his mind, he could be pretty creative when thinking about all the ways he could mark you as his. And as usual, it made him hard and desperate for attention.

But it seemed you weren’t going to need a reminder of his claim on you after all. You had stepped away from the party and were now walking in his direction, your pretty dress caressing the dirt road in the wake of your steps. He couldn’t help but smile at the way you grinned at him, as if you were happy to see him too.

“Are you keeping an eye on me, Coriolanus Snow ?” You asked him, playfully, stopping in front of him just slightly closer than what he would have expected.

His whole body buzzed at the sound of his name coming out of your lips. He had never told you so it must mean you had asked around about him. Maybe you had been obsessing over him as much as he obsessed over you, trying to find out who he was and how you could keep being the object of his desires.

“Always since I know how good you are at sneaking around.” He replied, with a grin. He didn’t know your name, but he would eventually. He simply couldn’t ask anyone about you, not when it might bring negative attention on him from his superiors. And what about his colleagues ? They might think that you’re an easy girl, or at least one who isn’t bothered by the peacekeepers’ uniforms and try to flirt with you - very much like Junius had - if they knew. It was better if he kept it that way for now, you’d be his little secret. “You look lovely in that dress.”

“Thank you.” You replied, seemingly a bit surprised by such a compliment. “My friends got married today.”

He nodded. That much he had gathered, even though wedding celebrations definitely looked nothing like the ones he had seen in The Capitol. He glanced to the sad party, where one couple was now eating their toasted piece of bread while others looked at them with emotion in their eyes. You followed his gaze back to where you came from.

“I’m sorry, I can’t invite you it wouldn’t be…” You started, but stopped yourself as he shook his head.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate, of course.” He finished for you, with a smile meant to reassure you that he had absolutely no desire to be invited to such events anyway.

A moment of silence went by, a bit awkwardly. He couldn’t force you on your knees and get you to suck him off right there, in front of everyone, even though there wasn’t anything he wanted more at this very moment and you couldn’t bring a peacekeeper back to the party with you, so you were both frozen with indecision, unsure of what else to do when you couldn’t put your hands - and mouths - on each other.

Despite daylight, an orange lightning illuminated the sky, fracturing the black clouds over your heads. A few seconds later, a loud bang resonated against the wooden walls of the nearby cabins, making the road under your feet tremble. Rain instantly poured down from the clouds, cold drops of water mixed with icy hail, piercing through the leaves of the trees and bouncing off of the roofs and ground.

Coriolanus left out a curse as the wedding party he was meant to keep in check dissolved, people hurrying in different directions to take shelter from the hail. If anything happened now, it would be his fault because he wouldn’t be able to tell if everyone went back to their cabins or if anything illegal took place afterwards…

You pulled him out of his thoughts by taking his hand in yours and guiding him to the nearest shack on the road, just as another lightning hit the ground, a lot closer than where the previous one did. You opened the door and pushed the peacekeeper in, closing it just as the roaring thunder reverberated through the street.

Coriolanus took in the modest house he was standing in, the few pieces of furniture and the broken window above the kitchen sink. It was about the size of his dormitory, but contained everything a house should, there even was a bed in the far corner of the room.

“You can stay here until the storm passes… If you want.” You suggested, the confidence you had been able to display during your previous encounters with him suddenly gone. Maybe because you felt awfully more vulnerable having him standing in your home rather than in a more public place. “Your clothes are wet, maybe I could hang them to dry ?”

A smirk appeared on his lips at your words and you smiled back at him, slightly blushing. He fixed his pale blue eyes on you as he slowly began unbuttoning his vest, you followed the movement of his fingers with eager eyes. He remembered how it felt when it wasn’t his buttons he was so deftly working on but you, pumping his finger deep inside the warmth his cock was so desperate to be buried in too.

He removed his vest, carefully placed his gun on the kitchen table and took off his shirt, revealing his chiseled chest and broad shoulders. He saw the way your eyes widened at the sight and liked how you couldn’t help but stare at his muscles, gaze lowering at the same speed your cheeks were gaining colors.

He opened his pants, lowered his underwear and left his erection proudly stand up from the fabric. He was hard for you, so hard it was almost unbearable, and you had barely done anything yet, apart from wearing a dress that hugged your silhouette and smile at him. It was kind of pathetic, how he probably could have come undone simply from closing his eyes and imagining his cum shooting out of his spent cock inside of you… Either buried deep in your wet pussy, either lodged down your throat while you gagged on his length, or even painting your face and chest with his cum again, the lovely sight it had been the first time still burned in his memory.

There were so many ways he wanted you. If he could have it his way, he’d probably lock you up in his dorm so that he could come back to you and fuck you mercilessly every time he felt the need to. Having you at his disposal would be such a relief for his cock - and hand. Maybe he’d finally manage to get you out of his mind if he could indulge in every fantasy he had about you, act out every scenario, test out everything he thought of, until he no longer had anything to think about to bring his cock to life at the most inconvenient times.

Although you seemed a bit more reserved this time, you still had the courage to reach behind your back to unzip your pretty dress, the fabric instantly falling and pooling around your feet.

Coriolanus’ blood changed course and flew to his already stretched cock, making it even harder and twitching with impatience. What a perfect sight you were, standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. It wasn’t a fancy set of lingerie like the girls from The Capitol usually wore but maybe it was because you weren’t a girl from The Capitol that he was so obsessed with you. You were a district girl, and he had never seen a body more beautiful than yours, even in plain underwear that didn’t even match. It was as if he had designed you himself, the shape of you perfectly tailored to his preferences, with curves and dips that drove him crazy and plump, soft, skin that haunted his sleepless nights. It left him unable to decide between his desires to ravage you or worship you.

He stepped forward and carefully pulled the straps of your bra down your shoulders. He unclasped the hooks in your back, a bit less assured than he wanted you to believe he was and, once he was able to pull your bra off, he took a step back to admire your bare chest. Perfect.

He pressed a hand to your tender flesh, excitement buzzing in his veins when he felt the soft malleability of your breast. His hands weren’t calloused like the ones of the miners you probably knew, they were soft and delicate, a clear sign of his luckier upbringing.

He leaned down to place a kiss against your neck, just so he could press his body against yours, feel your heat, the warmth of your skin radiating against his. It was the most intimate he had ever been, with you and with anyone else. He couldn’t say he disliked how it felt, but it was also terrifying. He couldn’t let himself be too vulnerable with you, not when it risked leading to feelings he really didn’t want to have for a district girl like you. He already barely could manage how badly he wanted you, how much he thought about you, day and night… What if he fell in love now ? Surely, it would ruin his life.

No, there wouldn’t be any feelings, not on his side and not on yours either. It was just sex. Really good sex. But just that.

He didn’t have to be soft with you so that you’d like him, he could just take what he needed and give you what you wanted too and call it quits. Yeah, it was a good plan. Flawless even.

He pulled your panties down with a rough motion, taking you by surprise. You barely had time to kick the crumpled fabric off of your feet when he reached for the back of your knees, lifting you up into his arms with your legs closing around his hips for support.

He took a few steps until your back was pressed against the wall. Your face was so close to his, your wet lips making it so hard for him to resist kissing them with all the depth of his passion for you.

No feelings. He reminded himself.

He pushed his hips forward, his hard cock easily gliding through your arousal. You were so ready for him. Just like you had been the other day. And this time he wasn’t going to deny himself the pleasure of being inside you. He pressed himself all the way up to your entrance, finding an unexpected resistance on the way. He heard your breath catch in your throat as he attempted to pass it, noticing the grimace on your face but since you didn’t ask him to stop, he kept trying to dive into the surprising tightness of your pussy.

He felt your hands clasping his shoulders for stability, your body writhing with discomfort at the invasion. He knew he was fairly big - bigger than the fingers he had put inside you at least - but he didn’t expect you to be so incredibly tight around him. The pressure of your walls clenching on him almost making him dizzy with the intensity of the pleasure it built in his abdomen.

Then, without a warning, you suddenly relaxed and your pussy seemed to swallow him whole, finally allowing him to fully bury himself inside of your wetness. He cursed at the sensation and you quietly cried out when he hit the deepest point possible.

You still felt tight, but you were finally giving him permission to move. He gently rocked himself, getting his cock to slide back and forth as a way to loosen you up. He was molding you to fit him. Him, and no one else.

No feelings.

He closed his eyes. He could come just from this but he wasn’t going to be selfish. Not when he wanted you to keep wanting him as much as he did. So he focused, keeping his movements slow and wide despite how fast and rough his brain urged him to go.

Suddenly, you came, digging your nails in his shoulders and whimpering against his neck, your pussy contracting around his cock, forcing him to stop his movements inside you again and stand completely still while you moaned in bliss. He was good at this, it was his second time making you reach your climax and it gave him an unreasonable amount of pride each time he achieved this. This time especially, had merely felt like work at all, you simply couldn’t take that many slow thrusts inside you. And now your cunt was contracting around him, trying to milk cum out of him like the only thing missing from your orgasm was a load of his release inside you. But he wasn’t going to give it to you, not yet. No matter how limp your body suddenly felt in his arms and how you cried out as soon as he resumed his thrusts, he was going to fuck you until he was satisfied this time.

He adjusted his grip on your body and carried you to the bed, lying you down and immediately placing himself on top of you, putting his dick back exactly where it belonged, buried deep inside you. His hands behind both of your knees, he held your legs against his hips as he pushed himself back and forth in you, on his knees while you were lying down with your head resting on your pillow. He could feel the pleasure bubbling inside him, demanding more to finally explode and allow him some relief. He was so desperate to finish, he needed to fill you up with his seed, make sure you would be his from now on. Hell, he wanted to spill everything he could inside you until he was bone dry and then, feed you every drop that might escape from your folds so that none of his release would go to waste.

He leaned forward, the weight of his body shifting and pressing yours deeper into the mattress. The bed was creaking loudly with each of his violent thrusts, menacing to break, while your cries of agonizing pleasure escaped through the broken window, mixing with the splatter of the heavy rain outside and the low rumble of thunder.

It wasnt so much the way he drove himself in and out of you, fast and without mercy, that pushed him off of the edge but the sight of you, gasping for air like you couldn’t take him anymore, crying out his name with half of your face buried in your pillow, your pretty lips forming a perfect oval as he finally groaned and released himself inside you, making you climax once more, in unison with him this time.

He filled you up, waiting until his cock was done twitching, the very last drops of cum dripping from his tip before he took it out. He needed to catch his breath now but the way you were still shaking with pleasure in front of him, beautiful as ever and claimed by him made his heart race.

Rain and hail crashed noisily on the roof of the cabin, covering the sound of your panting breaths, lightning illuminating the darkness that had filled the room every once in a while. He knew that his friends were probably waiting for him back at the barracks, that his superiors might start wondering where he was since he wasn’t on permission yet, but he couldn’t get himself to leave. Not yet. He had been dreaming, imagining, fantasizing about this moment for too long to cut it short. The way you had felt, how your body looked without any clothes on, your face when he poured his release inside you, everything had exceeded his expectations. You were truly perfect for him. And he no longer could resist kissing your lips, making sure you’d understand how obsessed he was with you.

No feelings.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 39!

yay more fics! guys i have to tell you this was an excellent reading week for me, so many brilliant fics!

two things: some of these fics aren't buddie but gen/a rare pair, but i figured i'd keep the title, since it applies to the majority of fics. i'll make sure it's clear which fics are for other ships! also, now that season 8 is airing, i've decided to keep the buddie fic rec list spoiler-free, and i'm setting up a season 8 rec list alongside it. this week's season 8 list can be found here!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading!

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

5 times buck and eddie thought they were on the same page +1 where they figured it out | WendyDarling95/@bi-buck-hi-eddie | 11.8k | E

"Ok but miscommunication trope where Eddie keeps trying to tell Buck he’s a werewolf and Buck thinks Eddie’s telling him he’s a furry. Buck would buy a fur suit absolutely" i'm genuinely not joking when i say that this fic was the highlight of my week. it's crack treated seriously in the absolute best way, i was howling (lol) while reading. brilliant <3

the book of love | colonoscopys/@colonoscopys | 8.1k | G

It was a pretty regular day. He had an eight hour shift the day before, slept in a little bit, ate dry toast and drank a black coffee before dropping Chris off at physical therapy for an hour. If he had known he was gonna die, he would have sprung for the hashbrowns in the freezer. time loop fic!! lovely lovely time loop fic!!

but you're holdin' me like water in your hands | TheGirlWithTheKite/@muddiedfoxglove | 11k | E

In which Eddie offers a helping hand when Buck's relationship starts to sour. (The Frogboiled Infideleddie Fic) frogboiled infideleddie?? yall the way i ran to this fic the second i saw it <3 so so so good

constant craving | Inell/@inell | 7.8k | E

Buck and Eddie have recently started dating, and it’s their third official date. While playing a game of pool, they make a little wager, and Buck gets to indulge a craving he’s had for years. i spent a lovely hour this morning catching up inell's recent fics and i highly recommend you do the same!! brilliant fics, both of the sweet and spicy variety <3

FREE MOUSTACHE RIDES | Killbothtwins | 5k | T

All is not well in Station 118. Gerrard is running the show, Christopher is gone, and, worst of all, Eddie has a mustache now. Somehow, it's only Buck who realizes how catastrophic this is. this is exactly the fic i needed to cheer me up earlier this week. so good, so funny!!

keep your brittle heart warm | Ink_Dancer | 8.8k | T

Buck convinces Eddie, notoriously a dog person, to adopt a cat. Buck then helps Eddie adjust to his new family member while the cat tries to meddle in their relationship. fics like this make me want to adopt a cat even more than i already do. so sweet, so cute, i love pinto bean <3

a little wisdom | Daisies_and_Briars/@cal-daisies-and-briars | 8.6k | T

Christopher comes home from Texas and needs his wisdom teeth removed, which leads to a larger discussion on hurt and comfort and needs that Eddie doesn't see coming. the diaz boys <3 i love them so much and they're so so well-written here!!

the more it hurts, the less it shows | ummrys/@ummrys | 2.4k | M

Eddie finally hears the story of Dr Wells, and Buck finally understands the depth of what happened to him. so well-written and a great look at the whole dr wells thing!!

nothin' but a little shut eye | Tizniz/@tizniz | 3.9k | G

Buck and Eddie accidentally nap together. And then keep napping together. buddie naps i love you so much <3 this is the softest cutest it's so good

put my heart inside your palms | markofalover/@markofalover| 3.1k | T

how an accidental pet name, a thoughtful dinner, and a shared shirt makes them get their shit together.. love is stored in the kitchen indeed <3 this is so so cute!

suddenly the only thing i saw was you | ipretendtobesane/@userbuddie | 8.2k | E

five times adriana diaz and may grant run into each other and the one time they show up together adriana/may?? the VISION holy shit. this is a brilliant fic and has probably my fav adriana diaz ever, it's just that good <3

[petermorwood]

More food and cooking of the Middle Kingdoms, though in this instance with photos only since the recipe hasn't yet been written up.

It's Lamb in Sour Blackberry Sauce, from "The Door Into Sunset", and this form involves lamb chops, both marinated and not, a sauce made from the marinade, and (since the Middle Kingdoms have no PO-TAY-TOES) a simple accompaniment of Arlene Roasted Root Vegetables, in this case parsnips.

The marinade is made from blackberries macerated in balsamic vinegar (red wine vinegar is another possibility, but we - and to our surprise the shop - were both out of it) and, for a bit more fruity complexity, some Kriek, a Belgian lambic beer brewed with sour cherries.

This was the drinking accompaniment as well. It's a very attractive colour, and its dry finish contrasted well with the lamb.

*****

Step one, take a bowl, add some of the beer and the macerating vinegar, then the chops.

Step two, add a layer of the macerated berries.

Step three, top off with the rest of the beer...

...then cover with clingfilm and put into the fridge.

We left ours for 72 hours, and here's the contrast between unmarinated chops and marinated ones.

That berry is to mark which was which, but it's really not needed. :->

*****

Sauce was made by reducing the marinade by about 50%, with some of the berries mashed into it and others left whole, then thickened with arrowroot.

Why not cornflour?

Fiction-wise, DD has decided that the Middle Kingdoms lack maize as well as potatoes, so there'll be no cornflour, sweetcorn or polenta;

Food-wise, arrowroot thickening keeps a sauce smooth and fluid rather than turning semi-solid or even solid when cold, because we were already thinking about other ways to eat this than over whole chops on a plate.

For example I got a couple of fondue forks and tried toasting some of the fatter bits of chop, then dipping them in the sauce.

It worked very well - understatement! - even with that little Instant BBQ tray. Barbecuing works wonderfully. We've also tried flash-frying, whose result different but just as good, for the last couple of chops we'll try grilling (US broiling) to see how that turns out.

*****

As for "does the sauce look and mouthfeel good when cold?", yes it does. We used it as a dip when finishing the leftovers later that night. The last couple of cooked chops were cut into pieces matching the parsnips, like the ones toasted on the BBQ, then everything was seared / re-crisped under the grill for a few minutes and eaten as finger-food.

There are no photos, because by the time either of us thought of a camera, there wasn't enough left to bother with - which by itself says how good this was!

*****

Also, instead of fingers, we used eating-picks.

If a diplomatic envoy is having a working snack while busy with documents, saucy-greasy fingerprint reminders of that snack on the documents will impress nobody.

And if diplomacy is a bit on edge, then no matter how much they really eat, the envoy can always tell superiors back home how they expressed silent disapproval by merely picking at their food.

It'll fool nobody, of course, especially if that diplomat is known to enjoy the pleasures of the table, but token gestures are what this sort of diplomacy is all about.

:->

[lovelyatomicpeace]

Insecurities

Some problems during the marriage

Hawkins was in the middle of his estate, the heat enveloped everything like a hug and the sounds of laughter mixed with the smell of barbecues. Steve and Y/N’s wedding had been a celebration of joy, where friends danced as if time didn’t matter, and the promises made mixed with toasts. The bright lights hanging outside their small house had created a magical atmosphere; everything seemed perfect.

The first months of marriage had been a whirlwind of emotions. The honeymoon, spent among the golden beaches of the French Riviera, had given Y/N the feeling of being in the world of fairy tales. The two abandoned themselves to days made of explorations, laughter and confessions under the stars. But it must be admitted that the weeks before the wedding with Steve, the excitement had been accompanied by a subtrail of frustration and anxiety. Preparations were progressing, but there was a shadow that stretched over every happy moment: Steve’s mother in whose words there was a sense of disapproval that seemed to weigh like a boulder on her heart.

The first meeting took place when both of Steve’s parents decided to visit Y/N’s house, where they would both settle down, to discuss the details of the wedding

“Y/N, can we talk for a moment?” He asked suddenly, interrupting Y/N’s thoughts.

Y/N nodded, moving to follow Steve’s mother into the bedroom, leaving father and son in the living room alone. Once the door was closed, the lady turned to her “I have to be honest with you, Y/N. I don’t think you’re the right person for Steve,” he began, his voice lowered. “He is a sensitive boy, he needs someone who knows how to manage a house, who can create a harmonious family environment. I’m not sure you can do it.”

Y/N felt the world collapse on her. “But...”

“It’s not that I don’t accept you, Y/N. But family is a serious commitment. There are responsibilities, dedication, and if you can’t guarantee certain things... then maybe you should rethink all this,” he continued pressing without letting you explain

“Steve deserves better. You’re not able to manage a house, but I think having a family is too much for you,” some simple words that, like shards of glass, had been fixed in his mind S/N tried to chase away those rumors, to live in the present, but sometimes doubts were insnaked like snakes in his thoughts. leaving the room once finished. After that day, Steve’s mother’s words rumbled in his mind like a mantra. She had never been that perfect girl, but she had always thought she could do it. But what would Steve have thought? What if his mother was right?

One morning, while Steve was getting ready to go to work, Y/N decided to show him that he was really trying to take his place as a wife. “Today I want to try to cook something for dinner,” he announces with a forced smile. Steve looked at her with those sweet eyes that had conquered her. “Do you need help?” He asked, but Y/N shook his head with determination, making a gesture with his hand to move him away.

“No, I want to do it alone!”

While he was leaving, Y/N ventured into the kitchen. It wasn’t exactly a place where he felt comfortable, but that day he wanted to try to turn his dreams of a family into reality. He decided to prepare a lemon chicken, a dish he had seen in an online cooking video.

Things didn’t go as he hoped. The chicken had become a nightmare mess: the marinade had been excessive, the lemon too sour. When Steve served him, his smile became a little forced, but he looked at her with affection. “Love, hats off to courage,” he said. His gentle laugh was mixed with the terror that he was taking possession of Y/N.

Thus began his series of attempts. One day, I decided to wash my clothes. It shouldn’t have been difficult. But the colors mixed, and the only result was a shocking pink Steve T-shirt that, before, was white. When he came home and found her crying in front of the washing machine, he just hugged her. “Don’t worry, Y/N. It’s just a dress. It’s remedied” But inside, Y/N feared that it wasn’t just a dress.

Each incident seemed to confirm the words of Steve’s mother. “Are you able to manage a future? A son? A house?” The sentences rumbled, igniting irrational anxieties. And Steve’s laughter, which made the situation all the lighter in his eyes, seemed to hurt her further. Was it just allowing him to be disappointed?

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Every time T/N tried to prove to Steve how capable he was, he came home disappointed, with a heavy heart. His self-esteem was slowly crumbling, and the fear of not being up to it turned into an oppressive presence. That presence followed her to Hawkins, among friends and parties, like a tireless shadow.

One day, decided to organize a surprise dinner with friends for Steve’s birthday, with the intention of proving that she could be a good wife. He spent hours preparing an elaborate meal, but when his friends arrived, the kitchen was in a disastrous state. The steaks were burnt, and the dessert was a disaster. Yet, seeing Steve’s face light up with attention, it was impossible for her not to feel a little ridiculous and, at the same time, a little proud.

“You clearly put your heart into this,” he said, caressing her arm. Y/N couldn’t hide his smile.

“But don’t you understand? I’m not capable! I only did disasters,” replied the trembling voice.

With his hands on Y/N’s shoulder, Steve looks into her eyes, letting the silences speak. “It’s not the perfection I love about you. It’s your spontaneity, your ability to make us laugh even in the midst of chaos. You are part of that life I want to build, and you will do it well, even when you don’t feel it.”

It was at that moment that Y/N understood that failures did not define its value. Love wasn’t perfect, and neither was life as a couple. There was growth, pain and, above all, a lot of fertility. There were days when she would be tired, and days when the world would seem oppressive, but it was all part of being a family.

The kitchen remained a battlefield, but in their hearts, love grew, ready to embrace all the imperfections of life.

[skauni]

Arranged Marriage: John Price x Fem!Reader

Part #3—New Beginnings, New Life.

Part #1, Part #2, Part #3(final)

After everyone ate and made their toasts to yours and John’s marriage, the time came for you and John to have your first dance. It was slow dance music, since you and him didn’t necessarily have a designated song since there never really was a first date. Once you and John finished your dance the DJ played the rest of the playlist for the rest of the guests to enjoy and dance to. When you got bored you snuck some of your food onto John’s plate every time he looked away, making him confused.

When he caught you doing it he grinned and gently grabbed your wrists. “Oh, so my wife’s a cheeky little prankster?” He’d say, jokingly scolding you as you laughed and tried to tug your hands out of his. Though his hold was soft enough to not hurt you he somehow managed to make it tight enough to make it so you couldn’t escape. After a while of gentle tugging you huffed in resignation. He chuckled and let your wrists go. “There you go lovie, y’get ya hand privileges back.” He said, you grumbled in mock sourness and said “Thanks, Hubby.” In response just to mess with him.

As the night went on you and John were called to the cake table to cut the cake. John cut one slice big enough for you and him to share. You both took a fork and, as per tradition, fed each other a piece. You jokingly put some frosting on his nose, making him chuckle. He ended up winning this round again because he fed you a big piece of the cake and it got all over your chin. He laughed at you as you tried not to spit it all out BECAUSE you were laughing. The two of you served the cake to the guests without bothering to clean your faces till afterwards. Safe to say almost everyone had video and photo evidence of you two messing around.

Eventually you saw one of your cousins from your mom’s younger sister get too close to the liquor table and try to reach the alcoholic punch bowl. “Jasper—HEY! YOU GET AWAY FROM THAT TA—JASPER!” Once you got ahold of him you scolded him. John chuckled at you when you came back and sat by him again. “I s’pose it’s safe to say you’d be a good mum if we have kids.” He’d tease you with a soft smile. You flushed red and stuffed more cake in his mouth to shut him up. He chuckled more.

The rest of the ceremony he held your hand as gently as he could like he’d break it if he applied any pressure. At the end of the ceremony you two opened the wedding gifts together and then the ceremony came to a slow end. You and John helped clean up a bit. Talking about what your favorite parts of the night were so far. When you got to his house, the both of you were tired. When he lead you to the room you noticed there was nothing special about it. So you asked. In the most innocent way he’d ever heard.

“Aren’t we supposed to… uhm… ‘close the deal’ on the wedding night?” You’d say quietly. He chuckled and gently ruffled your hair. “Not tonight. We can do that when you’re ready to do that…” he said softly, gently kissing your forehead as he showed you where you could change, you came out in a cute little nightgown and he was literally just in sweatpants when the two of you got into bed and fell asleep. Him holding you close by your waist throughout the night, the two of you spooning. You couldn’t help but feel lucky to have had this marriage contract with him, like you got a better bargain than most women in this situation might.

[replaycamera2]

Midnight Snacks with Redacted Characters

• For all the grief he gives Angel for it, David does keep a single pack of instant ramen on standby in a location he refuses to disclose. He’ll dress it up a bit with a soft boiled egg, some frozen veggies, tofu, leftover meat, whatever he can find.

• Asher isn’t much of a cook, but if Baaabe is hungry in the middle of the night he loves to make some Nutella on toast.

• Milo doesn’t like waking up in the middle of the night as he’s super groggy, but if he and Sweetheart are hungry he’ll throw together some yogurt, berries, and granola before flopping back down.

• Vincent and Lovely don’t need sleep or human food anymore, but occasionally they both get a hankering for a midnight McDonald’s run. They always get it to go and eat outside.

• Sam constantly has to deal with Darlin’ rummaging through the pantry in the middle of the night like a damn raccoon. He won’t let them gorge themselves on chips, instead making them a packet of instant oatmeal before dragging their nocturnal ass back to bed.

• Gavin will never say no to a late-night 7/11 run, though in the interest of keeping Freelancer alive during the day, he’ll rift there himself and come back with whatever snacks they want (provided they’re not too caffeine/sugar laced).

• Avior loves cuddling Starlight throughout the night, content to stay awake and watch them sleep. If they wake up hungry, he’ll magic up some scrambled eggs on toast before cuddling them back down and using just the tiniest bit of dreamwalking magic to help them get back to sleep.

• Lasko tries to make sure he’s not hungry before bed but if he or his partner wake up hungry he’ll make a big mug of hot chocolate (or chocolate milk).

• Hux has a seemingly bottomless supply of granola bars that he keeps for snacks. He keeps a box in his nightstand as well, “Just in case.”

• Damien has a horrific habit of making a protein shake if he’s hungry in the middle of the night. Hux is trying to help him break it.

• Ollie has an undying love for leftover midnight pizza. He swears up and down midnight pizza hits different in a Michelin star way; Babe is convinced it’s the sleep deprived delirium talking.

• Aaron hates getting woken up by Smartass in the middle of the night so they go ninja-mode lifting themselves off his chest. They’ll usually just munch on some dry cereal right out the box before heading back to bed. Aaron secretly does the same thing and has yet to be caught drinking milk straight from the carton.

• Ivan likes having chai and cookies if he and Baby are hungry in the middle of the night. He’s a firm believer that warm drinks and cuddles make a happy, sleepy Baby.

• Elliott is that bitch who makes an entire box poptarts at 1AM. He’s not sorry and he is sharing.

• James likes to have apples and peanut butter for a late night snack. He tries not to eat anything too heavy that’ll slow him down in the morning.

• Anton loves some warm pumpkin soup for a midnight snack. It’s always homemade and he always keeps a little on standby just in case his partner needs it.

• Guy will gorge himself on candy in the middle of the night. Honey keeps finding his stashes but Guy just keeps finding new places to hide his Sour Patch Kids. Honey’d check for secret compartments in the drawers if they thought Guy had the handyman-ness for it.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

DEMON SLAYER CUZ YESSSSSSSS.

shinobu x female reader

I wanna kick uzuis ass again soooooooo

Uzui is being a dick to everyone because he is in a mood and make fun of shinobu (u find the reason nth comes to mind rn) and the reader having an awful day herself kicks his ass and brings him to his wives "next time that disgrace you call a husband insults my soon to be wife again I'm gonna cut his tongue of and shove it so far up his ass it will come out of his mouth again 🙃

have a good day ladies oh and do keep him a check or I will 🙂 byeeeee"

gl finishing all of those rqst

Bad Morning

Shinobu Kochou x She/Her Reader

A/N: I don’t know what’s up with me, but this threat was a bit too descriptive for me and since this is like, at least the third time we’re beating Uzui up, this one is kind of lackluster, apologies! Hopefully I still got the message across lol. Hope you still like it! Word Count: ~1,220

Uzui Tengen woke up on the wrong side of the bed earlier that morning. Which was to say Suma had accidentally pushed Makio out of bed, which in turn lead to Makio dragging her out of said bed by the ankles in retaliation. Tengen tried his best to ignore them and focus on Hinatsuru’s cute mumblings as she turned to lay on her other side, but Makio’s growls and Suma’s cries made it downright impossible.

“Could you two keep it down, goddamnit! Why does this have to happen every morning?!”

“Maybe we should invest in a bigger bed.” Hinatsuru murmured, pressing a pillow over her head.

“Or we just make Suma sleep on the floor. She kicked me last night too and I have the bruise to prove it!” Makio pulled up the hem of her sleepware to show the bruise her thigh was sporting and Suma wailed.

“I’m sorry! Let me kiss it better! Don’t make me sleep on the floor Makio, please!”

“Nobody is sleeping on the floor!” Tengen groaned. “I’ll get a bigger bed, okay? Can I just get one more hour of sleep—“

“Caw!” Nijimaru came in through the window with flapping wings and rattling beads. A damn fine, flamboyant bird if Tengen did say so himself, but he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather see less at the moment. “You’ll be late for the meeting if you stay in bed any longer, Uzui!”

“Damn it all, that’s today?” Tengen shot out of bed, jamming his toe against the bedside table. He cursed and limped his way to the bathroom, now even more pissed because he would have to skip his morning skin care routine if he was going to make it to Oyakata-sama’s mansion in time.

He barely had enough time to bathe and put on his makeup before heading out the door. No time to even eat breakfast. At least Suma ran him some toast at the door and jumped up to give him a quick peck on the cheek. It certainly made up for the rude awakening at least, sweet girl.

Still, all the toast and kisses in the world couldn’t make him shake off the sour mood he was in. His morning routine was sacred. When his routine was disturbed, it honestly felt like his whole day was ruined.

People have bad days. It’s normal to maybe ask for a little space, to tell people you aren’t really feeling yourself, but the moment you use your bad morning as an excuse to be shitty to other people, then expect your day to get much, much worse.

“Iguro, come on man. Can you get your scrawny ass outta my way? Shouldn’t you be sitting like a broody tree’d raccoon by now?”

“We’re talking, walk around. It’s a fucking garden.” Sanemi was quick to shoot back as Obanai glared.

“Nobody can make anything easy today, can they?” Tengen sighed loudly, bumping into Sanemi as he walked past the two fuming men.

He rested in his usual spot, hoping to maybe get a little bit more sleep in before the Master arrived. However, Mitsuri was talking up a storm with Shinobu and (Y/n) and the excitement in her voice as she spoke made it hard for Tengen to relax.

“She made me dango for helping me get her cat out of the tree! Isn’t that great? It was really good too! And then—!”

“Gods, Kanroji,” Tengen groaned, “would it kill you to take a page out of Tomioka’s book and be quite for once?”

“Hey! What the hell is your problem?” (Y/n) scowled.

“Just because you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, it doesn’t give you license to make everyone else around you feel miserable as well.” Shinobu chimed in, she put a reassuring hand on Mitsuri’s shoulder while she gave Tengen a disapproving look.

“I’m gonna kill that bastard.” Obanai growled, Kaburamaru hissed in agreement.

“Perhaps you should take a page out of Tomioka-san’s book and butt out of conversations that have nothing to do with you, hm? Contrary to what your ego may tell you, the world does not revolve around you.” Shinobu added for good measure.

“Big words for somebody so small. I could crush you like a grape between my fingers.”

“Uzui, my friend! You should stop talking before you say something you’ll really regret!” Rengoku advised.

“So disgruntled,” Shinobu tisked pityingly, “Given how out of sorts you are this morning, I doubt you could even brush me with those meaty, perpetually sweaty hands.

Tengen took a deep breath through clenched teeth, but (Y/n) spoke up before him, her voice low, warning,

“Uzui-san, I’d listen to Rengoku-san if I were you. Act like an adult and let it go. With any luck, the meeting will be over in an hour and you can sleep the rest of the day away.”

“Tch,“ Tengen sneered, “how about this, you tell your little, and I do mean shrimpy, puny, girlfriend to zip it, and then I will too.”

“I am not her keeper.” (Y/n) said through gritted teeth.

“Well if she can’t keep her mouth shut, why should I?!”

“Ah, my deepest apologies, Uzui-san,” Shinobu began, not looking very sorry at all, “(Y/n) and I had a rather late night in the lab ourselves. My mistake for trying to hold you to the same standards we hold ourselves to.”

Tengen was seeing red. He wanted to wipe that perfect little smile right off of Shinobu’s face and before he could think better of it, he had thought of something to say that would hit her where it would hurt.

“Wipe that fake-ass smile off your face, little Kanae wannabe. You want to imitate her so bad, start by acting like less of a bitch maybe.”

Well, that sure made the smile fall from Shinobu’s lips. Her expression became impassive, an eerie blankness, but no one took the time to really notice because (Y/n) was already leaping to her feet, kicking up pebbles that scattered over Tengen’s thighs as she got closer.

“The fuck did you just say?!” Sanemi growled, his head snapping towards Uzui.

“Uzui-san, I know you can be abrasive, but that kind of talk is unacceptable.” Gyomei spoke up for the first time that day and that was how Tengen knew he might have really fucked up.

“Okay, okay, you are a fucking dead man now! I don’t give a damn about you not getting your beauty sleep, you wanna play nasty, we’ll play nasty alright!”

(Y/n) knew Shinobu could take care of herself, but she also knew that Uzui had hit a nerve. Like Shinobu had said, they had a tough night, tougher than Uzui’s, she imagined. She had been helping Shinobu with her latest experiment on her journey to find a poison that could end an Upper Moon.

Despite all of the promising research, the experiment had fallen flat, or well, more accurately caused a small explosion that (Y/n) and Shinobu spent the next three hours cleaning up after. Thankfully they had been wearing the proper gear during the whole ordeal, but they still smelt overwhelmingly of wisteria.

(Y/n) got close enough to Uzui that he could smell it on her and the potency stung his nose. She grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and he engulfed her wrist with his hand—

“Oyakata-sama is coming!” Mitsuri squealed, noticing two of the Master’s children leading him around the building. It must have been one of his good days and he decided to take a stroll.

“I’m not done with you.” (Y/n) hissed, letting go of Uzui’s uniform with a shove before quickly dropping to the ground.

“You’re like a yappy little dog,” he sneered, “All I gotta say is, ‘boo!’ and you’ll be shaking in your sandals.”

“The first thing I’m gonna do is cut out your own tongue and feed it to you, asshole.”

Tengen grit his teeth together. The Master was much too close now to continue trading vulgarities.

Tengen started out the meeting boiling hot, but listening to the Master speak had its usual calming affects and before Tengen knew it, he was in a relaxed, meditative state. It was the closest thing to sleep one could have while awake. It was like magic. The Master bid them all farewell and Tengen inhaled deeply, then released a relaxed exhaled, tension leaving his shoulders. He felt so much better—

(Y/n)’s fist came sailing at him with all the force of a mantis shrimp and she decked him, making direct contact with his temple.

“Alright Uzui, how about you and me go for a little stroll?” (Y/n) grunted, heaving the hulking man to his feet was no simple task, especially now that he was having a hard time standing up himself after that vision spotting hit. She turned to look back at Shinobu with adoration and concern, “Would you like to come along, dear?”

“I suppose.” Shinobu shrugged before rising to her feet as well. Truthfully, she didn’t want to have to look at Uzui for another minute, but if (Y/n) accidentally killed him, that would be one less Hashira and they were already spread thin enough as it was.

The remaining Hashira, that cared enough to, watched on as (Y/n) pulled Tengen away from the mansion by his ear, very thankful they weren’t in his shoes at that moment.

Tengen shuffled down the path, bending with (Y/n)’s sharp pushes and pulls while the two women discussed what they should eat for lunch. Sadistic beings…

Though it was hard for his eyes to focus because of that sharp punch to his temple, he soon recognized the scenery and realized (Y/n) was taking him home, to what end, he was afraid to find out.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” He heard (Y/n)’s muffled voice through the ringing in his ears.

“Oh gods, what did he do this time?” Makio groaned.

“(Y/n)-san, I don’t know what he did, but please, be a little more gentle with him.” Hinatsuru requested hesitantly.

She was hesitant because she knew her husband had a track record of saying or doing stupid things. Even Suma, the most sympathetic of the bunch, could agree that sometimes getting slapped around a little bit was warranted when it came to their husband’s unfiltered words and uncouth actions.

“Don’t worry, I caught him off guard with the first punch, so I didn’t go any further. I probably nearly fractured his skull since he didn’t think to defend himself at all, don’t you think so, Shinobu?”

“Oh yes, given how he’s been wobbling, and that he threw up in the bushes on the way here, it’s safe to say he would have been in real trouble if you had decided to keep going.”

Makio, Hina and Suma paled, quickly taking possession of their loopy husband when (Y/n) offered him to them. It was difficult to keep all that muscle up right, so they could only imagine just how furious (Y/n) was to have been able to basically drag him all the way home.

“The next time your disgraceful, woefully un-flamboyant husband says or does anything that hurts my fiancée, intentionally or not, he may not make it back to you in one piece. Understand?”

“Yes, we’ll talk to him. I’m sorry.” Hinatsuru hung her head low.

“You have nothing to apologize for, but when your husband snaps out of it, you might suggest he start looking for ways to atone because I’m not quite so sure I could hold myself back if I see him again too soon. That single punch was not satisfying at all.”

“We’ll work on it.” Makio swore.

“We promise! Please don’t kill him!” Suma sobbed.

“I won’t kill him, too much paperwork.” (Y/n) promised, then after a pause added, “Well, I wouldn’t kill him on purpose anyway.”

“Here,” Shinobu stepped up to the three horrified looking wives and handed Hinatsuru a small paper bag, “I suspect he has a concussion. I have provided all instructions and materials needed to give him proper treatment.”

“Thank you…” the three answered in unison.

Shinobu gave them a short nod of acknowledgment before linking back up with (Y/n). The two strolled off like nothing had happened, smiling and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes as they disappeared over the hill.

“We need that new bed stat!” Suma said with an exhausted sigh as the trio dragged Tengen into the house.

“I think our dumbass husband needs a personality check more.” Makio grunted.

[citrusandcyanide]

Can't Lost You | L.G.

Part 3 Final

Pairing: Lip Gallagher x f!Reader

an. This took so long to get out cause my classes almost broke me this semester lollll but also I had two possible ways to end this and it took a long time to decide how it would go. This is the last part. I appreciate all the love on the first two parts. I promise I'll write something happy next <333

Synopsis. Reader finally makes her decision to stay or leave for college.

words. 1.2k

Warnings. angst angst

Part 1 Part 2

You woke up in a half drunk daze in Lips bed. The events of last night were as blurry as your vision through the tears you knew clouded your vision at some point in the night. Snippets of your conversation came back to you slowly as you stared up at Lips ceiling. And then it comes back to you, the feeling of his lips against yours, and his hand against your cheek. Lip’s arms guiding you to lay down on the bed. Your hands immediately went to your chest, clinging onto the fabric that still clung to your body. You silently thanked God that meant the kissing was as far as you went. Sitting up, you looked around the room, finally noticing the empty space beside you. He wasn’t there which partially relieved and puzzled you. Slowly you stood up and made your way downstairs. 

Upstairs had been far quieter than you had ever remembered the gallagher house being. The silence was unsettling. Familiar voices filled the kitchen as you descended the back staircase. Lip stood at the counter with a plate of eggs in front of him. To your surprise Mandy was cooking the eggs. Upon your entrance, Mandy turned to you and smiled. 

“Rise and shine, princess,” Mandy greeted you with a quick hug before motioning you to sit down next to lip. Your hug was weaker than hers, but you hoped she would attribute it to having just woken up. You knew Mandy sometimes shows up early, but after last night the air in the room felt heavy. You couldn’t help but look over to Lip, who was not trying to hide avoiding your gaze. Mandy put down a cup of water and a mug of coffee on the counter for you.  “Lip told me you drank a little too much last night. I couldn’t help but check in with you when I got her. You were sleeping like a baby. I couldn’t wake you even if I tried.” 

“Yeah.. Yesterday was blurry,” you replied, picking up the cup of coffee and taking a seat next to Lip. Mandy’s laugh triggered a headache, bringing your attention to the hangover that was getting stronger as you woke up more. “Where did you sleep Lip?” 

“Couch,” He replied quick and quiet. You gave him a look out of the corner of your eye. He just kept eating his eggs. You were too tired and hungover to try to interrogate him on the events of last night. Mandy’s presence also made you want to avoid the subject. The guilt in your chest was slowly building up as Mandy proceeded to make you a plate of eggs and toast. But Lip’s silence was more concerning. Why did he sleep on the couch last night? And why did I fall asleep in his bed? 

“What were you guys doing? Y/n doesn’t drink unless its something big,” Mandy asked. You and Lip froze, waiting for the other to answer. You brought the mug to your lips, hoping he would break the silence and answer. 

His words from last night repeating in your head. 

‘Y/n if you stay, I’m yours.’ 

‘You’re keeping me here’ 

‘I love you’ 

The words “I’m yours” practically throbbing to the rhythm of your headache.

“Y/n’s going to Berkeley for College,” Lip Answered. Just before the coffee could make it out of the mug, you froze. You felt dizzy again. You must of misheard him. I’m going where? You placed your mug down with a deep breath and turned to look at Lip. His face was neutral. You had no idea what was going on in his head. He turned to face you, for the first time this morning looking directly at you.  “We were celebrating.” 

Your lips turned sour, hating the feeling of his that still lingered there. This was enough to make your decision clear. Last night you let your boundaries slip farther than you would ever allow again. Lip was at your feet begging you to stay and you just heard him say you were leaving. Announcing the opposite of what was decided when he kissed you. Who were you kidding? Nothing was decided. There was nothing promising you would stay. There was nothing promising he would be yours. It was just a kiss. You were drunk. It was blurry.  It wasn’t the alcohol that made you believe him, that you would be his that easily. You couldn’t blame it on that. You were waiting for him to say it, hoping he would tell you to stay. But here you are, in his kitchen hungover and delusional. His girlfriend is standing in front of you making you breakfast. And he is telling her, you are leaving. Lying and saying you were celebrating. You had to convince yourself it was all lies. This was enough. 

You heard Mandy cheer which snapped you out of your thoughts. “So you’re actually going?” She asked you with a big smile on her face. In that moment you knew your answer. You were going to erase everything that happened last night from your memory. And you were going to try to do the same for the years you wasted on Lip gallagher. 

“Yes,” You said firmly. “I’m going to Berkeley.” 

You quietly excused yourself from the table and thanked Mandy for the breakfast. You said your goodbyes to her, promising to see her at school. Lip kept quiet as you gave Mandy a hug. When you pulled away, your eyes locked with his. You weren’t going to waste anymore time on him. There was no use in a goodbye. Your silence said it all. 

Epologue: 

The next day you heard knocks on your front door. You didn’t answer him. There was not going to be an apology this time. You had nothing left to say to him. For the next few weeks, you’d get voicemails from Lip, asking where you were and if you’d speak to him. Everytime he called, you’d never reply. After awhile you stopped listening to the voicemails completely. Then they stopped. He didn’t try to approach you at school, even though you could feel his presence when he was around. Once you graduated, you stopped seeing him completely. He respected your distance and kept away. The rest of the Gallaghers seemed to respect that too. You attended Berkeley, moved across Chicago and left your hometown behind. You got the freedom you wanted, and life without Lip was just as pleasant as you imagined it. Lip, however, wouldn’t let go completely. He’d send you text messages every now and then asking you how you were. Sometimes the messages would contain apologies, begging for your forgiving, pleading for you to come back. You didn’t reply. Your silence said it all. 

[ofc-vi-writes-too]

a continuation of things that i think happen in my favorite fucked up silly little city (gotham)

• In hosptials in Gotham there’s another wing dedicated to super villain attacks Like how theres the ED, NICU, L&D, ICU, etc., theres another branch called Excessive Villain Attack Department (for) Emergencies. Also known as EVADE for short. it’s a brag to say you work in EVADE for doctors/nurses because A. the pay is ridiculously good, and B. how much extra stuff you had to learn to work there. People who work in EVADE have to go through weekly psych evaluations as well as physical testing to make sure they are still fit for duty.

• there are EVADE pop ups all around gotham so it’s citizens ares never more than 5 minutes away from medical attention. You have to work at a pop up before you’re allowed to work in EVADE in a real hosptial. People say working the pop ups is a lot harder and a lot nore stressfull, because people can come to you in really any condition out there.

• Similar to how kids in some areas cant wear certain colors like red or blue to school because of gang affiliation, gothamite students cannot wear anything superhero, vigilante or villain adjacent. No birds, bats, clowns, etc. Its a way for schools to try and stop kids from being targetted by their peers/ crazy adults who will attack them for supporting a specific person or party. Hero or otherwise.

• A lot of mom and pop diners/townie bars have foods named after vigilantes and specialty drinks named after villains. Some examples are:

Red Hoods Hot Chicken and Mac: bufallo mac and chicken with house hot sauce, so hot and tasty it will bring tears to your eyes! (this is true. jason tried it and he literally couldn’t feel his face. He couldn’t tell if he was blinking or not. Dick swears up and down he wasn’t.)

Nightwings: boneless chicken wings with a honey barbecue dry rub, with bleu cheese dipping sauce and chips and a blue corn dip. Dick can and will order 4 and eat them all by himself in one sitting.

Robins Eggs Breakfast combo: 2 sunny side up eggs, strawberry french toast, vegetarian sausage, house salad and an OJ. They tried to make it vegan but no one in Gotham wants breakfast without eggs. Robin said he appreciates the thought anyway. He is very smug and protective of his meal and the restaurant that made it. When he has the day shft he stops by there for breakfast, which isn’t often but still.

Signal soup: a classic squash soup, house focaccia and a garden salad. Its a seasonal meal that comes around every fall, and sells out almost every day for the entire season.

The Scarecrow: literally a long island iced tea with black liqueur in a martini glass with 3 olives. It tastes fucking horrible but will get you beyond hammered

Poison Ivy: shot of pochteca lime liqueur and pink whitney. Very tasty.

Regulator: its a blue margarita with coconut milk in it. Its a little sweet but its yummy. It’s common to black out on these because you cant taste the alch and by the time it hits you its too late and its the next morning and your naked in a strangers bed. Darn those regulators for a night you wont remember! at least the guy is handsome…

• See also the Condiment King challenge: A pint size glass of equal parts ketchup, mustard, pickle relish, mayonnaise, hot sauce, soy sauce, honey mustard, sweet and sour, bbq, salsa, fish sauce, vinegar, ranch, and wasabi. Hell in a cup! If you can drink it within 10 minutes without throwing up, you eat free at the dinner for a month and you get a t shirt that says “I completed the Condiment King challenge at Jimbo’s Dinner!” With a poorly drawn picture of condiment king on it. There has only been one winner: Timothy Drake. Jason dared him to try it after he hadnt slept in 3 days. Tim didnt puke, but Jason did. There were threats of violence if Tim ever told anyone that. Tim didn’t believe him, told Dick and magically ended up with a broken finger. “No AlfredI have NOOOOOO idea how it happened! Must’ve had a bad fall on patrol :3”

• taxes in gotham are shit-your-pants-when-you-see-it-the-first-time high. Gotham has to be able to pay for all the damages somehow, despite Bruce Wayne paying for about 15% of those damages out of pocket, its still not enough to stop prices from skyrocketing. To try and combat this, there is a Gala held anually for the top 10% of Gotham to fundraise for emergency city repairs. It helps a lot but doesn’t solve the problem.

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Yesss please sam drake food/eating hcs?? Fave meals, hated meals, etc

It is with great joy and great belatedness that I post my first Uncharted piece in ages. Thank you for the lovely ask, anon. :)

⋆ Sam Drake - Eating Headcanons ⋆

Two words: scarcity mindset.

After running away from Saint Frances’s, to claim money was tight is to be telling some humorous bit, Money was borderline non-existent. And as such, came what the Drake boys do best: theft. 

Liquor stores were their easiest, and most consistent source. Sam still takes great pride in telling his many stories revolving around ‘cashier meet-cutes’ disguising their proudest heist to date: a 12-year-old Nathan smuggling canned goods under a moth-holed hoodie. 

Because of this, gas station snacks: twinkies, Lays chips, slurpees, etc. all tend to give him this simultaneous sense of nostalgia and nausea. Like when you’re eating eggs and all of a sudden, your body gags on the next bite.

But on an especially shitty day, expect him to be gobbling a Big Gulp and a half-frozen hot dog on the nearest street corner, with a half-smoked cigarette still sunken between his lips. It’s the way he wallows. 

Secretly wants you to tell him how bad that shit is for him so he has an excuse to snottily spat back “who the ‘ell cares?”. He finds pride in not caring about anything. (He cares about everything.)

Getting fast food at the drive-thru? Man waves you off a total of three times claiming he doesn’t want nothing before proceeding to eat half of your McNuggets without asking. He loves BBQ sauce and needs Tabasco on everything like it’s his will to live.

Big fan of spicy, sour, and tart, anything that makes your mouth pucker. Pretzels, salt and vinegar chips, cottage cheese, pickles, pineapple (😉). “What can I say? I admire a fruit that fights back!” — he snorts before taking a raw bite of a lemon, just to squirm you out.

Maybe a bit of the masochist in him. 

When he and Nate were able to get proper gigs (12-year-old Nathan: illegally, of course), they were able to progress to the simplest of grocery outlet options. Eggs, instant ramen packets, canned vegetables that were 9 out of 10 times eaten raw out of the can with a fork, and more nothing-but-toast-for-dinner than they’d want to admit).

Sam and Nate spent most of their childhood eating their dad’s scrambled eggs and microwaved peas. When their mom passed, and dad released them to the state, Sam decided he’d only ever eat over-easy again.

Nate still chooses scrambled. He asks for cheese and green onions to split the difference, but always ends up only eating half of it before the memories come too strong and he has to push his plate away. 

QUICK eater. MESSY eater. And I mean quick and messy. 

Will use as minimal cutlery as possible, and if disposable, even better.

A scooper. Tends to be a chronic careless spiller with how frequently he tries to funnel all the last crumbs into his mouth, how quickly he chugs even a glass of water. (Most shirts of his are stained as a result.)

Tends to wait till the last possible moment to eat or drink anything. Breakfast basically doesn’t exist to him. 

Spills more beverage down his chin and shirt than his mouth (but a wet t-shirt certainly isn’t the worst thing to happen. Especially not to Samuel Drake. ;)

Pizza order: Meat Lover’s with extra sausage. Maybe some green bell peppers when he finally compromises with Nate during movie night.

Never, ever orders (well, non-alcoholic) drinks when eating out. And only water when he finally lets himself cave. Otherwise, he’s stealing sips from the nearest patron’s Jarrito bottle (his favorite is Tamarind).

Doesn’t bother cleaning up his fruit peels or peanut shells, even around others. That shit’s going on the floor without a second look.

Surprisingly, a king and natural on the BBQ. Despite having so little in their childhood, Sam still tried to go hard on the holidays for Nathan’s sake. Fourth of July is still Nate’s favorite holiday exclusively because of Sam’s public park-smoked ribs and the long, bumpy motorcycle ride up the highest hill in whatever city they were currently loitering in, just to see the fireworks. 

A dive bar master. Nate always orders whatever grease-covered appetizer they got in the back. Sam purposely keeps his stomach empty so there’s more room for whiskey. (Since nobody asked, incredible at pool, and will offer any woman in a twenty foot circumference a lesson. Cue the leaning chest over back, cue stick fantasy.)

A love language that was a total surprise to him is his partner cooking/baking something just for him, especially if it’s from scratch. Gets that rare, soft look in his eyes as he watches them carefully place each steaming plate onto the table. And trust, he’s not looking at the food when it happens.

Loves his partner in an apron. Like… loves his partner in an apron.

Make him food, and as soon as it’s eaten, he’s eating you after. ;)

When he finally settles down post-Madagascar, it’s a fucking struggle to get him to go grocery shopping at all for the first few months. 

Self-punishment, maybe. 

Nathan buys them himself instead and leaves them on the porch of Sam’s trailer park home when he’s too depressed to answer the door. 

Basically has to be forced to eat actual meat and vegetables. For the first few months, he reverts and eats only familiar prison food. The same single pot of chili/beans for a whole week, half portions only for each meal. Uncooked canned carrots. Microwave popcorn when Nathan calls him asking if he’s eaten, and when Sam lies, it sounds more believable with the microwave droning in the background.

However, when he finally starts to pick himself back up, when he gets his first day job since prison, finally lets Nate buy him a used truck to get around, his first solo call from Sully, that’s when he finally starts to eat.

And when he finally feels like himself again, when he finally lets himself want to live again, the first hobby that Sam Drake takes up is cooking.

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part eighty-two: "The Overload"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Matt has an incredibly frustrating day that is further made worse when you aren't at his apartment after work.

Or Matt realizes how important you really are to him.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 3.3k

a/n: This is a light angst (hurt/comfort) piece entirely in Matt's POV with some fluff at the end! Figured it would be fun to see roles reversed and Reader is the one who brings the much needed comfort in here! The list of installments for this series can be found here and feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @ninacotte @mattkinsella @stilldreaming666 @murdocksclient @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @lina-mar @pinkratts @schneeflocky @acharliecoxedfan @yarrystyleeza @theetherealbloom @danzer8705

Today was one of those days for Matt. Everything felt like it was going wrong. He didn't have days like these often, but when he did, everything felt like it was intensified–including his senses. 

It had started off with him not being able to go out on patrol last night. He had been swamped with paperwork and he'd needed to stay in and get it done. But he'd needed that release scouring the streets for criminals last night to ease the tension that had already been building all day that day. Instead he'd had to ignore that part of himself and it had been absolutely frustrating. 

On top of that, you had unfortunately been unavailable to stop by and stay the night because you were getting a headstart on packing some of your things. There were only a couple more weeks left of your lease before you moved in with him. You'd been trying to pack up things you wouldn't need at your place to move to his place ahead of time in the hopes to make the final move smoother. 

The idea of you already packing your things had thrilled Matt–he wanted you at his apartment already, truthfully. He loved how excited you were becoming at the idea of being at his place with him–-of it becoming both of yours’ place. Your giddiness was beginning to overtake your nerves and that had excited him knowing how much you wanted to join your life with his. But he hated waking up alone this morning. It had only soured his mood not to feel your legs wrapped around his, or to hear the soft noises you made when you woke first thing with your face pressed into his chest. And he hadn't woken up with his nose buried in your hair like he often did, the scent of you being the first thing he smelled. Instead his bed had been noticeably colder, lacking the warmth of you in the sheets beside him, and the first thing he'd smelled was the burnt toast coming from the apartment below his.

It also meant he hadn't heard your voice at all today, which had for some reason only continued to worsen his mood. He'd had a terrible meeting this morning with a potential client who had been interested in hiring Nelson, Murdock, and Page, but they'd been very clearly hiding something about the case. Matt had picked up on the constant lies while he was talking to the man–over and over his heart had alerted him to something being off. The thought of representing him had Matt feeling sick to his stomach even as he politely refused to take the case. Afterwards he'd tried to call you during his lunch break to have your voice brighten his day, but all he'd gotten was your voicemail. 

Frustrated yet again, he'd gone to grab lunch at the sandwich shop nearby by himself. Foggy had a meeting with a client of his own and Karen was in court today so he’d had no one else for company. It also didn't help that today had been an unnaturally warm day for late May. Matt had been sweating in his dress shirt as he walked to the shop, uncomfortable and overwhelmed as he felt every bead of sweat rolling down his back and his forehead. When he’d gotten there, he’d discovered the air conditioning hadn't been working at the sandwich shop either. Which meant he'd waited in line sweating even more while trying to tune out just how irritatingly loud all of the grumbling, angry customers were. And when he'd finally gotten his food back to his desk at work, he'd managed to spill mayonnaise somewhere on his dress shirt. The smell had only progressively gotten worse to his nose the hotter the day had become and thus the hotter the office had gotten–because all they had were a handful of fans to cool the place down. Which only managed to further circulate that disgusting smell around the office.

Now he was on his way back home from work, teeth grinding against each other to the point that his jaw was sore. He was he white knuckling his cane and sweating, a headache steadily growing worse from all of the sounds and scents around the city as he made his way back to his apartment. Even the repetitive noise of his cane on the sidewalk was getting under his skin and he found himself internally cursing the fact that he had to use it right now.

But you were coming over tonight. He’d reminded himself of that repeatedly throughout the day today. Every time something went wrong, every time he wanted to push everything off of his desk and scream, he just reminded himself that you were staying at his place tonight–soon to be both of yours’ home. You were going to be there after you’d finished work, meaning you would be there when he walked in the door. He’d been looking forward to that moment all day–hearing your heartbeat the moment he neared his building. Maybe you’d be typing on your laptop when he showed up, finishing up something for work. All he wanted to do was open the door, drop his things in the hall, and have you wrap your arms around him. Maybe you wouldn’t even mind if he curled up on your lap along the couch for a bit, just to let him relax and decompress from this whole irritatingly bad day.

Which apparently only seemed to be getting worse, because when Matt turned the corner towards his building he couldn’t hear your heartbeat. And he was trying very hard to find it. His chest began to tighten instantly and he felt close to snapping the moment he realized you really weren’t here yet. Probably because something had come up with work, something entirely not your fault and reasonable, but all Matt could focus on was the fact that you weren’t here . And he so desperately needed you right now.

When he pulled the door open for his building, he’d admittedly tugged it harder than necessary. And when he’d struggled a moment to find the call button for the elevator because it was always difficult for him to find without being able to actually see it, he’d pushed it quite forcefully. Afterwards, when he’d made it up onto his floor, he’d certainly annoyed even himself with how heavy his angered footfalls had become. 

He knew he shouldn’t be mad at you even as he slammed his keys into the bowl on the table near his front door. It was ridiculous. You’d not actually done anything wrong, but somehow he was still so angry. He’d needed you to be here when he got back, he’d been expecting it all day. But you weren’t.

The scent of you had grown fainter in the apartment, too. It had been too many days since you’d last actually been here. That, too, irritated Matt. 

With a frustrated grunt, he slipped out of his shoes and made his way towards his bedroom. He thought maybe a shower might help calm him down. At the very least, it would hopefully wash off the stench of pungent mayonnaise that he couldn’t seem to shake from his nose.

He’d gathered the most comfortable clothes he had from his bedroom, discarding his work clothes in the laundry bin, and then set about getting the shower ready in the bathroom. By the time steam was filling the room he finally stepped into it–and then was immediately irritated by the spray of water. It felt like he was being repeatedly pelted by a plethora of tiny pebbles over and over instead of droplets of water. His teeth only ground together harder in exasperation. He tried to wash himself quickly, the noise of the spray hitting the tiles of the shower around him and only causing his headache to pound even more painfully in his head. 

Eventually it had all started to feel like too much. Matt exclaimed a curse that reverberated around the shower. Angry and overwhelmed, he slammed his fist into the shower wall in his frustration. The release had felt so good that he drew his fist back and hit the wall a second time, feeling his knuckles split open as he did. A faint trickle of blood spilled forth, Matt’s chest heaving as he contemplated releasing his frustration a third time, but then he heard the front door of the apartment open. His eyelids slowly lowered as he heard you call out his name. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased just a bit at the sound of your voice, his bleeding hand rising up and running down his face as he tried to take a calming breath. 

You would be the solution. Of course you would be.

He turned off the shower quickly, the absence of the spray already lessening the pressure building in his head. Sliding the glass door back, he reached out and grabbed his towel from off the hook nearby. He dried off in a hurry, trying to wipe off every irritating bead of water before he slipped on his boxers and a pair of sweatpants. He’d swiped his tee-shirt off the bathroom counter in one hand, running his fingers through his wet hair with the other. Then he quickly stepped out of the bathroom and made his way down the hall.

“Sweetheart?” he called out, pausing just in the entrance of the living room.

Focusing his senses, he heard you in the kitchen. You’d been plating food–it smelled like Thai from the restaurant nearby–but he heard the way your head spun in his direction, your hands pausing what they’d been doing. You expelled a soft sigh, your shoulders dropping a little bit as you must’ve taken in the sight of him.

“Oh, Matt,” you whispered softly. 

You were padding gently along the floor towards him, completely forgetting about the takeout you’d been getting ready as if the bad day was written plain across his face for you to see. And maybe it was. 

"What's wrong, Matty?" you asked, feet still padding towards him.

"I've had a really shitty day," he confessed, his voice strained. "And it’s–it’s just all feeling like too much."

“Your senses?” you asked him.

He curiously noted the way you paused a few feet before him, the sound of your feet moving against the floor no longer hitting his ears. He nodded slowly, his head canting to the side as he tried to understand why you’d stopped.

“Mostly, yes,” he answered hesitantly.

“Hold on,” you replied.

Matt frowned, hearing the way you’d raised a hand, the air shifting around his apartment at the gesture. And then he listened as your feet hurried away from him and his frown only stretched further across his lips. Why were you heading towards the front door? Were you going to leave? That wasn’t what he’d wanted. He wanted you . To stay here with you. To lose himself in just you and drown out everything else.

Seconds later he heard your hands rustling around in that bowl by his front door, his keys clinking against the glass. The sound made him wince. Shortly after, your feet were rushing back towards him across the apartment. Matt’s brows drew further together. What were you doing ?

He heard the air shift as your hands reached up, your fingers gently placing something in both of his ears. The moment the outside world noises muted, everything dulling to him outside of just his apartment, he realized you’d gotten those noise-reducing earbuds and put them in for him. The pounding in his head along with the frown on his face lessened a little.

Your soft hands were lightly cradling his face soon after, your smooth, warm skin easing the tension in his stiff muscles even further. His eyelids dropped closed as he nuzzled further into your affectionate touch. Even with the earbuds in he could hear the way your lips curled into a smile, the muscles moving almost instantly. 

“A little better?” you asked.

“Mmm,” he hummed, nodding.

“What else do you need, Matty?” you asked next.

His eyes opened, a small smile slipping onto his lips as he focused on you. He heard the way your heart fluttered in your chest instantly in response. That alone had his mood beginning to lift. Your body never failed to have a reaction to him and he would never grow tired of it. 

“You?” he asked.

Matt heard the way you bit your lip, your blood beginning to rush in a particular direction. Your hands had tightened their hold on his face so infinitesimally that he was sure you weren’t even aware of it. A slow smirk drew onto his face as you began to nervously sputter before him.

“Oh, uh, that’s–that’s what you–”

“Not like that,” he said with a deep chuckle. “Not right now, at least. I mean…can we just take a moment? I’ve missed you,” he admitted, the smirk quickly falling from his lips.

Your body slowly began to relax, your hands releasing his face to instead grab both of his, the shirt he was still holding on to in one hand. He felt the reassuring squeeze of your hands against his before you began to finally draw him into the living room. You led the both of you around the coffee table and towards the couch, sinking down onto it and pulling him down with you. Matt didn’t even hesitate; he tossed his shirt onto the coffee table before he wrapped you in his arms. He held you tight to him, burying his face into your hair and breathing in the scent of your shampoo. It always smelled like peaches. 

Your arms gradually wrapped around Matt’s back, your hands slowly rubbing soothing patterns onto his skin. His eyes closed, focusing on the feel of your gentle touch along his tired muscles. It felt so damn good that it was raising goosebumps along his torso, the prickling feeling of them pleasant because you were the cause of them. A moment later he felt your head shift against his chest, your lips coming to place a soft kiss against his collarbone. He shuddered at the feel of it, his arms squeezing you a bit tighter as your mouth lingered for a moment. 

“I missed you, too, Matty,” you whispered. “It feels like it’s never a good day if I don’t get to at least talk to you, you know?”

Matt eased further into you on the couch, his face still buried into your hair. “I know exactly what you mean, sweetheart,” he answered. “This is all I’ve been needing. Just you.”

“I’m glad I could be of some help,” you whispered.

You giggled in his arms as he nuzzled your hair with his nose, the sound drawing a smile to his mouth. God, you were the best damn thing that ever happened to him.

Something hit Matt hard as he sat there holding onto you. It felt like it was coming out of nowhere, just a wave of emotions building in his chest and suddenly crashing into him, abruptly overwhelming him in this very moment. 

Matt loved you. Loved everything about you. And while he’d been thinking about the prospect of marrying you off and on lately–the thought of it even having made him almost cry a handful of times now–the thought of having this with you was hitting him hard. There was just something about the idea of having your comforting touch in a quiet moment like this for the rest of his life–something so small and simple–that had him already wanting to sink to the floor on both of his knees and ask you to stay with him forever. To be his wife. To be his .

He never wanted another night of you sleeping away from him in another bed. He didn’t want another day where he didn’t hear the melodic sound of your voice at the very least just greeting him beside him in the mornings. He wanted to wake up with you wrapped around him every morning, every day, for forever. To hear the cute noises of discontent you always made when you stirred awake. To breathe you in first thing when he woke. To never kiss another mouth but yours, or feel the touch of anyone else on his skin. 

Matt could feel his lips trembling at the thoughts in his head, the intensity of his realization drawing forth a physical reaction he didn’t want you to witness. The possibility of all of that being a reality had tears filling his eyes behind closed lids and he further buried his face into your hair. He’d never felt this way for someone before–not even Elektra. 

You. You were it for him. He would fall on his knees at your feet and move the world for you if you only just asked him. 

“You doing okay, baby?” you asked.

Your voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the moment. Matt cleared his throat a couple of times, trying to swallow down the lump of emotions that had formed.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled.

“I mean I’m content to cuddle with you half naked like this all night if you want,” you said, tone light and teasing, “but I didn’t know if you were hungry yet? Otherwise I can put away the food and we can heat it up later.”

“No,” he said, finally drawing away from you. “We can eat.”

“You sure?” you asked.

You unwrapped your arms from around him and it sounded like maybe your eyes had narrowed at him, as if you were studying him closely. He smiled back at you, a genuine smile on his lips, those thoughts still swirling in his mind.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he answered. “I’m feeling much better now thanks to you.”

He heard the little snort as you laughed, his heart skipping at the sound. Matt knew you were still self-conscious about it, but goddamn he loved that sound every time he heard it. 

“I didn’t really do anything, but I’m glad you’re feeling better,” you replied. 

He heard you rise to your feet, reaching over and pulling his shirt from the coffee table. He accepted it when you handed it to him, a soft ‘thanks’ leaving him in response.

“I mean I’d much rather it stayed off, but I figured you wanted it,” you called back, already making your way into the kitchen. 

He balled the shirt up in his hands and tossed it back onto the coffee table as he rose to his feet, a smug smile on his lips as he made his way to the kitchen to help you. “I don’t really need a shirt to eat dinner,” he mused. “And it is hot out today.”

Your head darted up, a grin sliding onto your own mouth as your heart sped up. Matt relished the sound of it.

“Oh? I wasn’t expecting to have dinner and a view tonight,” you teased playfully.

Matt came up behind you in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your head instinctively turned to the side towards him, your lips finding his. It wasn’t a passionate, heated kiss, but something sweet and tender. And somehow it soothed the last bit of frustration right out of Matt. 

You pulled away with a smile, your focus back on the plates before you. Matt still remained at the back of you, unable to just let you go.

“Alright, Mr. Murdock,” you said, picking up a takeout container and plating more food, “I hope you’re hungry because I may have went overboard with dinner tonight. I wasn’t sure what you’d be feeling so I just…sort of went nuts. Ordered a few things”

He chuckled, his forehead coming to rest against your shoulder. You were too damn good to him.

Maybe it was time he started thinking about engagement rings.

[jester-lover]

Desi s/o making desi food for the Dorm Leaders

Requested by enbytomura (on AO3) Warnings- fem implied reader (but not really lol), food, fluff, brief mentions of dieting, bad dialogue courtesy of Jester

A short cute lil thing :) I hope this encourages y’all to try some indian food bc these are some very basic picks

Riddle

What you make him: Gulab Jamun

Rosewater?! In food?! He’s drooling already

The fluffy center, perfectly toasted outside, completely wrapped in a glaze of rose infused sugar syrup, Riddle is in heaven

He’s holding the spoon with his full, closed fist, elbows on the table, face covered in sugar syrup

His mom would be so upsetti spaghetti, but who cares lol

He’ll notice how messily he’s eating and just take a lil pause, and blushes super hard

Gives you a hug after eating, he’s very grateful

“Thank you so so much.”

Leona

What you make him: Lamb Biryani

He literally smells it from the kitchen and goes zoom

Man runs with purpose

Barrels in and asks for a plate (real respectful)

Tries so desperately not to show how deeply he just fell in love

Adores lamb above all, tender and practically falling off the bone, with the rice practically 

soaking up spices, he won’t even get upset about the vegetables

Expect him to act like it was mediocre, but with the ferocity of his eating, you know better

“The lamb was good, don’t expect me to tell you again.”

Azul

I’m gonna jump off what the requester said abt pakoras

Our boy Azul loves loves loves pakoras

Especially paneer and potato-onion pakoras

With the paneer, he loves how soft and fluffy the soft cheese is, along with the crispy, spiced coating, his favorite sauce for those is the minty cilantro chutney, he’s so happy

With potato-onion, the far crispier of the two, with unraveling layers of red onion and thinly sliced potato wrapped up in the same spiced coating, he’ll eat that one with a tangy tamarind chutney

Literally feed this man please

“It’s my cheat day today, perhaps you could teach me to make what you fed me last week?”

Kalim

What you make him: Gol Gappa

Pani Puri, Gol Gappa, call it what you want, its good and I’m eating it

He probably grew up eating the best of the best, that probably included desi food

Rich people desi food, yknow

This makes him super excited to eat street food

Loves the fun aspect of eating Gol Guppa, definitely swallows in all in one go, reckless abandon for the win

Jamil is so happy for the two hours off he’s getting

Loves the sour and spicy cold water, along with the crunchy hallow flour puffs, definitely loads them up with potatoes

“Wonder if he could add a little more spice…”

Vil

What you make for him: Dal Makhani

Vil probably goes on a vegetarian diet at some point, because of his fondness of salad and smoothies, this didn’t bother him much, but the repetition gets him bored

So of course, you help out your man!

When he finally sits down to eat, his senses are flooded with joy

Loves it so much

The creamy, thick soup, speckled with lentils and beans, green basil and a swirl of white butter, along with a side of roti, or naan to eat it with, he’ll never forget it

One that def loves having desi food regularly, esp during diets he’ll lean back on spices to make his food taste better

He will definitely make you some german food as a thank you, like spaetzle or apple strudel

“Liebling, your cooking is spectacular.”

Idia

What you make for him: Chai with biscuits 

He’s one of those people who forgets to eat during his game sessions

You get a little worried about your guy :( 

Ortho assists you in procuring biscuits as you make chai

Idia is a little startled when you show up with a thermos and a cute little plate full of biscuits

He's so appreciative!!!

Walks with a little pep in his step for a while after (around his room ofc)

Tries to make it for you, with decent results (man is good at following written instruction)

“This is so good, do you want one of the biscuits?”

Malleus

What you make him: Kulfi

We know how much our boy loves ice cream

You know how much your boy loves ice cream

So you make him the objectively best kind of ice cream

Its trial and error at first, and malleus gets a little curious about the mystery project your working on

When you finally present it to him, he's absolutely elated!

His child of man! Made him something with love!

Absolutely adores it so much, literally devours it 

The creamy ice cream on the stick, milky and sweet with a perfect texture, he’s falls in love even harder

Favorite flavor is malai, simplicity and richness is his favorite

“I absolutely adore you.”