#why is a ladle so cute

[xstarlightxstarbrightx]

Neuvi headcanons

MY BBGRL,,, MY LIL CUTIE MANS WHO I ADORE,,,, i love him so much he's so fuCKIng CUTE dude, lil dragon mans sksmefkhjrshefkj. i swear i'm a normal individual w/ these characters

list of current h/c's: - i feel like he's socially anxious?? like ok, listen, he's GREAT w/ any formal situation, but THE MOMENT it gets casual he PANICs on the inside bc he's like 'wait what's the right and wrong thing to say'. - following that, i feel like when he's in a casual conversation w/ ppl and starts getting panicked, i feel like he's learned to tap his cane twice on the ground to signal to any of his closer companions that he's freaking out. like a "get me out of this situation please" type deal. - this ties into my belief that he's got anxiety regarding smaller scale things. like if he makes a small mistake on something or breaks an object, he feels SO BAD and panics as he tries to figure out how to fix it. - knowing this, i feel like he feels a bunch of emotions, he just doesn't know how to like,,, put them into words? read below - a yearning for learning,,,, actively seeks out how to label his emotions, but how does one define their feelings? Emotions are not equated to logic, and yet they're a part of human experience, so what is the method to label that which is so intangible yet so real? he doesn't know yet, but he's figuring it out and i'm so proud of him :)c - overprotective in his own way. like he's been putting a lot of stuff on his shoulders so ofc that includes him being sensitive towards people he cares about being harmed. - prideful! he doesn't think he's prideful, he just is Proud Of Things, but tbh i get a bit of a "dragon pride" vibe from him. it's silly goofy and rears up the most around certain Archons. - GOOD DAD. NEUVI IS SUCH A GOOD DAD. IF A MELUSINE COMES UP TO HIM TO TALK ABT A THING, HE IS THE MOST ATTENTIVE LISTENER. HE'LL ASK QUESTIONS, TOO, TO TRY AND LEARN MORE. oUGH i love him he's SUCH a gOOD DAD - afraid of losing everything; Neuvi didn't really realize he had so much to lose until he almost lost it, and now he's like even more scared to lose anything else. - anxious of closer connections. Neuvi wants to be closer to people; he really likes humanity, and he wants to reach out to people. but he's afraid, bc if they ever err away from the side of justice, they may end up in his court. no matter what happens, then, is him sentencing them not a form of betrayal? neuvi ponders this a lot - MOVING AWAY FROM SAD THINGS: y'all i'll be SO real, ppl are so used to Neuvillette being in Fontaine that, when he's Outside of Fontaine, unless they Know Him on a personal level, no one recognizes that he's the Iudex of Fontaine. like not even actual Fontainians register it, bc, like, why would the literal Iudex Leave his Natural Habitat of the Court of Fontaine??? - side note, average ppl are intimidated by him. like most ppl look at him and go 'if i approach him, i will be arrested for war crimes bc CLEARLY he is a PRINCE' (which is the best and funniest shit) - 'unrelated'; Neuvi doesn't talk to a lot of ppl outside of his closer friend group, i think u can understand why - such a hard worker,,, honestly probably overworks himself and doesn't even realize it. - WHICH LEADS ME TO HIS HOBBIES HEHEHHEHEHEHE - ARTIST,,, you CANNOT sit there, after Lantern Rite, and TELL ME that HE DOES NOT start looking into the arts. THIS MAN would ABSOLUTELY get into painting and poetry and shit. he likes watercolors and he ADORES POTTERY (THAT FUCKING LADLE??? I CRIED OVER IT IN MY TEAPOT FOR 30 MINUTES HELP) - loves books and stories. like seriously they're kinda actually really fun for him to read bc he sits and breaks down what is and isn't accurate abt them (crime/detective books) and he gets invested in romance books (he's CURIOUS okay??) - bc he reads Fontainian romance books, any and every romantic gesture is like,,, awkwardly sappy? like he'll do small scale things bc he's a lil nervous baby, but it's THE SAPPIEST of the sappy. - fashion lover. Listen, this man could arguably wear whatever he wants and he chose to wear THAT???? he's a fashion lover / makeup master, and i will die on this hill. - he would laugh at Cyno's jokes, but only AFTER Cyno explains them.

OKAY I,,, I THINK I DID IT,,, i had so much written i'm dying please i love him so so so much. my itty bitty squishy bbgrl i cannot wait to explain why and how he joined the party / poly it's SO silly, this entire thing is my favorite i have been yapping abt them for a MILLENIA

[crazyk-imagine]

Napping and Defending Friends

Pairing: Sanji x Straw hat!reader

Characters: Straw hat!reader, Sanji, Usopp, Zoro, Nami, Monkey D. Luffy, Kaya

Warnings: Sanji being sanji, everyone outing reader or sanji to the other, this is kinda cute, fluff, everyone is nosey as hell, everyone is tired of Sanji and reader going around one another's feelings, the last few lines with the crew make me giggle, reader is (not so secretly) a pirate with her own bounty 0-0

Word Count: 2,688

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You roll your eyes, listening to the two acting like children. You bump the green haired man to the side with your hip.  "Shut up already. You two are acting immature for your age." You lift your plate. "I'll take more."

Sanji shakes his head to the left, moving his bangs away from his eye. He lifts the ladle, giving you a decent portion. "And I'll gladly feed those who enjoy my food."

Zoro rolls his eyes, leaving you two to flirt some more.

-

The sound of Usopp's voice explaining what happened drew you all in, moving closer to listen to him.

You stop mid bite to listen. "I would ask to see his supposedly bloody fingers," you shrug. "But, whatever."

"Let him have his moment," Nami mutters.

"But it's more fun to get him stuttering if I make him tell the truth. It's very easy to break him into confessing."

"And I couldn't do it alone."

"Damn right you couldn't," you tell him, earning a chuckle from the group and your crew.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Let's hear it for the great captain Usopp," Luffy shouts.

Your lips tug to the side, "that's so not going to give him an ego boost."

Sanji chuckles, covering his mouth with his hand when Nami and Zoro turn to face him.

His eyes glance at you from the corner of his eyes and smiles, his heart races and stomach flutters at the sight of you (not so gracefully) scarfing down the food he cooked.

-

The calm mood falls when Luffy's grandpa announces he and the marine’s arrival.

"Hey, gramps."

He narrows his eyes at you, never quite taking a liking to you like his grandson did.

Although, he did find comfort in the fact that the rubber man had someone to help and guide him (which is why he disliked you). It also didn't help that you would feed into his "becoming the future king of the pirates" dream.

Before you know it, the two family members are in battle.

Your anger gets the better of you and you forget what you've been proud to consider a usable future trait, think before doing. "Don't hurt, Luffy."

As your friend flies back, you manage to latch onto the man, his head between your hands with just a mere few inches keeping his spinal cord intact.

His nails scratch the top of your hands, the adrenaline keeping you from feeling the pain.

You try to slip your feet underneath his armpits to pull his arms back and away from you.

"Stop it," Luffy mutters, still trying to get air into his lungs.

"Huh?"

"Let go of him."

"But he-"

"This is my fight."

You grumble under your breath as you push yourself off him and if your foot accidentally finds its way into his back, oh well.

The old man grumbles the pain.

You glare at his grandpa during their fight, never letting your tense posture go.

Sanji's hand hovers over your shoulder, he hesitates to give you some sort or comfort; his hand falls beside him as the orange haired girl takes a step-in front of you, preventing you from slipping past them.

"This was all a test?"

"Go. Arlong's pirates are still on the island."

You scoff. "Now you don't want to be a dick."

The chef coughs to hide his amusement.

"Shut up."

"You can't tell me what to do Roro Zoro."

"I told you not to call me that."

You stick your tongue out at him.

"Children, I'm dealing with children," Nami mutters.

Sanji shoves his hands into his pockets.

-

You sit across from the stove, observing the chef's knife skills.

"The harder you stare, the more likely he is to mess up," a deep voice brings you out of your thoughts.

"Do you want to try and do it?" You ask, resting your hand on your knuckles.

"You can't match his skill."

"You are too kind, madame."

"It's true. I still don't even know how you can do this, and I've been watching you prepare the vegetables for a while." You steal a chopped veggie and snack on it when the rubber man bursts in, setting a piece of paper on the counter.

"You finally got your own poster."

"Yeah, no more piggybacking off you."

"WHAT?"

"Nothing, look at the amount of berry's your wanted for."

"I know."

"Everyone's going to be after you now," Zoro tells him.

"Every bounty hunter is going to be after all of us in the East Blue," Nami adds.

"Finally, a challenge."

The orange haired girl shakes her head at you.

"Then it's a good thing we're not staying in the East Blue," Luffy explains.

You clap once. "Finally, you make sense. Let's go."

"Yes!" Luffy raises his hand for a high five which you gladly give to him.

"Come on, people. We're settin' sail. Move it."

-

"Have you seen a barrel on deck?"

Your brows knit together. "Sanji, did you find a plant you shouldn't have?"

"No, I-" He chuckles, "no, no. I just- I have an idea." He calls for the others and everyone gathers around. He sets his foot on top of the barrel. "I am gonna find the all blue."

Next, naturally was your oldest friend, "I'm gonna become king of the pirates."

Zoro puts his foot up. "I'm gonna become the world's greatest swordsman."

And then, Nami. "I'm gonna draw a map of the world."

Followed by Usopp. He hesitates, unsure of what his promise should be. "I'm gonna be a brave warrior of the sea."

Now everyone's eyes fall on you. "Oh, it's my turn. Uh- I don't know what to say. I feel like I've gotten things I didn't know I needed."

"There has to be something," Luffy says.

You lift your leg, "I'm gonna promise never to forget who I am."

"That's too easy."

A faux chuckle escapes you. "It's easy to forget who you were and your code," you tell Luffy.

"Alright."

"I like it," Sanji says.

"Thank you. See I knew someone would." You stick your tongue out at the rubber man. "That's enough. I'm going back inside. I need a nap."

"I can get started preparing tonight's dinner." He basically skips after you.

"I hope they figure out whatever they have going on soon," Usopp shakes his head. "It's getting really..."

"Annoying," Zoro adds.

"It's not- it could be worse."

"How much worse than two people going around their feelings for one another." Nami raises a brow causing the storyteller to look away because he did the exact same thing with Kaya.

"That's not what we're talking about right now." The man pouts and walks inside, not wanting to be outed anymore.

"Has anyone else noticed how easily he follows her after she hugged him."

"Yeah," Luffy nods, agreeing with the storyteller. "Wait- what hug? They hugged and I missed it. Oh man."

Nami shakes her head, "is that what you're really focusing on right now?"

"Yes. I think he'd be good for her."

"You do?"

"Clearly he hit his head too hard during that fight with his grandpa," Zoro adds.

"We probably should've checked to see if he had a concussion before boarding," Nami says.

"Why are you guys talking like I'm not even here?"

The three shared a look and chuckled.

"C'mon, guys. Tell me, please?"

-

You wake up from your nap to the smell of well-cooked food. You're still pleased Sanji decided to join the crew, it was time there was someone (else) who could prepare a nicely cooked meal and not burn eggs or not know how to cut a vegetable.

You lean against the doorway, enjoying the pleasant aroma of food coming from a few feet away.

"You're awake."

You open your eyes, not realizing you closed them. "Yes, I was persuaded to get out of bed because of what you're cooking."

"Is that the only reason?" He teases.

"Ask me again after I've finished my meal."

"Will you have a different answer?"

"Maybe."

He glances up from the ingredients he's mixing as the corner of his lips tugs upwards.

"In the meantime, I'll be over here with my eyes closed."

"Napping again?"

"No, just resting my eyes."

"If that's what you say, then I believe you."

-

"Is anyone going to wake her up?" Luffy asks, munching on his meal.

"Why can't you do it?" Nami asks, "she's your friend."

"And?"

"What are you all babbling on about?"

"They're trying to wake her," Zoro uses his head to gesture to your sleeping figure.

"Are you all so scared to wake such," Sanji glances down at your relaxed face, "a beautiful creature?"

Usopp groans, taking another bite of his meal. "Do something already."

The chef places hands on your shoulders, lightly shaking you until he finds himself staring at the ceiling, gasping to get the air back into his lungs.

Your face comes into view. "What were you doing?" You push yourself off him.

He groans when you pull him up.

"Waking you," he groans. "I see why no one wakes you now."

"I said, I was sorry," you mumble.

"And that's why we leave her alone," Zoro tells him.

"Shut up, make fun of Luffy or Usopp's love for food and Kaya."

"Woah, woah. Don't drag me into this. I did nothing." The storyteller raises his hands, dropping the meat he had in his hands.

"You all are going to get brought into this."

"I'm just gonna-" Usopp runs around to the other side of the counter.

You chase after him, he counters going around; eventually you stop following him and jump up on the counter and launch yourself in his direction. But are unable to catch- "You're such a bug. I am this close to squashing you under my foot."

"Your fingers are touching," Nami points out.

"Exactly, orangie," you smile at her. "Can you put me down now?"

"Are you going to continue acting like a child in my kitchen?"

"That depends on the bug."

"She's not, hold her so I can finish my-" Usopp yelps when you reach out for him.

"Stop trying to attack your fellow crew members." Luffy orders you, food flying out of his mouth.

"How did you ever deal with him?" Sanji mumbles, unable to keep himself away from you, "he has no manners."

"I don't know." You shrug, taking a bite of the dinner he prepared (as he stands beside you, leaning against the counter). You moan as the flavors hit your tongue. "Again, I'm very," you pat his arm unable to open your eyes due to the richness of the seasonings hitting your tongue. "Very happy you decided to come aboard."

He chuckles, not at all trying to hide that his cheeks are enflamed from anyone. "I am happy to hear that, mademoiselle. That is what every chef lives to hear."

"But you're not every chef."

Nami groans, closing her eyes at the sudden headache. "Can you two stop flirting for two seconds so we can eat in peace?"

You open your eyes and stare. "If you don't like it, then leave. We are enjoying ourselves and if you don't like it, then shut up."

"But-"

You stick your tongue out and shove another spoonful into your mouth. She sighs and doesn't say anything else. "That's what I thought."

"Could you say that again?" The blond asks, breaking the silence.

"Which part?"

"The part where you don't deny us flirting with one another."

"Oh, yeah." You don't know what else to do and use your spoon to move around the carrots on your plate, not entirely focused.

On the one hand this could be good, and you'd be able to confess. Although on the other hand, he could reject you and that can potentially lead to some awkwardness between you, him, and the rest of the crew. And in the case, he tells you he doesn’t feel the same, you will respect his wishes.

Is this a risk you're willing to take?

You take a deep breath. "I won't because it's true."

The others don't know what to do, this is not what they were expecting after they just started to return on their adventure for the grand line.

His breath hitches, "oh?"

You nod. "It's hard to deny the facts when they're right in front of you. Plus, these guys would make sure to do something about it at some point."

"What?"

"No," Usopp and Luffy scoff, as if they're offended.

"Okay, maybe but only because we know you two are good for each other," the rubber man argues.

"See," you use your utensil to point at the two. "They'd definitely be the first to try and plan something for us."

"Appreciate the thought boys, but I am capable of taking things into my own hands." He wraps an arm around your shoulders, leading you outside.

-

"Are you sure it's safe to leave them alone? I think we should go back."

He tilts his head, the corner of his lips tugged upwards. "Are you, dare I ask, afraid to be alone with me?"

You scoff, "hardly."

"Then why don't you admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"That you like me."

You roll your eyes, "you're crazy."

"Am I? Or is that maybe you don't want to admit it fully to yourself because you were perfectly fine admitting that we were flirting, so what makes this so different?"

"Okay, fine." You walk back and forth along the deck. "Maybe, I do."

"I'm going to need more than that."

You stomp your foot and speed walk to him. "I am not going to repeat myself for the sake of you just wanting me to repeat myself because-"

You barely have any time to acknowledge the kiss until his breath fans against your lips. "I figured I'd save you this time."

You frown. "This doesn't make up for when I saved you and Usopp at the Baratie."

He nods, "I know." He glances from one eye to the other, "this does." And he does it again.

You put a hand on his chest, pulling away this time. "We have an audience."

"What?"

"To your left."

He glances over at them and back at you, a hint of mischief twinkling. "Let's give them a show."

"Wha-"

He presses his hand against your back, cupping the base of your neck as he tips you down.

Usopp and Luffy cheer as Nami and Zoro give looks of disapproval (even though they're happy you two did something about your feelings).

"Okay, that's enough. We get it, you two are together and you knew we were here."

The blond pulls back and smirks down at your flushed face, winking when you catch his gaze. "We didn't know you were there, forgive us."

You owlishly blink, not at all focusing on everything going on around you. You return your attention onto him, feeling his thumb brushing against your side since your shirt had risen from his show.

"Are you alright?"

You nod, "I'm fine."

"Are you? I feel as though you are not. I shouldn't have done that, shouldn't I?" He shakes his head at his behavior. "I know, I know. I'm sorry but I- I was excited."

You gently remove his hand from you before stomping past Zoro (who puts his foot out to trip the chef).

"What? What did I do?"

You groan and spin around. "You make it so hard to be mad at you."

All the worry leaves his body. He happily chases after you. "What can I do to make it less hard on you? Not be as cute, perhaps."

Nami nods, "I'm gonna go puke now."

"Ah, come on. They're not that bad."

The echoes of Sanji's voice playing coy can be heard out onto the deck.

"It's cute," Luffy shrugs.

"They won't be as cute when he has to wake her up," Zoro adds.

"Oh, that's a good idea," Usopp nods. "Make him the target."

Nami covers her face with her hand. "You're an idiot."

"What?"

"Stupid says what," Zoro mumbles.

"What?"

"I rest my case," the orange haired girl adds.

Return to: Part I

[suosteacup]

Pancakes ~redux~

pairing: Kozume Kenma x gn!reader

genre: fluff

wc: 0.8k

tw/cw: post-timeskip, food, Kenma and reader are newlyweds here, one swear word from Kenma, kitten as a term of endearment from Kenma to you.

a/n: a rehashed version of an old Kenma drabble I wrote on @/mrskodzuken. Thank you Mari @littleplantfreak for betareading this AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ilysfm 😘 Star dividers by @cafekitsune + support banner by @adornedwithlight 🫶🏻 tagging @pixelcafe-network

The whole house is quiet on an early Sunday morning, save for some tapping and cracking sounds coming from inside the kitchen. A soft plop! can also be heard as Kenma carefully discards a stray egg shell away from the pancake batter mix using a spoon. He then slowly pours fresh milk into a liquid measuring cup until it reaches the desired level, before carefully adding it to the mixture. Next, he picks a measuring spoon nearby, unscrews the cap off a bottle of vegetable oil, and adds two tablespoons of it into the batter.

It’s unusual for Kozume Kenma to wake up early in the morning, much less cook breakfast, but today is very special; the reason why he woke up earlier today is to make you breakfast in bed—after a month of saying “I do’s” to each other, to make your favorite kiwi fruit pancakes with love.

He remembers something you’d said almost a year ago, while having a friendly date at a cafe just beside Kuro’s office one early morning…

“You know, Kenken? When I get married, I’ll ask my husband-to-be to make me pancakes like this one day,” you say to Kenma as you take an IG-worthy photo of a plate of kiwi fruit pancakes drizzled—no, heavily soaked—in maple syrup on your phone.

“Ehhh… really? Well, good luck to him, I guess.” He looks at you with a shit-faced grin plastered on his face. “That ‘one day’ is going to turn into ‘one week’, ‘one month’, and so on—ow!”

“Zip it, Puddinghead. As if I would force him to make pancakes everyday, you know?” you tell Kenma poutily, waving a forkful of pancake in front of his face before stuffing it up to your mouth. “I’m not that cruel~”

He sighs in defeat and smiles sheepishly before taking a sip of his latte.

“Okay, okay, if you say so…”

After slightly mixing the batter, Kenma adds the minced kiwi fruit that he prepared earlier and whisks it in until fully mixed. He then proceeds to dip a ladleful of the batter into the preheated pan, quickly shaping some of the corners with a clean toothpick to resemble cat ears before the bottom side completely cooks.

“Cute,” he chuckles softly, looking proud of his ‘artwork’.

“It sure is…”

Kenma suddenly jumps from where he’s standing, his golden cat-like orbs widening. He slowly turns his head around to see you peeking over his shoulder, sleep still evident on your face.

Your husband holds his breath in for a second before letting it go as butterflies start fluttering inside his stomach. “H-hi, Y/N, my love. Morning.” Fuck. Kenma internally slaps his mouth after messing up his greeting.

“Hi, Kenma, my love… g’morning~” Kenma feels your arms snaking around his waist as you snuggle closer to him from behind. He notices you looking at what’s into the pan and—Kenma finds this adorably endearing—your eyes twinkle as they widen a bit, sleepiness a thing of the past.

“Pancakes! And they’re cat-shaped, too!”

He hums and smiles, slightly checking the bottom side for any signs of browning before flipping the cooked side of the pancake with a spatula. Bringing his free hand to gently pat your head, he says in a matter-of-fact voice, “Did I also mention that they’re kiwi fruit pancakes?”

“Huh? Kiwi… fruit?”

Kenma feels your embrace around his waist getting a bit tighter. His cheeks gradually heat up as he silently continues on making another pancake, with you still hugging him.

He finally speaks in a soft voice. “Um… y-yeah. Because you told me to make one for you when we get married one day…”

“Oh. That conversation we had at the cafe that time…” You smile, both of you fondly remembering the memory.

“Yeah.”

Kenma silently cooks the remaining pancakes, the only sound heard in the kitchen is the slight sizzle of the pancake batter cooking. He feels your weight shifting from behind, strands of your hair tickling the side of his neck. He wonders if you can still feel his heart beating loudly just as he can feel yours.

“Y/N, kitten? Still sleepy? I’m almost done here, you should sit down and wait for me. Then we can eat breakfast together—“

A sniffle. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He then glances at your small form in alarm before quickly turning your attention back to the last piece of pancake, bringing the pan to a big plate sitting nearby before tilting it down, the cooked pancake sliding off and on top of the stack. Kenma turns off the stove. “Y/N… are, are you crying?”

You snuggle closer behind your husband again in reply—Kenma can feel a slight wetness forming at the back of his shirt, accompanied by a few sniffles and chuckles.

“Thank you for remembering. Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for loving me, all my flaws and strong points. Thank you for marrying me. My bestest friend in the entire universe. My love. My everything… I love you, Kenma.”

Kenma holds your hand and kisses it softly, smiling. “I love you too, my Y/N.”

And he really loves you back. More than everything in the world.

Likes are okay, reblogs are nice, reposts and plagiarism stuff are frowned upon 🥰 | ALL WORKS BY SUOSTEACUP © 2024

[shwoyo]

home. — timeskip!hinata shoyo x gn!reader

; fluff, comfort – warnings: none – wc: 895

note: inspired by a comment i saw on a tiktok vid and the comments in the vid were so ?!? link to the video (safe link /srs) I NEED TO BE CUDDLED BY HIM SO BADD rel not feyk.

shoyo was tired, to say the least. it was 8pm when their coach announced that they could go home. all he wanted to do now was lay in bed next to you, his home, his rest, his girlfriend.

once he entered your shared apartment, he immediately dropped his bag and slumped on the couch face first, sighing. he was so tired he didn't hear you enter the living room.

"shoyo?" you called out, and he looked up with a tired look. "y/n babyy, i'm so tired" he said as he pouted. "i figured. but you still need to eat dinner, yeah?" you replied, "i'm too tired; i don't think i have the energy to eat," he stated. you giggled a little as you spoke, "i get it baby, but you still need to eat your dinner; it's unhealthy if you sleep with an empty stomach. c'mere, i made pork," you said. the mention of pork immediately hooked him, and he stood up, following you to the kitchen.

he tiredly sat down as you prepared his plate. "what happened at practice today, hm? you seem extra tired." you asked as you placed his plate in front of him, "well... atsumu was in a bad mood today; no one knew why, but it affected all of us. he made bad plays, and his sets were off, leading us to cover half of his sets." shoyo continued on talking about his day while he ate the food you prepared for him, mentioning that they kept losing each set at the practice match.

minutes later, shoyo finished eating and went straight to the bedroom. you followed him, watching as he immediately laid down on the bed. "hinata, you still need to shower. you've been practicing all day," you stated. "hmfp, i'm so tired though; do i really have to?" he whined. "yes baby, you have to, you stinky," you said, giggling; he whined again.

shoyo used all his energy to pull himself out of bed and went straight to the bathroom. "do you need help?" you asked. hinata let out a hum in agreement. with that, you followed him into the bathroom. he leaned back onto the sink, eyes shutting in drowsiness. you went to the bathtub and opened the faucet, grabbing the liquid soap and pouring it in the water to create bubbles. once the bathtub was half full, you called shoyo. "get in the bathtub; its ready now. i'll go and grab a new clothes and towel," he nodded, and you went out of the bathroom.

he stripped and immediately went in the tub, sitting down facing the wall, shutting his eyes, and sighing. he was so insanely tired that he felt like he could sleep in the tub at any moment. you went back in the bathroom, putting the towel on the doorknob and placing his clothes on the sink counter. you walked closer to the bath tub where hinata was; you grabbed the shampoo, putting a pinch in your hand, and started massaging his hair. "grab the soap, shoyo, wash your body," you directed. he grabbed the soap and started scrubbing his body while you washed his hair.

"are you done? i'll wash your hair now." you asked, "yep 'm done," shoyo said tiredly. you grabbed the water ladle, scooping up a good amount of water, and carefully poured it over his hair. you repeated the same action until his hair didn't have any shampoo anymore.

you left shoyo in the bathroom so he could do the rest of his nightly routine by himself. you laid down the bed, scrolling through your phone while waiting for him. 10 minutes later, he opened the bathroom door, kneading his hair with a towel to dry it.

you admired him; 'he was so cute with his wet hair' you thought. once he felt like his hair was dry enough, he placed the towel on the doorknob of the bathroom. he went straight to the bed, hugging you as he laid down, head on your chest.

"very tired?" you asked. "super," he stated. you put down your phone on the table, then started to stroke his hair to comfort him. "mhm... you know y/n," hinata started, "yeah?" "you're the embodiment of home for me; i love you so much. thank you for taking care of me." he said, face still resting on your chest. your heart began to beat faster; you were shocked.

he always says the most unhinged things that didn't surprise you that much because, well, he's hinata. but this one; he said it for no reason, unpromptedly. that's what he really thought of you? his home? you felt like crying in tears of joy.

you let out a light chuckle before replying, "thank you, shoyo. you're my home too. i love you so much. i hope you know that." the moment felt so comfortable; you and hinata both wished that you could stay like this forever.

after a while of stroking his hair, you heard light snores—a sign that he fell asleep. you laughed lightly, careful enough not to wake him up. his words kept repeating in your head. you were so happy that the person you love is so comfortable with you, and vice versa.

you were his home, and he was your home. you were each others home; each others rest, each others solace.

©shwoyo, all rights reserved.

[shadowtriovibes]

Hello,

Can you write some shameless pre-relationship Sebastian x mc flirting? Like pining, comparing hand sizes, teasing about height, all that cringe cute stuff! Just go off on that however you like!

hello anon!! here's a quick 1.5k pg-rated words for you because i'd just started a little drabble of MC working at j pippin's for the summer and it turned into two goofy teens in love 🥹

edit: i felt like this deserved a name so i'm calling it "the potioneer's apprentice" and i personally love a potion-loving MC characterization very much so i may return to this 'verse later on xoxo

"I happen to know that you can make a perfectly good batch of Wiggenweld yourself," you point out. Sebastian watches distractedly while you untie your hair, shaking it loose as it falls down to your shoulders. "W-well, yours is better," he insists. "Always has been, even Sharp said so." "It's even better now," you say proudly, pulling one of the bottles out of your bag to hand to him. "...You're not actually hurt, are you?" "No, just bored," he admits. "I wanted to see you."

Staring down at the order slip in your hands, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

Mr. Sebastian Sallow Feldcroft Hamlet

x3 Wiggenweld x1 Focus x1 Felix Felicis

“Simple enough,” Parry Pippin says cheerfully, tucking a knut into the pocket of the postal owl that had just dropped off your latest order. “I’ll put together the Liquid Luck, I know that’s a tricky one.”

Bustling over to his potions station, he adds, “I trust brewing the Wiggenweld and Focus draughts should be no problem for you?”

“Of course,” you say, quickly tying up your hair before lighting a fire beneath the cauldron at your own station.

You’ve been an apprentice at J. Pippin’s Potions for just over a month, refining your potions skills over the summer break – and helping keep an eye on things in Hogsmeade. In that time, your brewing skills have improved significantly, and Parry is more than happy to pass on some of the simpler potions to you.

Attempting to be casual, you ask, “Will this be a delivery?”

“Oh, I should think so,” Parry confirms. “Though it’s not exactly my neck of the woods.”

“Would you like me to drop it off?” you offer hopefully.

“How about this,” Parry offers. “I’ll send you down to the hamlet to drop these off, and then you can call it a day.”

“Thank you, Mister Pippin,” you say with a grin.

Your boss smiles approvingly as you carefully pour some horklump juice into your cauldron, precisely tapping the side of the bottle as he’d taught you.

“Besides,” he says cheekily. “I think this is the third time this month that young mister Sallow has ordered from my shop and requested delivery, even though Fatimah’s shop is much closer.”

You nearly spill the entire bottle.

“Any idea why a Hogwarts student on summer break would need so many potions?” Parry asks, smirking to himself as he pours some lacewing flies into his cauldron.

“W-well, I – I suppose he could be clumsy,” you mumble unconvincingly. “O-or stocking up, perhaps. We’ve got N.E.W.T. classes next term, some of these spells are quite challenging, a-and the beasts, we’ve got Grindylows to examine, you know how they bite…”

You trail off feebly, blushing a bright red. The Wiggenweld potion in your cauldron signals its completion with a puff of smoke, offering a welcome distraction.

“Aye, of course,” Parry murmurs, sounding very much like he doesn’t believe you in the slightest. “In any case, as soon as you finish that Focus potion I’ll send you on your way.”

Quickly ladling three portions of Wiggenweld into Parry's glass vials, you scrub out your cauldron and prepare the last draught, wrinkling your nose at the smell of dugbog tongue. Once it starts to smoke and bubble, you measure out a generous portion and collect the Felix Felicis from your boss, tucking the lot into your satchel.

“Please thank young Sebastian for his order, and tell him I said good day,” Parry tells you with a wink. “And to kindly stop pilfering my apprentice so often.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply sheepishly.

Outside the shop, you trek outside the boundaries of Hogsmeade to hop onto your broom and head south toward Feldcroft. It had been more than a week since you’d seen Sebastian, which felt like an eternity compared to how often you saw him during the school year.

One month into your break and you feel like a simpering wreck.

You miss him like crazy – not that you’d tell him like that, of course. He’s your closest friend, and the two of you have been through so much together in the past two years. You aren’t about to ruin it by confessing that you’re hopelessly in love with him.

—

Sebastian is not moping.

And even if he was, why shouldn’t he mope? He’s alone, it’s swelteringly hot in the hamlet and he hasn’t seen his best friend in a week.

He’s bored, and when Sebastian gets bored, he gets creative.

Really, it’s almost too easy to summon you to Feldcroft. All it took was a quick trip to see the owl post stand and another superfluous order for some potions (with a little bit of Liquid Luck thrown in on a whim), and he knew you’d arrive by the time the heat broke.

He conveniently manages to be tending to his small garden when you touch down beside the Sallow home, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows while he pats some dirt around a sprig of fluxweed.

“Sallow?” You call out teasingly. “I have an order here for Sebastian Sallow?”

“Must be a lazy bloke, ordering all those Wiggenwelds instead of making them himself,” he answers, sitting back on his heels and wiping some sweat away from his brow with the back of his wrist. “Or perhaps just daft.”

“I happen to know that you can make a perfectly good batch of Wiggenweld yourself,” you point out.

Sebastian watches distractedly while you untie your hair, shaking it loose as it falls down to your shoulders.

“W-well, yours is better,” he insists. “Always has been, even Sharp said so.”

“It’s even better now,” you say proudly, pulling one of the bottles out of your bag to hand to him. “...You’re not actually hurt, are you?”

“No, just bored,” he admits. “I wanted to see you.”

If Ominis were here, he’d likely pick up on how those words make your heart race a little faster, but mercifully, Sebastian does not.

“Here I am,” you say. “And I’m all yours for the day, Mister Pippin gave me the rest of the day off.”

“Oh, really?” he replies, brushing some stray dirt off of his trousers as he stands up. “Whatever could we get up to with an entire afternoon?”

You blink in surprise as he stands, realizing for the first time that Sebastian has gotten taller.

“What?” he asks, catching your gaze.

“You’ve grown,” you say dumbly. “I – I mean, you’re tall.”

“Am I?” he asks, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Perhaps you’re just short.”

“I am not short,” you protest, following Sebastian as he leads the way into the old Sallow home.

It feels different now, obviously. Less like a family home and more like a chaotic bachelor pad, Sebastian’s strewn-about books and haphazard notes covering up a distinct lack of coziness.

It’s only for the summer, Sebastian had told you the first time you’d seen it.

(You know he doesn’t really have anywhere else to go anymore, what with the Gaunt household becoming more toxic by the day. You wouldn’t be surprised to find Ominis squatting there as well by the time July rolls around.)

“You’re practically pocket-sized,” Sebastian teases, closing the door behind you to keep some of the midday sun out. “I think it’s why you’re so powerful – it’s concentrated, your magic.”

You scoff and shove at his shoulder, wondering to yourself when he became so broad.

It had only been a few weeks since school had let out, hadn’t it? And suddenly Sebastian was walking around in a man’s body, one you were sure wasn’t there in Charms class in May. Or maybe it was, hiding beneath his suit jacket and his robes…

You blink rapidly to clear your head.

“Um. Your potions,” you mumble, pulling the rest of the bottles out of your satchel and placing them on the front room table.

Then you can’t help but ask, “What’s the Felix Felicis for?”

“Not sure yet,” Sebastian admits. “But I’m sure it will come in handy at some point.”

You hum under your breath, picking up the delicate vial and examining it in the light.

“Hand it over,” Sebastian demands with a laugh. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at that bottle, I know what temptation looks like on your face.”

Blushing, you place the vial in his outstretched hand, letting your own hand linger a beat too long. Sebastian quickly catches your wrist, turning your hand palm-side up.

“Merlin’s beard, your hand is small,” he observes.

“Not this again,” you groan.

“I’m being serious, you hold your wand with this tiny thing?” he jokes. “Poor Ollivander had his work cut out for him.”

“Let’s see yours, then,” you insist, holding your hand up to him. “Go on.”

Sebastian presses his palm against yours and you raise your eyebrows. His hand dwarfs yours to the degree that he could wrap the tips of his fingers overtop yours if he wanted to.

“See?” he says, his voice suddenly much quieter in the empty home. “Tiny.”

“And yet I can still beat you in a duel,” you retort, trying to calm your racing heart.

Just like that, the tension in the room dissolves away and Sebastian lights up.

“A duel, hmm?” he echoes. “Is that an offer?”

“Seriously? That’s what you want to do today?” you laugh. “It’s thirty degrees outside and you want to duel?”

“We could practice on the training dummies,” he offers hopefully. “You know you want to.”

…Damn him, he’s right.

“Fine,” you relent. “But if I sweat through this chemise, it’s your head, Sallow.”

Sebastian tries very hard to not think about you in a sweat-soaked white shirt as you lead him back outside, and if he trips over the doorframe on his way out, he’s happy to let you continue to assume it’s just his clumsy streak.

[idiopath-fic-smile]

i dunno if that counts as a wip, but personally i've been thinking abt the "conversation at the dinner table of enjolras' family" series for years now so i gotta jump on the oppurunity

oh my gosh, sure thing! when i checked my WIP folder, i learned i'd actually already written a second whole installment (and then completely forgotten about it) so i'll post that too, and then my new chunk after it.

first bit is here. throwing this under a cut bc it's not short!

Two

“So,” said Dad as he ladled the first round of Saturday morning pancake batter onto the griddle, “tell us about this boy you’re dating?”

Enjolras consciously steadied his hands, took a sip of green tea to stall, and reminded himself that if the relationship was real, he would have been dying to share everything he knew about the boy in question. With an unpleasant lurch, he realized this was almost nothing. He wasn’t even sure what grade Grantaire was in.

“He’s…great,” said Enjolras, hoping that with any luck, his panic could be read as lovestruck embarrassment.

Mom curled her hands around her coffee cup and leaned in, conspiratorial. “Is he cute?”

Between Friday afternoon and now, Enjolras had dedicated a staggering amount of thought to the situation, but he hadn’t made much forward progress. Any time he tried, his mind tended to get snagged, or caught in loops, or lost on wild tangents like, Did Grantaire really mean it when he said he would be okay kissing for the sake of this pretense? How could he possibly be alright with that? Was he kidding? But it honestly didn’t seem like he was kidding. But how would it even come up?

One of very few conclusions Enjolras had reached: he needed to find a way to lie to his parents as little as possible. The thought of deceiving them on purpose for months already made the pit of his stomach feel heavy.

“Yeah,” he said weakly, “he’s…got cool hair.” This was true, if asinine. “And um, a good smile. A really good smile.” Also true, although Enjolras mostly saw it either accompanied by a lot of sarcasm or directed at other people.

“So.” Dad craned around to face him, spatula in hand. “Good at smiling. What else?”

Really, Enjolras thought, he should have been able to anticipate this. He could’ve drawn up his talking points beforehand, like he had with the detention. Set aside the time to brainstorm something better than ‘cool hair,’ for crying out loud. He wondered what Grantaire himself would’ve thought of this conversation, the face Grantaire would’ve pulled at Enjolras’s ludicrous attempts to sound like a person with a boyfriend.

Come to think of it, he wondered what Grantaire was telling his own parents about the whole affair. Maybe nothing. Probably nothing. Grantaire didn’t strike him as the kind of kid to spend weekends bonding with his family. Besides, given the demographics of the area, it was unlikely that they’d be supportive of Grantaire’s—fake coming out? Real coming out under fake circumstances? Enjolras didn’t even know whether or not Grantaire was gay. On one hand, it was a pretty outrageous thing for a straight guy to do. On the other hand—well. It was a pretty outrageous thing for a closeted gay guy to do, too.

With no conscious input from his brain, Enjolras’s memory rewound itself, yet again, to the sight of Grantaire calling his name yesterday in the cafeteria—eyes flashing under that mop of wild dark hair, back straight, fists clenched at his sides like he was about to take on the whole school in one go and win.

Enjolras had seen him and thought, ‘This is why Nicolas Sparks books work on people. This is why half the songs on the radio are the same insipid story over and over again.’ Novelists and songwriters wasted all those words trying to capture a sensation and tame it into words but really it was just Grantaire—smartass Grantaire who was annoying and disruptive and weirdly moody sometimes, who refused to take anything seriously, who didn’t even like Enjolras—it was just Grantaire striding forward with Enjolras’s name on his lips, fury on his face, throwing away every scrap of popularity to back up a cause he had bitterly ridiculed just days ago, for no reason Enjolras could see.

It was a lot to think about.

God, Enjolras was in so far over his head.

“Are you blushing?” said Mom.

“No,” said Enjolras.

“Frank,” she said, “Frank, he’s blushing.”

Enjolras slumped down in his chair. “He’s—funny,” Enjolras blurted, because any line of inquiry was preferable to this, even admitting out loud that he wasn’t totally immune to Grantaire’s jokes. More than once, Enjolras had walked out of a meeting with a raw spot on the inside of his cheek from an hour of trying not to laugh at his most recent shenanigans. If anything, it was more of a liability than a point in Grantaire’s favor. He never would have been able to bring everything grinding to a halt by just shouting out quotes from Family Guy or whatever passed for humor among most of their peers. He was quick and clever and creative—and he used it to make everything infinitely harder than it needed to be.

He’d been different at lunch, though, Enjolras thought, squinting unseeing at the syrup. Once the initial shock of are these the next two and a half months of my life had started to wear off, one of the first things Enjolras had noticed was how much energy Grantaire put into making the table laugh.

“Sense of humor,” said Dad. “That’s crucial.”

“Yeah,” said Enjolras. “And—a good artist.” This was something he only knew from Jehan, since the contents of Grantaire’s notebooks were apparently top secret to the rest of the world. “A really good artist,” he added. It might’ve been true, at any rate. Enjolras couldn’t picture Grantaire concentrating that hard at anything but maybe he had natural talent. “He can draw anything. And he plays the drums.”

“A musician!” Dad called over his shoulder. “Let us know if he has any gigs coming up.”

“What did you say his name was?” Mom asked.

Enjolras told her. She grimaced around a mouthful of coffee.

“What?”

“I’ve met his mom,” she said. “She’s in my Jazzercise group. She’s—well, maybe he takes after his dad.”

“Why,” said Enjolras, “did she—” He frowned at his empty plate, but of course there was no way to end that sentence without scraping too close to the truth. Try to make you feel ridiculous for caring about anything? Roll her eyes at you for reacting? Mock and defend your friends in the same breath?

“What?” said Mom.

“Nothing.”

Mom pursed her lips. “I want to be fair, maybe I caught her on a bad day, but she—struck me as pretty phony. A very Stepford feel. Plus, when I told her I had a teenage son, she laughed and said ‘I’m sorry,’ which—you know how that kind of thing burns me. Like, look, lady, I’ve got a kid I feel great about, who I love spending time with. Don’t project your issues on me.” She took another sip of coffee. “I thought her son was younger. She didn’t really mention him but she had one of those middle school honor roll bumper stickers?”

“Does he have a little brother, maybe?” Dad suggested, flipping pancakes with practiced ease.

Enjolras shrugged.

“How did you meet him?” said Mom.

“He’s—he goes to all the meetings, for the ABC,” said Enjolras, because stressing their shared history of detention felt like an unwise move and anyway this, too, was technically accurate, just in that slippery politician way that Enjolras hated—dropping breadcrumbs and letting the listener fill in the lie for themselves.

“He’s dedicated, then,” said Mom.

Completely dedicated. Not dedicated at all. I have no idea. “Yeah,” he said. “And smart.” Truthful, if misleading. “And—nice.” Maybe truthful? Enjolras seemed to be the only person he went out of his way to annoy, at any rate. “I don’t know,” Enjolras mumbled, which was, he thought wryly, the most honest claim he’d made so far. “I just—I just like him a lot,” he finished, and nothing in the words or how he said them was an act.

That was the problem.

Three

“So,” said Mom brightly, “how was Joly’s party?”

Enjolras chewed his black bean burger and fought the urge to tug up the neck of his T-shirt over the completely obvious bite bruise blooming slightly north of his clavicle. 

He swallowed. “Fine,” said Enjolras. “Good.”

“How are things with Grantaire?” she added and okay, yes, only a fool wouldn't have seen this coming.

Enjolras set down his bun. He couldn’t deal with Mom or Dad thinking he had been pressured in any way. The thought was not only abhorrent, it was completely out of character for Grantaire. Who, regardless of where he actually sat politically, had way more principles than he’d let on.

Enjolras summoned up all the sincerity he could muster. “Great,” he said, thinking of how Grantaire talked to Joly, goofy and kind, without an ounce of condescension. He could feel himself starting to smile. “Really great.” Dad cleared his throat. “You know,” he said. “When you came out to us as asexual, we assumed it meant we could skip over some conversations, but now, uh." Mom and Dad exchanged the slightest of looks.

"It's a spectrum," said Enjolras, face flaming. He hadn't articulated to them where exactly he sat on that spectrum, because for one thing he hadn't known for sure, and for another thing he could think of nothing more painful that tracing the exact topography of his attraction with his parents, for crying out loud.

"Well, there's no harm in knowledge, right?" Dad continued. His voice had the slightest practiced quality to it. Enjolras could imagine him going over his argument out loud before dinner, searching for the best way to make his case. Enjolras found this obscurely comforting. "Plus, you know," said Dad. "Kids talk about these things with each other and there's so much misinformation out there; you might appreciate the chance to be a resource for your friends. About dating or relationships, or the things that happen in a relationship. Is it okay if we go over a few things?”

Enjolras swung his foot under the table and carefully didn't think about Grantaire determinedly giving him a hickey in the kitten-wallpapered bathroom of Joly's basement.

"Sure."

"Great," said Dad, relief rushing into his face. He stood. "If it helps, I have some handouts I can go quick print out."

[cloudcountry]

a broken symbol ⤿ you bring toshinori out of his mind

comments: i have nothing to say...hello mha fandom...are we still here...

tags: sir nighteye is mentioned, fluff, established relationship, toshinori is whipped, retired toshinori, insecurities.

These days, it doesn’t take much for Toshinori to collapse. He’s been retired for quite a while now but still helps out behind the scenes, always the hero even though he deserves nothing but rest. He ends up excusing himself from his work every hour, only to run to the nearest bathroom and crumple over the first drain he can reach.

His side flares up with pain and he clutches the flesh, feeling the stretched and scarred skin that caused his health to decline so rapidly as he hacks up far too much blood. Despite everything—the scar and the blood he spits up and the way he really doesn’t have a quirk anymore and the way he can��t maintain his muscular form even if he wanted to—he still works.

And at the end of the day, his gnarled, gangly form drags its way over to you, the person he is finally able to love just a little bit, because the public knows he is All Might and he is still very much a target, and he knows he can still protect you but he’d rather not have it come to that.

Each day was harder than the last, more taxing on his broken and battered body. Even simple tasks like getting out of bed were becoming difficult, the scars and residual pain a constant reminder of just how beaten he truly was.

Why were you with a man like him?

What could he give you, really? He wasn’t young anymore, nor was he muscular or flashy. He couldn’t give you the life you deserved, with a partner the same age as you, in top condition, ready to spoil you relentlessly. Instead you got a run down, broken man, his muscles and glory gone. The only thing he could possibly offer you was his smile.

(Not the well trained one for the press, or the one he saved for victims during and after he saved them. The one that only his colleagues and his students have seen, the awkward one that droops a little on the right, the one that makes his eyes shut with peace he hasn’t known in forever, the one that accompanies a nervous laugh.)

He doesn’t notice your presence when he steps through the front door, muttering a soft “I’m home,” as he takes his shoes off in the doorway. You stand there, waiting for him with a ladle in hand, a cute apron wrapped around you. Your touch feels like an anchor when it reaches him, brushing his snarled hair away from his eyes. You look so concerned and it punches him right in the gut, guilt seeping into his expression. He feels so frail in front of you, like a giant skinny bug. Why do you treat him so gently?

Toshinori’s heart squeezes. He doesn’t deserve you. He’s pathetic, a broken symbol of peace, a reminder that he couldn’t do more for the people he wanted to protect, for his Master who bet everything on him, for young Midoriya who looked up at him with stars in his eyes.

You ask him if he’s getting in his own head again. Your words swim around his skull, only barely making sense as he ducks his head, lanky arms pulling you into his chest and holding you close. He doesn’t cry, it’s rare that he ever does, but he doesn’t stop the single tear that falls down his cheek. You hug him back immediately, pressing your hands into his back, and it feels so soft and warm.

What did he do to deserve something—someone—as soft as this?

“You’ve done everything.” you scold, holding him a little tighter.

How can you sound so gentle even when berating him for being pathetic?

No, that’s not what you were doing. You were just loving him.

“You’ve saved millions. You fought for them for decades. You stopped All for One time and time again. You’ve saved the world over and over. You’ve built society from the ground up.” you reprimand him for each mean thought he has about him, piecing him together from the ashes of his legacy.

He doesn’t say anything, slumped over on your shoulder, taking in your words like they’re the softest, sweetest thing he’s heard his whole life.

Everyone else wanted All Might. He was so, so lucky to find the person who loved Toshinori.

“I understand that the world isn’t safe yet, and I get that you will always be a hero at heart. It’s one of the many things I love about you.” you pick and choose your words carefully, he can hear it in your tone, “This is the life you chose and I won’t try to take it away from you. Just let me support you. And for the sake of the world, stop being so harsh on yourself.”

As he gazes at you, he can’t help but think that his world has narrowed down considerably since he retired. He entrusted the Earth to his students and colleagues, putting blood, sweat, and tears into the staircase he built for them, just so they could reach the highest peak and succeed in protecting everyone they cared for. He is, no matter how he feels about it, just a man now. And his world became you a while ago.

It feels selfish for him to admit that to himself. He will never stop caring about the public, the people who put their hopes and dreams on his shoulders and allowed him to carry their burdens for him, but you’re the only one who has ever really taken his burdens.

Maybe it’s because he never allowed anyone else to. He holds you just a little bit tighter, memories of friends long gone who pleaded with him not to go flashing through his mind.

“You will always be a hero, love.” you sigh, brushing his cheek with the back of your hand, “You will forever be my hero. But right now, I want you to just be you.”

That’s right. He shudders in your arms, a remnant of what once was, but this remnant loves you with every shattered bit of him.

“Right.” he says, voice low and soft.

He hardly has the energy to say anything else, but he knows he doesn’t have to.

Not when it’s you.

[leakyweep]

14. looking at their lips as they talk w/ SANJI PLSPLSPLSPLSPLS

BLUSHING KICKING MY FEET RN MARIE- no warnings just fluff and sanji being a cutie patootie

"So, as you stir the broth, you want to add in the vegetables," Sanji continued to explain, oblivious to your gaze that was fixed on his soft lips. He worked diligently on the soup you had asked for, always making sure your every need was met. The hearty smell of the soup and the sound of his voice filled your senses as he finally glanced over at you, his curious eyes sparkling.

"My love?" He asked gently, snapping you out of your trance. He had a cute smile on his features, placing the ladle he was using onto the counter.

You hummed gently, your irises flicking up to his. "Yes? Sorry, I was a little... distracted." A small, bashful smile pulled at the corners of your lips, and Sanji swore he would put you in a Ziploc bag for safe keeping. He felt his heart swell and his cheeks heat up when he realized where your gaze lingered.

"Why, my beauty, if you wanted a kiss-" He took a step towards you, grabbing your hand to spin you and dip you, your hair hanging behind you as he held your torso parallel to the floor in a Tango Dip. He placed a short but passionate kiss on your pink lips. "-then all you had to do was ask." His suaveness was unmatched, and you felt your heart swoon at the action.

"Well then, I want a kiss. and another one after that. and another-" Sanji cut you off with a kiss, followed by another, and another. He did say he would give you what you asked for.

[mrsrookhunt]

Petit Chasseur

Rook Hunt x Reader

Synopsis: In crewel's class, the task at hand is to transform a tadpole into a frog with a transformation potion, so how is it that you and Rook happened to transform your tadpole into a baby...?

Warnings: None, but MC is apparently a third year because I accidentally wrote for Rook being part of Potionology instead of the Science club and got way too far in before I realized it. This is how you and Rook started a family and lived happily ever after

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"Ah-? You say that's the right ingredient, but I assure you it was--"

"Too late!" You laughed, dropping a sprig of pine into the mixture, which had previously been just the right consistency and color.

It bubbled and smelled of sickly rotten flowers.

Rook gave an theatrical sigh. "Mon tricksteur, that was the last of our ingredients.. We were already warned that we shall not be supplied with more."

You frowned at the textbook. It didn't give you the list of ingredients, which Professor Crewel had listed at the beginning of the lesson. Still, you were certain it called for a sprig of pine. But the cauldron should have been filled with a light, sticky substance, and instead it was filled with something so gooey, Rook was having trouble stirring it the appropriate amount of paces.

"Hmm... what'd you think it was supposed to be, Rook?"

"It was two drops of liquid silver."

"Damn, are you totally sure?"

He gestured to the mixtures of the rest of the class, which bore a much closer resemblance to the intended result.

"Oui. If not, the whole class, myself included, must have had a mass hallucination."

"Aww..." You face palmed. "How do we fix this?" You asked out of exasperation, hoping he had a better answer.

"No ingredient that comes mind is in our possession. We shall have to turn it in as it is, sadly."

He stopped stirring and ladled it into a vial.

"Isolate a tadpole for me, s'il te plaît ."

"Yeah, but what's it gonna do?"

He laughed and shrugged. "We'll see."

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"It's two drops over the tadpole--"

"one, Two, THREE, there we go-- oh. Um. Two?"

Rook snickered. "Remind me never to partner with you again, Mon Tricksteur."

The tadpole stopped moving.

"Is it... dead?" You asked, as you watched in horror over the poor thing, layed out on a tray in shallow water.

"Hmm. Perhaps three drops was too much? Our potion had all the components for a basic transformation potion, the sprig shouldn't have affected it's transformative properties, only the outcome, so--"

The tadpole shivered as if coming back to life; Its flesh began to ripple with different colors and shapes as it mutated into a large, multicolored creature.

"Uhh--- Rook, that seems a little uhmmm, BIG FOR A FROG---"

You knocked Rook into the ground in your attempt to back up, taking the tray and the undulating creature down with you, to your horror.

You braced yourself for contact with the squishy thing, and felt something heavy hit your lap.

Rook picked it up swiftly before you even opened your eyes.

"Mon dieu! I've never seen such a thing."

You opened one of your tightly shut eyes to see a Rook staring in reverent awe at a tiny, cute baby bearing resemblance to him.

"What? What IS THAT---"

"Don't yell, you'll upset the poor thing. And would you look at that? It looks a bit like you too, doesn't it?"

The baby cooed as Rook brought it to his chest with one arm, holding it gently, while the baby outstretched its tiny little arms in your direction.

He put the baby against your crossed arms.

"The baby wants your touch," He said softly, watching as the baby nuzzled against your arm.

"Nuh-uh, no way, that is NOT a baby--"

"Transformation potions are thorough. The baby is, in fact, a baby."

"Still, I don't want to touch it, it's creepy--- why does it look like us??"

Rook took the feather from his cast-aside hat to tickle the baby with.

"If I had to take a guess, I'd say perhaps it was the third drop. The little nourrisson took on the appearance of you and I because we were the first to touch it. It fell on both of us at the same time."

"S-so now what do we do?" You reluctantly touched the baby, who was cuter than you'd like to admit.

"Tell the professor and let him sort the matter out."

He turned over the baby to you as he went to get the professor.

You held the infant, which cooed and fussed like a normal human baby, but looked eerily like you and Rook, bearing his rich blonde hair and green eyes, but your chin and cheekbones, and even the way your hair naturally parted.

You gave up your fingers to the child, who was fascinated by them.

You saw Rook speaking to the professor, but your attention was diverted back to the baby, who had begun crying when you focused on something else.

You shushed it gently.

"It's alright, little one.. we'll get this ironed out."

Bleary green eyes stared back at you as if to say, 'You better.'

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"It's permanent."

"You're kidding--"

You were already back at the Ramshackle dorm, feeding the baby with formula you'd had to beg and plead for Sam to find on such short notice.

"Non, I'm afraid not. The Professor looked extensively. There is no cure to this."

"So what do we do then? We can't just... keep it!"

Rook dropped down to the ground to tickle the baby, who was lying on a soft blanket.

"I think that we must. It's our responsibility, and the baby is biologically ours, so--"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE BABY IS BIOLOGICALLY OURS?"

Your heart was racing out of your chest. What does this even mean for the two of you? You've always liked Rook, but not enough to throw yourself into raising a child with him-!

"You're shouting again, Mon Tricksteur. Oui, the baby is biologically ours, since it shares the equal traits of us both. We shall have to raise our dear infant."

Rook was on his knees beside you, amusing the baby with funny expressions and little exclamations of wonder.

Where would you go? You couldn't take care of a baby in a world you weren't familiar with, in which you had no one and nothing. Nothing but Rook, who had quite the full family of his own. Would they even accept this? Would they even like you?

Not even to speak of the challenges of raising a child, especially while going to school. Outside of your free-time, where would you even find the time to raise a baby?

Rook planted a kiss on your forehead, chuckling lightly.

"You're too nervous, my dear. You need to find the heart of passion, and throw yourself to the wind. I see it written across your face-- but there's no need to worry. I'm here for you."

You picked up the baby, cradling the small little bundle while Rook rested his arm across your back, taking in the scene. You were a family now. You were parents, so suddenly, so absolutely by surprise. And yet, as you were starting to warm up to the sweet child, you realized just how lucky you were to have Rook by your side, and a baby to love with him.

"Ah~ Mon Amour and my petit chasseur~"

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

French vocabulary that I definitely did not get from Google translate:

s'il te plaît: please

Mon dieu: my god

nourrisson: infant/baby

Petit chasseur : Little hunter

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

-June 28th, 2023

-Kaori

[fatuismooches]

Hoyo drops a Neuvilette dragon-form ladle and expects me to move on just like that? Not a chance.

Okay. Dottore. And fragile!reader who takes a liking in ceramics.

The weakness caused by mysterious sickness got the reader unable to attend to their hobbies as often as they'd have wished to. However, there are days when they feel great and devote their time to their lover. And if Zandik happens to be busy - it's ceramics time!

At first, there were no noticeable changes and Dottore doesn't acknowledge the strange items. It must be Pantalone or Columbina sending prank gifts anyway. But as the time passes, more and more strange items start appearing...

First, it was a the salt and pepper shakers. Instead of normal, tube-like shakers, two one-eyed bird creatures sat on the table. Their shape wasn't completely smooth, some imperfections here and there. The dyes overlapped in some places as well. Dottore knew right away that this wasn't bought from the local market. Why the strange shape, too?

That's when he begins to notice more. There is a ladle that's base takes the shape of the raven head that Dottore carries around his shoulders as a fancy accessory? There are a couple of ceramic bowls and plates that have silly drawings of the segments? The fox-monster-creature with a basket in its paws that serves as a fruit storage?

Dottore is confused. But also amazed.

He will praise the reader how wonderful all of their creations are, even if he finds them a tad bit weird at times. He loves them, really! Zandik will make sure to encourage their beloved to not stop the hobby since it is also good for their health - distraction from illness is always a great thing!

Let's just say Pantalone's bewilderment was immeasurable when he received a report stating that Dottore requests a ton of highest quality clay.

THIS IS SO CUTE... You always had a good amount of hobbies before you got sick, but after the illness, you find that your strength is too sapped to do anything too strenuous. So instead you stick to hobbies that don't require much energy, like reading for example. But that doesn't mean you're just going to give up on your old hobbies! Thankfully you still have good days that you can set aside for ceramics!! You don't bother telling Dottore because you assumed he'd realize it's you once you start sending your creations to him! (You think it's funny that it took him this long to realize, who else would take out the time to give him gifts? Only his dear lover of course!)

Not only are the shakers strange looking and far from perfection, but it is an odd thing to give to the man who barely eats, and when he does, the food is made and seasoned exactly to his liking by you. At least the shakers work...? That's one thing, at least. He doesn't have much use for them, but for some odd reason, he tucks them somewhere in his drawers for safekeeping.

However, more odd things that he would never use end up finding his way on his desk along with the very strange designs. He knows it couldn't be a joke anymore because of the sheer number and time it must have taken to make these things, despite them not being the most professional. There's really only one person he knows who could have done this. One of the plates has a wide pointy grin with red eyes that he can instantly recognize as Beta (Webttore) despite its simpleness. He doesn't think he could ever eat off a plate with that but he is amused by your creations. And also impressed.

First, he's very glad to hear your hands are steady enough to create such things. That is good news! Secondly, seeing you so happy is good for everyone considering your illness often impacts your mental state. Thirdly, he's partially offended that the other segments knew about your hobby and not him, your actual husband. Still, as long as it keeps you distracted, he'll keep indulging it for as long as you'd like. Even when you continue to send him strange gifts that he'd never use, only admire. (Pantalone is confused but soon puts two and two together.)

Of course, no one comments on the segments using puffling shakers in order to keep their life. I need a Foxttore fruit basket desperately... (imagine putting apples in it as a joke for Dottore teehee... :3)

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

}{ Who Are You? Are You Nobody, Too? }{

}{ Thrown into a strange game with no memories of their lives before, Jimmy and Scott find comfort in a quiet valley and in each other. }{

}{ 3rd Life }{ Flower Husbands }{ 3.9k }{ sfw abridged version of an entry for Driving After Dark 2 }{

"We're married now."

Jimmy gaped as Scott grinned at him behind the delicate petals of the flower he held to his nose. "E - excuse me?"

It was just a bit, surely. The sort of joke that he would usually, if the other person was someone he liked, lean into with everything he had and flirt back just as hard. But something about the soft quirk of Scott's lips and the gleam in his gemstone eyes made Jimmy's thoughts short circuit.

"You gave me a flower. We're married now," repeated Scott. "That's how it works, you know."

"Oh," was all Jimmy managed to get out. He was fairly certain that wasn't how marriage worked, despite his missing memories, but the crystalline notes of Scott's ringing laughter eroded any desire Jimmy had to challenge the declaration.

And anyway, it was just a bit. Surely.

Scott seemed to be completely serious about teaming up, at least, and Jimmy was eager to prove himself a good ally who could carry his weight without being a burden. That was why he opted to build his own little house on the opposite side of the valley, to avoid inserting himself into Scott's space without a direct invitation. He showed off his work proudly, but the way Scott's ears dropped when he saw it had Jimmy second-guessing himself.

"Sorry. I'm not a very good builder," he said as he twisted his hands uncertainly. "I know you like things to be all cute and everything. I tried my best, but - "

Scott cocked his head to one side and seemed almost perplexed as he watched Jimmy stumble over his words. Then some realization or another that Jimmy couldn't work out crossed his face, and he smiled in that way that always sent Jimmy's stomach into somersaults.

"I do like cute things. That's why you're around." He giggled at Jimmy's immediate flush. "It's a good start, really! Do you mind if I...?"

Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he had only imagined the disappointment in Scott's eyes earlier. "Not at all, go ahead! What's mine is yours."

"Oh? I'll keep that in mind." Amusement sparkled in Scott's eyes, assuring Jimmy that his next words were only meant to tease, not be taken seriously. "It will soothe the disappointment that my husband doesn't want to live in the same house as me."

"...What?" squeaked Jimmy. He squeaked a lot around Scott, he was beginning to realize. "Wait, that's what you were upset about?"

Scott laughed.

- }{ -

By the time Jimmy returned, both the face of his cliffside hut and the flower valley as a whole sported significant improvements. Scott was kneeling by a campfire near the lakeshore, stirring a pot of something that smelled amazing. His ears twitched almost imperceptibly at Jimmy's approach, and he looked up to greet him with that smile that sent Jimmy's stomach into somersaults.

His stomach went into a lot of somersaults around Scott, he was beginning to realize.

"I thought we'd have dinner out here, meet in the middle so to speak. If that's okay with you." Scott turned his attention back to the stew.

Jimmy grinned. "Yeah, 'course it is. Just let me put everything away." He emptied his inventory of all the resources he'd gathered on his trip out, then joined Scott by the fire. "What all's in there, anyway?"

"Mostly vegetables." Scott lifted the wooden spoon he was stirring with, both to show Jimmy the chunk of carrot that rested on it and to test the tenderness of the vegetable against the wall of the pot. "Our first harvest of carrots and potatoes, and some odds and ends I foraged from the woods. I did add some of the chicken you prepared earlier, to make it a little more hearty."

He set aside the spoon and picked up a ladle instead, filling a bowl and passing it to Jimmy before filling his own. Jimmy accepted it gratefully, taking a tentative sip of the hot broth before picking up one of the two smaller spoons that waited nearby. "Oh, that's delicious - wait, did you carve all these dishes today?"

Scott seemed pleased that Jimmy had noticed. Jimmy would notice every detail he could if it meant that smile would stay on those pretty lips. "I did," said Scott. "I finished my building projects earlier than I expected, so I thought I might as well start on some easy comforts."

"Oh my gosh, that's impressive! Is there anything you're not good at?"

Scott's ears twitched happily. "Oh, very little," he said smugly, and Jimmy laughed.

There wasn't much in the way of conversation at first. Jimmy's focus was on the stew, the day's hard work of gathering logs and stone and ores having made him ravenous. Scott was similarly focused on refueling after all the hours spent building. But as food and silence both settled, the slightly awkward small talk between them strengthened into something easy and comfortable. They told each other what little they could about themselves, information drawn from either their limited memories or gut feelings, and theorized about what they couldn't recall.

"Do you think we're anyone important in our home worlds?" Jimmy asked. He stared up at the first stars that faded into existence as the sky slowly dimmed. "I get the feeling that some of the others are, you know? Like Etho, or Martyn. They just feel so...big. Like there's no way they aren't someone."

Scott was laying next to him in the grass. The inches between their shoulders felt ever so close and oh so far all at the same time. "I don't think I am. Or rather, I hope I'm not. Being known by strangers sounds...exhausting. I just want a quiet little life with someone I care about."

Jimmy smiled. "That sounds nice. I don't think I'm anyone important either. But you're right; being nobody sounds like the way to go." He turned his head to look at Scott. "You know, we never did proper introductions. Hi, I'm Jimmy. I'm nobody."

Scott turned his head to look at Jimmy with a soft smile. "Hi Jimmy. I'm Scott. I'm nobody, too."

Jimmy laughed.

- }{ -

No one on the server knew quite what to make of their situation. Fourteen people, dropped into an unknown world, with no memory of the lives they surely must have been leading before and only the knowledge that they had agreed to partake in some sort of game. They were all vaguely aware that there were rules that would be revised with death, knew three deaths would be the end, and had a strong suspicion that some of them must have known at least some of the others before. But beyond that, they were almost as much a mystery to themselves as they were to one another.

Jimmy had his own strong suspicion that Scott was the sort to be just as mysterious in his regular life. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the...elf? fae? Jimmy didn't know exactly what he was, and Scott only smiled and deflected the question when Jimmy asked.

Neither man avoided the rest of the server entirely, but decided early on that they preferred to keep to themselves for the most part, unwilling to get too involved with the growing tensions between other factions. With a strong wall erected around their little valley and most of the resources they needed within, it was easy to forget that there was more to the situation than living the quiet little life Scott had admitted to dreaming of.

It was easy to forget, too, that they weren't really married. Scott still jokingly referred to Jimmy as his husband, even in front of the others, and seemed perpetually amused by Jimmy's variety of flustered reactions whenever he did.

Jimmy might not have been certain of much, but he knew beyond doubt that he was utterly enchanted by his basemate. The first time Scott leaned over and kissed Jimmy's cheek, Jimmy's thoughts crashed so hard that he barely heard Scott ask (with difficulty concealing his delight) if he was all right.

"Fine! I'm perfectly fine," he managed to squeak out. "Was just - thinking! About the, um, the thing. The thing that needs, uh, repaired right? I'll...go do that now."

"Right, the thing," repeated Scott, eyes sparkling. Jimmy wondered if they shone just as brightly in whatever color they were naturally, whether they were the green they were now or some other shade. "Best get to it before sunset."

- }{ -

It took Jimmy another three days to work up the courage to ask Scott for another kiss. He wasn't even planning on it at the time, but they were sitting shoulder to shoulder on the lakeshore when a stray petal drifted down from the clifftop and landed in Jimmy's hair.

Scott leaned in and reached up to pluck it away. "Trying a new accessory?" he said with a grin. His voice was low and his breath was warm, and Jimmy found that all of a sudden desire outweighed anxiety.

"Can I kiss you?"

Scott's eyes widened in surprise, then his mouth curved into that soft, soft smile. "Of course. You don't really have to ask to kiss your own husband, you know."

Jimmy let out a breathless chuckle. "You're still sticking to your little joke, huh?"

Scott's ears dropped, and Jimmy's heart dropped with them when he saw hurt clouding his pretty eyes. "You thought I was joking about that?"

"Well...yeah?" Jimmy tilted his head in confusion. "I mean, you said it literally within the first, like, hour of meeting. We barely know one another, Scott."

"Oh." Scott pulled away. Jimmy was struck with the desire to pull him close and assure him he didn't mean it. "I'm sorry. I mean, I know we're not married married, but you never said anything against it, and I thought you liked me back, so I just sort of...assumed."

"Assumed what?" This wasn't going at all how Jimmy had pictured it. "And I do like you! I just didn't want to, you know, take things at face value and look like an idiot later if it turned out I misinterpreted what you meant." He paused. "Which...okay, in hindsight - "

If the delicate bell-shaped flowers that dotted the ground in the woods could actually ring, Jimmy imagined they would sound an awful lot like Scott's laughter.

"So you do like me?" Scott's ears were beginning to perk back up, albeit cautiously. "You're not mad that I assumed we were dating?"

"I mean, I wish you would have said something? But no, I'm not mad." Heat blossomed across his cheeks. "So...about that kiss?"

Scott leaned in but paused at the last moment, letting Jimmy be the one to close the gap. Jimmy leaned in too, and the longing feeling in his chest that he hadn't even known was there disappeared.

Logically, Jimmy knew it couldn't possibly be his first kiss. The jitters he felt had more to do with kissing someone new for the first time, not the act of kissing itself. But was it the first time he had ever kissed Scott? It didn't seem probable that they even knew each other in the outside world, let alone were romantically involved, and yet...

Scott deepened the kiss, melting into Jimmy when Jimmy put his arms around him. The way their mouths moved together felt like the most natural thing in the world. One ear twitched in - surprise? delight? Jimmy had learned quickly how to read Scott's subtle body language, but some microexpressions were still beyond him - when Jimmy was the one to take initiative and run his tongue along Scott's lower lip, and he let him in immediately.

By the time they parted to pant for air, Jimmy had lowered Scott down into the soft grass, and the way Scott stared up at him with swollen lips and gentle surrender in his eyes stole Jimmy's breath away as quickly as he could catch it.

"I don't want this to be over."

The confession that slipped out of Jimmy startled both of them. Then Scott's confusion gave way to amusement, and he laughed. "Well, I don't exactly plan on giving you up any time soon."

"No, I mean - " Jimmy sighed and rested his forehead against Scott's. "What happens at...at the end? I know what happens when you die in a typical hardcore world, but..."

But nothing about their situation was typical. And even in a typical world, the same fear lurked in the background of every player's mind: what if something goes wrong? what if my eyes don't open again like they're meant to? what if this is actually final? Jimmy had been trying not to think about it, but being dropped into a strange game with no memory was unsettling enough, and only magnified those natural fears.

They might be the players, but something else was toying with them.

"I think we'll respawn wherever we're meant to be," said Scott firmly. "Whatever block has been placed on our memories will be gone, we'll be safe at home - wherever 'home' is - and we'll have new friends to contact. Or old friends to check up on," he added, threading his fingers through Jimmy's hair.

Jimmy nosed against his cheek, then lay next to him with a sigh. "You think we know each other on the outside?"

Scott snorted. "Jimmy, either we already knew each other before this, or we have what is quite possibly the most insane and immediate chemistry that has ever existed between two people." He mirrored the way Jimmy lay on his side, tucking a hand under his head. "You...feel like home. It's hard to imagine I came from a life where I didn't already love you."

Jimmy smiled. "Home?" he repeated, feeling a sliver of hope for what could be.

"Home," said Scott, and it sounded like a promise.

- }{ -

"I mean, you don't have to use it or anything." Jimmy pressed his fingertips together nervously. "It's not very well-made, actually. It's only holding together because Impulse helped me with all the fiddly bits."

Scott stared at the hand-cranked beater he held, turning it over and inspecting it. Jimmy shifted nervously. A few days before, Scott had lamented the lack of much nicer kitchen appliances found on more established servers, wishing aloud for even the simplicity of an electric mixer to make his baking easier. A bundle of twigs made a sufficient enough whisk for eggs, but not so much for making a smooth, creamy frosting to top the variety of little cakes he liked to bake.

"I did wonder what you were spending so long at the anvil for the other day." Scott tapped a finger against the metal of the beater. "I love it. Thank you."

Jimmy beamed, pleased with the pleased expression on Scott's face and even happier with the kiss that followed. "My husband is so talented," said Scott, resting his forehead against Jimmy's. "Is there anything you're not good at?"

"Quite a lot, actually," said Jimmy with a sheepish grin, and Scott laughed.

Scott made a cake that very night, informing Jimmy with delight that the beater did indeed make a significant difference to the texture of the frosting he'd previously been mixing with only a wooden spoon. Privately, Jimmy couldn't tell much of a difference, but he kept that thought to himself. He was more interested in the way Scott offered a scoop of frosting on his fingertip for Jimmy to taste, and the way Scott's breath caught when Jimmy gripped his wrist firmly and took his time licking away the creamy glaze.

"It's delicious." Jimmy didn't intend the low, deep tone that his voice took on, but he took great interest in the way Scott swallowed hard, parted his lips, and leaned closer. It would be easy to tease him, but it would be even easier to lean in and kiss him.

"Don't you have a cake to frost?" he murmured against Scott's lips when Scott went for a second kiss almost right away.

"It still needs to cool," Scott murmured back. Not one to be denied, he mouthed at Jimmy's jawline and down his neck, and it was Jimmy's to flush and lean closer. "Could take hours, really."

Jimmy chuckled breathlessly. "Hours, huh? Well, you're the expert. What do we do in the meantime?"

Scott smiled against his neck. Jimmy's heart pounded in his chest.

He was so caught up in imagining the possibilities of what Scott might say next that it took him a moment to realize what was happening when Scott stepped back, smiling ever so sweetly, and handed him a pile of dishes to be washed.

- }{ -

"What's on your mind?"

Jimmy jumped as Scott nudged him with his shoulder. "Oh! Gosh, you startled me. Sorry, what did you say?"

Scott's lips were quirked upwards and he kept his tone light, but the crease of his brow betrayed his concern. "You've been a million miles away all day. What's wrong?"

"Oh. Nothing's wrong. I just..." Jimmy looked down at the blade laying across his lap and gave it another polish. "Some of the others think this is all going to turn into a proper war."

"Hmm." Scott looked out over the water. The sun that shone down on them was warm, but not overly so. Dragonflies flitted around the reeds. A little frog sat quietly in the mud shaded by a rock. A bluejay watched them from the top of the wall, silent.

Jimmy polished a freshly sharpened sword. Two sets of armor hung by the anvil, gleaming with newly applied enchantments. The potions chest next to Scott's brewing stand was crowded.

"What if - "

Scott put a hand over Jimmy's. "We'll be okay. We're just a couple of nobodies, remember?" He slipped the sword from Jimmy's grasp and set it off to the side, replacing it with his own fingers. Jimmy held on like he'd been handed a lifeline he was afraid to let go of.

He looked around at the beautiful oasis he and Scott had created together. He looked at Scott, so graceful he could easily be mistaken for some ethereal spirit who lived among the flowers.

Perhaps he was. Perhaps Scott had always been here, part of this valley of eternal summer, and only Jimmy was the outsider.

Jimmy didn't care anymore about the world before, he realized. Sure, he was a little curious, but had everything he needed here. He had a home, rustic but comfortable, with plenty of room to improve over time. He had friends, some of whom - like Martyn and BigB - even felt like he'd known for years.

He had Scott.

Nothing, in this world or any other, could fill his heart the way Scott did.

"Jimmy?"

Scott squeezed his hand. Jimmy swallowed against the emotions creeping up his throat.

There was a poppy in his inventory, picked only this morning and stored away until Jimmy could figure out the best time to present it. But realizing his heart was certain in an uncertain world, it didn't seem like there would be a better time than right now.

Scott blinked at the flower Jimmy handed him, but took it without hesitation. "We're married now," said Jimmy, and Scott's eyes shot back up to meet his own. Jimmy grinned. "I gave you a flower. We're married now. That's how it works, right?"

"Oh," was all Scott managed to get out. Then his arms were around Jimmy's neck, and his mouth was crashing against Jimmy's mouth, and it really didn't matter anymore what the rest of the factions outside the wall were or weren't planning.

Jimmy smiled as Scott grinned at him behind the delicate petals of the flower he held to his nose, and they both laughed.

- }{ -

"What's on your mind?"

One of Scott's ears flicked toward Jimmy at the sound of his voice, but he didn't take his eyes off the nearly complete flower crown in his hands. "Just trying to decide how many more roses I want in this."

Jimmy tucked in the end of the last stem on his own flower crown and placed it on Scott's head. "It's not very nice to lie to your husband, you know."

Scott chuckled, but Jimmy could hear the reservation lurking in the melodious notes. Jimmy cupped his cheek, and Scott leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too." Jimmy pressed his lips to Scott's forehead. "Why do you sound so sad about it? You're not breaking up with me, are you?"

He meant it as a joke, but the way Scott looked at him sent his stomach plummeting.

"No, of course not." Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief, and Scott gave him an apologetic smile. "But seeing Scar turn red, it made me think about what's coming. What happens when this is all over."

"Didn't we already talk about this?" Jimmy kissed Scott's forehead, then the bridge of his nose, then under his eye. "We outlive everyone, and enjoy being nobodies together. Easy."

Scott's eyes were soft as he watched Jimmy. "Yeah. Easy." He finished weaving the flowers he still clutched, then crowned Jimmy with them. "But let's say something happens and we respawn back in our old lives. Would you...still want me?"

"Yes."

Jimmy answered without hesitation, not needing to think about it. He already had thought about, late at night staring at the ceiling and listening to Scott's steady breathing next to him. He knew this couldn't last forever, as badly as he wanted it to. But he and Scott could.

"I want to marry you for real," he said softly. "Maybe we can find a cleric somewhere, or maybe Ren could do it. Kings can do that sort of thing, right?"

Scott laughed. "You know what? Why don't we do it? Think about it; clerics and kings officiate marriages because they represent a higher authority. But the only authority I care to recognize is yours and mine."

"I like the sound of that." Jimmy kissed Scott's hand. If he'd ever been to any weddings, he couldn't remember them, but he could recall some vague approximation of what must be standard vows. "I promise to cherish you forever and stand by your side, for better or for worse, from one dream to the next."

Under a veil of sunshine and poppies, Scott smiled at his husband. "I promise to cherish you forever and stand by your side," he repeated. "For better or for worse, from one dream to the next."

The vows were simple, the kiss was chaste, and the only witnesses were butterflies and birds. But it was theirs, and it was beautiful. In a peaceful valley in one little corner of a strange world, two nobodies grinned at one another under the delicate petals of the flowers in their hair, and they both laughed.

[sugurugetofavoritemonkey]

𝐀𝐬 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐀𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Suguru Geto x reader

Fluff

Summary : You’re a terrible cook, but Suguru Geto still loves your homemade pancakes, simply because you made them for him.

930 words

For once, you decide that it’s your time to surprise your dear husband with homemade pancakes for breakfast.

The only problem was - and yes it was a big one - that your cooking skills were absolutely awful, to say the least.

Suguru had never told you this of course, but you knew that whenever you tried to make something in the kitchen, it would look like you were trying to poison him, even though you were trying your best.

This time it had to be different, you thought this morning, while trying not to wake up the sleeping man beside you, by gently removing his arm that was comfortably keeping you close to his warm chest.

Funnily, when you finally succeeded in this small task to make your way towards the kitchen, you could hear Suguru grumble in his sleep at the loss of your presence, turning around in the messy sheets to find a new position.

You silently laughed at that. Even unconsciously, he was still very much clingy with you. But you had to hurry in order to surprise him in time.

You had chosen something simple. Pancakes could not be that hard to make, was it ? Suguru often made some during the week so why couldn't you, right ? It was without reckoning the fact that you were kind of clumsy and messy in the kitchen, as well as not endowed with patience on top of that.

You firstly tried to crack the eggs for the dough and obviously not without letting a few egg shells fall into the bowl.

With silent complaints, you let out a little sigh to calm yourself down while removing all the little egg shells one by one from the preparation for quite some time.

Once the dough is finished, you were finally ready to make your pancakes. But unfortunately, something was off again. And as usual you didn’t see your mistake before it was too late.

You had put the power below the pan to the maximum because you thought it was a good idea to make the pancakes a little crunchy and also because you thought it would be faster that way. But when you poured with a ladle the surprisingly very liquid mixture, everything began to burn immediately.

You began to panic while lowering the temperature, your silent screams began to grow in volume when you saw that the pancake was literally ruined. The underside almost looked like charcoal.

« Fuck, Fuck, Fuck this », you tried to silently scream.

« How is Sugu making these ? I’m sure he’s just cheating and buying them at the store in the morning, yeah problem solved », you grunt in denial as you clean your pan to try again.

Little did you know that your lovely Suguru was hiding behind the kitchen’s wall, awakened by your not so silent cooking and complaint noises as well as the burned smell, and was now laughing silently into his hand at the cute and funny spectacle unfolding in front of his eyes.

And when you’ve finally succeeded in making one pancake that looks edible, your husband shows up behind you while hugging your frame close to his chest, his face nuzzling its way in your neck, tickling you as you giggle at him.

As you turn around to look at Suguru, the man can’t help but tease you at the messy sight he’s seeing, the kitchen was chaotic to say the least.

« Didn’t know we were having a war in the kitchen, honey »

You move your hand to gently slap his chest in protest but Suguru is quick to catch your hand in his fist gently, grinning at you teasingly.

But his grin soon transforms into a reassuring smile as he takes notice of your little pout forming on your face.

He takes your face in his hands and caresses your cheeks with his thumbs, his mouth dropping a kiss onto your forehead.

« Hey I didn’t even taste them yet and you’re already pouting, come on I’m sure they’re delicious ».

« But I just wanted to make you happy… and I barely made one that looks terrible », your hand goes to bring the plate to him shyly as you look away from his gaze.

« Look, I even tried to make the pancake heart shaped… », you told him quietly.

And even though it looked nothing like a heart, Suguru couldn’t help but smile at you with his eyes closed like little moon crescents. How could he not be happy when you were this cute with him.

« Nonsense, just the fact that you woke up this morning with the thought of making me breakfast to please me, makes me incredibly happy, believe me sweetheart », he replies with a soft tone in his voice as he goes to take a bite of the pancake.

Your eyes scan his face for any signs of disgust but surprisingly it seems like for once, your husband appreciates something you made on your own, and it was an understatement to say that you were very proud of yourself.

« I was definitely right, precious. Pancake’s good, I would even say it tastes as sweet as you », he laugh teasingly while remaining serious and pressing a kiss on your temple as to tease you further.

It doesn’t take long for your blushing face to hide in Suguru’s chest that still vibrates with his laugh while his hands find their way onto your back to hug you even closer to him.

Very happy to write again for my all time hubby Sugu, please enjoy ! 🩵

🤍 Suguru Geto Masterlist 🤍

[vagabond-umlaut]

Physalis peruviana

Neither too sweet. Nor too sour.

An unusual blend of tangy-sour and swirly-sweet is what you need at times to find your lost taste of life.

▸ gojo satoru x reader; 2.7k wc; reunion fic; angst with a happy ending; nightmares & hallucinations; tons of fluff; established relationship; manga ch. 221 spoilers; slightest hint of spice at the very end (idrk how to write a single implied smut sentence TT-TT)

▸ my hubby fave is finally back home, and i'm so freaking late to welcome him *sob* ▸ this was written for the ask submitted by the amazing @luckimoon as part of my 100 followers celebrations!! ty gigi!! also, special thanks to the wonderful @afortoru, @guccirosegold and @heresan for your lovely comments and support!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️ ▸ also, i don't own the characters, image or divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

The flat fills with the sounds of sizzling and crackling as Gojo watches you make dinner. Dressed in an old shirt of his, hem obviously reaching your knee, and a cute apron on top, you appear not unlike a nymph to him.

Were it another day, the man’s certain he would have left his place on the sofa and gone into the kitchen, wrapping you tightly in his arms, only intention to suffocate you in his affection – all the while you would have whined, asking him to stop, screeching the food might burn, before you would finally yield to his relentless attacks, breathless giggles falling past your sinfully sweet lips.

Today, however, is not another day.

Not when you’re like this; standing before the stove and mechanically stirring the broth with a ladle, a blank expression plastered on your face as you stare at the boiling contents.

Eyes still trained on the food, you move to scoop up a spoonful of it and-

“Careful!”

The warning wrenches itself from his throat, awfully loud and grating, and less than a millisecond elapses before your lover finds himself pulling you into his embrace, eyes scanning you, zeroing in on your arm, searching for any injury from the scalding hot pan it veered dangerously close to.

A whoosh of air leaves him as his shoulders sag and brows relax in relief.

“Goodness, princess…” He sighs, beginning to chastise you lightly for being careless – only to falter when you gently remove yourself from his hold, whirling to let your back face him as you return to your cooking.

Gojo’s skin – the one which was revelling from the mere touch, the mere brush of your skin with it – grows cold. Drawing in a sharp breath and slowly exhaling it, the man ponders why you appear to be so… dejected.

Since the moment the sorcerer entered your shared home to now, there has been an unusual air hanging around you – dull, glum, quiet… Just a tiny twitch of your lips when your eyes fell on him; just a small pat on his back when he brought you into a tight hug; just a monosyllabic ‘hm’ or ‘oh’ when you responded to him… your lover can’t help but wonder–

“Why isn’t this ending, Satoru? Why aren’t you going away?”

Thread of thought snapped in half, the said man looks at you to find a smile being forced to stay on your lips. Eyes sans the spark of life, deadened with exhaustion, you peer up at him in return, twisting to face him. “You’re usually gone by now; then, why aren’t you this time? What’s stopping you?”

Confusion gushes into his brain, jumbling and muddling every bit of it. “Wh-what are you talking ‘bout, baby?” He asks in a hushed whisper, eyes wide as he moves to rest his hands on your shoulders, so gentle one might think you’re a fragile porcelain doll.

To Gojo, you are.

You remain still, gaze vacant while it travels over his facial features. He continues, “I returned only this evening, baby. Why-where would I… And this isn’t ending!?” Brows pinched, he rubs a thumb over the apple of your cheek, wanting to get a response – something, anything – from you. The only he receives is a laboured breath; the man resumes speaking, still rubbing circles into your soft skin, “C’mon, tell me, baby. Your ’Toru is here.”

“NO, HE ISN’T!” You shriek abruptly, yanking yourself away from him. “YOU AREN’T HIM! MY ’TORU WOULDN’T– he wouldn’t–”

You break down, crying, knees giving way as you collapse to the ground, a distraught crumpled mess. Gojo remains rooted to his spot, shock brimming his gaze. Jolts of pain strike him, again and again, without a shred of mercy, at the sight of your tears – a feeling which grows manifold on your next words.

Burning gaze directed to bore into his eyes, his mind, his very soul, the man registers you accuse, “You’re an imposter. A stupid dream. No, that’s not right.” Shaking your head, you stand up slowly, gripping onto the counter for balance – your lover extends his arm to support you, then withdraws it, catching your vicious glare. “You’re a bloody nightmare. My ’Toru is nothing like you. If you were him, you – you would never have pained me like this.”

“Pain…” The word escapes him, choked and strained and disbelieving – sure, being who he is, Gojo can be many things – annoying, dismissive, overbearing, even an asshole at times; yet for him to cause pain – to you, of all people – the person he loves with every fibre of his being and promises to do so for the rest of his life… the faintest thought of it brings bile to his mouth, its bitterness assaulting his senses.

You, meanwhile, nod your head, wiping your cheeks much too harshly.

“Yeah, pain,” You spit, every word a laboured heave of your chest, “Pain when you warp onto the genkan, that grin on your face. Pain when you squeeze me in your arms and kiss me. Pain when I feel you near me again, so damn happy and relieved; and look back, wanting to see you just once more – only to find you’re, you’re–”

Tears drown the rest of sentence, yet again; not that your lover really needs you to finish it. Streams of time, infinite in their nature (oh, the sick irony!), have made him see, made him hear, made him feel enough to know how your sentence will end.

You look back, wanting to see him once more – only to find he is not there. Leaving you by yourself, a lone soul within these walls, yearning for the face, the voice, the touch, the mere presence of the love of your life – before spiralling down into an endless dark abyss... wondering when, or if ever, you will be able to meet them...

A shadow of a smile rests on Gojo’s lips as he moves to take your hand in his. Your eyes widen at the contact, a sharp breath sucked in amidst attempts to distance yourself. The desperation in your actions draws a pleading look from him.

“One chance,” He begs, relaxing his already-light hold on you yet not letting go entirely, “please.” Your frantic movements cease for a beat, and you look up at him through glistening eyes, a silent ask in every teardrop.

The man seizes the opportunity like a lifeline, saving him from the quicksand of your rejection.

Lacing his fingers in between yours – slow to give you time to retract, should you want to – he inquires softly, “You feeling this, princess?”

Gojo watches you look at your intertwined hands – the warm tenderness of your palm, he deems, a reprieve to the chilled callouses of his much larger one – then at him. “Yeah, I do,” The words leave you in a feeble whisper, short of breath and confidence.

“Good,” He hums with a light squeeze to your palm. Your eyes again dart back to your linked hands; the man cracks a fond smile – you always did like holding hands with him, ever since your first days together – for the coolness of his touch, he recollects you telling him with a shy smile, one muggy summer evening.

Swiping a thumb over the back of your hand, he brings your other hand to rest upon his cheek and leans into it. Despite letting him do as he pleases, you’re confused – the man gathers from the way your brows stay puckered before they rise for a brief second and your lips part slightly. Gojo heaves an inward sigh of relief as he asks, “You feeling this, sweets?”

A moment passes and you answer, with a slowly uttered question this time, “You... did not shave?”

Your lover shoots you a smile while he repeats, “You are feeling this, aren’t you?” It takes a beat before you nod thoughtfully, still that pretty frown on your face as you speak, a tad less yet so, so unsure, “If it’s your light stubble... yeah, I can.”

It takes your lover every bit of his self-restraint to not purr when your hand glides smoothly from his cheek to tuck a few longer strands of his hair behind the ear, and then, comes back to its original position – an action, he registers, stemmed purely from muscle memory, seeing as you are so deeply absorbed in your careful study of his features. A light chuckle erupts from him, and he watches your train of thoughts still as you look up at him.

“Good,” The man says again, then slowly pulls your head towards himself. Alarm and fear flash in your eyes as the panic-stricken glint returns to them; Gojo sends you, what he hopes is, a reassuring smile, “Trust me, please.”

The alarm slowly fades from your gaze, leaving behind a steady trickle of fear; despite these, you allow him to manoeuvre your head to let your ear rest on his chest, right above where his heart beats.

Memories from a time long forgotten rush to the forefront of his mind – memories of a restless night, haunted by creatures from the past. Gojo is certain he would have succumbed to those ghastly visions, were you not there beside him then, rubbing his back and whispering sweet reassurances to him. The man recollects you wiping away the tears which had collected on his lashes, then proceeding to lay his head right above where your heart lay beating.

The sorcerer remembers every lubb-dup, lubb-dup your heart made that night – besides, of course, your kind voice as you asked him to focus on your heartbeats, softly saying this was how your mother used to quieten your wails after a nightmare in your childhood. It was a way, you explained to him, your mother helped you realize what you were experiencing was just a nightmare – scary, yes, a lot; but nothing more than that – and that now, you were back in the real world, in the safe warm embrace of a loved one – a place where no ghosts nor demons could ever touch you, much less harm you.

Back in the present, Gojo relishes the way the two of you stay this close for quite a while – the only sounds being of the sports news on the TV – and opens his mouth, ready to make his same inquiry as a tiny twitch plays with the corner of his lips, only to be cut off by a pair of arms hugging him tightly, fisting his shirt behind him, followed by a barely muffled sniffle.

He finds you crane your neck up at him, lower lip bobbling and eyes spilling over again – but what is different this time is the spark of life behind those curtains of water and the disbelieving curve to your lips.

Your lover thinks you’ve never looked more otherworldly than in this instant.

“I can feel this. Tell me that’s good, ’Toru; I can feel your heart beating,” The words escape you in a frenzy, short puffs of breath hitting his cupid’s brow as you stand up on your tiptoes and he bends down, an arm wrapping itself around your waist and drawing you flush against his chest.

“It’s good,” Gojo murmurs, eyes raking over your face, memorizing every inch of it, then inquires, a barely-there tremor in his voice when you reward him with a watery smile – the first in eons, it appears to the man, starving for one glimpse of your joy.

“But do you know why it is good?”

The sorcerer feels his own cheeks grow wet as he drinks in the way your smile morphs into a wide grin.

Gods, there is nothing in this world he reckons he wouldn’t do, just to keep seeing you this way – happy, safe and in his arms. A small soothing hand glides over the planes of his back, along the spine.

“It’s good ’cause it’s real – ’cause you’re real – isn't it?”

“Yeah,” He is quick to agree with you, wanting nothing more than to chase away the smallest bit of doubt lurking in your mind. “Yeah, baby, yeah,” He repeats, leaning down to rest his forehead on yours. Your eyes falling shut the moment they make contact, your lover feels the tension slowly melt away from your body. He too closes his eyes as he continues, in a voice so soft one might think the two of you are the only ones in the world right now.

To Gojo – and to you too, he knows – you two are.

“This is real. This all is very, very real,” He reassures you, fingers carding through your hair. “You, cooking in an old shirt of mine; me, holding you in my arms like this; that soup, you hate but always make when I return home after long, just ’cause it’s my favourite; this kitchen, you painted beige, then black, then beige again, of all colours fucking existing–” A light chuckle sounds from below; Gojo too chuckles, feeling a large load being heaved off his chest.

He hooks a finger under your chin and tilts it up to make your eyes lock with his. You look up at him, deep adoration swimming in the irises of your puffy red eyes. Breath hitching a tad, he finishes his incomplete sentence, “The point is, all these things are real. We are real.”

An eager nod, coupled with a dewy-eyed smile, is the only response you offer before you rise on your tiptoes again, shy gaze darting between his eyes and lips in silent permission – a permission Gojo knows he can never be too quick to grant as he ducks his head and slants his lips over yours – allowing himself to get lost in your sweet taste, in your soft touch, in your melodic whines... in you, the celestial being that you are, sent by the heavens for a mere mortal like him.

Yeah, the sorcerer knows, this is not the ending of troubles for the two of you.

Far from it, in fact.

There will be many nights when he will wake up, thoroughly shaken and disturbed, images of lost friends and students threatening to burn him alive whenever he dares to close his eyes.

There will also be many nights when you will be the one waking up, thoroughly shaken and disturbed, searching for him in the other side of the bed, desperation etched in your every action.

He knows–

Gojo breaks apart from you to instead plant kisses on your cheek, along your jaw, down your neck, before nudging a spot on your neck with his nose and you burst into a fit of giggles. Mischief sneaking onto his face, the man retraces the path back to your lips and claims them with his, drawing a satisfied hum from you as they meld together perfectly, two halves of a whole promised to always be with each other.

–Yet, the sorcerer knows too, if the two of you are in the same room, in the same bed, cocooned in your shared love and trust, it will take a couple of blinks before the 3.00 AM scene of one comforting the restless other and lulling them to sleep transforms into a 9.50 AM scene – something undoubtedly way brighter and way happier – where he can see the two of you rushing over the flat like maniacs, a toothbrush in one’s mouth and a half-burnt toast in the other’s whilst in a horrible medley of sleep and work clothes; your meeting and his car scheduled a brief ten minutes later.

Your lover’s lips stretch into a wide grin against yours at the mental image of chaos conjured – then falls on remembering the depressing reason behind such an image – before appearing again, wider this time, as he moves away to catch a glimpse of the dishevelled, flushed wreck of a person he has turned you to.

Gojo lets go of you for a moment before lifting you in his arms, a hand reached behind you to switch the stove off, while his insistent mouth works to swallow the little gasp of surprise followed by giggles of delight falling past your lips.

There is another way, after all, your lover knows he can make you late for work tomorrow, and thus enjoy the sweet chaos of life the two of you have wrought together in love.

▸ masterlist

▸ taglist: @afortoru, @guccirosegold, @heresan, @luckimoon, @megu-meow, @nanamikentoseyebags, @pupkashi, @ritsatoru, @softsatoru, @sweetdreamssatoru. :))

[snickerdoodlles]

Very Important Question about Vegas's Youtube era: how colorful is his cookware? Did Macau and Chay get him pink and green pineapple patterned mini-muffin trays?

Vegas's kitchen is so colorful. his kitchen looks like a cute kitchen pinterest board threw up all over it. nobody can tell if his aesthetic is retro or industrial or countryside or what, because it's this eclectic mishmash of individually cute instagram worthy things thrown together in a way that almost works but doesn't, because a proper pinterest board is always a hot fucking mess when taken in its entirety.

it first begins with items of whimsy. Macau shows Vegas a picture of a dinosaur ladle, Vegas says "what the fuck is that? father would never allow for those" and that alone manifests 12 of them in his shopping cart. feels very weird about it when they arrive and banishes the box of them to the forgotten corner of a cupboard. then Macau buys Pete his first pineapple jar. and like. it's a pineapple. that's all it is. Pete sticks it in Vegas's kitchen and Vegas is stuck staring at a ceramic pineapple that just looks like a pineapple, unable to figure out why it feels weird. Macau gets Pete a second pineapple jar, except this time it's also an owl face, and Vegas can't figure out why he wishes he was looking at that one instead of the regular pineapple one. he wants to hurl both of them at a wall so hard they leave a dent as they shatter. he wants to put them in a window where they'll be framed as the sun rises on them. he buys a spatula with a bee pattern on a whim all by himself and is so on edge about it for the next two weeks he whips welts onto (a very happy) Pete's back.

over the course of time, all of Vegas's kitchen supplies become items you'd expect to find on pinterest. bird salt and pepper shakers. cutely bland patterned jars labeled COFFEE and TEA. an industrial chic spice rack that sits under his cottagecore herb wall. highly specialized mini pans that make foods in special shapes. so many pastel pots and pans. at first Vegas is always saying stuff like "someone got that for me" or "my father would hate it." but it's not about that. later he's defiantly indifferent and daring about owning them at all. but it's not really about any of that either. it's really just...Vegas letting himself have cute things. things that would be called ~girly~ or ~ruin~ his image. there's actually several items he's just neutral about (like the soft pastel colors--not really his thing tbh! but a good pot is a good pot) or even sometimes dislikes (mini muffin trays = yay!, mini pans that only cook one(1) thing = frustration)-- but like. Vegas is allowed to have them. he's even fine to like them if he wants to. it doesn't matter that he has them. the image they paint of him doesn't matter. and that feeling of just owning cutesy, whimsical, or downright weird kitchen shit as he pleases without it being anything else is its own high for Vegas and his traumas ❤

[revengemicrowave]

more fantasyAU doodles :> I think I'll do a more fantasy-themed roboarm at some point, but tbh I don't want to change it too much haha

I have also made him look like way too young... apparently this is my default for Chai because it keeps happening. He is baby.

Some story bits under the cut :d (I want to write a fic but augh everything takes so much time lately)

Chai aspired to become a famous mage since he was small, but never displayed an affinity for any element. In his twenties and well past enrolment age, he works for a curiosity trader in town, longing to embark on a grand adventure with a party as their bard, like in great tales of yore.

However, his right arm has suffered nerve damage since birth, and while he can just about hold a tankard, the tremors from the effort make playing a stringed instrument impossible.

While minding the shop, Chai accidentally knocks over and releases a caged spirit called Hibiki in an explosion that takes his right arm. Hibiki cannot live in the human world without a host, and Chai is rapidly losing blood, so the two form a pact.

Hibiki heals him, though it can only speed up what is natural. In this world, enchanted limb replacement is fairly common, and the craftsman thankfully doesn't ask what happened or why his heart glows.

Soon after, Chai notices bits of metal keep getting stuck to him. Then an iron ladle scuttles along the floor after him, and he sticks to the door handle trying to go into the tavern. He discovers that he does have an affinity after all - magnesis. An incredibly rare offshoot of lightning affinity, it requires two functioning limbs to polarise the wielder and use effectively (feet could work, but Chai didn't think to try that, he figured he'd be fire affinity because it's cool).

He literally just falls into Peppermint's party during a tavern brawl, overhears them mention a dragon and then he won't leave. But Pepp concedes when he shows off the huge spike of metal he can form and wield like a lance. She reasons a 20ft metal spike would be pretty good for, for example, killing a dragon. Hypothetically. If they needed to, for any reason.

808 is a witch's familiar. Or a witch that got stuck as a cat, or a ghostcat, or a spirit. No one is really sure, but the hat is cute.

[lilibrownlabonita]

TENOCH! I mean please can I request some tenoch there is not enough content for such an incredible man <3 (also your English is great but write it in any language you would like I will happily google translate)

Sorry for the delay, as the request had no details, I decided to write something related to a play.

It is not 100% the same, I only translated and used Tenoch's lines, the rest is totally different, anyway, I give all credit for the idea of lines to the creator of the piece; "Exiliados", by Jaymes Joyce and Martín Acosta.

Tenoch liked to go out and meet his friends sometimes, usually it was with other actors, this time with the release of Wakanda Forever, he went out to party with the cast.

Everything was fine, until he came back drunk, Tenoch was not a bad drunk, but it was funny to see him acting silly, he would trip over the furniture in the house, try to drink water with a soup ladle, sing cumbia, and was very clingy and romantic.

Then he with his cute and sensual smile, slowly, like a cat, approached you.

"Tenoch you need a bath, the smell of the drink is strong."

"Uhum...you are small."

"I'm not so small, why are you calling me small?"

"Small!"

His sentences made no sense, the alcohol in his system made him act like a playful jester, he kept smiling.

"Hey, little?"

"What, tenoch."

"Can I hug you?"

Without answering, you just opened your arms a little and allowed him to give you a hug, you could swear you heard him purr.

"Look into my eyes."

Tenoch had a deep gaze, his pupils were dilated, he had little wrinkles around his eyes that made him look more handsome, his eyes were glowing.

"You should peel, mi amor."

"Your voice delights me, give me a kiss?!".

It was funny, at other times that phrase might seem like a request, but today it wasn't just a request, it was a demand, a plea.

"Take it."

You decided to tease him, smiling and joking, Tenoch says, "Now I'm scared."

His lips are against yours, the kiss is passionate and intense, worthy of a romance movie. The moment the kiss ends, his arms press your body against him.

"Now I have you in my arms."

"Are you satisfied?"

Convinced, Tenoch lifts his chin and demands.

"Your lips, y/n!"

"Here!"

Another kiss begins, this time it is a hot kiss, it almost takes your breath away, his tongue against yours make you feel in paradise, the smell of alcohol is faint compared to the sweet taste Tenoch's mouth has.