#went for an easy meal that I could just throw in the oven for a bit and munch on

[ozzni]

today is not my day....

[steddieas-shegoes]

Nother idea: Wayne & Eddie coming home from a long ass day, tired & stressed, both of them arriving at their trailer at the same time. Both of them taking a deep breath knowing that they'll have to clean up & prepare dinner but both are exhausted. But when they come in their trailer is sparkling clean. The floors swept & mopped, dirty clothes put into the wash, clean clothes folded neatly on the couch in piles for both Eddie and Wayne. Their trailer smells clean & fresh, they turn towards the kitchen & see Steve humming quietly to himself along with the radio on low as he pulls fresh made supper from the oven, on the counters are baked goods cooling. Wayne & Eddie realizing that Steve not only cleaned up their home but he prepared them easy to reheat meals, cleaned up their space bc he knew they'd be exhausted & both of them like the trailer to be clean, but neither had time. So he did it because they are his family & he loves them & wants them to feel safe and cared for in their new home.

MY LOVE! So I kinda ran with a somewhat different background plot, just because it kind of felt like I needed to show that Steve ain't slackin'. I also moved this one ahead of another request because I needed to write Wayne in a sappy way after chapter 2 of demon Steve. Steve was born to be a housewife with guidance counselor tendencies and I don't make the rules. ENJOY! - Mickala ❤️

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Eddie felt the exhaustion fully hit him as soon as he put his van in park.

He’d been working more overtime over the last month to save up for the down payment on the house he and Steve fell in love with.

The government money helped, but it mostly went to medical bills and a new van when his old one had become government property.

Wayne told him to keep as much of it saved as he could. “You never know what life will throw at ya,” he’d said.

Steve had been working a lot too, but was focusing on his classes at the community college, trying to set up a better future for both of them.

It meant that Eddie was pulling a lot of the financial weight right now, that Wayne was doing as much as he could for them so they could actually save up, but it would all be worth it.

Wayne knocked on his window and he blinked his eyes open again.

When had he even closed them?

Eddie opened the door and stepped out, groaning at the ache in his knee. It still wasn’t 100%, probably never would be as long as he was doing physical labor, and today had been particularly rough at the shop.

“Alright, bud?” Wayne asked him, hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah. Just tired,” Eddie replied.

“You and me both. Let’s go relax a bit.”

But relaxing wouldn’t be on the table until they fixed dinner and cleaned up a bit and Eddie knew the faucet had been leaking when he left this morning and they didn’t need a leak like that running up the water bill, so he should probably try to fix it before bed.

He let Wayne go in first, as always, knowing he’d take longer going up the porch steps.

He could handle walking just fine most of the time, but stairs were a bitch.

He nearly walked right into Wayne when he walked through the front door, the older man standing stock still right in the entrance.

“Wayne? You good?” Eddie asked, his mind suddenly filtering through any number of terrible reasons for his sudden frozen demeanor.

And then he could smell it.

Cookies.

Someone was baking cookies.

And then he saw it.

The living room was completely cleaned and organized, magazines stacked neatly on the table, no crumbs on the couch or carpet, the weird mud stain from Eddie’s boots no longer on the rug by the front door.

He heard the record player going, though the volume was low enough that he could also hear Steve singing in the kitchen.

“Looks like your boy’s been busy,” Wayne smirked over his shoulder at him.

“I don’t-“ Eddie started to say.

“Eds? Wayne? You guys home?” Steve called from the kitchen.

Before they answered, he walked around the corner with an apron on, his glasses perched on his nose, and a beaming smile on his face.

“I just put the lasagna back in the oven to heat up a bit for you. Had to wait for the cookies to come out,” Steve said as he walked towards them.

He wrapped his arms around Eddie’s neck and kissed him on the lips quickly, then pulled away to give Wayne a quick side hug.

“I made some lemonade that should be nice and cold by now. You want some?”

Eddie and Wayne blinked at him, surprise at what was happening rendering them speechless.

“Is everything okay?” Steve’s tone shifted to concern, the smile dropping from his face as he took in their stillness.

“You cleaned?” Wayne asked.

“And cooked?” Eddie asked.

“And baked?” Wayne added.

“My afternoon class was canceled and Keith said he wouldn’t approve overtime for me, so. I came home?” Steve still looked concerned, like he was waiting for one or both of them to start yelling at him.

“Where’s your car?” Wayne asked.

That was a great question. Eddie just realized it wasn’t in the yard, which was half the reason he’d been shocked to see Steve here at all.

“Oh! Max needed to go to therapy. I was already in the middle of baking so I told her she could just use it as long as she was back by eight.”

“So you’ve been cleaning and baking and cooking all afternoon? For us?” Eddie asked, biting back as much emotion as he could.

He was tired and overwhelmed with love and he knew he would start crying if he didn’t contain some of it.

“I just wanted to take care of you guys and take care of our house. You worked all day and I had some free time to do it,” Steve shrugged.

Wayne collected himself first, moving toward Steve and squeezing his shoulder.

“Thanks, son. You don’t know how much I appreciate ya doin’ all this,” he said, voice slightly choked up.

“It’s no problem, Wayne,” Steve replied, face red.

“Mind if I go grab a shower first?” he asked Eddie.

“Fine with me,” Eddie responded.

Wayne nodded once, smiling at them both, and walked to his room to grab clothes for after his shower.

Steve looked up at Eddie shyly.

“Lasagna will be about 20 more minutes if you wanna grab a drink,” he said quietly.

Eddie smirked.

“Some of that lemonade sounds nice,” he played along, knowing exactly where this was going.

No matter how tired or sore he was, he wouldn’t turn down the chance to get his hands on Steve or have Steve’s hands on him.

Steve led him into the kitchen by his hand, tugging him along as he excitedly explained that he’d found the lemons at a farm stand on his way home from work yesterday and considered using them for a cheesecake, but decided this would be better.

Eddie smiled at him fondly, just happy that Steve is happy.

“I’ll get you a glass, just wait right there,” Steve said, pushing him against the counter gently.

But Eddie didn’t let him pull away yet, fisted his shirt and pulled him against his front.

“Eds!” Steve yelped as they made contact.

“I’m sure the lemonade is perfect, but I want a taste of you first, sugar,” Eddie mumbled, leaning down to press his lips against Steve’s.

Steve melted against him, letting Eddie’s tongue past his lips and letting out a low moan when Eddie’s hands squeezed his ass.

“What’re you doing?” he whispered against Eddie’s lips.

“Touching you,” Eddie answered before kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw.

“Wayne though.”

“He’s already in the shower. We got a few minutes.”

“We can’t do much in a few minutes,” Steve said, trying to stifle another moan as Eddie’s fingers untied his apron and slid to the front of his jeans to undo his button.

“You underestimate how hot it is to see you like a little housewife, sweetheart,” Eddie chuckled.

Steve slapped his arm.

“Not a housewife.”

“No? You sure seemed happy about cleaning up and cooking for me,” Eddie said as he slid his hands into the waistband of Steve’s boxers.

“Eds,” he gasped, but didn’t stop him as he wrapped his hand around his half-hard cock.

“Get me out, Stevie. Don’t have much time,” Eddie groaned.

Steve did as he was asked, but still seemed hesitant.

Eddie paused.

“You wanna call it?” he asked.

If Steve truly didn’t want to, he knew what to say to stop, and he knew Eddie would stop, no questions asked.

But he shook his head, biting his lip to contain a whimper as Eddie looked down at their cocks and spit.

“Gotta stay quiet, still. Don’t wanna be caught,” Eddie whispered as he leaned in to kiss him again, keep his mouth preoccupied so he didn’t give them away.

He knew Wayne would be at least another 10 minutes, but they both liked the idea of having to stay quiet and be quick.

And quick it was.

They both came in barely two minutes, Eddie riled up from Steve just being Steve, Steve being riled up at the fact they were doing this in the kitchen.

“I just cleaned this floor, you better not have gotten anything on it,” Steve smirked at Eddie as they buttoned themselves back up.

“Promise I’ll clean it up myself if I did.”

“You better. Gonna go shower next?” Steve tied the apron back up, walking over to the fridge to finally get the lemonade.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sore today. Hot water will help.”

Steve turned to him with a furrowed brow.

“You should’ve said, baby. You need some Motrin or something?”

“Nah, maybe after I eat. Got a dose of you to help,” he winked obnoxiously.

“Alright, keep it in your pants,” Steve said as he poured a glass for Eddie and a glass for Wayne.

“You’re the one who had it out a minute ago!”

Steve just gave him a dead-eyed stare before handing him his lemonade.

“Get out of my kitchen.”

“Sir, yes sir!” Eddie saluted.

He took a few sips of the lemonade as he walked towards his bedroom to grab clothes.

It was delicious, as he expected.

Just like coming home to Steve every day.

[romanestuffsposts]

my friends have been kinda mean lately saying i need to grow up and i was just wondering if you could do something with daddy stuck where there little comes home upset cause of there friends saying mean things. i struggle a lot with the thought of everyone hating me and your work’s always comforting to read. 💕

Hi there love! 💜

I’m so sorry to hear that it happened to you babe ❤️ sometimes people you trust the most to protect your feelings are the one who destroy it first. I sadly know this feeling and I hope you're doing well after that sweetie. You’re strong and you only need yourself, other people are just something apart in your life, you’re the one who creat your life and you’re the one who decide what choices you do and how you want to be around others.

Fuck off people who judge

Fuck off people who leaves because of that

Fuck off everyone who look weirdly at you.

You’re yourself and that’s what matters. You have to love yourself not for others to love you, do things for yourself, not for others. Live for you because you will always be there for yourself ❤️

You are the main character of your life and the best one, don’t forget that ❤️

****

Warnings : upset little reader, cries, comfort, hurt feelings, cuddles, kisses, fluff, pet names, snuggles,

Pairings : Daddies!Stucky ; Daddy!Bucky x Papa!Steve x Little!Reader

Summary : ⤴️⤴️

****

You hold back a sniff as you're about to open the door. Why does it feels so unfair ? You're sure she didn't meant it but the affect of her words are as deep as if she did meant it, all it did is hurting you the same. She was suppose to never judge you, she was suppose to understand you or just be there for you without asking any questions or putting any judment toward you

That's what hurt the most, yes her words did hurt but it came from her own mouth in the first place. You throw your bag on the floor and rush to the kitchen, maybe a glass of water will help you calm down and feel better ? You go on your tippy toes to reach a glass and settle it down on the island counter beside the sink. You fill it with water and immediatly drink in it. Your tears mix with the water in the glass giving it a nasty salty taste, that's when you stop drinking.

You put the glass back down on the counter and run upstaires in your bedroom to lock yourself in. Your Daddies weren't supposed to be back home until a few hours so it give you plenty times to just cry it out and then put a charming smile on your face and spend the evening with your lovely Daddies.

You let yourself fall on your mountain of stuffie and start to cuddle your favorite one- Bucksie. At least you're sure he will never hurt you

Steve sighs when he closes the front door. He had a long day- just like Bucky, and he didn't wanted to come back home to a house in a mess. "Where is she ?" he sighs looking at the ground at your bag on the floor, your coat on the floor as well and your shoes who are everywhere but where they need to be. Bucky shrugs "Maybe she went to take a shower"

They walk further in the house and Bucky goes to change his clothes and takes a shower in his bathroom while Steve goes to start making dinner, it's already late and if you eat too close of your bedtime, you won't be able to fall asleep. He sighs one more time in annoyance when he sees your dirty cup of water on the counter beside the sink "can’t even clean after herself" he mumbles as he throws the cup in the sink to clean it later.

He starts by warming the oven first and getting out everything he needs to prepare a good and delicious healthy meal for his family. When Bucky comes back downstairs, Steve turns to him ‘’can you tell her to come down and clean the mess she made ?’’ He asks even though it didn’t sound like a question.

‘’Go easy on her. You may had a long day but maybe she had one to’’ he says side eyeing Steve before going upstairs. He hears Steve mumbling things he can’t hear making him rolling his eyes- he’s probably complaining about the fact that he isn’t hard on you or somethings like that. He gently knocks on your bedroom door once he reaches it and waits for you to tell him he can come in.

When he doesn’t hear you he knocks one more time ‘’babygirl ?" He waits a few more seconds before opening the door. He does not like to enter your private space but he forces himself to do so when it's really essential. He closes the door behind him and looks through the room. He frowns when he doesn't see you, it's weird, you're suppose to be home in an hour like this one. He walks to the bathroom and starts to panic when you're not in there.

He runs to the door to call Steve but sees something moving in the corner of his eyes making him stop his movement. He turns his head toward the movement and sighs in relief when he spots you in your mountain of stuffies. He walks toward you with a smile on his face, happy to see you after his long day "hi there, babydoll" he softly says, kneeling infront of you. He strokes your leg to make you turn around "why are you hiding in there ?" he asks tilting his head. He frowns when you don't answer "little one ?"

You sniff and snuggle further in your stuffies worrying your Daddy more "beautiful, what's wrong ?" he asks still stroking your leg "can you tell Daddy what's wrong ?" You sniff again and slowly turn your head who's still resting on one of you friends. Your Daddy's eyes soften when he notices your wet face and your trembling lip, his thumb gently caresses your cheek "what happened, babygirl?"

"meanie" you whine trying to hold back your sobs. You look down at Bucksie and watch your fingers playing with his ears "who is meanie, baby ?" he asks grabbing your chin so you'll look at him "betta" you mumble

‘’Becca was mean to you today ?’’ He tries to understand through your sobs and he tries to throw away the feelings he feels inside of him. He hates seeing you like this, it broke his heart and it enraged him to know that someone was mean to you and that he wasn’t there for you right after what happened.

You nod letting out a few more tears ‘’she-she-she said-d’’ you try to talk but it’s hard with your quick breath and your sobs so your Daddy stops you ‘’you don’t need to tell me now, baby. I’ll make sure to make you feel a whole lot better’’ he sighs and stands up ‘’it’s my job’’

‘’let’s go downstairs to have a good meal and then we’ll watch a movie before bedtime. How does that sound ?’’ He sweetly smiles when your head pops up from the stuffies, you nod and make grabby hands at your Daddy to carry you all the way downstairs. He chuckles and rests you on his hip, he wipes away the lasts tears on your cheeks and pokes your nose making you giggle. He smiles more at this sound "there's my beautiful little girl" he kisses your forehead before going downstairs. You rest your head on his shoulder and cuddle Bucksie all the way down.

When Steve hears Bucky in the stairs et patiently waits for him to show up and he hopes that you’ll be with him so you could clean your mess. He stirs the soup and looks at the stairs until he finally sees you both ‘’little lady, before eating you will pick up your coat and your bag and correctly put them in their place’’

‘’Steve’’ Bucky interrupts

‘’you’ll do the same for your shoes and you’ll clean the glass you used and put it back in the closet’’ he says with a stern voice

‘´Steve’’ Bucky groans, getting annoyed with Steve

‘’you will also set the table so that you understand that in this house, we don't mess things up’’

‘’Steve!’’ He snaps making you whimper quietly, he rubs your back to calm you down as he glared at Steve. Your Papa looks up sighing and he immediately understands that there’s something wrong. The way you’re curled up on your Daddy’s arms isn’t normal. You only do that when you’re upset or when you’re super tired ‘’what happened ?’’

Bucky shoots him a look that tells Steve he’ll explain later, when you’re out of ears. Your Papa makes his way toward you both and gently removes the hair you have on the side of your face who isn’t resting on your Daddy’s shoulder ‘’I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t know you weren’t feeling well’’ he drops a sweet kiss on your temple

You nod your head slowly, closing your eyes, enjoying the warm of your Daddy’s arms around you and the soft kiss who was drop on your skin ‘’let’s get comfy on the couch before eating’’ your Daddy whispers in your ear before walking toward the couch

While your Papa went back to preparing dinner with his eyes always on you, à worried and guilty look running across his features, your Daddy lies in the huge couch and gently rests you on top of him. His hands and fingers travel down your back and in your hair, play with your ear and you even feel him dropping kisses here and there

‘’You don’t have to worry about anything, baby’’ he whispers ‘’we’re here to protect you, to love you and to make sure you are safe. Nothing bad will happen to you. We'll be always here for you, always and forever’’

[jadewritesficshere]

Eddie cooks and Steve doesn't is a rule in their house.

Eddie is an amazing cook. He sucks at baking because he always stops following the recipes, but cooking??? Eddie could be a chef with how delicious the food is. Eddie learned how to cook out of necessity, and quickly found he actually enjoyed it. Eddie just gets distracted and lazy, tending to go for the quicker options that are still tasty. Put everything in a crockpot and push a button? Sign him up! Throw everything in a stew and stir it? Hell yeah! if he imagines he's making potions for a group of travelers well who really needs to know.

Steve, on the other hand, can't cook. He burns every thing he has ever made. He never really learned how, as when he had to take home ec in school he spent most of his time talking to Tommy and Carol. His dad had told him cooking was "a woman's job"- Steve wishes he could go back to his younger self and punch him for ever listening to his dad's misogynistic bullshit (hell, he would even punch his dad). Steve stuck to sandwiches and cheap frozen dinners, but most nights he bought fast food. It was easy and he always had money for it. He always made up for it by being active in sports (and he wasn't a total fiend he knew enough about health, some days he ordered a salad and grilled chicken sandwich instead of a burger and fries. He always drank diet soda, claiming it was healthier).

Steve never realized Eddie could cook. Steve had lamented over how he's a terrible cook, to which Eddie replied "oh me too". So, Steve had decided to try and cook Eddie a meal for their date one night. Of course day of, he may have set the oven wrong. And he maybe didn't know to cut the potatoes for mashed potatoes and just stuck them whole in a pot with milk. Eddie had come over early and they were kissing when a beeping noise was heard. The smoke detector going off is what alerted them to something being amiss. Eddie had taken one look at the burnt chicken and the smoke rising from the oven and immediately decided Steve was never cooking again. His eye twitched as he had lifted the lid on the pot, seeing a whole ass potato sitting in milk that was sticking and burning to the bottom of the pot, and slowly lowered the lid. Steve had tried not to cry, unable to look Eddie in the eyes as they opened windows to let the smoke vent out. Eddie had kissed his forehead and went to the fridge to see what was available. Eddie ended up making cheesy scrambled eggs, pancakes, and ham. Steve was still upset, disappointed and mad at himself. He took one bite before freezing and then looking up at Eddie. "Does it not taste good?" Eddie had asked. "It tastes like...betrayal! You know I can't cook and don't even mention you're a fucking wizard in the kitchen?" Steve had mock glared at him. "Oh excuse me, well you shouldn't have betrayal," Eddie went to grab Steve's plate and narrowly missed the fork that Steve had tried to stab at his hand, "You can take this food from my cold dead body!" Eddie had went to say something but Steve hunched over it and said "My precious" before shoving food in his face like a gremlin. Eddie's heart had soared at the fact that Steve had made a reference to something he knew Eddie liked even though he never read the books. Steve's heart soared at the fact that they wouldn't have to live on fast food and thought thankgodsomeonecanactuallycookthisissogoodholyshit.

That was the date that cemented the rule that Eddie is the one who cooks.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Chick Harding went to West Point, give him pie trauma for Minnie to exploit: https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/west-point-mess-hall-pie

[Sure hope you wanted 3200 words of domestic bliss. Because that's what happened.]

Minnie answers the phone on the third ring, wondering who's calling the house at quarter to four. The phone generally doesn't start going off until just after five-thirty, when Chick's made it home and someone suddenly realizes he needs to answer a question or six. It's been an adjustment for Minnie as they've figured out living together, how often Chick might be needed in the evenings when he's supposed to be at home and relaxing.

"Harding residence, Minnie speaking," she says.

"It's me, honey," Chick replies. "You threw a roast in the oven this morning, right?" 

"Well, you threw it in, but I observed," Minnie replies, wondering why he's giving her credit. He did all the prep work for it, even slicing the vegetables. She'd just sat at the table with her coffee and watched.

"Okay, good. I ran into a couple of my fellow Colonels, and they're in from out of town and dying for a home-cooked meal. I was hoping I could sweet talk you into setting a couple extra plates."

Minnie's surprised at the request. Why in the world would Chick be bringing ranked officers to their house last minute? He hates those sorts of dinners, he's always said. And she's seen the proof of it at the few they've had to attend since getting married. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather go out somewhere?" she asks. "I could put on a nice dress and lipstick and meet you at the door at five-thirty if I'm required."

"Oh, you are most certainly required. They're dying to meet Mrs. Harding. And then I mentioned roast, and they won't budge."

Minnie considers her options. She's off today, so at least she's not worn out from a shift at the hospital. The aspic in the fridge was meant to last two nights, but it'll be easy to throw another together tomorrow morning; she has plenty of tomato puree from the garden. The roast and vegetables will feed four, so that's no problem. "I need a dessert," she says. "And something besides whiskey or gin or beer if your Colonels prefer different."

"They drink whiskey," Chick says. "I'll stop at the bakery on my way home. Thanks for making it happen."

"Well, it's not often I've got three Colonels at once," Minnie replies. "Should I be getting out the linen napkins?"

Chick laughs. "It's not quite that fancy," he says. There's a moment's pause, a warm sort of silence. "You're brilliant, Minerva," he says very quietly, like maybe he doesn't want to be overheard. 

"Thank you, darling. I'll see you six-ish."

"I'll call if that changes," Chick replies. 

"Goodbye, dear," Minnie says, and she hangs up after Chick says the same. 

She glances around the room. The housekeeper was just in yesterday, so things are basically spotless. Minnie plumps the pillows on the couch and chairs and runs the carpet sweeper over the rug under the dining table. She gets out a dark green tablecloth with blue flower embroidery and smoothes it over the table. Then she sets out white placemats and their yellow plates. It's her favorite set, and it looks nice against the green. Water glasses next, then plain paper napkins and silverware. She laughs as she pauses to survey the table. "Not bad for an old maid newlywed," she mutters and laughs again as she walks to the bedroom to pick a dress and jewelry.

She has no idea what a Colonel's wife wears when other Colonels are present, but she figures her newest dinner dress will suffice. It's bright blue on the top but black the rest of the way down. She puts on the cameo bracelet and earrings Chick got her in France just before he flew back to the States, and she pulls her hair into an easy up-do she knows from experience looks much fancier than it is. 

At five minutes to six, she puts on her lipstick, then she sets out three cut crystal glasses on the bar cart and loads up the ice bucket. Headlights flash through the front window as she sets the bucket down. She slips on her black pumps and walks to the door, opening it just as Chick and two other men are reaching the front steps. 

"There she is!" Chick announces, and for a moment, it's just the two of them smiling at each other. Same as every night. Minnie's heart thumps hard, and she feels her smile slip from polite to genuinely pleased. 

"Colonel Harding," she greets, certain to tilt her head in amusement. "You seem to have a parade behind you."

Chick sweeps her into his arms and kisses her neck, mindful of her fresh lipstick. He turns and keeps his arm tight on her waist as he gestures to the two men with him. "Minnie Harding, please meet Jackson LeButte and Thomas Bucklin, both Colonels, but don't take them seriously."

"Lovely to meet you," Minnie says. "Though I don't know why I wouldn't take you seriously."

"Oh, Chicky-dee is just holding onto old grudges," LeButte says. He steps forward and shakes Minnie's hand. "An absolute pleasure," he says. "I can't believe you finally taught the old dog a new trick."

"Hey!" Chick shouts as Minnie laughs. 

"Oh, shut it, Fluff," says Bucklin. He's holding a bakery box under one arm as he shakes Minnie's hand. "Please don't tell your husband what's in the box. Jackson and I picked it out ourselves."

"I wouldn't dare," Minnie promises and laughs again as Bucklin lights up. 

"You're pretty like a postcard, Mrs. Harding. I hope your husband tells you that."

"He tells me plenty of nice things," Minnie demures, and Bucklin grins widely.

"Good. He should. I try to do the same with my wife, but we're about to hit ten years, so it's a little different."

"Don't listen to him," Chick says as he gives Minnie's waist one more squeeze, then lets go. "He still brings her flowers every week."

"Does Chicky-dee bring you flowers, Mrs. Harding?" LeButte asks, eyes all faux-innocence. 

"Minnie, please," she says. 

"Well, Jackson and Thomas then," says Jackson. Thomas nods along. 

"Dear, if you want to put that mystery box away, I'll get drinks poured," Chick offers. 

"Of course," Minnie says. She takes the box into the kitchen and sneaks a peek. Cherry pie. She leaves it on the counter and walks back to the living room. Chick's still at the bar cart, though Jackson and Thomas both have whiskey in hand. Jackson is flipping through the record collection while Thomas is looking at the photographs on the wall. Chick's poured his own whiskey, but he's currently stirring up Minnie's gin martini with some ice. 

"What do I do now?" Minnie asks in an undertone. "What's my role as the officer's wife?"

Chick glances at her, brows furrowed. "What?" he murmurs. "What are you talking about?"

Minnie glances at Jackson and Thomas. Jackson is opening the record player. Thomas has settled into the armchair next to the couch and is watching Jackson. "Darling, you brought two Colonels home for dinner. What the fuck am I supposed to be doing to make you look good?" 

Chick stares for another moment, then blinks, and then grins. "Oh!" He says, his voice at its regular volume. "Oh, I see."

Minnie waits for him to explain, but he turns back to stirring her drink. She taps her nails on the handle of the bar cart to let him know she'll run out of patience quick if he's not quicker. 

Chick pours her martini into its glass and passes it to her, then picks up his whiskey. "Fellas," he says as he turns, and Jackson and Thomas immediately turn to him. "Please help me apologize to my wife for thinking either of you was important enough to warrant officer's wife manners."

There's a pause, then Thomas bursts out laughing. "Us? Oh, no."

"Not in Chicky-dee's house, no way," Jackson agrees. He lays down the arm of the record player and Artie Shaw starts to play softly. "Did he make you think we were real Colonels?"

Minnie can't help her smile at their amusement, which is very clearly aimed at Chick, not her. "He just said he had Colonels he had to feed."

Chick presses a kiss to her cheek. "Sorry, darling," he says. "I didn't mean to sound like I had to entertain anyone important, but I had a General Lewiston in my office while I was making the call. He insisted I make it, even."

"Oh!" Minnie says, the whole thing finally coming into focus. General Lewiston is an old-school upper brass sort of man who had made it clear from day one he wasn't going to abide Chick acting in any way he considered 'loose' or 'lazy'. "That's why you acted like I'd put the roast together."

"He thinks a married man in the kitchen is too weak for the military," Chick says. 

Jackson snorts. "We all served KP. Might as well use it."

"Wait, so he was making you do it in front of him?" Thomas asks. "I thought I was reading the situation wrong."

"He likes to hear Chick talk to me like a good wife," Minnie says. "The first time I met him, I let slip I still work, and I don't think he's ever recovered."

"Fluff says you're a nurse," Thomas says. "You met in England."

"That's right," Minnie replies. "He kept encouraging his boys to remember they were flesh and blood. I asked him to please stop sending so much flesh and blood to my nurses." 

Thomas and Jackson both laugh. "Haven't changed since West Point, Fluff," Thomas says. 

Chick holds up his whiskey glass. "To not changing in the good ways," he says, and then turns to Minnie, eyes bright and fond, "And to getting the chance to change in the best way."

Minnie smiles and leans in and steals a kiss. "To meeting your old friends," she says. "Who happen to be Colonels."

"And to meeting the famed Mrs. Harding," Jackson adds, "Who is clearly the delight of Chicky-dee's day."

"As she should be," Chick says, and they all toast and drink. 

"Dinner's ready when you all are," Minnie says. "It's tomato aspic, roast with vegetables and potatoes and gravy and the mystery dessert."

"Not even a hint?" Chick asks as he steps away from Minnie to turn up the record player. 

"I promised I wouldn't tell," she says. "But I can say for sure you like it."

"Oh, he loves it," Thomas says, and he and Jackson give each other the same grin. It's a teasing, amused thing that reminds her of the way she and her siblings would share looks when trying to get another of them in trouble. 

"My dear," Chick says, gesturing for Minnie to lead the way. 

She does. "Chick, dear, if you could get the roast pan, please."

"Of course, Chick says. He plucks her drink from her hand and carries it with his to the table as Minie goes into the kitchen. She pulls the aspic from the fridge and sets it on a plate with a paper doily, then gets a knife to slice it with. Chick touches her elbow before she slips around him to go back into the dining room. "Thank you," he says. 

"For what?" 

"For preparing to be the officer's wife I promised you wouldn't have to be in your own home," he says. 

Minnie smiles at him, the warm affection on his face making her shiver like their first kiss did. "You've never done wrong by me, Colonel Harding," she says. "You've earned my trust even if being an officer's wife was on the line."

Chick kisses her, quick and sweet. "I'll be right out," he says. 

Minnie hip checks him and walks back into the dining room. Thomas and Jackson pause their quiet conversation as she sets the aspic on the table. 

"A heart-shaped salad? You really are newlyweds," Jackson says. "Not even Betty does that still."

"My wife," Thomas says to Minnie. 

"Well, please let her know it's not from a particular need to have heart-shaped things. It's just the only mold I have," Minnie replies. 

Thomas and Jackson chuckle as Minnie sits. A moment later, Chick comes through the door with the roasting pan, the knife and serving fork stuck in the top of the meat. Thomas and Jackson make all the appropriate noises, and Chick beams as he sets the pan down. 

"Not bad for an old war horse," Chick says. "If I do say so myself."

"You've always been modest, Fluff," Thomas deadpans. 

"Why Fluff?" Minnie asks as Chick starts carving. "And Chicky-dee."

"He got the nickname first year, and we weren't going to let him have it gracefully," Jackson says. "Most plebes don't get nicknames, so when one does, it's only fair the rest of us absolutely harass him about it."

"He got Chick, and we went to work," Thomas adds. 

"Don't get any ideas, Minnie," Chick says as he passes a full plate to Thomas, who passes it to Minnie. "She doesn't like the nickname," he tells the other men. 

"It's…fine," Minnie says with a sigh she doesn't mean to free. "It's just…" Thomas and Jackson are watching her, absolutely gleeful to hear the rest. Chick is concentrated on setting up the next plate, but he glances up when Minnie pauses and flashes her a smile. "He's not a Neil," she says. "And he's certainly not a Bosworth–"

"BOSWORTH?!" Thomas yelps. He glances at Chick, then back at Minnie. "Is that what the B stands for?"

"Yes," Minnie answers. "You didn't–" She looks at Chick. He's leaned over the roast, laughing silently. "What did I just do?" she asks. 

"Let loose one of the tightest held secrets in all of West Point history," Thomas says. He glances at Jackson, then Chick, then barks a laugh. "Bosworth," he says. "Fluff Bosworth."

"Fuck off," Chick manages, though he has to say it through laughter. 

"Sorry, honey," Minnie says, giving Chick her most winning smile. He meets it with a wide grin. "You have to warn me when I'm giving away secrets. I'm not a natural officer's wife."

"You're a natural for him," Jackson says. "That's for damn sure."

Chick gets the other plates filled and passed, then sets up his own and sits down. Minnie takes the first bite, and the men follow suit. Minnie stays quiet as the men tell stories on each other. She hears about their early days at West Point. Pranks and hazing and their first attempts to keep up with the upper classmen. They talk about men they knew, and the number who have died makes Minnie's heart ache. She watches Chick as they talk on a few of them, and she sees it hurts him, too. They died as soldiers, in battle or leading men in other ways, and Minnie stands to refill their drinks when a silence settles and lingers as they all look at their nearly empty plates.

She hears Chick get up to clear the plates as she pours all the men a double and carries the glasses back in for Thomas and Jackson. When she goes back to the living room to mix her own drink to bring in alongside Chick's, she's startled by a shout from the kitchen. 

"CHICK?!" she hollers, whirling from the bar cart and hurrying for the kitchen. 

"IT'S FINE," Chick bellows, "I JUST INVITED A COUPLE SONS OF BITCHES FOR DINNER."

"FLUFF, THAT'S NO LANGUAGE TO USE IN FRONT OF YOUR WIFE."

Minnie takes a deep breath as Chick comes out of the kitchen with the cherry pie on a plate and the dessert plates in his other hand. "What in the world?"

Chick sets the pie plate perfectly center on the table, then places the pie plates at his spot. He points at Thomas. "Asshole," he says and points at Jackson, "Ass. Hole."

"Chick, for fuck's sake, what happened?" 

Chick turns to her as Thomas and Jackson break into surprised laughter at her cursing. Chick pulls her close by the waist. He kisses her forehead. "My dear old friends from West Point think they're funny," he says. 

"We brought the chart," Jackson says and reaches into his uniform jacket. 

Minnie stares at the paper, which appears to be round, then looks at Chick again. "Chart?"

Chick sighs and looks at the ceiling. "Plebes had to cut the pie in perfectly even pieces or face retribution," he says. "We carried the chart so we could score the pie into equal pieces before actually cutting."

Hazing, Minnie realizes. Like they were joking about earlier. She gives Chick an arch look, and his eyes light up with delight when he realizes it. "Will you get our drinks, dear?" she asks. 

"Of course," Chick replies and turns towards the living room. 

Minnie walks back over to the table and stands at Chick's spot, then eans over to look at the pie. "May I see the chart?" she asks.

Jackson hands it to her. There are several perfectly angled lines all crowded up next to each other, clearly a layout for several different table sizes. "And how would you do this?" she asks. "It'll get stuck if I put it right on the pie."

"You got a sugar packet, usually," Thomas says as Chick walks back into the room, dropping off Minnie's second martini and staying next to her. "You put it center on the pie tin, lay the paper over for the scoring, then lift the paper off."

"I see," Minnie says. She turns and hands the chart to Chick. "And you'd have to make a new chart for every pie?" she asks. 

"That's right," Thomas says. "But all the plebes had one, so you could always borrow someone else's to trace."

"And you'd get punished if you couldn't cut it perfectly?"

"Correct."

Minnie makes a show of looking at the chart again, then laying her hand on Chick's arm. "Am I allowed to try?" she asks, turning her attention back to Thomas and Jackson. "Cherry pie is very difficult to cut cleanly."

"That's the joke," Jackson says. "It was always the worst one to get picked for."

Minnie chuckles. "There must have been some messes."

"Oh, we've got a few stories," Jackson says. 

"Well, tell me over dessert," Minnie says. "Chick, would you get a knife, please?"

Chick retrieves it. Minnie takes a sip of her fresh drink and pulls the pie plate to the center of Chick's placemat. She slips the knife between the crust and the tin and slowly drags it in a full circle, loosening the crust all around before lifting the knife out and making four sharp cuts to turn out eight slices, all the same size. 

She looks up from the pie and sees Thomas and Jackson staring in amazement. "Nebraska State Pie Queen, four years running," she says. 

Chick bursts out laughing, pulling her against him with an arm around her waist. He kisses her neck and presses his cheek to her temple. "Jealous yet, fellas?" he asks Thomas and Jackson, who are both still staring in shock at the pie. 

"Scared she's going to make me stand in the cold until dessert's over," Jackson says, which makes Thomas snort. "Seems only fair if she can cut a pie like that."

"Oh, please," she says. "I'm not some fancy officer's wife. I'm just Minnie."

"Thank goodness for that," Chick murmurs in her ear as Jackson and Thomas laugh and toast the perfectly cut pie. 

Minnie leans against his chest for a moment then starts serving. 

[shanastoryteller]

in the sixth months after graduating from college, with my very expensive degree from a good college, i ate nothing but bread. i worked at a bakery / cafe / restaurant and got half off one meal per shift but it was still too expensive even then. but at the end of every night we would throw out all the bread loaves that hadn’t sold, which was most of them, every night. we would fill up ten boxes to give away to a shelter and then we could take anything we could carry, and i couldn’t afford a half off deconstructed sandwich, but i could fill the cabinets of my apartment with bread. everyone who worked there was just like me, subsisting on discarded, overpriced bread. 

(when the managers’ backs were turned i was taught to leave the trashbags of bread behind the dumpster rather than inside it, because it was locked after everyone left to prevent people from stealing from it. we would say we were going out to stack chairs and instead stack prepackaged salads prepared that morning in the narrow space between wall and dumpster, but that’s not what this is about.)

we were working valentine’s day, a little bit miserable about it, because customers are somehow worse on a holiday about love, and even if we were single we didn’t want to be here, and most of us had people we’d rather be spending the day with, and the snappish, hardass manager was working that day, and everyone could not wait for the day to be over. 

we had a boxes of those bakery tissue sheets around and i was twisting it in my hands and i thought about how the first night my uncle spent with my aunt he had to get up early for work but didn’t want to wake her and the whole thing hadn’t been planned, exactly, so he (a roofer by trade and a golden glove boxer by sport) went into the kitchen and took some paper towels and twisted them between his big, scarred hands until it formed a sweeter shape and when my aunt work up it was to a paper towel rose on her pillow. 

so i used a couple sheets of bakery tissue to make a rose and walked up to my coworker who stared at me with a rictus smile and i gave it to her, trying not overthink if it was a weird thing to do. her smile slipped and she asked “you made this?” holding it carefully, like it wasn’t something her two year old son could have made with his pudgy hands, and i shrugged and got more milk from the back. 

then another coworker held the steamer too long when frothing milk, not on accident but because he was irritated, so i rolled another rose and tucked it in his apron pocket as i walked by. then it was just one more of us up front and it was nothing, thirty seconds of twisting paper to take the stack of cookies out of her hands and hand her a tissue paper rose, her lined face lifting into a grin as she proudly tucked it into the chest pocket of her shirt and i may as well have been standing in front of the ovens for how hot my face felt. 

it was such a silly thing to do, i felt ridiculous, giving away hastily constructed tissue paper roses on valentine’s day, clumsy artful garbage. then one of the servers walked by and noticed and so i made her one too, and then other servers came by, leaning over the glass, and complimenting the flowers with big eyes, and i laughed and made more, still not sure if it was sincere, but even if it wasn’t, i figured making them one and handing it over was better than saying no. 

then i went to the back again and the dishwasher yelled out “where’s mine? what about us?” and he was too sweet to ever be anything less than sincere, so someone kept an eye on the door to the manager’s office as i stood in the sweltering kitchen and rolled clumsy tissue paper roses, enough for everyone 

and by the time the day ended, everyone had one, everyone wore one, tucked in their shirt or their apron or stuck in their hair or taped to the top of their pen. everyone was a little less miserable, smiling like we were all on in on the joke, although i don’t think any of us knew the punchline 

this story doesn’t have a punchline either. i just sometimes think of how much better some crumpled tissue paper made things and think that it can be that easy, sometimes, if we’re sincere and don’t overthink it too much

[afeb]

Bucky Barnes - Salvation

long and kinda slow-burn :)

“Stay safe you,” Matt said as I walked out of the small bookshop.

“Always try.” I smiled back as I skipped down the steps.

I scanned over the books I’d bought on my short walk home, turning the first few pages and already sinking into the stories within. The streets were quiet, sun setting as I hurried home to avoid dark.

I finally stepped foot inside my apartment and immediately went around and turned on all the lamps. I detested the dark, an old habit I found hard to break, as I swiftly checked from room to room. I did this to make sure no one was inside, but in the back of my mind I only looked for one man. Books placed on the side, I was about to sit down when a heavy knock sounded from the door.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered as I walked over. I swung open the door.

Fuck.

Slamming it shut quickly my heart raced and face paled. I could throw up, or faint, and I considered doing both. How did he know where I lived? What was he planning on doing? I bargained that I’d never go to police, and I didn’t for that matter, so why is he here?

“Y/N?” The Winter Solider said through the door.

“I-I haven’t told anyone.” I said.

“That isn’t why I’m here.” His voice was softer than I remembered, he sounded...normal.

“P-Please just go.” I begged, hand still tightly holding the doorknob.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised. “I won’t even come into the apartment, I just need to say something.”

I peeped through the spy hole, making sure he was alone. He usually was, however, on one occasion he brought back up. That was the worst of times.

“Step away from the door.” I ordered, to which he readily complied and took two large steps back. I opened the door a crack, waiting for him to pounce. But he remained firmly planted in his spot.

Warily, I creaked the door open. He was dressed in black jeans, a navy top and a black leather jacket. His hair was cut short, his beard was growing out and he no longer donned the muzzle he used to in public. Gloves covered his hand. He looked completely normal.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes, and I am no longer the Winter Solider,” he said. “Apologising to you is my way of making amends with my past.”

I furrowed my brows. “What?”

He gulped. “I...I did awful things to you, and I’m sorry.”

“Is this...is this a joke?” I asked, peeping my head out a little and looking down the hallway.

He shook his head. “I’m trying to be a better person, and apologising to you is part of that. I could also, do things for you?”

My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“No!” He said. “No, I meant like...jobs or, I dunno...anything.”

“I’m so confused.” I whined as I rubbed my eyes. “Are you going to kill me?”

He shook his head. “No.”

His eyes looked pleadingly at me. He was alone, he looked normal and I could feel the truth drip off his words. After a long pause, I sighed deeply.

“Do you want to come in?” I stepped aside.

“If that’s okay.” He stiffly smiled and walked past me.

I shut the door and watched him. He looked around the small space, standing in the hallway. I had photos lining the walls, all of friends and family, and he took care to look at some of them.

“You can take off your coat and gloves.” He nodded and shrugged of his jacket, however, chose to leave the gloves on.

“Nice place.” He complimented.

“Thanks,” I had no clue how to act around him. He followed behind me as I led him into the kitchen, turning to face him as he lingered in the doorway. “I was going to cook some dinner.”

He nodded. “Anything special?”

I shook my head. “You could...join, we could talk.”

“That would be...nice.” He smiled.

I cooked in near silence. James took a seat at the small table by the window and watched me as I mulled around the kitchen. Chicken in, salad made, I turned to face him.

“It’ll be about half an hour.” I said as I sat opposite him.

“You’re being very kind.” He said.

“So, what is this?” I gestured between us.

He leant back. “The US Government has pardoned me, and part of that agreement is that I have to go to therapy. My Doc came up with a plan to help me...move on from my past. I have to go around and make amends with the people I hurt, or helped, and that means you.”

I nodded. “How many have you done?” I asked.

“A few,” he said. “I was...I was putting off doing you.”

I frowned. “Why?”

His eyes cast over to me as he took a shaky breath. “I...hurt you. In life changing ways, even if you forgave me, I could never forgive myself.”

I pursed my lips for a moment and didn’t speak. His eyes looked down at his lap, a sad expression coming over his face.

“I hated you,” I whispered. “I always thought in my head that if I ever got the chance, I’d kill you. But then I spent a while researching you, your past. What they did to you, how they treated you, what they made you do. And I realised, it wasn’t really you who hurt me, it was them.”

He gazed at me through his lashes. “Y/N...”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” I smiled, reaching over and taking his hand. “Water under the bridge.”

His hands flexed, squeezing mine. “Water under the bridge.” He repeated.

The gloves were soft against my hands as I peered down at them. “Can I see?”

His face grew uneasy as he shifted in his seat. “Um...yeah, sure.”

He peeled the gloves of slowly, almost waiting to me to stop him. The metal had changed. Instead of the bright silver I was used to, it instead was sleek black with gold details. He rolled his sleeve up as high as it would go, the infamous star now gone. It suited him better, I thought, complimented him more.

“It looks nice,” I smiled. “Better than the old one.”

“Thank you.”

“Could I?” He gave me a nod as I ran my ran over the cool metal.

It was really a work of art. Oddly, this one didn’t scare me. The other had felt my skin, brought me to the edge of death so many times, but this one? This one had only gently squeezed me hands.

We both jumped as the oven beeped, giggling a little as I stood and plated up our meal. We ate quietly, James complimenting my cooking one too many times. The evening drew on and soon James was shrugging on his jacket and lingering by the door.

“Thank you,” he smiled. “Dinner was amazing.”

I laughed. “I’ll have to cook it again.”

His eyes glistened with happiness at the chance of us seeing each other again. “I’d like that.”

I opened the door for him. “It was nice seeing you, the real you.”

He nodded. “I meant it you know, need a boiler fixing, walls painted, I’ll do it.”

He quickly scribbled his number in a small notebook and ripped out the page and handed it to me. “I’ll keep that in mind,”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” He danced around me for a moment before enveloping me in a short, tight hug.

Weeks passed and I didn’t contact him. I thought I’d be a painful reminder of his past and thus didn’t want to keep contact with him. That was, until my sink burst and my landlord claimed it wasn’t his responsibility. I’d tried hard to fix it myself, and the local plumbers charged ridiculous rates, so I found myself texting James.

To James B -

Hi! Sorry I haven’t contacted you before, been very busy! Could I pick up the favour you owe me? My sink has burst and I’m in desperate need of a plumber. - Y/N

I didn’t expect a reply, but he text back before I’d even put my phone back on the table.

From James B -

Hey! No worries. Heading over now.

I scrambled to tidy the apartment, dreading to confess I in fact lived like a pig most days. After a frantic half an hour, a knock sounded from the door.

“You’re a life saver,” I sighed as I opened the door.

James offered a lopsided smile, shrugging his shoulders. “No worries,”

“It burst two days ago, I had a go myself but I think I made it worse.” James set his bag of tools on the counter and opened the cupboard under the sink.

“Oh yeah, I see what’s wrong,” he silently set to work, laying on his back and doing god-knows-what.

After a while I went into the living room and read my book, curling my legs underneath me and settling down. James banged about the kitchen and a swear word or two later, he popped his head around the door.

“Done.”

“So soon?” I quickly stood and bounced into the kitchen. I turned the tap and stepped back, expecting water to drown my feet, but instead it simply swirled down the drain. “It lives!”

James chuckled at my remark. “A few bolts came loose and disconnected, easy stuff really,”

“Thank you James.”

“Bucky,” he quickly said. “Call me Bucky.”

“Thank you, Bucky.” I smiled. “Want to stay for lunch?”

“Yeah,”

We chatted mindlessly as we made sandwiches, Bucky telling me about his childhood. When he was the Winter Soldier I only heard gruff orders, but he had a voice that sounded smooth and sweet. His eyes lit up when he spoke of his siblings and parents, of a life that felt like thousands of years ago.

“You got a boyfriend?” Bucky asked, fiddling with the label on his beer.

I cocked a brow. “No, you?”

“No.” Bucky said. “I’ve tried these dating websites but...feel out of my depth.”

I nodded in understanding. “I abandoned those long ago,”

“I’m glad you text me.” He said. “I’ve spent the last few weeks wondering if you would.”

“Truthfully, I thought you wouldn’t want to speak to me.” I confessed.

“Why would you think that?” He frowned.

“I’m a reminder of your past,” I explained. “I can understand that even looking at me must be hard for you.”

Bucky paused for a moment and scanned over my face. “I see you as my salvation, not my damnation.”

I smiled. “I don’t think I said it before,” I shuffled a little closer. “But I forgive you, Bucky.”

His breath hitched, arm dropping to rest behind my head. “Say it again.” He whispered.

“I forgive you.”

Our bodies were close, Bucky resting his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes and waited for him to make a move, but they fluttered back open when I felt the moment slipping.

“I don’t want to push it,” he confessed.

“You aren’t.” I promised.

“I did bad things to you,” his hand stroked over my cheek.

“Then do something good.”

His lips pressed to mine. They were soft, softer than I’d thought, and he went slow and easy. I sighed into the kiss and pressed my body flush against his, my hands planting on his chest. His hand on the back of the couch slid off and looped behind me back, pressing me further into his as the other hand slid into my hair and held me close.

“Please,” he mumbled against me.

“Yes.”

Bucky eased me back into the sofa, lips still pressed tightly to mine as he eased between my splayed thighs. My hands moved up to fist his short hair, causing a quiet groan to escape his lips. Bucky’s hands held onto my hips as he gently, almost teasingly, ground his crotch to mine.

“Lemme make it better,” he whispered, trailing kisses down my cheek and neck.

“You can do anything,” I breathlessly promised, rolling my body up.

His hand slid down my stomach and into the back of my loose trousers, cupping my clothed pussy and flexing his fingers. I gasped and threw my head back, Bucky surfacing to peer down at me with hooded eyes.

“There?” I nodded at his question.

His fingers eased my underwear to the side and felt over the slickness he’d created. The cool metal of his hand ran over my burning cheeks and I thanked god for the relief of coldness in this moment. My eyes widened as his finger tips circled my swollen bud.

“So wet,” he murmured, gazing into my eyes.

“For you.” I whimpered back, cupping his cheeks.

“Me?” I nodded. “Good girl,”

I moaned again at his words, his fingers picking up their pace. My back arched as he eased two fingers into me, stretching me out. He groaned a little, muttering something about my tightness, before pressing his lips to mine.

“O-Other hand,” I said against his lips.

“What?” He pulled back, stopping his movements.

“Can you u-use your other hand?” I pouted my lips.

“Are you sure?” He furrowed his brows.

I nodded. Bucky removed his hand from my underwear, offering his glistening fingers to my lips. I hastily took them in my mouth, small hand wrapping around his wrist as I sucked. He momentarily closed his eyes, losing himself for a second before easing his metal hand between our bodies.

“Really?” He questioned again, playing with the waistband of my trousers.

I bucked my hips. “Please,”

I couldn’t help the loud moan that left my mouth as his metal fingers resumed his flesh fingers task. They rubbed tightly into my clit, causing my eyes to pinch shut and my jaw to slacken and drop.

“Such a good girl for me,” he cooed against my cheek.

I whimpered again. “I-I’m-“

“Gonna cum baby?” He asked, fingers increasing their speed.

I nodded and cried. “Yes!”

“Like feeling my metal hand, huh?” He teased with a smirk.

“I do! Yes!” My nails bit into the skin of his forearm, the other hand running over the smooth metal of his shoulder. “Oh Bucky!”

“Cum,” he shortly ordered. “Please baby, please cum.”

My head threw back and I saw stars. My back arched as Bucky wrapped and arm under me and held me close. He moaned softly into my neck, grounding his crotch against my thigh. My arms loops around his neck as I shuddered against him.

“S-Stop,” I begged, gently coaxing his hand from my underwear.

“Sorry baby.” He sighed into my neck.

We stayed tangled in each other for a moment before I reached a teasing hand down between us. Bucky quickly stopped me, sheepishly grinning down at me.

“I already...just then...” he blushed.

“Really?” I giggled.

“You have no idea how good you looked.” He whispered, pecking my lips.

I smiled warmly, stroking over his cheek. “Would you like to grab a coffee with me?”

He laughed loudly. “I’ll do more than that.”

[bibliocratic]

clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

-

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

-

Martin is happy.

-

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

-

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

-

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

--

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

-

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

-

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

-

Jon is happy.

-

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

-

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

-

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.  

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

-

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

-

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

-

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

-

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

-

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

-

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

-

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

-

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“…  you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

-

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

[chipper-smol]

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Babysitter SL

Prompt: Shade (lord) is in the midst of final exams and they’re more stressed and tired than usual while babysitting. They accidentally fall asleep in the middle of a calm spell and the god babies become worried. The next time Shade comes over, all of the god babies present a gift they all made together!

By @minnesotamidian-blog​

Shade barely noticed their surroundings as they entered the nursery playroom. Plastic clattered and they sighed as Radiance yelled at the top of her lungs. At least she wasn't screaming. Yet. The scene was set: Unn was still in a crib and chewing on a bar, Root was climbing slowly onto a chair. Radiance was knocking over plastic blocks as Grimm cackled away. For once, Wyrm was playing peacefully with a kick toy, batting at it with his tail. Root got onto the chair and squealed, raising her arms. "Big Root now!" The little blue-eyed godling squeaked out.

Shade picked her up, hugged her to their chest before holding her out. "Now you're a flying Root."

She screamed laughter as Shade tiredly walked her around the room before setting her down near some of her favorite toys. They made sure nobody else had claimed the chair and took a seat, bending over to pick up the fussy moth. "Ancient enemy!" Of course she bit their hand.

Shade winced and just ran a hand over her fluff. "Are you hungry for something that isn't void?" They spoke tiredly.

"Oranges!" She yelled out.

The teen sighed as he went to the mini-fridge with snacks and found some miracle of miracles! pre-peeled oranges. Shade pulled them out and put her in a high chair with one at a time so she wouldn't be tempted to throw the extras at them.

Finals were here and they were really taking it out of the gangly god. Why did they have to know stuff about inorganic chemistry? Why did they have to know about history nobody cared about? There were some fun subjects, but the finals seemed to even suck the fun out of those classes, going over notes and studying everything just in case. They'd been pulling long nights and the night before had been an all-night cram session-and they still had to come to work, they couldn't afford not to. They'd underlined all the stuff the teacher had said was important to remember and had written down stuff from the last finals about each teacher's usual tests.

It made narrowing down what to study from impossible to I'm totally toast. They groaned as they set down a calmer Radiance the opposite side of the room from Wyrm. She found toys that interested her, at least. Root wandered over to Wyrm, who was really into knocking at the kick toy and purring. Root settled nearby and burbled as she hugged and gnawed a plushie.

The teen couldn't help it. The kids were calm for once; their head started to tilt forward, eyes heavy. They were exhausted. Shade's eyes closed and their breathing deepened. At first, their toys were too interesting to notice their babysitter's state; but it didn't take long for Grimm to get bored enough to fly over and notice. "...Shade? Shade's eyes are closed." They landed and the four children not in a crib headed for the batlike godling.

"Is Shade dead?" Wyrm sounded worried.

"Don't be stupid, they're having a nap!" Radiance huffed.

Root looked up and swayed before patting Shade's leg. "Grown-ups don't have nap times." She was tearing up.

"Nuh-uh, they're having bad dreams and it's tasty!" Grimm clamored onto their lap.

The others joined, Radiance grabbing Unn to join them on the sleeping teen. Grimm rested between Shade's horns, Unn was on one shoulder, Radiance on the other, with Root and Wyrm curled up together on Shade's lap, Wyrm purring for once.

When Shade woke up, they were surprised by the weight on their body and forced themself to look down and around before moving. "Uh oh, I fell asleep… sheesh, I'm glad this place isn't a fiery disaster." They picked the godlings up. "You're not dead!" Wyrm exclaimed.

Root burst into tears and even Grimm joined in on the crying spat. Shade sighed and spent the rest of the time comforting them until meal time and settled them down. Time to go home for them all!

But the worry didn't leave the heads of the little godlings. "We should make something for Shade. If they're having nightmares, they might be sad." Radiance sighed. "But that doesn't mean I feel bad for my ancient enemy!" "What do we make?" Root twirled around, slowly turning in place until she fell onto pillows in her dizziness.

"Something of clay! I can burn it dry!" Grimm hopped around.

"But there's no clay." Unn spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "But there's crayons and paper."

"Oooh. We can make a pretty picture for Shade!" Wyrm waved his head happily. The group went for papers and each started to draw on the paper. "You're taking up too much paper!" Wyrm whined.
Radiance complained in turn, pointing at the color he was using. "I want that color!"

Wyrm growled and argued back. "I had it first!"

They started rolling around over their drawings, biting and clawing. Grimm gave a solid scream that startled the two. "You ruined Shade's pretty pictures!" He yelled.

The two looked at each other and hung their heads. "...sorry." Radiance muttered.
"-'m sorry." Wyrm looked away from the moth, skulking. "Start again? You can have the crayon, Radiance…"

Radiance took the crayon and they all picked up the last piece of paper. "I think this is better." Root spoke cheerfully.

It was three days later, once Shade had a solid night's sleep and finals completed that they'd returned to work. A large construction sheet of paper in grey covered in scribbles and rough names and messages was waiting for them.

Feel better soon Shade

Love you

Best babysitter

Tastiest nightmare!

Not the worst anciant ancient enemy.Shade could only feel warmth and laugh, hugging the drawing to themself. There were some days the job felt like the best thing in the world.  ------------------------------- By @tomatotimes

-------------------------------

By @loud-whistling-yes

"No."

The kids protested louder. Shade lifted the TV remote higher up, now above their head.

"Screentime's over, I said no."

Wyrm attempted to crawl up their leg in what was a rather pathetic attempt at stealing the remote, but was promptly shaken off. Grimm tried next, flying overhead to snatch the controller. Shade ducked and grabbed him by the tail before he could send himself flying straight towards the ceiling fan for the third time that day.

"Find something else to do," Shade said as they stuffed the remote deep into their pocket, much to everyone else's dismay. "Look, as much as I'd love to shut you guys up for the whole day, you've all been staring at the TV for hours now and I don't want to get in trouble with your parents."

Louder complaints.

"No, no, no. I am not cracking this time." Shade announced as they pulled Radi, who was hissing like an angry cat, off their jeans and pulled their phone out. "You guys got me last week, never again. No more TV for you, we're doing something else before I lose my money for tonight. Google almighty, what is your suggestion."

activities to do with children

fun activities to do with children

activities to do with toddlers

what can I do with kids that isn't a major headache to deal with goddamnit

Go to the park? Shade took about half a second to consider the thought before wondering why they even thought it was possible anyways. Five kids from the deepest depths of hell, outdoors? No. No park.

Finger painting? A pain to clean up, but better than outdoors. Then they looked up from their phone and considered the idea with greater thought. Grimm's wings, Radi's legs, Unn and Wyrm's… er…. Body?.... Nevermind.

Play pretend? …. If they hear the name Hallownest one more time they might just go insane.

Hide and seek? No. No no no no no. No more hide and seek. Shade was utterly sick of hide and seek. If they had to spend another second stuffed inside the closet or trying to get Radi off the roof they'll probably quit the job right there and then.

Baking?

… That might work. Sure, cleaning up is gonna be absolute hell but it's the only thing Google suggested that they haven't tried yet without horrible results.

Shade stuffed their phone back into their pocket and made a getaway to the kitchen, everyone else following, probably still trying to get the remote back. Butter, eggs, flour, sugar, oh, even some chocolate chips…

"Well then," They declared, pulling every ingredient out of the cabinet and fridge. "We're making cookies! And no, no one is allowed to touch the oven when it's hot. If you guys behave we'll have cookies in like, an hour or something like that."

The kids watched in confusion as Shade ran around the kitchen, pulling out bowls and spoons and a bunch of other utensils while typing furiously on their phone.

Cookies recipe

Cookies recipe easy

Cookies recipe for beginners

Cookies recipe for kids

"What do you guys think about chocolate chip cookies?"

Multiple chitters of approval. "Chocolate chip cookies it is then."

Step one: sieve the flour. Oh wyrm, first step and it's already gonna go to shit.

"Okay, you guys can watch this but for the love of the holy wyrm, do not touch it." Shade measured the correct amount of flour before scooping Wrym and Unn off the floor onto the table so they could see while Radi pulled herself onto the chair. The Lady had already clinged herself onto their sweater and Grimm was doing just fine flying nearby.

“You guys get one chocolate chip each if you guys behave and don’t get flour everywhere.” Shade added. “Now, Lady, hold still and don’t move, I gotta keep my hands steady for this…”

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

"Okay, chocolate chip time." Shade popped open the jar of chocolate as the kids cheered. "Actually, we’re not supposed to be eating this plain, cause it's going into the cookies. But no one actually does that so you guys get five chips each for not setting the kitchen on fire so far."

"The recipe says a cup of chocolate chips but we all know that's a lie." They added while shoving their phone back in their pocket and grabbing a handful of chips before mixing the batter together. "I'm probably not someone you should take life lessons from, but here's one thing I can guarantee you should take to heart: never follow the recipe when it comes to chocolate chips, you count that with your soul."

Final step: oven time. The oven was preheated earlier, and the only thing left was to get the cookies into the tray and into the oven. "Now, who wants to make heart-shaped cookies?"

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

Three deformed stars, five mutated trees, two malformed cats, several irregular hearts, a couple handfuls of chocolate eaten straight from the jar, and one (1) perfectly round cookie later, the cookies were on the tray, in the oven, and in a surprising turn of events, no one burned themselves… yet. Shade grabbed everyone and made sure no one was in a five-meter radius within the oven before picking up all the dirty bowls and utensils. “Cookies will have to sit in there for about 15 minutes, we’ll be cleaning up in the meantime.”

“Don’t look at me like that, and no whining, if you want cookies you gotta deal with the mess afterwards. That's the payoff, unless you're a wizard who has a passion for baking. Then that's fair, I guess." They dumped all the used utensils they could find and turned on the sink. The sief, three bowls, tablespoons and teaspoons.. Oh wait.

"Radi, the big wooden spoon, please?" Shade called, sponge in their hand and bowls being thoroughly rinsed.

Radi, of course, was not willing to help, because she's basically a feral house cat that just so happened to grow more legs than the average feline. Shade sighed and moved on to finding the next helper they could find.

"Grimm, I know you're touching the oven, stop it. I'm pretty sure you're immune to fire but not everyone else and you're setting a bad example for them. Get me the spoon please."

“Lady, here’s a cloth, help me dry the bowls up. Wyrm, … i have no idea how you can help, no limbs and all but uh, could you go get Unn? I have no idea where she went. Thanks.” The last sentence was to Grimm, who flew over with the mixing spoon and dropped it into the sink while Wyrm scurried away to find Unn, wherever she’s napping at.

"Radi? Radi, I know you're right behind me, stop pretending that you can't hear me. Lady has an extra cloth with her, you're on table wiping duty."

*********

“See? That wasn't so bad,” Shade sent the last of the bowls back into the cupboards and closed it shut. “And the cookies are pretty much done.”

“Also, no. You may not eat the cookies the moment I pull them out of the oven. These rules also apply to Grimm because it's unfair to everyone else.. Don’t look at me like that Grimm, I know you’ll eat them all before they cool and leave us nothing.”

The cookies smelt delicious, and were left on the dining table to cool. “Now that it's cooling down, it's naptime.”

A chorus of groans and wailing.

“It’ll be ready when you guys get up. Up up up, sleep time.”

**********

If you’ve been anywhere near toddlers before, you’d know that getting them to nap in their bedrooms is a near-impossible situation. And Shade was not a person who deals with near-impossible situations well. So following the months old custom, Shade turned on the tv, remote miraculously not pickpocketed, collapsed onto the couch, and waited for everyone piling on them to fall asleep before moving them into their bedroom and pretending they managed to wrangle them all into bed.

And it all goes to plan, the Lady and Wyrm were sound asleep on their lap, Radi and Unn were dozing off on their shoulders, and they're pretty sure the snoring from the top of their head was coming from Grmm. Now, step 2: get everyone off them and onto the beds.

… Or maybe later. It's been a long day, and the couch is pretty comfy. Yeah, just five more minutes, nothing wrong with that…

And if the parents came home to see a cleaner-than-expected kitchen, a tray of chocolate chip cookies, and five kids snoring on top of their babysitter, also sound asleep, then that’s nobody’s business.

And if the originally completely full jar of chocolate chips was pretty much empty, then that’s no one’s business as well.

-------------------------------

By @astronomicartz​

-------------------------------

By @hollow-kin​

Shade lord wanted to take a nap. They are sooo tired, but they are babysitting 5 baby gods for 5$/H. Grimm is a brat, Radiance his sister is also a brat. Unn was ether eating or seeping, same with grub1. Lady was, well sweet and cuddly. they needed to find a distraction for the kids, what would work?

Would tv work, would cartoons work? They had dinner already. Tv had to work or grub and radiance would destroy the house. They needed to take a nap. Now what to watch was a different question, they would have to ask the kids. “so, what do guys want to watch? “Movie!” well they were all in agreement, what was good. “What kind of movie do you guys want to watch?” “Fire!” “dath” “animal” “tree” “ok. No, we are NOT watching fire.” “awww” “i do not know what dath means so no. So nature show it is then.” they go over to the tv and turn it on, then select the world around us. Lady was quick to fall asleep, on their lap. Shade lord slowly fell asleep, and grub nested between grub and shade lord. Grimm climed up to shade lord's head. 

-------------------------------

By @hawaiianbabidoll

-------------------------------

By @neoliberalsatan

A gentle darkness surrounded the shade lord. He finally felt at ease. "finally", he thought, "rest." it didn't take long after that before the darkness started to take shape and a whole new world created out of shadows sheathed him.

But the happiness of the shadows didn't last long. A new and a new sound drowned out their world and all the animals and plants took to hiding back in his head. The shade lord felt the distressed creations stir inside his mind and woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. He rubbed his lowest eyes and accepted the call

"Hello, with shade lord. How can i help you?" "Oh sorry dear, i know it's terribly late but we got an unexpected call and need to leave. Since you've babysat Unn multiple times we assumed she would like to stay with you. Is it okay for you? Can we bring her to your place?" The shade lord thought for a moment and decided he could use the money. "Yea it's fine, she's always such a pleasure to babysit." The voice on the other side sounded relieved. "Thank you. You're a life saver. We will make sure you're compensated accordingly."

Feeling a bit more awake after the phone call he started to prepare for having baby Unn over. After a while her parents arrived and after some greetings he was home alone with the baby. He walked with her in his arms towards the living room and placed her gently inside the crib. She opened her eyes for a moment after losing the feeling of someone holding her, but then closed them again and fell back asleep.

The shade lord decided he couldn't sleep anymore and made some popcorn and decided to put on a movie. It didn't even take 20 minutes before he got called again.

"Hello, with shade lord. How can i help you?" "Oh yes finally someone who answers. Sorry but you're our last hope. We were going somewhere tonight but our babysitter called off. Do you think you could babysit our lovely Radiance? She's very good behaved and won't cause you trouble." "yea, no problem. You'll just need to bring her to my place if it's no trouble"

Not even 5 minutes later the parents showed up and dropped of their larva. Shade lord looked at it a bit confused but didn't get the time to say anything because the parents left as soon as they handed her over. He closed his front door and gave the larva a good look. She was white and had a fluffy appearance. She had 5 pairs of legs and yellow-orange eyes. She started to writhe a little bit and shade lord made sure to hurry to the living room. He took a pillow and placed it on the couch and softly laid her on it. She seemed at ease and rested on the pillow all stretched out

Shade lord continued his movie, which was finally starting to get interesting, but as usual the commercial break hit. He was in the kitchen making more popcorn when he got another call.

"Hello, with shade lord. How can i help you?" "Hello, is this the babysitter?" "Yes, that's the one you're speaking with." "Great, a family member had an accident and i need to be there for them so do you think you could babysit for me?" "Yep, totally." "Thank you, can we bring him to you?" "Oh yea, no problem."

A few minutes later his doorbell rang and he hurried towards it. The father carried his toddler in what could only be described as wing-esque appendages. The shade lord extended his arms for the man to put his toddler in and felt a gentle brush of the leathery membrane. He shivered lightly before feeling a sudden warmth light up in his face, like someone has started a fire. When he looked back up the man was gone and he closed the door. The creature he was holding in his arms was unlike anything he had ever seen. 2 horns sprouted from its black head. The face was as bleak as white linen on a summer day. It seems she likes make-up because she had already 2 black lines running from her cheeks towards her eyes, eventually fading into the darkness of her head. She had the same membranes as her father and no limbs besides it.

He wasn’t even in the living room before he heard his front door being was under siege. He put the weird creature down and opened the front door. Immediately he was assaulted by Hollow, a very energetic child. He was wearing a green cloak today and it finally seemed he was starting to grow bigger than a hand. His horns has also branched into the inside. Immediately after Hollow jumped on his he could hear Pale complain about his unprofessional work attitude. Although he was bigger than most it seems he wouldn’t grow much anymore. His tiny stature didn’t discourage him from being bossy. Finally White entered. By far the biggest of the bunch, she was also the most introverted. Her roots slid elegantly over towards him and even managed to stop Pale from talking for a moment.

He took them inside the living room only to find that somehow the larva and the winged creature had somehow gotten into a fight and now both were in hiding in opposite sides of the room. Normally he wouldn’t make such a big deal out of this if somehow his couch wasn’t full of tiny needles and a chair was on fire. He rushed to the tap to fill a bowl of water to extinguish the little fire. With the attention being diverted Hollow managed to slip from the watch of Pale and could now be found in the corner Radiance was hiding. The larva figured out quickly he liked to play games and had soon enough set up a plan to make him betray Pale.

In the meantime White had climbed the couch and started pulling out the needles while Shade lord had figured out what the membrane between the appendages from the weird creature were for. Namely, for flight. And now she was attacking his horns and he couldn’t reach her. As if her flying was not good enough alone, whenever he raised his arms she would back off and launch a little fireball  All this commotion woke up baby Unn who slowly started to slither away from her crib to find food.

The shade lord finally had enough of the little fire hazard and rushed towards the pantry to get a kettle. Once he had found it he peeked around the corner only to find that fire hazard eating his popcorn! All caution was thrown aside and he grabbed her by the guts and put her inside the kettle. She tried to heat it but he added some water to it. While it evaporated quickly it was apparently enough to bring over the message. Now he could focus his attention back on the larva again, only she could’ve produced those needles, which White was making great progress with removing them as a quick glance told him.

Now back to Pale and Radiance who were apparently having a fight (Darkness, that larva really has a talent to provoke others). They were arguing near the coffee table, because apparently they wanted a fight so bad they just ran to each other and met in the middle. Hollow was climbing one of the legs of the table, but wasn’t noticed by the shade lord because he was too occupied with the other 2. He tried to separate the arguing pair but they were at each other’s throats. They even had summoned a needle and a tiny dagger to fight each other. The shade lord obviously didn’t count on this tiny factor and had soon enough one in each hand. He screamed, trying not to curse, barely not failing miserably, and Pale managed to escape. In any other situation this wouldn’t pose a problem, but Hollow, after eating some popcorn, found himself at the right edge of the coffee table and pulled out his tiny wooden sword he got from Pale. The larva, Darkness curse her, used this to her advantage and made the sign to Hollow to betray Pale. The act of betraying Pale involved jumping off of the coffee table and hitting Pale as hard on the head as possible. Naturally, all of this went according to plan and even brought some extra spectacle. After Hollow had hit Pale on the head he wasn’t prepared for the recoil of the wood and ended up hitting himself in the face.

All of this lead to 3 crying children (1 of them from laughing, the others from pain) and 1 very angry young adult. He put the larva on the couch and took care of the others while White held a close eye on the damned 10 legged thing. After Pale and Hollow weren’t crying anymore he took the little fire hazard out of the kettle and continued his movie, which was getting to an end.

After the film ended a documentary started and had all the kids hooked. He went to check on Unn only to find an empty crib. He could however see a slimy trail lead up his wall and onto the ceiling. It went through the door into the pantry where he kept his food and toys for the toddlers. He looked up on the ceiling only to find a sleepy Unn with a letter block in her mouth. Suddenly Unn started to make a very weird noise and fell from the ceiling onto his face. He swiped her off of his face onto his shoulder and then washed it.

He returned back to the tv to watch the documentary that was still playing and plopped down on the couch. Not long after he was asleep with White on his left shoulder, Unn on his right shoulder, the little fire hazard on the same arm and Pale curled up in his lap. Radiance and hollow were still awake but occupied with the documentary instead of causing trouble. After the documentary ended they crawled up against his sides and fell asleep.

-------------------------------

By @constantlost 

-------------------------------

By @bugbeee

Exhaustion seeped into Shadelord’s body, limbs weighed down by a heaviness they hadn’t experienced in a while. The smatter of godlings that lay around them on the couch, or on them in Radi’s case, was enough to convince them that they had died and that this was the Eternal Void that was created to punish them for cheating on that test in the 8th grade. In their defence, it had been on rock sedimentation.

Wyrm continued his grumbling from the corner of the couch, still infuriated by the attack on his person only moments before. Root, the aggressor, looked remarkably pleased with herself. Shade knew they should probably punish her further in some way but... well, to be perfectly honest, they simply were not paid enough to do so.

They really should have charged more. Fifteen dollars at least per tiny demon they had to look after rather than the whole bunch. Fifteen dollars was not enough to encourage discipline. It was enough for them to make sure none of the godlings killed the other. And they had thought they had come up with an ingenious plan to secure some peace and quiet.

After much wrangling, they had finally managed to set up two separate playpens, each far enough away that the godlings wouldn’t start screaming if one of them saw their rival. Wyrm and Root in one pen, Grimm, Radi and Unn in another. It was a gamble, but one that thankfully seemed to have paid off. Radi was still exhausted from the tussle she had just had with Wyrm, and Grimm seemed content to chew off the heads of the plastic Garbies they had found. Unn continued to watch, and occasionally helped Grimm execute a Garbie in a spectacular manner. It was both reassuring, and beyond disturbing. Root and Wyrm meanwhile were cheerfully ignoring each other as they both played with their own toys.

It should have been foolproof.

Unfortunately for Shade however, they were dealing with infants instead of fools.

For some damned reason, Root had decided that now was the perfect time to act up, instead of being the sweet little darling she had been so far. Her target, much to their dismay, had been Wyrm. In all fairness, the godling had probably deserved it in some way; most likely he had tried to worm too close in order to steal some of the grubpaste and mushroom sticks Shade had left out as a snack. Root had seen this theft as a cardinal sin, and had subsequently decided that Wyrm deserved nothing less than absolute annihilation.

The momentary doze Shade had managed to fall into was abruptly interrupted by loud shrieking and wailing, resulting in them vaulting over the couch to hurriedly find out which one of the godlings was being tortured.

The scene that greeted them was... well, it wasn’t any less ridiculous than some of the other stuff the little goblins had pulled before.

Using her flexible tendrils, Root had seen fit to wrap them around Wyrm, and aggressively dunk him into the bowl of grubpaste he had attempted to steal from. His shrieks and hisses had woken up Radi and drawn the attention of the other children, who were now cheering on Root’s attack on Wyrm’s person.

“Enough,” Shade declared, shooting a glare behind them, “Root, let him go.” Root looked up innocently.

No, she seemed to say with her eyes, justice must prevail.

“Justice won’t get me my fifteen dollars,” they hissed out in return, and they could have sworn that Root shrugged, turning away from them to dunk Wyrm into the bowl yet again.

“No!” they cried out, quickly whipping down to grab the poor child before he could be further humiliated. After finally being saved from his vicious tormentor, Wyrm decided it was time to go into hysterics, lashing out with a sharp tail to fully show his displeasure. Root simply watched impassively as the rest of the children cheered.

Shade wondered if fifteen dollars was even worth it at this point.

“Alright, alright, enough! Root, you go in time out. We do not waterboard our fellow godlings in grubpaste. Wyrm, calm down, it’s just grubpaste- Settle down!” they yelped out, flinching as something heavy settled onto their head. The soft fluff revealed that Radi had decided to fly out of her pen and taunt Wyrm in person. Shade wanted to sob with frustration.

The door cracked open, and Ghost peered in, head tilted curiously.

Need help? they signed, and Shade wanted to collapse in relief.

“Please,” they begged, and their sibling nodded grimly, even as amusement danced in their eyes. Shucking off their school backpack, they quickly headed over to the other pen and signed to them, bobbing their head up and down in a soothing motion. Grimm and Unn were entranced. Radi less so. She remained seated on their head, but at least seemed to have finally stopped provoking Wyrm.

“I’m just going to clean him up,” Shade explained uselessly, watching as Ghost simply nodded and waved them off. 

With a tired gait, Shade wandered into the kitchen and turned on the tap, listening as Wyrm’s panicked yelps grew louder at the realisation of what was going to happen next. Radi snickered softly, before leaping off and gliding back into the living room.

Bath time, according to the godlings, was a fate worse than death, and something to be avoided at all cost.

Unfortunately for both Wyrm and Shade, it was a necessary evil. Wyrm disagreed. Loudly. And with claws.

He howled furiously as Shade slowly lowered him into the warm water, softly scrubbing at the now-dried grubpaste sticking to his skin. Despite his attempts, Wyrm failed to prevent them from continuing his bath. He turned to pathetic pleading instead, making soft mewling sounds as though he was nothing more than a poor innocent child who had done nothing wrong, ever.

Shade, who remembered the little bastard knocking a glass ornament onto their head, was not convinced. Ultimately there was no escape, and Wyrm reluctantly gave in to the soft scrubbing, though he made sure his rumbling complaints were known.

“Yes, yes,” Shade said quietly, “I truly am the worst. Close your eyes so I can rinse you.”

Wyrm, in a dumb act of defiance, did not close his eyes. The hysterics started again, and Shade contemplated drowning themself in the half-filled sink. Fifteen dollars, they repeated. Fifteen dollars.

Grabbing a tea towel, they quickly dried the godling off, carefully teasing out water droplets from soft scales. He child gnawed on their fingers in revenge. “I’m done,” they announced, wandering back into the living room with a now clean, and furious, Wyrm.

Ghost looked up from their position on the floor, back leaning against the couch as they played with Grimm. Radi immediately perked up at the sound of Shade’s voice, and quickly flew over, making herself at home on top of their head. Unn seemed to have decided to undertake the momentous task of scaling up the back of the couch, leaving a thick trail of slime behind. Root, still stuck in her pen as punishment, let out a wail, demanding to be let out.

Shade was all out of energy to fight back or deal with a tantrum.

“Alright, alright, out you go,” they muttered, depositing Wyrm on the couch before reaching down to lift out the petulant child from her terrible prison. She clung to them desperately until they finally collapsed on the sofa. She quickly wriggled out of their hold and instead plonked down beside them. Wyrm had hissed at the sight of her, and slunk to the other side of the couch to sulk.

Grimm let out a raspy cackle at the sight, before diving down to nip at Ghost’s fingers.

Unn finally made her way to the top of the couch and waved her eyestalks victoriously. All Shade could do was give her a tired pat.

They sank into the couch, the exhaustion creeping back in. It should have been foolproof.

Fifteen dollars.

-------------------------------

By @arandoskeleartist​

[houseofdabs]

fic idea: lester and jonesy scramble to get ingredients and find the recipe for the cake momma always used to bake the twins on their birthday. they are inept.

THIS IS SO CUTE AAA !!

warnings: slight mentions of abuse ---------------------------------------

Lester knew how his older siblings didn't really care for birthdays --at least not Bo-- it was kind of a sensitive topic as most familial holidays were for the Sinclair siblings, seeing as they lacked the proper warmth that their parents should have offered. The only semblance of affection was bestowed onto Vincent, being as he was their mother's favorite, and in turn, their father's as well. When holidays came their parents did attempt to share the sentiment with their two other kids, but it was stark in comparison to what Vincent received; it was like they were dogs receiving scraps while the real family sat at the table and enjoyed their meal. Thinking about it made Lester upset and he didn't like to dwell on it too much, he was determined to pick up the slack from his parents and reinstate the feel good emotions that holidays should have brought.

Now how was the question, and a damn good one at that. It wasn't that Lester wasn't good at planning things, he was quite good, in fact former partners always boasted about how thoughtful he was when it came to things like this. But this time was different. Sure he loved the ones that used to be in his life, but these were his brothers who he knew might not react positively to it, he didn't want to dig up any bad memories. And yeah, people liked parties and having things given to them, but when you grow up expecting that same loving hand to strike you, it's hard to cherish the good when you know terrible is right around the corner. It hurt Lester that his brother's couldn't appreciate even the smallest things, and it made him hate his parents for making it that way, but he would never mention it to the other two.

That's when he remembered his mom's old recipe book, she was a horrible mother but a damn good baker, and if he was right he'd be able to find that one caramel cake recipe she always made for his siblings on their birthday. He'd set out to get the ingredients, they were on a budget but Lester had set aside some money to get the good stuff, anything for his brothers. All he needed was some company.

Jonesy.

Pup at his feet and directions in hand, Lester sought to set everything out, he had borrowed some cook ware from the house but he'd bring it back when he was done, maybe not clean but returned. He was confident as he measured out the ingredients but with each step he followed his faith wavered. "Y'know girl, this'sa LOT harder than I had reckoned." Lester looked down as Jonesy who just stared up at him with her head tilted.

Determined, Lester continued on whisking and adding and folding till his arms were sore, his mama made it look so easy. He was so caught up in his stumbling over the batter he completely forgot about the beast that would be the icing, and just like with the batter he shook off any concerns, how hard could it be?

He set the ingredients in the pan to melt and went back to pouring the batter in the cake pan before setting it in the heated oven. Directing his attention back to the icing, he noticed it had melted all together and he checked the instructions for what to do next. "Okay girly, it says-- TWO HOURS?" His eyes bulged as he stared down at the paper, he hadn't remembered it taking that long and he didn't have the time to wait.

"Okay y'know what we're g'na do? Not that," Lester set the paper down and turned the eye up to a higher degree, "if it's hotter it'll cook faster, now ain't I smart?" He chuckled as Jonesy barked a response. "You said it sister."

Lester watched as the contents of the pot bubble as it turned a caramel color, stirring it occasionally. He decided to put on some records to help pass the time as he waited for the cake to bake. "S'too quiet," He muttered and cranked the knob to his old boombox as the voice of Merle Haggard flowed from the speakers and into the small kitchen, "there, thas better." He looked at Jonesy before patting his chest, and invitation for her to jump up and dance with him. He held the dog's paws as he swayed and sang along.

"♫ A workin' man can't get nowhere today ♫"

He grinned and stepped with the dog, "Ain't that right Jonesy girl!" Jonesy barked and Lester howled, encouraging her to make more noise. He was having such a good time with his dance partner that he forgot about the now burning icing on the stove. "Shoot!" Lester hissed and raced to stir the liquid and take it off the eye. It was a dark brown and Lester only hoped that it wasn't too bad cause he had used everything he bought and he didn't have enough to remake it. He could only hope that he didn't also mess up the cake.

Equipped with a butter knife, Lester opened the oven and stuck it in the middle of the cake before pulling it out, something he'd seen his mom do, except he didn't know what to look for. He noticed how the top was cooked and it was squishy when he pressed into it, so he pulled it out. Soon the cake was covered in the dark caramel icing and he swore at himself for lacking his mother's artistic ability, wanting to decorate the cake but deciding that he didn't want to mess it up further. He let the cake cool as he gathered everything in his truck, making sure to remember his brothers' presents.

He had gotten Bo a portable jump starter, something he had seen someone use when he was stuck on the side of the road. Lester knew the battery on Bo's truck had seen better days and he for sure didn't want his older brother stuck somewhere. And for Vincent he knew he had to get him this old brush carrier he had seen while he was browsing some antique shop, he even managed to sweet talk the lady up front to hold it for him till he could afford it. The holder was sturdy and made out of leather that had softened from years of use, on the back had flowers and leaves carved into it, nothing too 'pretty' but something artsy that he knew his brother would like. He had also snagged some whiskey while out shopping, hoping that it would help with the nerves of them all.

Once everything was packed in his truck, Jonesy included, he set off to Ambrose, careful to not hit any bumps and disturb the dessert that sat between him and the animal. He said a silent prayer as he crept towards the washed out road, hoping that no one was at Ambrose besides his brothers, that'd be a real thorn in his side and would surely ruin his plan. As he drove through the town he breathed out a sigh of relief as he noticed nothing out of the ordinary, even better that Bo was too busy in his garage to pay any attention to him as he drove by and up to the house.

Lester was careful with taking everything in, not wanting to make too much commotion in case Vincent was up in the house and not in his workshop. Finally everything was set in the kitchen, he even cleaned up a little, more in compensation for taking and making a mess of the dishes but he wanted it to look a little nicer. He was giddy and he didn't know what to do next, did he get Bo or Vincent first? He really hoped they would like it, he would understand if they didn't, but he really did want today to be good for them. He decided to put on some music to drown out the silence the house held, it always unsettled him how quiet it could get.

Soon Lester was accompanied by the sound of Johnny Cash's 'Big River' and the house felt less vacant, he knew his brother's liked different types of music but they never grew out of their taste of the old country tapes his parents had. For a second he wondered if maybe the music might throw everything off, remind them too much of ma and pa, but he pushed the thought down when he remembered how well Bo and music paired after a few drinks.

After he decided everything was ready, Lester headed off to the House of Wax first, seeing as Vincent would listen to him if he asked him to wait in the living room whereas Bo would demand to know what's going on. Jonesy pranced alongside him, her collar jingling softly as she bounced with each step. "Hey girl, you excited?" He asked as they stopped outside the House of Wax before leaning down to pet her head. Jonesy barked and her tail wagged as she basked in the affection Lester was giving her.

The two were in and out quick, Lester telling Vincent to wait for him in the living room and leaving before his brother could respond. It had been easy but he knew getting Bo to come without question would be harder. As he and Jonesy walked to the gas station he went over in his head how would ask Bo without giving away too much, did they even know it was their birthdays? Lester stopped in his tracks.

Did they even know it was their birthdays?

Surely they had to, if they did they hadn't said anything about it. It made him sad when he thought about how it meant nothing to them, but to him it was the biggest day ever, it was the day two of the most important people came to be, two people he loved so much it hurt. He'd be damned if he let his parents continue to torment his brothers from the grave, to hell with them, Lester and his brothers were better without them and he'd show them.

With new found confidence he marched to the garage where his older brother was, head ducked under a hood of some car doing god knows what. Without looking up Bo called to him, "Hand me that wrench will'ya?" He extended his hand and waited for Lester to drop the metal tool in his hand before continuing to tinker with the vehicle. After a few beats Bo addressed him again, "Wha'cha want? M'busy."

Lester wrung the hem of his shirt in his hands as his mind scrambled to find what to say, finally settling on "I need ya up at th'house, got sumn to show ya." He turned on his heel and made his way back to the family home, ignoring Bo's demands for an answer. "I guess you'll have t'come and find out I s'pose!" He hollered back at his brother.

Upon entering the house Lester saw Vincent sitting on the couch, waiting like he expected him to be. Not too long after Lester came in Bo followed, his brows furrowed in confusion as he looked at both of his brothers. "Kay what? Th'hell you drag me up here for? Wha'cha gotta show me?"

Lester motioned for them to follow as he led them to the kitchen, Jonesy racing to be in front of the brothers, evidently more excited than the three men. On arrival Bo asked again what was going on and Lester so badly wished his brother had more patience. "Well..." He had started as he glanced between his brothers and then towards the pan that sat on the kitchen table. "Happy birthday?" Automatically Bo let out and groan and Lester had to move to stop him from leaving.

"You dragged my ass all the way up'ere t'tell me that? I'on got time fer this shit, told'ya I was busy." He stared down at his little brother before watching as his twin inspected the pan, peeling back the foil to reveal a cake, or something resembling a cake-- was it a cake? The fuck Lester bring with him?

Vincent turned back to dig through a drawer, grabbing a cake cutter and some plates from a cabinet. Lester stared at his feet as he shuffled slightly, embarrassed from the rejection. "Might not be good but I made a cake, got y'all sumn too.." His voice was small as he spoke to his brother, avoiding eye contact as he lifted his gaze.

Bo's face fell from anger to neutral as he watched his baby brother fidget, obviously upset from his reaction. "Shit, what th'hell, I reckon I could use a break." He ignored how fast Lester's expression lifted and instead head towards the table where the cake laid, "This car'mel cake?" Bo's eyebrows shot up and Vincent handed him a plate, he was shocked, he didn't know Lester was able to make it. He cut him a nice sized piece with his fork and shoveled it into his mouth.

Okay maybe he got ahead of himself with assuming.

The cake was mealy and the icing was burnt, the fuck did Lester do to this poor cake?

Lester watched as Bo stood there, a bite in his mouth but now chewing. "Well.. i'shure ish a cake" Bo muttered from behind the ruined dessert, trying to not hurt his brother's feelings too bad.

"Oh." Lester felt his shoulders slump and he held back a sigh, he had really really wanted the cake to be decent, "Y'ain't gotta eat it f'is bad.." He mumbled and watched as Vincent chewed his bite very slowly. Bo was quick to swallow, spitting it out would be too rude and he didn't think he could handle his little brother being more upset from the gesture. "Tasted like shit," he laughed and raked his plate in the trash before making his way to Lester, "well, it wasn't that bad but.." he paused, "but I sure do 'preciate it.." Before he could give it a second thought, Bo engulfed his little brother in his arms for a short embrace which Lester was quick to reciprocate. After a little Bo pulled away.

"So, what was that 'bout you gettin' us sumn?"

------------------------------

i didnt do much to correct any errors, its super late, hope yall enjoy it

[hypnomicimagines]

Domestic Life Series: Jinguji Jakurai

Who kisses the other on the nose and the one receiving the kiss blushes?

Jakurai’s nose is a little out of reach for you to do so with the intention of surprising him unless you’re laying down together but when you tug on a strand of his hair like you’re ringing a bell, he would come down to your level with a smile as you leaned in to kiss his nose. He thinks the show of affection is quite cute and though he’d feel foolish doing it himself, he doesn’t ever mind when you want to do it to him. He always tells you how cute you are after you do it and gives you one of his gentle smiles, giving a kiss on the forehead in return.

Who sits on their partners lap as they wrap their arms around their partners neck?

When you sat on Jakurai’s lap the first few times it was the easiest way to get him flustered, the color blooming on his cheek looking quite lovely in your opinion. You liked to play with his hair, twirling a few strands around your fingers as you looked up at him with so much love in your eyes he could’ve drowned it. He still likes it even after growing used to it though he tells you not to surprise him as he worried you might hurt yourself, one arm wrapped to keep you properly tucked into him while his other arm rests atop your legs, positioned so one hand can rest on your thigh.

Who kisses the inside of their partner’s palm before reassuring them everything is going to be okay?

Jakurai is generally the one who’s coolest under pressure, not allowing dire situations to get to his head as he knows he has to be on top of his game if he expects to get out of certain things alive. His past greatly adds to how well he handles most things that other people would run in fear from and even if he tries to hide it from you, he also uses what he’s learned to help keep you at ease. He didn’t even mean to kiss the palm of your hand the first time, just drawing all sorts of shapes on it with his fingers when the mood suddenly struck and he did it, pleased to see that you seemed to enjoy it.

Who initiates the forehead touch?

If Jakurai knows he needs to center you, to get you to focus on him in the moment, he’ll do what he can to block out your vision of the area so that you’ll only look at him. His eyes manage to be so hypnotizing in moments where you need it most and his forehead comes down to meet yours, the only thing actively processed by your brain being the sound of Jakurai’s soothing tone. Even if absolute chaos is happening around you he takes the time to assure you that things will be okay, seeing you off to a safe haven before he dives directly into the chaos himself. The forehead touch is as much for him as it is for you, getting to be close to you one final time before he potentially heads off to meet his end.

Where do they first say “I love you”?

Too many things have happened in Jakurai’s patient room that had nothing to do with his job and though he disliked being distracted there, he couldn’t disagree that some of it was necessary. He seemed to hardly ever have a chance to be home and though he never minded being busy before, having a significant other meant he felt other obligations. He felt neglectful of your needs and disliked the thought of you having to sleep in your big bed alone but he couldn’t ignore the importance of his job. He had this entire speech prepared for you, having already accepted the break-up that hadn’t even happened yet, and you stun him once again by telling him even if you were lonely you’d never take it out on him. Leaving him wouldn’t be a solution but you hoped that he’d have time for a date soon, if not, you’d just have to show up to the hospital to have lunch with him while you could. Those three little words slipped out before he managed to regain control of his rapidly beating heart and the rest was history.

Who wraps their arms around their partner who’s cooking?

Jakurai doesn’t like to disrupt you while you’re cooking as that’s how serious burns and injuries can occur which is not exactly something he wants to put you through. But after you throw something into the oven and you’re washing his hands he’ll come up behind you, quiet as a ghost, arms wrapping around your middle as he greets you. He tells you how delicious the meal your cooking smells and rest his chin atop your head, waiting patiently as you finish cleaning your hands to steal away a few more kisses. He tries to do the rest of the dishes you had made a mess of making dinner but it becomes a joint effort as you don’t want to let him do it all alone.

Who breaks out the first aid kit when the other gets a paper cut?

Jakurai is the doctor in the relationship and he treats every injury with a certain seriousness that always makes you smile, even if it’s a simple paper cut. He doesn’t think everything’s a life and death situation but he has seen minor wounds spiral out of control when not properly cared for and he would hate to see you in agony over something that could be handled right the first time around. He absolutely is the type to kiss it after a band-aid is placed, telling you with an amused smile that the prognosis seems good.

Who cuddles up to the other?

Just taking one look at Jakurai makes you want to cuddle with him, it’s almost too easy to fit yourself into his arms and fall asleep laying on his chest. He never seems to mind when you do this, even if you’re a person who’s more on the touchy side he never complains or gets sick of your touch. He loves it when you shower him with affection as he likes to make the most of it when he’s actually around, soaking in all your love and pulling you back as you try to escape, telling you it’s his turn to appreciate you now.

Who falls asleep on who? What is their reaction when the other falls asleep on them?

Jakurai, unfortunately, falls asleep on you very often because of his work schedule; he tries to make the time for you but sleep overcomes him when he’s stagnant and you can count a number of times where he’s completely fallen asleep in a restaurant while you were waiting for food. But when it’s just the two of you in the house and Jakurai’s the first to fall asleep you take the time to admire him, wondering how the man can look so beautiful at all times of day. Even when his hair is a bit messy and he looks totally exhausted he’s so handsome you think he’d charm God himself.

Who likes to be held and who likes to hold?

Jakurai likes to hold you, feeling you in his arms is a friendly reminder that you’re a real, tangible person who loves him and is there for him despite all that you went through together. His hand runs through your hair and he listens to the sound of your breath, feelings your chest expanding, all reassurances that you’re alive and well. At night is when his thoughts catch up to him, make him feel the most depressed, make him worry that he’s not good enough for you and that he won’t be able to keep you safe if Chuuoku decides to make you a target. Holding you in his arms is one way to keep these negative thoughts at bay, to remind himself that he was doing just fine and that you were happy, healthy, breathing, and that you loved him as much as he loved you.  

[pftones3482]

Sometimes Stupid

Commission for @randomfandomfan from one of their many prompts they gave me. Took forever bc of work and life and also???? Now I have a cat??? So that's fun. But this was fun to write. Read it here on AO3

Set post TLO and pre HOO (and a little bit post HOO). Under a cut for length.

~~

Contrary to popular belief, Leo Valdez was not stupid.

He was an idiot, at times – for instance, maybe running away from his seventh (fifteenth? He’d really lost track at this point) foster home wasn’t the best decision he could have made, especially given that it was the middle of summer and oh, also, hurricane season. And okay, maybe he should’ve taken more with him than a single change of clothes, a box of Ritz crackers, a pocketknife, and a water bottle that had definitely seen better days, but he was in a rush, okay?

But he wasn’t stupid.

When he ran away from his foster homes, Leo tended to stay away from people where he could. And if he had to be around them, he cleaned up, smiled brightly, “Yes ma’am”ed and “Yes’sir”ed to an obnoxious point, and lied his pants off. People were less likely to call the police on a Hispanic kid if they thought he was just a darling little angel waiting for mom at the grocery store, and the last thing he needed was the cops in his business.

Not that it hadn’t happened, of course. He’d dealt with cops of all kinds – nice cops, bad cops, black cops, white cops (WAY too many of those, in his opinion), the occasional cop who would speak Spanish with him, cops who were just there to write a report and move on with their days – cops.

He tried to stay away from them.

Which meant sticking to beaches and forests, lakes and campgrounds, middle of nowhere places with no people for miles. Leo was good at disappearing. Hiding.

But there were always times when he needed an adult. When he needed to hitchhike, or when he needed food to the point of near passing out. Once for serious medical attention. There was a system to what adults you could trust.

Never cops. You could never trust the cops, no matter what naïve white parents thought. Leo had been in cuffs enough to know that was false.

You also couldn’t usually trust priests. They meant well, sure, but they always ended up calling the authorities in the end. That, or they tried to convert Leo to Catholicism, and while one of those encounters had ended with a swiped bottle of watered-down red wine and a night that made him vow to never drink again, he wasn’t trying to contact the church.

(THAT night, Leo would say he had been stupid. He could admit that)

Homeless people were usually okay. While a lot of them were very suspicious of everyone, almost every homeless person he’d ever met would point him in the direction of food, water, free showers, free clothes, or a library (his saving grace during the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter). The times when he came across gay homeless people were when he felt safest – they especially never pressed him about his background. Ironic, really, that he felt safer with strangers on the street than his foster homes.

Moms were sometimes okay. Especially if they were Hispanic, or black, or just anything but white. They, at least, wouldn’t call the cops on him. But they were also hit or miss – sometimes they helped in way of a meal, or a new bottle of water. One mom even took him to the store and got him new socks and underwear (he had cried that night). But other moms rushed him away from their precious babies. Some moms called him ungrateful for the “space he had.”

Dads were a never. Leo never went to men if he could help it, even if they had children with them. He didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them, and that wasn’t very far.

But it was hurricane season. And he was on the coast. And it was downpouring, and he was starving, and the only people he had seen for miles were a white couple, a man and a woman, standing on the porch of a somewhat rundown shack that Leo would’ve probably thought was abandoned if he hadn’t seen them there.

The man was tall, peppered hair that was shifting more to salt, with a rough beard and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. The woman at his side was short, probably Leo’s height, with dark curly hair and vibrantly blue eyes. It was streaked with gray, but she was, admittedly, a very pretty woman. Something about her smile put Leo at ease.

He clutched his backpack tighter in his fist and stumbled over the sand towards the shack, ankles rolling uncomfortably on the wet ground. He was sure he looked atrocious, sure that the moment they spotted him, they’d shriek and cuss him out and lock the door.

But then he coughed, hard, his shoulders shaking, and the woman whipped her head around. He watched her eyes widen, watched her tug at the man’s sleeve, and then she was bolting – barefoot, Leo noticed – down the steps and over to him.

He flinched when she wrapped an arm over his shoulders, jolting out of her grip more from habit than anything else. She froze, holding both hands up and relaxing her stance. “Hey, honey. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Somewhere deep down, Leo’s brain was scoffing at the patronizing words. But on the surface, he focused on the words, and then sharpened his eyes onto the man as he approached, phone in hand. “I-I c-can’t-”

The woman looked back, down at the phone, and her shoulders stiffened. “Paul, put the phone away, please.”

Her voice held an intonation that Leo couldn’t decipher, but the man – Paul – instantly shut the phone off and pocketed it. The moment it was gone, Leo let his shoulders loosen, and he looked at the woman anxiously. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I just…”

“Hey.”

Her arm was more cautious this time, sliding around Leo’s shoulders with a pace that would let him move if he wanted. He didn’t, just let it happen, and then the woman was easing him over the sticky sand and up the steps of the shack, Paul close behind them. He stopped at the door, pushing back hard against the woman’s guiding grip. “I don’t want to ruin your house,” he managed.

The woman’s laugh was…well, to be perfectly honest, it made Leo feel warm. Like she could never hurt him.

Those are usually the most dangerous people, his mind tried to reason with him.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a rental cabin. Besides, I’ve had far worse than a little sand and water on my floors before.”

Before he could wonder at that sentence, she opened the door and nudged him inside. The second that Paul closed the door, the sound of the wind died down and the chill in the air evaporated. Leo realized he was shivering.

The woman’s hands were warm on his cheeks. “My name is Sally, hon. You are-?”

He usually gave a fake name, but – “Leo, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ma’am me,” she scoffed, her voice easy as she helped Leo to the couch. “I’m not that old, am I Paul?”

Paul put his hands up. “I abstain from answering.”

Sally scoffed and pressed a cool hand on Leo’s forehead. “Can I take your backpack, sweetheart?”

Something like panic flared in Leo’s chest, and Sally must have seen it, because she pulled her hand back and held it up. “I’m not moving it far, I just want Paul to dry everything out for you, okay?”

Fingers shaking, Leo shrugged off his bag – the one he’d been carrying for nearly three states – and passed it over to her. She took it like it was a priceless artifact, and handed it to Paul with more tenderness than Leo had ever seen given to an inanimate object. “I think my son might have left some clothes here while he was with us last week,” she said, voice soft. “He’s a little older than you, so some things might be big, but is it okay if we give you some of his clothes while we dry out yours?”

Leo swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Um. Yeah.”

She stood up and left with Paul, giving Leo a moment to be alone and take in the cabin around him.

It was old, but obviously well taken care of, with weathered planks of wood gracing the walls and the floor. He was in the living room, full of mismatched couches and chairs and a bookshelf stacked full of books and games. He didn’t see a TV in sight, but he wasn’t expecting to find one. He stood shakily, suddenly very aware of how wet he was getting the couch, and wrapped his arms around himself as he explored the rest of the main room.

The kitchen was small and cramped, but he could smell something full of tomatoes and spices in the oven that made his tastebuds water. He didn’t dare look for fear of getting caught, so he stepped away and into the tiny dining area. There was sand on the floor, spread thin and fine, and it was such a small thing, but it made Leo relax even more – Sally meant it when she said she didn’t care about him ruining her floors.

But she and Paul had been gone for a while, and Leo wasn’t stupid, okay? It didn’t matter how well intentioned someone was, they always thought they knew better, and if they were gone too long, it meant they were trying to decide for him. So he crept towards the hallway they’d vanished to, praying that he didn’t step on a squeaky board. Old homes always had them in the most inconvenient places.

“-not answering?” he picked up Paul’s voice saying.

“No,” Sally said, a sigh in her voice. “He did say he and Annabeth were on a date, but I didn’t expect them to be in Paris of all places. How did they even-?”

“Can you get ahold of Chiron?”

Not the police, then, Leo reasoned, unless they knew an officer by that name. He leaned a little closer.

“No – I try not to call the camp unless I need to. Phone lines and all that, you know?”

Paul huffed. “I know. And Rachel is at art camp, right?”

“Yup,” Sally said, and Leo heard a sound like a blowing raspberry. “He clearly isn’t aware of anything, Paul. He’s terrified.”

“Probably a runaway,” Paul hummed, and Leo flinched at the damning statement. “Met a couple kids like that teaching.”

He looked like a teacher. You couldn’t trust most teachers either, Leo had learned. They were just like priests. Tried their best, but they always inevitably called someone.

“What did you do? Who did you call?” Sally asked, and Leo stiffened. Here it comes, his brain taunted.

“No one,” Paul said.

Leo blinked, taking a slight step back. What?

“Kids don’t run away for no reason, Sal. Especially not kids like him. Perce taught me that. I mean, maybe in my early days of teaching, I might have called the authorities, but ever since this summer I…how could I risk that? Even before then, I mean…the stories I’ve heard from some of these kids I’ve talked to. We don’t know anything about him. If he ran away, all this way, in this weather? It was bad, love.”

Leo’s throat ached.

He’d never, the whole time he’d been in foster care, ever heard an adult admit that they were wrong to call the authorities on him. Never heard an adult take his perspective into account, especially without even knowing him. Never had an adult admit that his life could be anything other than ideal.

He took another step back and oh shit, there it was, the cursed piece of wood in every old house to ever exist. He cussed under his breath and ducked his head as Sally stepped into the hallway. He refused to look up at her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You were just gone for a while a-and I thought you might be calling someone.”

No verbal response. Instead, a soft bundle of fabric was pressed into Leo’s hands. He startled, gripping onto the clothing, and looked up at Sally and Paul with wide eyes. Paul shook his head. “We’re not calling anyone, son. Not if you don’t want us to. But we do ask that you get cleaned up, before you catch pneumonia.”

Sally tilted her head towards the door across the hall. “Let me know when you’re done, I’ll toss your clothes in the dryer. Paul was just finishing up dinner when you came along. Do you like lasagna?”

Leo’s mouth watered at the thought of eating any kind of food that wasn’t stale crackers and canned tuna. “Yes ma’am.”

“What’d I say about that ma’am nonsense?” Sally scolded.

Leo ducked his head, trying to press down the tears. “Yes, miss,” he chuckled.

Sally laughed as Paul headed for the kitchen. “It’s a start, love.”

~~

Sally’s son’s clothes were soft, well loved. They smelled like sea water and lavender detergent, and though the t-shirt was a gaudy orange with letters so faded that Leo couldn’t read them, he sank into the fabric with a sigh. Sally had also passed him a pair of sweatpants, and Leo hoped that her son wouldn’t be mad if he ever found out that some random foster kid had borrowed them.

If he was anything like Sally, though, Leo had the feeling he’d like him.

His hair was still wet, but this time from a shower, and Leo couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to stand under an actual stream of hot water without people literally timing him to make sure he didn’t take too long. He stood in front of the mirror, sighing a little at how skinny he’d gotten. He’d always been small – being skinny only made him more of a punching bag for the bigger foster kids. His hair, untamed from weeks of running, hung in his eyes, and he wondered briefly if Sally might have a hair tie he could borrow.

He left the bathroom and crept into the dining room, where Sally was setting the table and Paul was pulling one of the most beautiful lasagnas he’d ever seen out of the oven.

“-texted me, said they’d be back tomorrow morning. He offered to come back sooner,” Sally was saying as Leo stood in the doorway, “but I know he and ‘beth haven’t really gotten to go on any non-monstrous dates recently.”

She blinked when she saw him standing there, and her smile softened into something warm and inviting. “Come on, hon. Paul was just getting dinner out.”

Maybe it was the malnourishment, or Paul’s cooking skills, or Leo’s exhaustion, or a combination of the three, but Leo had never tasted such good Italian food in his life. He downed one, two, three pieces and a full salad before he finally slowed down. To his relief, neither Paul nor Sally gave him any grief about how many pieces he took. Honestly, he thought he watched Paul actively make his slices bigger than theirs.

They’d clearly been talking about their son when he came in the room. This guy was in Paris, on a date with his girlfriend, and he was coming back tomorrow. Leo wondered just how rich this family was – the dad was a teacher, but Sally hadn’t said what she did, and Leo was a little afraid to ask.

When Paul brought out a pie for dessert, Leo almost cried. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any dessert fancier than a stolen Ding Dong from a corner store. Paul definitely gave him a larger slice than them, and as he ate it, Sally poked at her own pie.

“Leo, we’re not going to pry,” she started, gentle. “Your story is yours, and I know how tricky it can be to share yourself and your past with new people.”

The sad smile Paul shot her didn’t go unnoticed by Leo, and he internally bristled at the thought that this wonderful mom in front of him could understand anything about how he felt, because that meant that she’d gone through shit she didn’t deserve. He said nothing, though, just nodded.

Sally eyed her pie thoughtfully, stabbing a blackberry that had escaped the crust. “But I feel like…well, I feel as though my son especially can relate to how you’re feeling, or at least some of it. If you’d be willing to wait for him to come home, maybe we can figure some things out together.”

Leo felt lost. He’d been lost a lot before, but this was the first time it was mental and not physical. “What?”

Sally looked up, seeming to realize that she’d baffled him. “I mean…”

She looked at Paul, and Leo looked between the two of them, tightening his grip on his fork. They were having a silent conversation. Leo hated when adults did that. “You mean you want to wait until I’m asleep so you can call the cops o-or foster services or-or just wait until your son gets back so he can tell me to get out.”

He shoved his chair back from the table, tears prickling at his eyes. Every time. Every time. He always got his hopes up, always thought he’d found the perfect people, people who got it, and every fucking time, he-

Hands settled on his shoulders, and he ripped away, scowling at Sally. Her eyes were sad, and Leo felt an unwelcome stab of guilt in his chest. “That is not what we were suggesting, ever, honey. I would never call foster services, first of all. They’re atrocious, especially for kids of color.”

Leo jolted back. He’d never had a white woman actively acknowledge his race so bluntly before – it was usually partnered with some demeaning comment about “his kind” of people. He eyed Sally warily.

She lowered her hands, keeping them on her hips where he could see them. “Second, I’d never call the police either. You’re not a problem, and my son has had enough unfortunate encounters with them for me to…distrust them severely, to say the least.”

Her son had-?

“I just…we know a place. Where you would genuinely be safe, hon. No foster homes, no cops, with people who get it.”

She was lying. She had to be lying, no matter what Leo’s heart said. But she wasn’t going to let this go, and he knew it. So he sighed, fidgeted with his fingers. He wished he had something to build. “Okay. I’ll wait for your son to get home.”

Sally relaxed, and Leo gave her a thin smile.

He helped her and Paul clean up the kitchen, put away the leftover lasagna. Sat with them and did a puzzle, played a game of Clue with them. Fixed their radio for them, much to their surprise, and then watched with a small smile on his face as Paul and Sally danced around the living room together. They tried to get him to join, but he’d never been much of a dancer, so he declined.

They bid him goodnight around 11, and he shut the door of their son’s room, let the hours tick on.

At three am, he got up, changed back into his own clothes, left the borrowed ones folded neatly on the foot of the bed. He took a flashlight from the bedside table and slid it into his backpack, stepped out of the bedroom and avoided the squeaky floorboard.

The tool kit from fixing the radio was still on the coffee table, and he picked it up with only the slightest feelings of guilt. Went through the cabinets and pulled out sleeves of crackers, a box of granola, eyed the leftover lasagna with a sad gaze. He found a roll of toilet paper under the sink, a bottle of hand sanitizer in a junk drawer.

He paused by the game of Clue, left out on the table from their match, and let his fingers trace over it sadly. His gut screamed at him to leave. His heart screamed at him to stay. He wasn’t stupid.

Leo had always trusted his gut.

He pocketed the candlestick piece and turned for the door, flinching the second his eyes landed on Sally.

Her hair was done up in a braid, her pajamas wrinkled, and the moon shining through the window reflected the sadness in her eyes. Leo opened his mouth, but couldn’t find it in him to speak – the lump was back.

She stepped forward and he shut his eyes, expecting a lecture. Instead, her hand cupped his cheek. Her other hand pressed into his, and he gasped as he felt the telltale touch of money in his fingers. He looked down at the wad of cash – he couldn’t see how much it was, but he knew that he didn’t deserve it. He looked up at her, panicking. “I can’t-”

“Stay, I know,” she whispered, and that wasn’t what he’d been planning to say, and he knew that she knew that. “I understand, Leo. I understand, sweetie.”

The sob slipped out before he could stop it, and Sally’s eyes softened. She bent at the hip, pressing a soft kiss to his curls. “When you end up meeting my son,” she murmured, “come visit, okay?”

Leo had no idea what that meant, but he nodded, if only to appease her. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Nothing to be sorry for, honey. Be safe.”

Sally watched him go, watched him shut the door behind him, and he looked down at the money in his hands with a choked feeling in his chest. It was more than he’d held in his entire life. He couldn’t take it, but he knew she’d be upset if he didn’t. And if there was one thing Leo refused to do, it was make Sally more upset than he already had.

So he pocketed it and, with an aching heart, stepped off the porch of the cabin. The storm from earlier had died down, and, fingers tight on his backpack straps, he started making his way up the beach.

~~

Percy was bouncing up and down at the entrance to Camp Half Blood, fingers curled around Annabeth’s hand. “Do I look okay?” he asked for probably the thousandth time that morning.

Piper rolled her eyes. “Percy, it’s your mom. She doesn’t care what you look like.”

Percy shot her a mock glare. “I haven’t seen her in over a year, McClean, sue me.”

“You look fine, Perce,” Annabeth laughed, kissing his cheek. “She’s gonna mostly care that you’re alive.”

“Okay but this tattoo-”

“Sorry, you vanished on me for over a year, crossed the globe, and you got a TATTOO?” came a very scolding, very obviously Mom Voice, and Leo snickered, turning to see who was about to absolutely whoop Percy’s ass.

And he stumbled on his own feet, lips parting as Sally (Sally Jackson, his unhelpful brain mocked) appeared at the top of the hill. Her hair was a little grayer than it had been when Leo met her, her hips a little wider, but her smile was the same, her laugh as Percy launched himself at her the same peal of delight Leo remembered on his toughest nights, and when she caught his eye over Percy’s shoulder, her smile only widened.

Okay, so sometimes Leo Valdez was kind of stupid.

[dragon-kazansky]

Recipe for love | Helmut Zemo

Chef Zemo AU! 👨‍🍳

Gender neutral reader

Dedicated to @rumblelibrary

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Part 6

Friday. It's Friday. The grand opening!

Natasha came to your place early and gave you a long speech about you being on your best behaviour. It was vital that everything went well tonight as Zemo had some very important guests coming.

You just smiled and told her everything would be fine. You would make whatever they ordered and everything would be fine. Despite that, she still held doubt toward you. Natasha knew you better than anyone.

You both arrived at the restaurant exactly when Zemo had asked you to be there. All the chefs were gathered in the kitchen, waiters were standing out front with the hosts, and the doors would be open in less than hour so he had to make sure he spoke with everyone.

He didn't bother looking as you and Natasha joined the others.

"I cannot state this clear enough, no fuck ups. We cannot afford for anything to go wrong. If you fuck up, I'll fire you."

Everyone nodded silently.

"This is my restaurant. You do as I say. I'll be up front all evening, cooking beside you, checking everything, I will not leave this kitchen unless necessary. I will see everything you're doing, hear everything you say. You all did quite well this week, but I need you to be better."

He eyed every single person in that kitchen.

"You."

His eyes narrowed on you.

"Yes, chef."

"Get started, now. I need fresh desserts."

He had to be fucking kidding! Why did he ask you to be here with everyone else. You should have come earlier to start.

You decided to bite back your temper, knowing Natasha was looking at you, and make your way to your work station. You get started.

You can only hope to have desserts ready in time. He should have known you would need extra time. Too late to do anything about it now.

The restaurant roars to life.

The doors open, the customers enter, the waiters out front greet and smile at people. It isn't long before orders come flooding into the kitchen.

Helmut Zemo is right there to call them out.

All around you is an echo of 'yes chef!'

You focus on the desserts. Those who have pre ordered their desserts are easy. You can do us on those.

It's anyone who hasn't ordered yet that worries you. You're the only person at this work station. You have to bake, prep, and decorate everything to perfection.

That bastard is either a fool or he's testing you.

Zemo's shouts across the kitchen don't go unnoticed by you. Even if it's not aimed at you, it's distracting and annoying. It's going to take everything in you not to throw something at him.

Why is it so hard for him to be a decent human being?

So many meals had been sent out... they'll want dessert soon and you're not quite ready.

You can feel his gaze on you.

You glance up.

Those dark eyes of his are glaring at you. He's confident enough to take his eyes off of what he's cooking to glare at you.

You glare back.

Just as you cast your eyes down to focus back on your work, his voice rings out loudly across the kitchen.

"Are those desserts done yet?"

"Not yet."

"Hurry up!" He growls.

You resist biting back as you check the cheesecake you had prepared. It was almost done. The tiramisu was as good as done too. The came was still in the oven, you would lucky if you could decorate it in time. Then you remember the panna cotta, damn it!

You wipe at your brow with your arm and check the cake. It's not going to be done in time. He'll throw a fit.

A clatter up ahead has you looking up.

Zemo's base narrows on the young man who was scrambling to pick up the dish he dropped.

"Pick that up and get out of the way!"

Peter, you had learned his name is, quickly grabs everything and hurries off to the side. Apparently, he was one of Zemo's favourites to yell at... other than you, perhaps.

"Where the fuck are the desserts?"

You glare back at Zemo.

"I'm going as fast as I can! If you wanted them done sooner, you should have asked me here sooner!"

"Are you always this rude and disrespectful?" He growls.

"Are you?"

He is gripping the frying pan he's using with quite a bit of strength. He looks like he's trying so hard not to throw it at you.

"Hurry the fuck up or get out."

You can't physically go any faster than you are now. By the time the cake is ready to come out, desserts are being requested. Zemo comes over to your work station with Loki and Sylvie in tow. They take slices of the cheesecake and tiramisu. You're preparing the panna cotta you almost forgot about, and you just manage to get an apple pie into the oven now that the cake is done. Everything is a mess, but at least you have desserts going out.

You make each dish presentable as Loki and Sylvie take a slice of the desired dessert. They smile at you before they take up front where the waiters can collect it.

Zemo remains hovering over your work station. He has his hands on his hips and you can see how tense his shoulders are.

The man was pissed.

"What?"

"You're too fucking slow. Almost everything has been perfect except for you."

"You hired me."

"Because your desserts are perfect. You are not. You are slow, rude, disrespectful, and your attitude is a mess. I can't believe you're the best baker I could find," he hisses.

"Backward compliment."

"Shut up and hurry up."

"You know, it would be a whole lot easier if you stopped hovering over me. I can't cool down a cake any quicker. I can't bake the pie any quicker. Have you ever baked something before?"

"Of course I have," he says, offended at the notion.

"Then you should know."

"I have made everything on me menu. Everything a hundred times better than what you're producing."

"THEN YOU BAKE!"

"Do not raise your voice at me," he snarls, pointing his finger in your direction.

"Then piss off!"

Other than the sounds of things cooking, everything else is silent. Everyone was staring over at you, but you couldn't care less right now.

Zemo was glaring harder than ever.

"Get out."

"Excuse me?" You ask, unsure if you actually heard him.

"Get. Out."

"You're kicking me out?"

"GET OUT!" He swipes his arm across your work station and knocks over the things you were going to use on the cake.

You jump as they clatter to the ground.

You glare at Zemo.

"Fine, asshole. You bake. Fuck you!" You throw the spatula you had been holding down and storm out of the kitchen.

Zemo turns on his heel.

"GET BACK TO WORK," he glares.

Everyone quickly continues focusing on what they're doing.

Zemo takes over for you.

Things seem to go a lot smoother now that you're gone. He can focus better. He decorates the cake his way, dishes out everything as it comes in, and even makes more cheesecake as it seems popular tonight.

You do not return to the restaurant that night.

It's late when the doors close. Everyone cleans up the kitchen and leaves it spotless. Zemo is in his office counting up the profits of the evening when everyone else leaves.

Natasha casts a glance at your work station.

She warned you, but she was also worried about you.

You and Zemo existing in the same space just led to hatred and anger. Neither one of you could co-exist. They really needed you to if this was going to work out. You can't be yelling at each other every night.

At least he didn't fire you... yet.

As soon as she exists the restaurant, she pulls out her phone.

Nat: hey, how are you doing?

No response. It is late though.

Nat: Zemo will probably want to see you tomorrow. Just be careful, OK?

She sighs and heads home.

You lay awake on your bed watching your phone light up. You don't even check them. Most of them are from Nat, but you saw Thor's name pop up a couple of times.

He was worried about you.

That made you happy. Thor was nice, you liked him. He fit into your little friend group nicely.

You sigh as roll over and lay on your back.

You would face Zemo with your head held high tomorrow. Whatever he threw at you, you would throw back 10x worse.

You'll show him what you're capable of.

The long con. That would be far more satisfying. You smile. If Zemo was going to continue to be a dick, you would fight fire with fire.

You just hoped he wouldn't humiliate you again.

@lieutenantn @rumblelibrary @bigtiddythanos @timmvrphy @vverliebt @thatoneartgalsstuff @apparrio @mischief-siriusly-managed @hb8301 @zemosimp05 @madhatter2727 @aarielsea @alex-the-nb @thesuitkovian @handmaiden-of-mischief @malkaviangirl @charistory @killeromanoff @latenightartist-author @belle82devart @alindeluce @anteroom-of-death @mssennimatilda @unbeatablecurlgirl @bruhidaniel @nonamec0s @fablesrose @lemairepstuff @marchingicenotes7 @scuttle-buttle @fictionlandslanddreams @awhorewithissues @secretly-a-weeb

[qianinterprises]

Smoke Detector

Pairing: Taeyong x Reader

Warnings: burnt food, tears, self-doubt

Scenario 1) when they (you) mess up cooking dinner for the first time.

Summary: you want to make dinner for Taeyong on your anniversary, but to do so requires help from the fourth best chef in NCT. Unfortunately, that isn't enough to stop disaster.

Genre: fluff, minor angst

Author's Notes: I am participating in the ficscafe scenario event! You may be seeing a few of these pop up as I am super excited to write these scenarios! Also, I apologize if this is kinda sucky. I wrote it in one sitting because I just had SO much inspiration, but there's a very good chance that this isn't very good.

Word Count: 2.6k

Tag List: @treasuretaeil @hachanbaecon

For as long as you could remember, you'd never learned how to properly put on a meal. Sure, you could make ramen in the microwave or throw together a sandwich, but anything involving more technical skills and you were screwed. For that reason, you never offered to cook for your boyfriend, which admittedly made you feel inadequate, but he was so an amazing chef that admitting your lack of skills was embarrassing to say the least.

Taeyong had no idea you had very little talent in the kitchen. You never told him about the time you nearly burnt down your mother's kitchen trying to make tacos or the time you forgot your scones in the oven until they were black as coal and hard as stones.

Taeyong's cooking skills were perfect. He could whip nothing into the most delectable meal you'd ever tasted. And that was daunting.

He should be with someone who he could partner with. Someone who could share the responsibility of the kitchen because you knew, when Taeyong got home after allday of schedules, the last thing he wanted to do was cook. But he did so anyway (unless you'd convinced him to get takeout). He never complained. Never questioned why you didn't cook for him. Never gave you anything but a happy smile and a soft peck on the lips.

Lee Taeyong was just too perfect. So perfect in fact that today, on the morning of your two year anniversary, he had taken the morning off and instead, bounced around in the kitchen cooking up all your favorite breakfast foods before surprising you in bed with them. He had roused you awake and placed the tray on your lap before crawling back in bed beside you and kissing your lips.

“Happy anniversary my love,” he had whispered against your lips.

The morning had been spent enjoying his well-crafted breakfast with sleepy cuddles and a slow, sensual, naked dance beneath the sheets before he had to peel himself away with a promise that he would be home in time to make dinner.

With that, he had left, and you spent the rest of the afternoon fretting. Taeyong had made breakfast. A breakfast that didn't consist of cheerios or toast. He had taken the time to use his morning to whip up a breakfast fit for a king. And now he was planning on two meals in one day!

Your stomach churned uncomfortably, fear gripping your heart. One day, Lee Taeyong would realize that he was too good for you, and then he’d be gone. Off to find someone better for him. Someone like Doyoung, who he could cook with without supervision. Or maybe even someone like Johnny, bigger than him, that could hold him tight and ease away all of his worries.

You were useless. At least, that’s what your subconsciousness whispered in the back of your head.

~

As two pm rolled around, you were tired of moping. Taeyong deserved someone better. So you would become better. That would just require a little bit (a lot) of help from someone who knew their way around the kitchen.

The first person you contacted was Kun, but when he didn’t respond, Doyoung became the next best thing. Quickly, you sent the male a quick text because you had no idea who Taeyong was scheduled with today.

‘Do you have 127 schedules today?’

Doyoung didn’t take long to text back.

‘Yeah, why?’

Always one to get to the point. But you liked that about Doyoung.

‘Just curious, wasn’t sure who Taeyong was scheduled with today.’

You huffed. The simplest choice went out the window. Had Doyoung been free, you would have invited the male over and had him help you cook a gorgeous dinner. Although part of you was glad you had to go with plan b. Plan b wouldn’t get irritated and yell at you quite as easily as Doyoung would.

‘How’s my favorite Dreamie?’ you sent, hoping Dreams schedules were clear that day because you were running out of options.

‘Jeno’s doing fine? Why?’

‘I’m not talking about Jeno, you nincompoop!’

These boys were going to be the death of you one of these days.

‘Haha, I know, what’s up? What do you need?’

‘Why do you assume I need something?’

‘-.-’

‘Fine. I need your help cooking dinner for Taeyong!’

It took the boy longer to respond and you assumed his answer was no when your phone began to ring. When you answered, he didn’t even give you time for a proper greeting.

“Why do you need my help?” Jaemin asked.

You let out a huff. None of the boys knew your dirty little secret, but you knew Jaemin (or Doyoung for that matter) would help you without an explanation.

“Because I can’t cook to save my life! And he cooks all the time! And I just want our anniversary to be special! Will you help me or not?!”

“How are you dating Taeyong hyung without knowing how to cook?!”

“Jaemin!” you whined, red creeping up to your cheeks.

He let out a breathy laugh.

“I can’t come over. Our managers gave us the next few days off and Renjun and Jeno have barricaded us all in here, but I can help you over the phone!”

Not exactly what you had in mind, but with Jaemin helping you, what could possibly go wrong?

~

Later on that evening after deciding to make something relatively simple for Taeyong, Jaemin helps you create a grocery list and sends you on your way. Grocery shopping was the easy part. You were exceptionally good at shopping. It was when you got back home that your hands began to clam up as you stood in the center of the kitchen, trying to mentally prepare yourself for whatever was about to happen.

Your phone rang in your pocket as you were shakily pulling a pan out, placing it on the stove. You fished out your phone and answered, Jaemin’s face popping onto your screen.

“Ready to get cooking?” he asked, a wide grin spreading across your face.

“I’m nervous,” you mumbled.

“Oh come on! You’ve got me here to guide you! It’ll be great!” you promised.

Hopefully, he was right.

“Ok so the first thing you need to do is heat up the pan over the stove. While that’s heating, start chopping the vegetables. Just be careful!”

Nodding, you turned on the stove. When nothing happened to sabotage you this early in the game, you let out a sigh of relief and set out chopping all of the vegetables that you’d bought, preparing a hearty, healthy, but tasty dish for the man that never ceased to give you everything you desired.

“Ok, now get the meat out of the fridge and put it in the pan.”

Nodding to him, you slid on a pair of rubber gloves and pulled the hamburger meat out of the refrigerator. Ripping open the packaging, you dumped the red meat into the now sizzling frying pan and let out a small sound of joy when you succeeded in not making too big of a mess.

“Great now-” there was a knock over the line and Jaemin’s attention turned from you to the door.

“What?” he asked.

“We’re going out to the sports bar down the road. Wanna come?” Jeno’s voice asked in the background.

Jaemin let out a whine in the back of his throat.

“I promised (y/n) noona that I’d help her make dinner for Taeyong hyung.”

“Sucks to be you!” the door slammed and Jaemin turned back to you looking like a kicked puppy.

Your heart clenched. Not only did you have to elicit Jaemin’s help in the first place, but now you were keeping him from spending time with his friends and having fun.

“Explain to me everything that I need to do and go,” you offered.

His face lit up immediately and he opened his mouth to speak before freezing.

“But I promised…”

“Jaemin, it’s not that big of a deal! I’ve got this,” you said, hoping he couldn’t hear the way your voice wavered at the doubt creeping into your soul.

“Ok so…” and he rattled off instructions, letting you write them down.

“Now are you sure you can do this?” he asked.

You nodded even though you were positive you couldn’t do this.

“Ok! Good luck! And Taeyong hyung is going to love it!”

With that, the call ended and you were left alone with a pan of rapidly browning hamburger meat and a pot of boiling water.

“Ok (y/n), you got this,” you whispered to yourself.

~

You didn’t have this. In no way, shape, or form did you have this!

The meat browned too quickly, and while you were trying to get it off the heat, the pot of water boiled over, sizzling and fizzing on the burner You slightly burned your hand in a rush trying to get the lid off of the pot of noodles, but while you were fighting with it, the smoke alarm went off, blaring loudly through the house. Frantically, you trembled as you tried to quiet down the alarm before you realized why it was going off.

The meat had become a dark brown lump emitting thick black smoke that pillowed toward the ceiling. With a little screech, you grabbed the pan of meat and hurled it into the empty sink, rapidly turning the water on and letting it spill over the now ruined meat as you turned back to turn off the stove. However, before you could, the water was boiling over the sides again.

By the time you got the water in the pot to settle, your hair was a mess atop your head and tears had gathered into your eyes at the mess of a kitchen. Water was still running over the burned black meat. The noodles in the pot had secured themselves to the bottom of the pot, refusing the budge, and the vegetables you’d put in the oven to roast had gotten done while everything else had gone wrong. Now they sat on top of the stove crispy with an aftertaste of coal.

Dinner was ruined. But perhaps you’d still have time to order takeout before-

You heard his keys jiggle in the door and your heart dropped to your stomach. Not only had you not succeeded in making one simple meal, but Taeyong was going to see just how awful you were in the kitchen.

You sank to your knees on the floor, leaning against the cabinets under the sink and drawing your knees to your chest, burying your face in your hands as the tears flowed easily now.

“Honey! I’m ho-”

The first thing Taeyong noticed was the smell. The bitter, burnt scent of burning food making his nose crinkle in distaste.

“Babe?” he asked, stepping further into your shared apartment, closer to the kitchen where the smell was coming from.

When he entered, the sight broke his heart.

You were trembling on sobs below the sink, quiet whimpers leaving your lips that only got worse as he moved closer to you. Water was running over a pan of burnt something in the sink and the pot on the stove was scorched. The vegetables on the over pan looked like shriveled prunes.

Slowly, so as not to make you more upset, Taeyong made his way over to the stove and quickly switched off the two burners and the over, all of which you must have forgotten to turn off.

When the stove was handled, Taeyong took another look around the kitchen. Your phone was sitting on the counter by the stove, a piece of paper with hastily scratched instructions beside it. There was an old sweater hanging over the back of the table chair that you must have used to calm the smoke detector that was now dangling from the ceiling by a single wire. The refrigerator was slightly ajar and making a small dinging noise until he pushed it closed. You were crumpled on the floor in the center of all of the chaos, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened.

With a small sigh, Taeyong moved closer to you. He leaned over you to switch off the water pouring onto the burnt pan before lowering himself to the floor and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Baby, did you try to cook for me?” he whispered.

He already knew the answer to that, but he wanted to hear a response from you. When you only nodded, another whimper leaving your lips, he pulled you into his arms and placed a kiss on your head.

“Why baby? I told you I was going to cook.”

“You cooked breakfast,” you mumbled.

“So?”

By now he was very confused. You never offered to cook. He just assumed you didn’t like to or couldn’t, which seemed to be the case.

“You deserve someone who can cook for you,” you muttered. “You always have to cook and I’m just useless not being able to.”

Taeyong was left speechless for a solid 30 seconds before he was pulling you into his lap, carefully spinning you around to face him.

“You are not useless. Baby, you give me warm hugs and kisses when I get home. You let me be the little spoon some nights when I’m exhausted. You draw baths for me and hold me while I relax. You are anything but useless. You do so much for me that I enjoy cooking for us when I get home. Even when I’m tired I love it. I love seeing your face light up when you taste something you like or watching you bounce in your seat over your favorite foods. I don’t get to take care of you half as much as you take care of me. Let me cook for you baby. I love it,” he said, letting his thumbs gently stroke over your face as he wiped away your tears.

Your glassy eyes looked up to meet his and he was drawing you closer, planting a soft kiss on your water lips.

“I love you baby. And I promise, just because you can’t cook doesn’t make me love you any less,” he said, kissing your forehead.

You nodded and dove into him, letting your head rest against his neck, holding onto him as warmth washed over you.

“I love you too,” you muttered, finally feeling relaxed after hours of stress that came with cooking.

“Who gave you those instructions on the counter? Did they not offer to help you?”

“Jaemin. Kun was busy. Doyoung was with you. I obviously wasn’t about to call you, so Jaemin helped me, but halfway through he had to go.”

Taeyong nodded and peppered kisses along your cheeks.

“How about we get dressed and go to the dinner where we had our first date? Then tomorrow, we’ll spend the whole day together. I might even help you learn how to cook!”

“You have tomorrow off?!”

“Mhm,” Taeyong cooed.

You jumped off his lap excitedly.

“That sounds perfect!” you grinned, dashing off to your shared bedroom to put on something other than sweats.

Laughing, Taeyong stood up and surveyed the kitchen once again.

You had the capabilities of cooking. That much was clear by the seasonings and well-chopped vegetables. Stress and distractions were your issues. And that, he could help you with.

With a smile, he made his way to the bedroom.

It didn't matter if you could cook or not. What mattered was that you were his. And if the ring tucked away in his pocket was any indication, he planned on making you his forever.

[jjksblackgf]

domestic!bts headcanon

kim seokjin

you felt an urge to eat a cake

so, naturally, you went to the kitchen to bake some

30 minutes later, your cake was in the oven

but the kitchen... oh…. the kitchen…...

“what happened here?” seokjin asked with wide eyes as he came home from practice

“I felt like eating cake,” you said without looking at him “I will clean everything as soon as I finish mixing the frosting”

he didn’t say anything after that, just dropped his bag on the sofa, and grabbed a few dishes so he could help you clean

he reached for a few bowls in front of you, his lips very close to your ears

“you could’ve just gone to the bakery store” he said

you leaned back a little bit, to feel his chest to your back, and said “I was bored.”

min yoongi

your ladder was quite short, so you could see a bit of his belly as he reached to the ceiling to change the light bulb

“what else you got?” he said as he came down

“there’s a screw that’s loose at my bedroom door handle,” you said with an apologetic tone “can you help me with that?”

“that’s kinda easy, you sure you need my help?” he smirked as he crossed his arms

“the damsel in distress didn’t help me today, did it?”

“babe, I am literally your boyfriend,” he said as he hugged you, knowing this act very well, as it was played before “you could’ve just come to the studio or called me if you missed me that much”

“but I don’t want to interrupt you, or be a distraction, or anything” you pouted

“You’re not a distraction, baby,” he took your chin to make you look in at his eyes “you’re my muse”

jung hoseok

Barry White was blasting on the Spotify you set on the tv

you were about to use the broom as a microphone and sing to him

you know, like in a cutesy rom-com, or whatever

but he was really concentrated on cleaning the stove

so you had no choice but to start singing with a very deep voice

“if feels so good, you lying here next to me” you sang

that was enough for him to pay attention to you, with his eyebrows arched and a playful grin on his lips

“oh, what a groove, you have no idea how it feels”

he was about to start filming your antics, but your body roll on the broom just made him burst laughing

but it was not long until he joined you, forgetting all about the cleaning

“why do you always put some weird playlist to clean the house” he said as he grabbed your waist and dipped you

“I don’t know, but I know that you like it” you were now back on your feet as he swirled you into his arms

easy to say the cleaning was on pause until the song was finished

kim namjoon

he was chilling on the porch, taking care of his bonsai trees

you were at the garden watering the flowers

he put on a new playlist he created just for moments like this

starting with Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson

he loved watching you just be yourself in his garden

he rested his chin on his hands and smiled at you, his heart Doing Things™ when you looked at him

you smiled at each other, but you couldn’t see him clearly because of the bright sun

he decided to join you with the flowers, but you had already finished

“help me with the lemons at the yard” you said dragging him by the hand

you were holding a small basket as he picked up the lemons

“this is such a nice summer day” he noticed with a smile on his face

“I know, right?” you agreed

just to spite him, God sent a summer rain

and just like a movie, you two ran towards the house, giggling

“Good thing you’re not a weatherman on local news” you teased him as you reached the porch

“I would, legit, starve” he humored with you as you entered the house.

park jimin

you were missing some home cooking meals with your busy week, and you also wanted to cook something for Jimin

so you two went to the grocery store to grab a few things

but you could tell that he wasn’t in his best mood

he was distracted, not really paying attention to the day and bumping the shopping cart into others a lot

“babe?” you asked

“yes, honey” he answered unlocking his phone, only to lock again, without looking at anything

“can you grab me that blue box?” you pointed to one of the high shelves

you didn’t really need that, but this little thing always made him laugh a little, and you wanted to see if it would work again

he grabbed it easily, and after putting the box in the cart, he kissed your cheek and grinned “thanks”

“what was that for?” you asked, already knowing the answer

“I just love when you make me feel tall” he laughed

you joined him with a playful slap to his shoulder

kim taehyung

“nah uh, babe, you’re throwing this away” he said with command in his voice over a dress you didn’t remember buying

“why?” you screeched, taking the dress from his hands

“we’ve been dating for a whole year and I never saw you wear this” he said and went back to look at clothes to throw away

you mentioned that you had no space in your closet anymore and asked for his help to clean it up and judge a few of your outfits

“this has to go too” he said with a disgusted tone in his voice

“but I look so good in these…” your voice lowered as you placed the tube top in front of your body

he looked at you up and down with an expression of disbelief, but his face changed as an idea popped up in his head

“I think you can make a case for these clothes” he smirked as he traced his index finger on his chin, wiggling his eyebrows, “model them for me”

and after that, you gave him a whole fashion show with clothes he never saw you in, accompanied by Madonna on the speakers and a grinning boy as the audience

jeon jungkook

“why can’t you believe that they had chemistry?” he asked as he went to the side of the bed

“they did have chemistry, but only as friends” you said taking your place by the other side

“so you’re saying they could end up boyfriend and girlfriend if they were given the opportunity?” he questioned as he placed his hand under his side of the mattress

flipping mattresses was the worse job at the house

so Jungkook always liked to start some sort of “controversial” topic to get the adrenaline going

why? to forget about the most boring chore

“eww, of course not” you replied catching the edge that was now upright

he helped you put the mattress and the bottom sheet in place and then jumped on the bed

“I can’t believe I am dating a kataang shipper” he huffed as he grabbed your arm to join him in bed

“they work because it’s canon” you clapped as you said every word, only to be silenced by a kiss

[keilemlucent]

hands on

(r18+)

ao3

eraserhead | aizawa shouta x reader

word count: ~2k

anon asked: You could write something with Aizawa about how the reader might have just had their first kid or gained a lol weight/ their body has changed a lil and Aizawa just can’t get enough of it/ can’t keep his hands off you anymore??? 👀

oh say LESS (this was one of my baby warm up pieces, so unbeta’ed. enjoy!)

warnings: chubby reader, just smut, just nice cute p*rn

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Wintertime was somewhat miserable, that was a given. Snow and cold would roll in, making the outside somewhat unbearable for any length of time. It was far easier to cozy up inside, especially when it was with you.

Shouta had called off patrol, having gotten injured enough the night prior for it to be warranted.

(You also bribed/nagged him with a new, warm recipe in exchange for self-care and an evening in, but that’s beside the point).

He’d spent most of his day off napping, lying on the couch half asleep. You hardly minded, working away in the kitchen and whispering idly to the cats. You both knew he needed the rest.

It was later on, in one of his more wakeful moments, that Shouta noticed something.

You had gotten... thicker.

It was probably your more sedentary tendencies during winter, and the fact that you had been cooking more, but it was undeniable that you had gained a bit of weight.

Shouta watched you from the couch, feigning sleepiness so he could drink in his new discovery.

You were only wearing one of his big t-shirts, soft with use, and a cute pair of panties from an older lingerie set, colored a cute baby pink. With so little on, it was easy to see the new roundness of your middle. Shouta felt his dick twitch at the thought of leaving the plushness of your inner thighs painted red and purple by his mouth. He just loved the way your skin bruised so well for him.

Fuck.

You stretched up to a cupboard, a high one. Your shirt slid up as well, showing more of your winter weight and God, Shouta was losing it. How had he not noticed?

The meat of your hips was thicker, love handles more prominent, maybe carrying a few extra stretch marks. Shouta swore he could see the extra chub of your stomach.

All he wanted was to worship your new flesh and skin while buried in your cunt.

The thought made his cock leak.

He was up in an instant, sliding behind you as you moved down from the cupboard.

You jumped a little when you felt his hands sliding over your hips through your shirt.

Turning, you flashed him a cheeky grin, “How are you doing, sleepy?”

“Very good,” Shouta practically purred, squeezing you. “Need any help?”

You leaned back into him, tilting your head to press a nip and a kiss into his jaw, “I’m alright. Food should be ready pretty soon.”

Shouta very much wanted a different sort of meal than the one you were so diligently preparing. He had other appetites to sate.

“How long?” He pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear, relishing the way your body fell back into him.

“Mmmmmm,” You hummed, looking back at the oven. “Maybe half an hour. Why?”

Shouta was already lifting your shirt to get to your squishier bits.

His hands went to cup your ass, making him damn near moan at the feeling of his fingers sinking into the warmth of your skin.

Had you always been this soft? It was winter, your skin should’ve been far drier. Then again, Shouta had been busy lately. Perhaps he hadn’t been tending to you and your body like he should’ve been, making it all the easier for your incredibly cute weight gain to pass him by.

He doesn’t waste any time, hauling you up by your ass, forcing your legs to wrap his waist. You let out a shocked gasp, hands going to clasp behind Shouta’s neck to keep some semblance of balance. It’s not like Shouta would ever let you fall, but the sensation of suddenly getting dumped onto the kitchen island was a bit jarring.

“S-Shouta?” You asked as he gently pushed you down onto the icy granite of the countertop.

God, his dick twitched at the slight tremor in your voice. Your shoulders hit the countertop as he licked a stripe up the fragile skin of your neck. Your hands were wound into the back of his shirt, legs trembling around his waist.

His hands were all over you.

Your shirt was pushed up to your neck, the cold air biting at you just as much as Shouta was. His worn hands couldn’t stop finding new places to touch. They sought out and claimed every bit of new flesh they could, squeezing and leaving crescent imprints.

The way he already sunk into your body made him melt. You were all warm sounds and keening moans that certainly hardened his cock just the same.

His hands skirted over your tummy, feeling the extra fat and squishing it between his fingers. Shouta was surprised as stuttering, low whine came from your mouth.

Oh.

Your head turned bashfully to the side bottom lip caught in teeth while you absolutely trembled.

Shouta ran a hand over your curves once more, taking careful note of how your eyes squeezed shut and your thighs clenched around his waist.

You were very into this too, weren’t you?

Shouta gave a low chuckle, leaning to lick and kiss up to your tummy and chest, hands all too happy to keep up with your mutual desires. Dinner be damned, snow outside forgotten; you were to be fucked well and proper.

“W-what brought this on?” You managed to ask, breath hitches as Shouta slides his hand over your sex.

He toyed with the elastic at the seam of your panties, humming, “Just noticed how cute you are.”

You rolled your eyes at that, half-snorting and tangling a hand in Shouta’s dark hair, “I think you notice that most of the time. Why jump me during dinner?”

Shouta hummed to himself for a minute, thumb rubbing over your clothed clit. You shook against him, head falling so prettily against the island beneath you.

“I just really love all of you,” Shouta’s voice came out husky and low as he left a sharp bite on your collar bone. “Just realized there’s a little more to love, hm?”

That made a blush of pure crimson dance over your cheekbones as you turned your head from him. Just bashful enough to be cute, and still very into things if the pressure of your thighs on his waist was any estimate.

Your attention was quickly brought back to him as he pulled your panties to the side to slip two thick fingers into your sex.

“Fuck, Shouta!” You cried out, back arching as his fingers curled.

His free hand took to massaging any part of you that it could. Your nipples were rubbed raw by toughened thumbs and your love handles would certainly be bruised the next day.

His fingers pumped slowly in and out of your cunt, stretching and spreading you just enough to be ready for his cock. Shouta truly wanted nothing more than to be buried within the plushness of your thighs and pussy, but he wasn’t about to prepare you half-assedly.

You melted over the counter for him, breath coming out in cute puffs and gasps. Shouta lavished you with kisses to your tummy and thighs, drowning in every part of you.

He withdrew his fingers with a pop, sucking them clean. You whined so sweetly for him, starting to sit up, eyeing his obvious bulge with hungry eyes.

“Not today, kitten,” Shouta purred, rolling your shoulders back into the island. “Maybe later if you want a snack, hm?”

The high, sweet noise that came strangled from your lips made him fuckingmelt.

Shouta didn’t even bother fully taking off his sweats. He just pulled the fabric down enough for his fully hardened cock to pop up.

You visibly gulped.

“I’d love to give you a taste,” Shouta licked his lips at the thought of your pretty mouth stretched around his cock. “But, you do have dinner in the oven, hm?”

You could only frown for a moment before Shouta hiked your legs over his shoulder. Your feet hooked behind his head, trying to drag him closer to you.

You whined, slicked lips parted, “ P-please, Shou’ ”

“Hmmm?” Shouta hummed, pressing a stray kiss to the underside of your breast. Your legs were pressed against your heaving chest as you shook (already) for him. “Want my cock, kitten?”

You nodded quickly for him, shifting your hips with impatience. You normally were more well behaved than this, but Shouta decided to indulge you this once. You were certainly indulging him, letting him throw you up over the countertop while in the middle of cooking.

Shouta was sure you'd complain a little bit about whatever slick and sweat was left on the countertop. He was also sure that you’d have no qualms with licking it up yourself if he gave the incentive of getting his cock down your throat.

But, that was for later.

Shouta teased along your folds, laying a hand flat on your pudgy stomach. He eased in slowly, letting out his own shaking cursed as he felt you physically fill up for him through your tummy.

“ Fuck,” It was all he could push out as you clenched down around him, pulling him closer.

You pulled him into a sweet kiss, one hand loosely cupping his jaw as he slowly pulled back.

He left hand-shaped bruises on your hips as he squeezed down your rounded hips, eyes rolling back in his head as he thrust quickly and harshly back into you.

You let out your own lovely, keening stream of sounds as he began to pound into you.

It was almost overwhelming to Shouta, how much of you he wanted to feel and hold of you at the same time. One of his hands stayed constantly clutching at one of your love handles, while the other greedily felt up the rest of you.

He gave soft encouragement to you, pouring like sweet cream from his lips; all loving remarks and sentiments about your body, the way it looked, and felt against his own.

Sweat dripped down the bridge of his nose as your slick dribbled (as prophesized) onto the countertop below. Your back arched so well for him as his thumb drifted over your clit a few times.

“Do you want to come, baby?” Shouta’s voice oozed over you, all low and rumbling. Your hold on his shoulders tightened as you nodded, pulling at him to press your lips together.

Shouta obliged.

You kiss him with everything you had. He could tell by the way your hands tugged in his hair, tongue licking into his mouth as you moaned and cried for him.

His torso pressed down into the meat of your own, squishing you in the counter as he fucked you without rest. His hand felt and squeezed whenever they could, drinking in every morsel of your figure. It just made his dick get harder even as he was plowing into you. He was only spurred by feeling the way your cunt fluttered and dripped for him.

The pads of his fingers circled your clit, pressing and keeping rhythm as you so beautifully came undone.

Shouta’s free hand gripped your hip as you came for him, bearing down on his cock as he stilled in tandem. He couldn’t help his own release when you just were so fucking stunning. Having you spread out for him, slick skin pressing to his own, already had him halfway from the start.

You kissed Shouta again as he fucked into you once, twice, and a third time as your shuddering sex milked his cock dry. With a soft sigh, you pulled away, eyes shiny.

You gave him a cute smile, breathlessly kissing the corner of his mouth.

Shouta did his best to help you lean forward, sitting on the countertop.

“So,” Your voice was scratchy as you beamed at him. “Dinner?”

As fate would have it, your timer went off a moment later.

Shouta could only chuckle, smothering you in kisses, unable to keep his hands off you for long.