#“It's juice. From the nose jar.”

[you-makestedehappy]

Line deliveries that play on repeat in my brain.

Season 1, episode 3 - A Gentleman Pirate

🐈‍⬛❤️‍🩹🍆💦🏴‍☠️ [ep 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10]

Bonus :

[xray-vex]

[buckyalpine]

Spicy Snacks

Bucky x reader, Steve 

Warnings: 2 high super soldiers who get into your stash of spicy snacks, fluffff 

“Dear god” 

You weren’t sure what it was you were going to walk into when you heard a ruckus in the kitchen but it was everything but this. Literally anything. The last time you’d seen such a mess was when Peter thought it’d be a good idea to babysit Morgan alone. Even that was salvageable. You should’ve known how bad it would be, given the trail of crumbs you followed from your drawer to the kitchen, but still. 

This was something else...

There were snacks strewn about left, right and center. Bags of chips and candy littering every inch of the counter tops. 

But what truly topped it all were the two massive super soldiers sitting cross cross apple sauce on top of the kitchen island, giggling like school children with their hands, literally in the cookie jar. 

“Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar” Steve sang to himself while stuffing a chocolate chip one into his mouth, practically swallowing it whole. 

“Steve stole the cookie from the cookie jar” Bucky snickered, taking the jar for himself and scarfing them down two at a time. 

“Who me?”

“Yes you!”

“Not me!”

“Then who?” 

“What are you two idiots doing” Your voice broke them away from their nursery rhyme, staring at your boyfriend first before turning to his bestfriend, the both of them trying to hide the jar behind their backs. 

“Nothing’ y/n” Steve gave you a dopey grin, his baby blue eyes glazed like donuts, snickering at his bestfriend attempting to stab an apple juice box with the straw.

“S’too hard!!” Bucky whined, sticking his tongue out in concentration, eyes wide, trying to get his straw in to no avail, looking back up to you for help. He gave you his most innocent puppy pout hoping you’d help him, sticking his hands out for you to take his juice. 

“Bucky get down” You huffed, trying to hide your smile when he clambered down like an admonished child with his head hung. You rolled your eyes, pushing the straw and giving it back to him, shaking your head at the grin he gave you, whispering a shy thank you. 

“Ooooooo you like herrrrrr” Steve howled, now kicking his feet, letting them hang off the counter while Bucky blushed, peeking at you through his lashes. “BUCKY HAS A CRUSH” 

“Nooooo” He drawled out, taking a long sip from his juice box. 

“We’ve been dating for 2 years you dork” You watched his cheeks redden more, which only made him more adorable but you weren’t sure how much more nonsense was going to ensue when the both of them were higher than kites. 

“She’s my girlfriend” Bucky giggled at the last word, now struggling with a new box while Steve’s eyes lit up, a classic God awful captain America plan had bean to manifest itself. He slipped off the counter, the effects of the gummies and whatever else he’d swallowed had knocked his agility off its rockers; he moved with the grace of a donkey. 

“Where are you going” you stopped him before he could sneak off, your boyfriend looking equally guilty. 

“Noooowhere” Steve shrugged but you gave him a pointed look while Bucky flailed his hands, hoping to silently communicate they were not about to do something idiotic. 

“Sit down. Finish your snacks and then you both need to go take a nap” You felt like you were talking to toddlers, not bothering to add they had to clean their mess because you were sure that would only end in more chaos. 

“But we were gonna go flying with Sam’s wings!” 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this” You muttered to yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose before speaking again, “No. You can’t just go take Sam’s wings and go flying. Now finish your juice boxes and go to bed” 

“NOOOO” Steve jumped onto Bucky, wrapping his long legs around his waist, holding onto him like a massive koala, giving you his best puppy eyes, matching his equally ridiculous best friend. “WE DON’T WANNA GO TO BED” 

“Boys....”

“Please???” Bucky pouted effortlessly holding the captain up while your face scrunched up, mentally face palming yourself.

“No. No, you cannot go flying! You’ll end up hurting yourself or breaking the wings or- for fucks sake what are you doing?!” You gawked; Steve and Bucky had stopped listening many moons ago. They were back to rummaging for food, a stray sour patch kid falling to the floor. 

“5 second rule” Bucky shrugged, bending over to pick it up, not seeing the smirk that crossed his bestfriends face. 

“Chubby dumpling” Steve whispered, giving Bucky’s ass a poke, making him yelp. Bucky stared at him like a deer in headlights while Steve cackled to himself, tossing back another packet of nerds into his mouth. You were to engrossed at the scene in front of you to notice Tony walk in, his face equally perplexed at yours. 

“What it God’s name” Tony stared at the chaos that was taking place with you in the middle, “Do I even want to ask?”

“They got into my stash of....snacks...” You smirked while Tony cocked an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“Snacks, y/n? Really?”

“...Spicy snacks”

“Who would’ve thought this would be their downfall” He mused beside you “Oh-I think clothes are coming off-oh fuck” Tony ducked while Steve's shirt flew above his head, eyes growing wide when a pair of jeans followed.

“It’s so hot!!” Steve huffed, star fishing on the cool tile floor, arms and legs splayed out to the sides. “Soooo hottttt, n’I’m sleepy now” He yawned, stretching out like a cat before closing his eyes, a sugar crash sneaking up on them.  

“Okay, someone call for this ones bromantic partner to figure this out” Tony covered his eyes while calling for Sam, hoping to get Steve into some clothes before hauling him back to his room. “Y/n, I’m assuming you got terminator covered?” 

“Yeah, I- Oh no” you were met with your boyfriends Henley, followed by his joggers, landing on your head, squealing when you found yourself hanging off his shoulder seconds later. 

“Buck, where are we going?!” He mumbled something while making his way to the elevator in just his boxer briefs. 

“S’nap time” he mumbled sleepily, trudging with you to the bedroom and plopping down on top of you, using your chest as a pillow. “wan cuddles” 

“Mhm, then you get cuddles, baby boy” you giggled, carding your fingers through his hair, unable to stop smiling from how ridiculously adorable he was. He let out a content sigh, softly snoring moments later. You bit you lip to keep your laughs down, hearing the commotion outside your room in the hallway. 

“Steve, you need to put on pants”

“Pants are for the WEAK”

“No-Steve NO!-don’t take off your-for fucks sake” 

“THIS IS AMERICAS ASS”

“That’s America’s cock and balls” 

“Please, for the love of God, go to your room” 

“I’M GOING TO MAKE A TIKTOK” 

“Steve no”

“Steve yes”

“STEVE” 

“What’s the live feature” 

*Sounds of Steve shrieking and then a thump with continued muffled pouting*

“You’re never eating spicy anything again” 

[jaskierx]

republic of pirates dashboard simulator

thanks to @sherlockig for the screencaps 💕

part 2

👃ilostmynoseatspanishjackiez Follow

has anyone else heard this rumour that @managainstbeast is actually blackbeard's alt account??

🎣managainstbeast

that's ridiculous, please stop spreading this, fishermen and pirates are nothing alike and my beard isn't even black

#ffs #posts from the fishing boat

2,037 notes

🇸🇪officialswede

i got tagged by @iamsteakknife to share my top 3 types of fruit :)

oranges

more oranges

enough oranges to never get scurvy again

tagging all of jackie's other husbands and also @bloodbucketbill 💕 (no pressure guys)

#tag game #cw scurvy

7 notes

⛵️gentlemanprivates

hhhhhhhhhhh i neeeeeeeed him 🥵

🏝️republicofbirates Follow

he literally just set a man on fire.....

⛵️gentlemanprivates

don't care didn't ask getting his dick tattooed on my leg as we speak

#fucking antis

1,398 notes

🏴‍☠️hoistthemainsail

spotify wrapped is out and my top genre is sea shanties again loool some things never change

2 notes

🍻spanish-jackiez

SPECIAL OFFER - ONE NIGHT ONLY - STEDE BONNET SPECIAL

2 for 1 on nose jar juice

🎸catsarewitches

as well as an EXCLUSIVE SALE on 100% GENUINE commemorative planks, autographs, and Gentleman Pirate tattoos!!

187 notes

🥪rop-snack-shack

fuuuuuuck i wish people would stop dining and dashing. i run a small business and there's a cost of living crisis. i can't afford this

🥪rop-snack-shack

blocking everyone in the notes who is condoning not paying for food btw. i don't care if you're a famous pirate i need to pay my fucking bills

76 notes

🌊keeptheseaclean Follow

smh just fished this up...does anybody know who it belongs to. I want to talk to them about how the ocean is not a dumpster for their crap

⚔️swashbuckled Follow

looks like blackbeard's?? @blackbeard

🎣managainstbeast

not mine mate

👃ilostmynoseatspanishjackiez Follow

forgot to switch to your sideblog? 👀

🎣managainstbeast

blocked

#posts from the fishing boat

55 notes

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (22/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: This friendship is off to a great start. Or something like that.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff because you all deserve it, tiny but of angst (because it wouldn't be my work if there wasn't angst in it), google translated French

Word Count: 2.9k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: tadaaaaaa. did my best and I hopefully have time to update this story weekly. feedback is appreciated!

The other side of the bed is empty when you open your eyes. 

Sunlight beams through the window and warms your face as you stretch your arms and lie back. A loud yawn escapes your mouth, but you are so well rested and relaxed that you don't care who can hear you. 

Charles is probably hanging around the apartment somewhere and you can't help but smile at the thought of him. 

You didn't expect you two to talk so soon, but now that the weight is off your shoulders and the secrets - both your unemployment and the Formula One thing - are out in the open, you feel a lot better. You slept well, snuggled up to Charles with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. His warmth gave you security and comfort and although the road to this moment has been quite bumpy and rocky, you're glad you've finally arrived at this point. 

Pure friendship. 

It's the right thing to do, you tell yourself. This friendship is more important than anything else in this world. I'll be damned if I'm going to destroy the only good thing I have.

You lock your feelings deep inside you, bury them under many and thick layers of friendly affection so that no daylight can reach them. What remains inside you is silence, a pleasant, comforting silence. 

You don't have to worry about what his pet names mean to you. You don't have to worry about eventualities that will certainly not become reality anyway. You can be there for Charles, as a friend - as someone who is there for him. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stand up. There are some fresh clothes for you on a small chest of drawers - a turquoise shirt and short gray Puma sports shorts - which you quickly slip into. As you open the door to your room, the smell of batter fills your nose. 

"Bonjour," Charles smiles at you as you enter the spacious, modern kitchen and sit down opposite him at the kitchen counter. Unlike last night, this time he's wearing a shirt and gray sweatpants, which hang low on his hips but still let you feel a little sigh of relief. With spatula in hand, he scrapes the pancake out of the pan to put it on a plate and slide it over to you. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well," you answer him and reach for the Nutella that is already in front of you. "And you?"

"Likewise." He turns off the stove and sits down next to you with another plate of pancakes. His knee nudges yours, but neither of you pulls your leg away. "The recipe is from my teammate. He says they're the best pancakes ever and I thought we could try them together."

As you spread the Nutella evenly on your pancake, you hand him the jar. His fingertips gently brush your hand. "So if they don't taste good, it's not your fault?" you grin and use your knife and fork to cut off a small piece before popping it into your mouth. 

Charles watches your every move. "That's right. So? Did he lie?"

You shake your head. The pancake in your mouth is warm and soft and fluffy, vanilla is definitely one of the ingredients and as you swallow the piece, a little of the delicious taste remains. "It's really delicious," you reply and spear another piece with your fork. "But I think it's also down to how the pancakes are made. The batter can be as good as it wants to be, but if it's made incorrectly - nope. Then it can't be saved."

Your Monegasque friend pours a little orange juice into the empty glass in front of you. "Was that a compliment to the chef?" A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows. 

You playfully punch him in the shoulder with your fist. He pretends to almost fall off his chair. "My statement is to be considered purely objective."

Something flashes in Charles' green eyes, but before you can pinpoint it, he turns his gaze back to the breakfast. "I've heard you say that before," he mumbles before taking a bite. "But it really tastes great. I'll have to tell him when I see him again soon."

"What does your nutritionist say about you smearing so much Nutella on your pancake?" When he puts his index finger to his mouth, you have to smile. "Do you have to go back? To Italy?" The thought of Charles leaving you alone here in this big apartment makes you swallow hard. You only really talked to each other a few hours ago, does he really have to -

"No," he unintentionally interrupts your train of thought. "I don't think they want to see me there again so soon after I left yesterday. But that's just the way it is." He shrugs his shoulders. "More time for us." Before you can ponder the meaning of that sentence, he continues. "I know we've already talked this morning about what to do next, but I think we should discuss it again."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The brunette purses his lips. "You said that you still want to be friends with me despite my job - and I think that's great - but you should really be sure."

"I am sure," you reply without hesitation.

"But you have to know what all this would mean for you if you take this," he points first to you and then to himself, "on. Dealing with all this is more difficult than you can imagine."

"All right," you reply, shoving the last piece of pancake into your mouth before washing it down with orange juice. "Go on then, Mr. Charles Leclerc."

He looks at you with a look that can't mean anything other than "Really?" before clearing his throat. "I've been in the public eye since I was little. It used to be karting, now it's Formula One. I'm used to people recognizing me, approaching me on the street and wanting to take photos. It's normal everyday life for me."

"Sounds a bit conceited," you joke, but Charles' expression suggests he's not in the mood for fun. "Okay. Je suis désolé."

"As soon as I leave the house, people talk about it. What I'm doing. Where I'm going. Who I'm spending time with. And my friends are set on the fact that when we're out and about, we can never be fully undisturbed." He chews on his lower lip for a moment. "With my female friends, things are a little more complicated."

"Meaning?"

He takes a deep breath. "As a Formula One driver, it's quite difficult to maintain friendships with the opposite sex. As soon as you do something together without anyone else around, it's portrayed as a date in the press or on social media. According to TikTok, I've had four new girlfriends since Annika and I split up. But nobody cares that they are the wives and girlfriends of my best friends. People see what they want to see. Even if it doesn't reflect the truth at all."

Without hesitation, you reach for his hand and stroke the back of it with your thumb. His skin is soft. "I'm terribly sorry about that. It must be awful."

Charles turns his hand a little so you can intertwine your fingers. "It's nothing new for me. It's more difficult for my friends. They are insulted, called names, judged. And all because they want to spend time with me, because that's what friends do. It's not fair. Not for anyone."

Now you understand why it's so important to Charles that you know this. His friendship has a price. And from what he tells you, it's not exactly cheap.

"The pressure on you would be huge. People will have opinions about you that you won't like. And no matter what you do, no matter how good you are - you won't be able to change them. And at some point, you'll be approached on the street without me, just because we're friends. The first time Joris was asked for a photo, he was completely taken aback."

You can see how much this is taking its toll on him and you don't even want to know how many friendships his name has already cost him. It's understandable that not everyone wants to take this risk, this life.

You squeeze his hand twice to attract his attention. When he looks at you, you smile. "Doesn't sound so bad," you try to cheer him up. The attempt fails miserably.

"I don't think you understand me." He shakes his head slightly and removes his hand from yours. "That's no small sacrifice. And there's no turning back once you do. You'll have no privacy once you leave this apartment. You'll be the talk of the town. About what you do, what you say and what clothes you wear. And all because we're friends."

You raise an eyebrow. "And what's in it for me then?"

He lowers his eyes again. His voice is quiet. "Just - me."

Your heart breaks for him. 

How can he not know how wonderful he is? Ever since you've known each other, Charles has always given you the chance to get out of things. He's let you have the bed, driven your rickety Renault to protect you from the public, pushed you away - disgustingly, but still. And all so that you could have a choice. 

You'd like to take him in your arms and hug him tightly, hoping you can patch up his shattered parts. And so you do. You get up from the chair and wrap your arms around him so tightly that he gasps in surprise. He slides off his chair into a firm stance so that your hands slide a little lower down his back. A moment later, when you feel one of his hands on your spine and the other in your hair, you press your cheek against his hard chest.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I do," you murmur against the soft fabric of his shirt, whereupon he presses you a little closer to him. 

"How do you see me?" he whispers against the top of your head. You feel his lips on your scalp. "Like a crazy, jealous guy who shows up at your place in the middle of the night and starts a fight with your ex?"

"You're an idiot." You lift your face from his chest and tilt your head back so you can look at him. He looks down at you. "You're such a wonderful person, Charles. And I would be honored if you wanted me as a friend."

"Are you really sure?" His warm breath brushes over your face. "There's so much you -"

"I'm sure," you interrupt him. 

"There's a series on Netflix you can watch so you can get a better understanding of -"

"I'm sure."

"Y/N, please -"

"Don't you want to be my friend?" You want to take a step backwards so you can really look at him, but he's so comfortably warm and his gaze is so heartbreaking that you don't want to let him go under any circumstances. 

"I want nothing more than that. Really." The hand that was in your hair a moment ago rests against your cheek and your thumb strokes it gently. "But there's so much you have to give up. And just for me."

You nestle your face against his warm skin. "You're all I have. And that's all I need."

His gaze softens and he gently kisses your forehead before holding you close one last time and then letting go. "The Netflix series isn't that good anyway. It doesn't reflect what really happens on race weekends." He sits back down at the counter and grabs another pancake. 

You join him. "I'm not surprised. Netflix will do anything to make money and twisting reality to make it more marketable is nothing new." You copy him with the pancake.

"Exactly. And if you want to know anything, you can ask me. Your friend - the Formula One driver," he grins, shoving a bite between his two jaws. 

"You said yesterday that this season has been a throwaway. What do you mean?" you ask him, emptying the bottle of orange juice into your glasses. 

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "The car and the strategies didn't work as they should have. The Scuderia made more cock-ups than you can stand."

You have to suppress a grin. "Then wouldn't it be smarter to call it the Screwderia?"

His gaze is emotionless as you look at him. "That's the worst joke I've ever heard." He smirks. "But you're right about that."

It's obvious that your friend feels a lot more comfortable now that he's told you the truth. The passion with which he talks about the sport is infectious, and you listen to him as attentively as you can. There's a sparkle in his eyes, his smile almost reaches your ears as he talks about his victories and podiums. 

How could you not want to be friends with him?

When you're done with breakfast, Charles sends you to explore the apartment while he does the dishes. After brushing your teeth and getting a bit more ready - you keep your clothes on, they're comfortable and Charles' after all - you wander through the rooms. 

The living room is kept simple, with white furniture and a comfortable-looking couch where you can watch the second part of Cars. Next to it on a shelf are several trophies and even helmets, which you take a quick look at.

There's even a white piano. A red rose arrangement with the word Love is placed on it. As you run your fingers over the wood of the instrument, you hear Charles enter the room. 

"The roses are from Annika. They're not real, so they can stay longer." He steps from one foot to the other. 

"Why haven't you thrown them away yet?" you ask him as you turn to face him. 

He shrugs his shoulders. "I haven't gotten around to it yet. And Annika was still living here until yesterday. So..."

You nod weakly and change the subject. "Have you been practicing here?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I don't have much time to play because of Formula One. It was good to play in the bookshop. Even if it was completely improvised."

You remember every single note. The passion he poured into the keys to create an incredibly beautiful piece of music. The passion he felt. How beautiful he looked in the warm light. "It was beautiful. It really was."

"It's your song." He smiles lovingly. "It's as beautiful as you are."

Like magnets, you move towards each other. As he holds out his hand, you place yours in it so that he can gently turn you in a circle before pulling you close. Your hands rest on your chest and you feel his strong heartbeat under your fingertips as you smooth down his shirt. His hands are on your lower back, pressing you against him so that you arch towards him. 

"Charles."

"Mm-hmm." His gaze flickers back and forth between your eyes and your lips, making your heart beat faster. 

You hypocrite, you hear your conscience say as your one hand slides to the nape of his neck and plays with the fine hair there. Charles closes his eyes and something you can only categorize as a moan escapes his throat. 

"Please don't stop," he whispers and leans his forehead against yours. The tips of your noses nudge against each other. 

"With what?" you ask softly, even though you know exactly what he means. 

"Touching me." His voice sounds almost like a deep groan. "Tu me fais tellement de bien.“ you feel so good.

You would never stop. It seems like an invisible boundary was torn down last night and you haven't been able to stop touching each other since. His knee against yours at breakfast. Your embrace. Your half-naked bodies pressed together a few hours ago when you were talking. 

Even if you wanted to, you couldn't stop touching him. 

Hypocrite, repeats the annoying voice in your head. 

Without thinking about it, you arch towards him another inch and Charles draws in a sharp breath. 

"Charles?" A woman's voice sounds from the hallway and the Monegasque opens his eyes. „Chéri, tu es à la maison?“ darling, are you home?

Your eyes search his as he suddenly breaks away from you and takes a step back. Panic is practically written all over his face. 

"Who's that?" you ask silently, but get no answer.

The footsteps from the hallway come closer and when you turn around, a woman is standing in front of you, looking first at you and then at Charles before her gaze lingers on you. "'Qui avons-nous là?“ who do we have here? she asks, walking towards you before grabbing your hands and giving you a kiss on the left cheek, then the right. 

"Maman, que fais-tu ici?" mom, what are you doing here? Charles asks hesitantly, taking a step towards you both. 

Maman?

next part

[saleeba]

Arguing with Levi over something stupid and ur honestly tired of the whole thing so you just him with “Whatever you say beautiful” and he just turns his nose up and starts stumbling over his words

summary ♡ what the request says! 

pairing ♡ levi colwill x gn!reader

content ♡ fluff, attempting to settle a classic british debate, cursing, reader is so over levi 

a/n ♡ this is most probably not the argumentative scenario that anon had in mind but i fell into my silly guy tendencies >_< tysmm anon for requesting this & i hope u enjoyyyy <3<3

it’s been over forty-five minutes of the same aggravation from your boyfriend, or at least you assume so — you stopped keeping tabs a while ago, so incredibly tired of arguing with him over something so silly. sunday afternoons were supposed an agreed time for relaxation but today’s snack time was far from that after levi clocked the way you prepare your scones.

“it’s clearly jam first; you spread that shit with a knife then dollop the cream on top,” levi’s hands move maniacally, mimicking the same actions that he’s describing. “how would cream first make sense?”

“i dunno, babe. spread the cream then dollop the jam?” between brief chews of sweet cream-first scones, your words come across as way too nonchalant for the chelsea boy and a shrug from your shoulders to pair with them makes him even more incredulous. 

“that’s fucking disgusting.” 

an exasperated groan leaves your lips as you push back the stool that you’re sitting on at the island and reach your destination of the fridge, routing through tubs and packets for a refreshing bottle of orange juice.

“levi, if you don’t like it, don’t eat it.” there’s silence from levi as the sound of juice pouring into glass fills the atmosphere, and you can tell the cogs of pettiness are turning in your boyfriend’s brain. it’s the way his eyes narrow at you (you swear that if he were a cartoon character, he’d be shooting lasers at you right now) and his bottom lip juts out just the slightest, thinking about how to get one over you since he actually does want to eat the sweet treats that you had gotten up extra early to make.

“no, no, i have to show you how to do it properly, yeah?” a little point of the butter knife in his hand at you and the boy’s now giving you an unsolicited demonstration of how to layer that jam-cream combo. “so, what you do, yeah, is put the knife into the jam jar and the–”

you seriously can’t take this anymore, fearful that your eyes may get stuck in your skull if you roll them one more time.

“yeah, yeah, whatever you say, beautiful.”

and it takes just that to have your boyfriend drop the butter knife in the jam, falling over his words as he struggles to get them out and make his case. it will always be the way you say that word and more so say it to him, about him, that will run his mouth dry of anything against you.

“uh, yeah, well… look, uh–” 

a playful smirk from you has his heart squeezing in the best way. 

“are we done here, levi? because i would really like us to stop arguing over fucking jam and cream and go cuddle on the couch now.” 

you call the shots every time and levi can’t help but drop his case entirely, following you like a lovesick puppy to the sofa where you’ve taken the plate of scones along with their matching condiments, laying them out on the coffee table for him.

“show us how it’s done then, pretty boy.”

[avatar-of-the-blank]

What do you think each entity tastes like?

OOOH, LIST TIME! I LOVE LISTS

ITS LONG SO I PUT A CUT HERE TO NOT CLOG DASHBOARDS

THE BURIED

WELL. LIKE DIRT. NATURAL BUT OPPRESSIVE OF ANY OTHER TASTE EXCEPT FOR DIRT.

THE CORRUPTION

LIKE YOU TOOK A LEMON WARHEAD CANDY AND CRANKED IT UP TO 11. OVERPOWERINGLY SWEET AND SOUR AT THE SAME TIME, MAKING YOUR TEETH ACHE AND ROT AND YOUR FEATURES SCRUNCH UP.

THE DARK

LIKE AN OLD DINERS' HOT COCOA. NOT A POWDERED MIX, NO. DELIBERATELY MELTED CHOCOLATE, OVERTAKING THE WHITE CREAME IN IT WITH ITS THICKNESS. THE WHIPPED CREAM ON TOP MELTED IN IT, NOW JUST BUBBLES AT THE TOP OF THE SMOOTH WARM ABYSS IN A MUG.

THE END

IM FEELING BLACK LICORICE? I ALWAYS FIND THE END TO BE SUCH A GENTLE ENTITY, LIKE A HAND YOURE SCARED TO HAVE TOUCH YOU, BUT WHEN IT DOES.. I FIND THERES THAT APPREHENSION AROUND BALCK LICORICE, A STIGMA OF IT THAT ITS THE MOST REPULSIVE TASTE. I PERSONALLY FIND IT LOVELY.

THE FLESH

IF IM SPEAKING FROM EXPERIENCE? EUGH. SOUR, WARM, AND WET. CONCEPTUALIZE BITING INTO A PAPER TOWEL JUST USED TO CLEAN RAW CHICKEN JUICE FROM A GRILL'S LID.

AS A HYPOTHETICAL? LIKE A BLUE RARE STEAK, WELL SEASONED. UGH, EVEN THINKING OF THAT DOESNT GET THE MEMORY OF THAT SHOULDER OUT OF MY HEAD.

THE EYE

ALMOND SCONES DUNKED IN COFFEE WITH JUST A LITTLE MILK. A SMART FEELING FLAVOR, MILD AND EARTHY, NOT OVERWHELMING THE SENSES LESS IMPORTANT THAN SIGHT.

THE LONELY

RAINWATER, COLLECTED ON A COLD AUTUMN EVE IN A CLEAR MASON JAR, FILTERED OF COURSE. THERES NO FLAVOR, ITS WATER, BUT IT FEELS NATURAL TO DRINK, ESPECIALLY SINCE YOU DONT HAVE TO BOTHER THE TAP TO COLLECT THE DRINK.

THE STRANGER

COTTON CANDY GRAPES! HAVE YOU EVER HAD THEM? IF YOU WERE TO SHUT YOUR EYES AND BITE THEM, ITD FEEL LIKE YOU WERE BITING INTO A COTTON CANDY EYE. BUT ITS NOT, AND THE EYES WOULD DECOEVE YOU. ITS NOT WHAT IT TASTES LIKE, BUT ITS THE EXACT SAME TASTE.

THE SLAUGHTER

JUST A FEAST. IMAGINE VEGGIES AND STEWS AND MEAT AND BREAD IN ABUNDANCE, THE FLAVORS MIXING AND THE SCENT ATTACKING YOUR NOSE AS YOUR DIG IN, A FEEBLE ATTEMPT TO MAKE A DENT IN THE MEAL

THE HUNT

SUMMER WIND. LIKE YOURE A DOG HANGING YOUR SNOUT FROM A CAR WINDOW, MOUTH OPEN AND TONGUE FLAILING AROUND WILDLY AS YOUR OWNER PRESSES PAST 70 KPH.

THE VAST

THIS ONE IS HARD. HOW CAN YOU TASTE THE INFINITE? HOW COULD YOU FEEL THE EXPANSE OF EVERYTHING IN YOUR MOUTH.

MM. MINTY GUM. LIKE REALLY MINTY GUM RIGHT BEFORE YOURE ABOUT TO FALL ASLEEP, RIGHT AFTER YOU TOOK A SIP OF 3 AM WATER.

THE DESOLATION

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN CAMPING WITH THOSE PEOPLE WHO STICK THEIR MARSHMALLOWS IN THE DEAD CENTER OF THE FIRE? AND THE POOR THINGS COME OUT GOOEY AND BURNT ON EVERY SIDE? THE METAL ROD THEYRE ON IS GLOWING AND THEYRE SLIDING OFF THEM. LIKE THAT, BUT DIP IT IN MILK CHOCOLATE.

AND THEN BURN THE CHOCOLATE TOO.

THE WEB

HOME BAKED COOKIES. FROM YOUR HOME. I DONT HAVE AN EXPLANATION HERE, THIS JUST FEELS LIKE THE RIGHT ANSWER.

THE EXTINCTION

SO IVE HAD A CONTAINER OF A CANDY CALLED TOXIC WASTE IN ONE OF MY ROOMS WHICH IVE BEEN DREADING TO TRY. I DONT KNOW WHAT IT TASTES LIKE, BUT I KNOW THE EXTINCTION TASTES JUST LIKE THAT.

THE SPIRAL

I ACTUALLY HAVE A DEFINITIVE ANSWER HERE, SINCE I KNOW! WOOD PAINT, WHIPPED CREAM, HEMP SEEDS, HAIRSPRAY, MOCHA COFFEE, YELLOW, TYPE A- BLOOD, THE AIR IN YOUR ATTIC, METAL STAIRWAY RAILINGS, IRON, OBTUSE RUBBER GOOSE GREEN SNAKE GUAVA JUICE

[b-yeonder]

Bringing Them Breakfast In Bed (Brothers + Undateables)

↬  Genre/Content Warnings: Fluff. Someone gets a boner.

LUCIFER:

When you walk in balancing the breakfast tray Lucifer is already sat up in bed checking his D.D.D for any important news from RAD, but his attention is quickly diverted to you. The spread you offer him? Buttered toast, two different types of jam in cute little decorative jars, a full wine glass, and a cup of tea.

"Wine in the morning? What do you take me for," he chuckles putting his phone down. Grinning you tell him that it's just grape juice to which he laughs and accepts the tray from you with a sincere thank you. Finds it incredibly endearing and can't stop smiling - calls you his good girl/boy with a wink. Will definitely put him in a good mood for the rest of the day.

MAMMON:

"For me? All of it? Really?"

Yup! He's flabbergasted, blinking stupidly with his mouth hanging open as his cheeks redden before eventually catching himself and clearing his throat, putting on his usual bravado.

"Well damn, I definitely deserve this huh, being the Great Mammon after all!" Cheeks are still red despite his demeanor change. Takes the tray and starts tucking in with gusto.

"Ya gonna help me with this right? Here, I'll feed ya a pancake look--"

He does, insisting on feeding it to you by hand and is a happy bubbly fella all morning. Why? Because his human pampered him and he feels s p e c i a l. (Because he is, of course.)

LEVIATHAN:

Shakes off his tiredness in an instant when he realises what you're handing him.

"Is this that Limited Edition Ruri-chan cereal!? WHOOOAAH!"

A million thank yous before he takes a million pictures to post on his social media (probably with cute captions like "I have the best gf/bf lololololol") and is loathe to eat it but it looks so good and ohhh man he's caved already and it IS good. You can't help but laugh at him as he eats it with his eyes closed, humming happily.

"I can't believe you got these. Just for me? Really? Like, the whole box, you don't want any at all?" Blushes reaaal hard once it dawns on him how difficult it must have been for you to get and that you made all the effort for him and him only.

"What if I feed you a spoonful? They're really good." Blushy blush, hide behind that fringe cutie pie.

SATAN:

"Ohh well well well, what have we here?" A smirk as you hand him his tray. Freezes when he sees what's on his plate and his cheeks redden quickly. You can't help but grin as he just stares. Cat pancakes. Cat-head shaped pancakes with syrupy faces.

"You okay there?"

"I....they're..." He clears his throat and blinks up at you.

"Cute right?" Your grin widens as he nods.

"I don't know if I can eat them..." At his mumbled confession you laugh and plop next to him on the bed, offering to feed them to him which has him blushing more. What can I say, sleepy morning bedhead Satan is easily flustered.

ASMODEUS:

"Oh darling this is amazing! But really all you had to do was show up nude and that would have been all the breakfast I need--"

"ASMO!"

He giggles and licks his lips at the delicious looking spread laid before him. "G A S P, is this GLITTERY JAM!?"

"Yes! Isn't it cool?"

Squeals and tucks in, rolling his eyes in his head. "Oh my gosh it tastes as good as it looks. This would make a good lipstick colour, we should go looking for one later." Uses it as an opportunity to gossip and get a few little flirtatious moves in before the day has even started. Dabbing jam on your nose just to lick it off making you snort with laughter and shove him away. 

BEELZEBUB:

Presented with a full English breakfast, a giant stack of pancakes, and orange juice - his eyes are the size of saucers as his pupils flick from the food to you.

"What's wrong, handsome?"

"I'm trying to decide what I want to eat more right now - the food or you." Because yes the poor sausage is overwhelmed and gets hard with excitement over all the deliciousness before him. Ends up shoving some egg in his gob followed by a pancake and half of the orange juice before pouncing on you. "Lemme love you!"

"BEEEL-!" He's grinning and smothering you with breakfasty smooches leaving you a giggling mess.

(Would want to finish his breakfast with you wrapped in his arms after because hugs and food are the best.)

BELPHEGOR:

"I've never seen you eat breakfast so I didn't know what to make you therefore I am serving myself," you say, gesturing to yourself with a flourish.

"Perfect." Instantly grabs you and starts biting and gnawing at you making you erupt in a fit of giggles and try to push him off. "Mmmm human, so delicious!" Keeps going, pinning you down and climbing on top.

"BELPHIE STOP THAT TICKLES." Evil grin plastered on his face, eventually ends the antics with a kiss on your nose. Then bites it.

"Just for future reference though, I love a good omelette. Make me one of those and I'm yours forever."

"You're not already mine forever?"

"No, you suck, make me an omelette." Collapses on top of you so you can't go and make one even if he wasn't just winding you up. 

DIAVOLO:

Has a massive grin on his face the moment you set foot in his room, getting even bigger when he sees you've brought food. You serve it professionally, pretending to be Barbatos and making him laugh. 

"Your breakfast, young Master."

"Ooo, my birthday must have come early? OH! Is that...a foam Cerberus in my coffee!?"

Devours everything eagerly, insisting on sharing with you no matter how much you protest. 

"Come now, you deserve to taste the fruit of your labours. It's wonderful!" Like a big kid, smothers you with kisses when he's done. "I'll have to think of a proper way to repay you..."

BARBATOS:

Completely taken by surprise - it was usually him that was serving meals after all and here you were up at an even earlier hour than him handing him a breakfast tray? Doesn't know what to say at first, eyes roaming over the food you'd prepared for him until he spots the little flower-shaped strawberries you'd cut for him - something he'd done for you once to cheer you up when you were sick. 

"Seeee," you say with a playful nudge as you settle next to him. "I've been learning."

"You have...this looks wonderful, thank you." He leans over to press a delicate kiss to your lips and you mumble a quiet you're welcome against them. The two of you share a rare moment of solitude chatting idly and enjoying each others' company before another busy day at the Palace begins.

SOLOMON:

Eyes you and the food warily. "You trying to poison me again?"

"Dude it was just gone-off milk it wouldn't have killed you. Also that was a whole year ago why are you still holding that against me?"

"Yeah well..." Sniffs it just to be sure then flashes you a playful smile. "I'm just messing. This looks really good - thanks."

Halfway through tucking in: "Y'know I'd offer to return the favour but you'd probably die so I won't bother."

"Yeah please don't," you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. 

"Although....what if you were my breakfast next time? Worth a thought," he mused, tapping his spoon against his bottom lip as you rolled your eyes.

SIMEON:

Oh...this is awkward...

You both are bearing breakfast trays intended for the other, and you both burst into laughter before making your way to his room where you swap trays and tuck in. 

"I can't believe this..."

"We're too in tune with each other," Simeon smiles, sipping at his tea. 

"Yeah, I guess we are." The food was delicious - heavenly even and you found yourself closing your eyes from pleasure while eating it. "This is amazing, Sims."

"Glad you like it," he replied with a grin. "You've made these eggs perfectly."

"I'll have to make them for you more often."

"I'd like that a lot."

Simeon definitely tries feeding you at one point, laughing sweetly at your eagerness to take it from him.

~ Obey Me! Masterlist ~

~ The Grand Masterlist ~

[sosa2imagines]

My drunk boyfriends

"OH MY ODIN!!"

Let's just say hiding asgardian mead in empty juice bottles inside the kitchen was not a good idea but Thor thought differently. So when the poor innocent super soldiers were thirsty without thinking much just took each bottle and drank it all.

You weren't sure what it was when you heard noises in the kitchen maybe someone is hungry, maybe someone is cleaning or maybe Thor is searching for poptarts literally anything. But this was something else. There were snacks all over the place. Bags of chips and candy littering every inch of the counter tops along with the two massive super soldiers sitting on top of the kitchen island giggling like kids with their hands in the cookie jar.

"Bucky Bucky" Steve sang to himself while stuffing a chocolate chip one into his mouth "Yes Stevie" Bucky sang taking one for himself "Eating cookie?" "No Stevie" "Telling lies" "No Stevie." "Open your mouth" "Ha! Ha!" "What are you two doing?" Your voice broke them away from their nursery rhyme staring at your boyfriends both of them trying to hide the jar behind their backs. "Nothing Y/n" Steve gave you a dopey grin his baby blue eyes twinkling, snickering at his boyfriend attempting to stab a juice box with the straw. "Too hard!!" Bucky whined, sticking his tongue out in concentration trying to get his straw in to no avail looking back up to you for help. He gave you his most innocent puppy pout sticking his hands out for you to take his juice. Trying to hide your smile you helped him pushing the straw in and giving it back to him, shaking your head at the grin he gave you.  "you like herrrrrr" Steve howled making Bucky blushed, peeking at you through his lashes. "BUCKY HAS A CRUSH" Steve started to shout making you laugh. "She's my girlfriend" Bucky giggled at the last word, Steve's eyes lit up, a classic plan began to manifest now he was struggling with a juice box and gave it to you with puppy eyes you roll your eyes and helped him this time Bucky teased him "You like herrr" Steve blushed but unlike Bucky he didn't say your are his girlfriend in fact he asked you "Will you be my girlfriend?"  Trying hard not to laugh you told him "We've been dating for 2 years you dork" you watched his cheeks redden more, which only made him more adorable and he started to giggle "I have a girlfriend" and suddenly he gasped "I have a girlfriend and a boyfriend how cool is that?" Bucky's eye widen "I have a boyfriend and girlfriend too, Steve leave your boyfriend become my boyfriend"  "Bucky leave your boyfriend I will become your boyfriend" "Okay" "You dorks you both are already dating each other and me too!" you quickly told them before they can repeat the rant again. Both of them high fived each other going back to their snacks.  Suddenly Steve had another idea and whispered something in Bucky's ear. "Come on Buck" he gets off the counter. "Where are you going?" Steve shrugged but you gave him a pointed look while Bucky raised his hands, hoping to silently communicate. "Sit down finish your snacks and go to bed" you felt like you were talking to toddlers. "We wanna fly in Tony's suit!" Bucky demanded. "I can't believe I'm saying this" pinching the bridge of your nose "NO you can't just go take Tony's suit and go flying, now finish your juice boxes and go to bed" "NOOOO" Steve cried jumping onto Bucky, wrapping his long legs around his waist, holding onto him like a massive teddy bear giving you his best puppy eyes matching his equally ridiculous boyfriend. "WE DON'T WANNA GO TO BED" both said in unison with teary eyes. "Loves" "Please" Bucky pouted effortlessly holding the captain up while you mentally face palm yourself. "No! you cannot go flying! You'll end up hurting yourself " you gasped as Steve and Bucky had stopped listening to you they were back to eating more cookies. "Soft" Steve whispered giving Bucky's ass a poke, making him yelp. Bucky stared at him like a deer in headlights while Steve cackled to himself, tossing back another cookie into his mouth.

You were to engrossed at the scene in front of you to notice Tony walk in, his face equally perplexed at yours. "What in god's name?" Tony stared at the chaos that was taking place with you in the middle "Thor Odinson" you smiled while Tony cocked an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate "Guess Thor left some of his mead in the juice bottles" "Who would've thought this would be their downfall" he mused beside you suddenly your eyes widen with shock "Oh I think clothes are coming" you warned Tony but Steve's shirt flew right on his head, eyes growing wide when a pair of jeans followed. "I'm hot!!" Steve said "also I'm sleepy now" He yawned, "Okay, someone call an end to this" Tony covered his eyes while talking to you, hoping to get Steve into some clothes before hauling him back to your shared bedroom. "Y/n, I'm assuming terminator is behaving?" "Yeah, I" even before you can finish you were met with your boyfriend's Henley followed by his joggers landing on your head and you squealed when you found yourself hanging off his shoulder seconds later. Steve quickly stood next to him holding your hands and you looked at Tony for some help in the awkward position you're at the moment only for him to shake his head before falling down when his foot got wrapped in one of the jeans on the floor. "Buck, where are we going?!" He mumbled something while making his way to the elevator in just his boxer briefs. "Oh good idea" Steve murmured seemingly heard what Bucky mumbled. "Nap time" they mumbled sleepily, taking you to the bedroom and plopping down on top of you, using your chest and stomach as a pillow. "Cuddles" both said in unison "Mhm...then you both get cuddles baby boys" you giggled, caressing your fingers through their hair, unable to stop smiling from how ridiculously adorable they both are.

"Lets get married tomorrow" Steve suddenly said making you wide your eyes and Bucky looked like he was thinking about something "yes we can go to narnia" making you laugh even though they are drunk you know they are talking truthfully you three love each other alot, often in between the topic of marriage was mentioned and you all were on the same page and had decided when the time is right you will get married so you went back to playing with their hair and they let out a content sigh, softly snoring moments later. You bit you lip to keep your laughs down hearing the commotion outside your room in the hallway as Tony was complaining about who is going clean the mess.

[coffeeghoulie]

Could I ask you for a short fic about Dew and newly summoned Aeon and some morning coffee domestic-ness?

absolutely! (also now i really want some coffee but my lunch break is not long enough to justify going to get some lol) anyways, enjoy!

Dew watches with a raised eyebrow as Aeon stumbles into the kitchen, hair wildly sleep-mussed and eyelids drooping. "Morning, voidling," he says, taking a long sip of coffee. It's a mug Aether bought him, from some tourist trap on their first tour together, cheesy and overpriced, but it's his. He won't admit it, but it's one of his most prized possessions.

Aeon inhales deeply through their nose, blinking slowly. "Mornin', Dew," they slur, rummaging through the fridge. They emerge victorious, a shiny red apple in their hand. "That smells good."

"You're still pretty new, kid. You ever have coffee before?" Dew asks as Aeon wipes the apple with their hoodie sleeve. He thinks it might be one of Swiss's, the way it hangs from their shoulders. "Might help you wake up a bit."

Aeon blinks, nearly unhinging their jaw and taking a large, crunchy bite. "Don't think I've ever had it," they mumble with their mouth full.

Dew huffs a laugh, setting down the mug, the ceramic clinking against the countertop. He turns, standing up on his tiptoes to grab another mug from the second shelf, his oversized shirt riding up. He knows his taller packmates, the assholes, put them up there. "I think you'd know if you've had coffee before, kid," he says. "It is a very distinct flavor. You wanna try some?"

Aeon swallows, wipes the juice from their mouth with the back of their hand. They nod and set down their apple. "If you have more?"

"There's a whole pot full," Dew grins, grabbing said coffee pot. It's still steaming a little, but a little extra fire magick to make it the perfect temperature doesn't hurt, and Dew pours Aeon a few swallow's worth. He passes the new quintessence ghoul the mug, a pumpkin and a crow printed on the front. "Might be a little hot, so just be careful you don't burn your tongue."

Aeon nods, cupping the mug with both hands, basking in the feeling of the warm ceramic against their palms before bringing it to their lips. Dew watches eagerly as they take a sip, the younger ghoul immediately sputtering. Their face scrunches like a cat that's smelled something bad, fangs beared. "What the fuck?" they sputter, and Dew can't help himself but cackle at their betrayed expression. "But it smells so good."

"Yeah, black coffee has a Taste. It is not for everyone," Dew says, gently taking the mug from them. "I think of all of us, only Cirrus takes her coffee black. Try mine," he says, taking his own mug and pressing it into Aeon's hands, their long fingers wrapping around the handle. "I think you'll like this a little better."

Aeon furrows their brow, glancing down at Dew's coffee. They cock their head like a puppy. "It's different? It's lighter?"

Dew nods. "This is how I take my coffee," he says. "I want you to try it like this."

Aeon hesitantly takes a sip, and Dew watches as their eyes light up, taking another sip. Dew reaches out, taking the mug back. He doesn't know if he should regret giving them his heavily sweetened coffee, hopping them up on caffeine and sugar probably not the wisest idea.

"I like that," they say, eyes wide and grinning. Dew can't help but smile back, ruffling their already messy black and white hair.

"You want a full mug of that?" He asks, already grabbing the pot of coffee. Aeon nods, and Dew pours them an almost full mug, moving to the fridge to grab the half and half. "A little milk and sugar goes a long way." He pours a little in, and Aeon watches over his shoulder as the creamer swirls into the coffee, lightening the color.

He moves to a different cabinet, grabbing the sugar jar, stirring in about half the amount of sugar he puts into his own mug. "There's a ton of ways to drink coffee, voidling," he says. "Cumulus likes brown sugar in hers, and Swiss takes his with cinnamon and honey. And Aeth, for special occasions, puts caramel flavoring in his. The only one of us who doesn't like coffee in some form or another is Mount, and that's just 'cause he prefers his teas."

Aeon eagerly takes the mug and takes a long swig, moaning in delight as they taste it. "That's really good, Dew," they laugh, their apple all but forgotten on the counter. "Thank you."

Dew grins, taking his own mug. "I'm glad you like it, voidling. Now, let's see how your vessel handles caffeine."

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Ok remember that one shot where Adam finds out he’s pregnant, can we please please PLEASE get a part two where Adam (mostly Adam) and Lucifer are going through the turmoils of pregnancy including, morning sickness, hot flashes, weird cravings, and my oh so favorite mood swings

Okay! Part 2 of Adams surprise pregnancy.

Adam groaned as he rolled out of bed, hand going to his extended belly. He was about six months pregnant now, and the cheeky little shits liked jumping on his bladder making him pee all damn night. They were having twins, but wanted to keep the genders a surprise. "Seriously my babies? This is the fifth time tonight." Adam walked to the bathroom, his bladder felt full.

Might as well get ready for the fucking day he was up.

A wave of nausea hit him, oh no. Adam threw up in the toilet. Damn morning sickness. "You okay in there love?" Lucifer asked from the doorway.

"Just fucking peachy." Adam cleaned up and left the bathroom.

-

For breakfast Adam got Lucifer to go to that good place on Main Street. He got an egg, bacon and cheese English muffin with pickles, tomato, the muffins replaced with donuts and everything dipped in hot sauce.

For whatever reason, he needed to eat hot sauce with everything. Didn't matter if it was sweet or not. He craved spicy foods. And ice cream, he couldn't get enough of mint chocolate chip. "Mmm, this is so fucking good."

"If you say so." Lucifer wrinkled his nose as he ate his normal pancakes.

Adam was practically vibrating with how happy food made him lately, it was weird. Oddly enough, he didn't want ribs.

Adam reached over and took the pickle jar and drank half the juice. He ate the rest of the jar and polished off the juice. "We need more pickles."

"I'll get more this afternoon, my love. More hot sauce and ice cream as well?"

"Yes, thank you Luci.~" Adam placed many kisses on his boyfriends cheek and nuzzled him. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

-

"Oh my god you hate meeeee." Adam sobbed, tears pooled in his golden eyes. "You're yelling, you hate me!"

"I don't hate you! Adam, sweetie-"

"Then why are you yelliiiinnngg!" The rational part of Adams brain said no, Lucifer didn't yell he was just speaking up so he could hear him. But his pregnancy brain said otherwise and that part won.

His emotions have been all over the place lately.

Lucifer wrapped his arms around Adam's waist rubbing his baby bump. He spoke softly. "I love you, hun. I'm sorry I raised my voice."

Adam sniffed. "I love you too."

"And here I thought you were a whiney bitch before." Came Alastors voice and Adam's temper sky rocketed. His golden eyes flashed red, his blood boiled.

"THE FUCK DID YOU CALL ME YOU BAMBI REJECT!?" Adam roared, he picked up the closest thing by him, a lamp, and threw it at the radio demon who dodged and laughed at him. This only served to piss Adam off more.

"Shhh shh shh, think of our babies love." Lucifer tried to sooth, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Adam's belly. A baby kicked. Adam placed his own hand on his belly as he glared Al down. "I'll handle this." Lucifer whispered in his ear.

"Yes, think of you little devil spawns." Alastor sneered in disgust. He blinked when he felt a harsh grip on his shoulder.

Lucifer had brought out his full demon form grinning madly. "No speaks to him that way."

Adam sighed dreamily as he rubbed his baby bump and watched his love beat the holy hell out of Alastor. "Your daddy is truly amazing.~"

-

"Holy shit balls it's fucking hot in here." Adam laid on the bed, only in his boxers. He had fans pointed at him as he felt like he was on fire. He knew Hell was hot but damn!

He felt so warm he wanted to peel his skin off.

Lucifer was on the bed beside him, pressing a cold damp cloth to Adams forehead. It helped a bit.

-

"Luci, hey Luci, you awake?"

Lucifer cracked an eye open. "What is it?"

"Can you go get me something to eat from that place we love? Pleeeeease?"

Lucifer looked at the time. "It's 2am, I'm not sure they're open."

"I called they are." Adam grinned widely. He straddled Lucifer's hips and ground his ass on his dick, Adam gave a weak moan when he felt him twitch. "I'll make it worth it for you. That's not the only meat I want in me.~" He gasped when Lucifer jolted his hips up.

Lucifer sat up and placed a kiss on Adam's baby bump before kissing him on the mouth. "Of course my love.~"

[steampunkforever]

You must long for the summer of unripe apricots. It comes only once. You will scrape your elbows and knees on the bark as you climb up the twin trunks in the side yard of a woman who will break her neck in a car crash ten years later but still come out all right. You will shake the boughs till the fat golden fruit tumbles from the branches and to the waiting tarps below. You will bring basket after basket home that summer and you will long for it. There is abundance in these baskets. The fuzzy orange skin ripening to sunset gold. You will never reach the bottom of the baskets and crates and boxes full of apricots you can only taste in your dreams. The fruits at the bottom will spoil before they see daylight and this will not matter because two more baskets are coming tomorrow and a third will be sent home with your dad. You eat the unripe ones, their taste almost chalky, slightly bitter, texture just firm enough to be crisp, yet still sweet past the traces of bitterness of tang. Yearn for this, you'll only get this once. This is the summer of unripe apricots. Take part. You eat as many as you can but there are always more. Your mother bakes cobblers, your dad packs half a dozen into his lunches, the fruit ends up in jams, jellies, preserves, canned and jarred and candied and syrupped til the smell of warm apricot permeates the kitchen, the car, the yard filled with the small teardrop stones leftover from your orange gold feast. Their texture in the dry sun is like the dark cracked nose of the old dog that has just been napping on the patio. She snuffles you with it, and it is as warm as her lazy flanks, not yet licked to wet coldness by the warm tongue currently tasting the sweet apricot juices that ran down your forearms and dried to summer's stickiness. You eat as many unripe apricots as your stomach can hold. Yearn for this. A misremembered number of weeks into the summer of unripe apricots you will eat too many. The gastrointestinal distress resulting from this will turn you off the taste of apricot for approximately a decade. Your body will harness foraging instincts not used in your bloodline since your great uncle crashed his fighter plane in North Africa. Every apricot is poison. The golden orange hue the glow of a deathly mushroom or the shade of the killer dart frog's skin. You know better than this, but the primordial revulsion within you is as strong as the ancestral crags it was formed in. Your summer of unripe apricots will never bear fruit again. The next year the frost kills buds sprouted too soon. The year after high winds strip the branches bare. The next year it's been ten years since you tasted the abundance of those two apricot trees. Yearn for it.

[chouxsardine]

Hold Me (1)--- Jake Kiszka x reader

My fic for @seenoversundown 's Valentine's Day Writing Event! I choose the prompt: Play Truth or Dare

Summary: "hold me like you hold your Les Paul, have your way with me the way you play her.” || Your drunk slip-up leads to one of the best Valentine's Day gift you've ever got

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 3547

Warnings (for this part): 18+! Minors DNI, sexual implications, cursing, alcohol, dom Jake/sub reader, guitar kink, bondage, scissors, inappropriate use of guitar strap, pickle slander

Author's note: Remember I said here about a series of improper guitar use fantasy? Well, here's another one! This idea has been circling in my mind for the longest time. Happy Valentine's Day, Enjoy!

🎧: Dirty Little Religion by Warren Zevon

“Come on, y/n, you have to play by the rules. That’s only fair.”

“Oh gosh, please don’t,” you groaned, banging your forehead on the table, regretting every possible decision you have made in the last two hours.

It was a Friday night, Jake and you were throwing your very own drinking party at home. It started out with some innocent cocktails but has somehow soon turned into chugging down straight tequila. To add to the fun, you proposed an impromptu and very informal round Truth or Dare, which, looking back now, was a very bad idea. Yes, your original intention was to fish out some funny anecdotes from Jake, but woe is you—how the tables have turned. Now, you were the one facing the difficult choice between spilling your dirtiest fantasy or drinking a shot of pickle juice.

That dare was definitely devilish, and Jake was setting it up for you to fail. He knew you absolutely can’t stand pickle juice, especially when it’s that bottom-of-the-jar “essence”— evilly green and murky with all the loosened pulp and seeds floating around. Simply one look at it made you sick.

“Pick your poison, darling,” Jake said, making no effort to hide his smirk.

You tentatively reached for the shot glass but immediately gave in as its smell reached your nose. Why trouble yourself? You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t an arousing tingle inside. Simply the way Jake said the word ‘fantasy’ sounds sexy. Talking about the chokehold this man has on you. It was clear that you were fighting a losing battle. To choose something so ghastly over a little spice in the uncharted territory is just straight-up stupid. Plus, you may or may not have had a bit too much to drink. You felt positive that one simple sip of that pickle juice would make you throw up before the alcohol does.

Sensing the silence, Jake’s demeanour changed. He was more than tipsy, yes, but not to the point that it stops him from being attentive to your feelings and reactions. It was a cute, hot little thing he came up with on the spur of the moment that he thought would be fun. It wasn’t meant to put you on the spot. To make you uncomfortable and ruining the moment is the last thing he wanted.

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have—”

“I’ve always—”

You opened your mouth simultaneously.

Jake took one look at you and shut up immediately. Your cheeks are flushed, your half-lidded eyes were fixed on him with a familiar look. Your left knee that was previously stretched out was now bent against your chest. Oh.

“Go on.” He whispered.

Fuck it.

“I’ve always felt jealous of your guitar, you know that? Especially when you are away on tour. The way you play it on stage, making all those girls scream for you…And that one time you fucking kissed it to make the vibration like that?” You let out a humourless laugh as your eyes narrowed, “it drives me mad.” The way you accentuate “mad” blurs its meaning, and it makes Jake wonder.

“Mad, huh? Which kind? Mad as in crazy, or mad as in angry?”

The drinking game long forgotten now that it has changed into your worship of Jake. You ignored his question completely as you continue. The words coming out much easier and at a faster pace.

“Or the way you slap it, the way you hold its neck and rock it,” all the images and videos you’ve seen are alive in your mind, overlaying with the sight of Jake right before your eyes, “the way you make her whine and scream.”

Jake’s heart skips a bit at the change of pronoun.

“Did you ever get hard while doing that?” You set down the glass on the table, got down on your hands and knees, crawling towards Jake until you were by his feet. “I bet you did. How can you not?” Jake beckoned and you straddled his lap in one swift motion, holding his face. Your eyes were glassy, your pupils dilated. “That’s when I get so jealous and….and insecure.” Jake frowned at that last word. He never thought of that.

“That’s when I wish I was there, waiting for you backstage. I want to kiss you and tell you how amazing you look up there because you deserve it,” with that, you studied Jake’s face intensely through your droopy eyes before defeatedly dropping your head onto his shoulder, your words muffled and slurred,“hell, you have no idea what I want to do to you.”

“I will if you tell me,” Jake tempted.

You pulled back, staring down at him. You caressed his cheek, your fanned breath tickling the loose strands of hair that frame his face. To Jake, you feel like a warm dessert soaked in bourbon; you looked…delicious. It was the same kind of primal desire that shares the same origin with hunger, the wild biological needs fuming. All your shame and self-consciousness unraveled by the alcohol, coming off like a corset with its ribbons pulled.

“I want you to tie me up with your guitar strap,” your eyes closed at how good it felt finally having those words freed from your mind, “I want you to hold me like you hold your Les Paul, have your way with me the way you play her.”

Jake’s jaw hung open. Damn, alcohol does makes people open up. He was not expecting you to say that and was also not expecting himself finding it so incredibly hot. Practically, whiskey dick, but mentally, he was so hard. Before he could come up with a decent response, your head dropped down again, this time with a heavier thud, and he could feel your breathing change.

“Y/n?”

No response.

He was so glad you finished that last sentence before passing out.

That was some weeks ago and you only had vague memories of the night. You knew that you must have spilled some crazy shit because since then, on several occasions, you have caught Jake staring at you. Well, it’s not like he can keep his eyes off you very often, but you can tell this is different. He would have his thumb and index fingers rubbing his chin, looking deep in thought as if composing a riff, except that his eyes are on you, and there is a predatory smugness that keeps you at your feet.

“For fucks sake, Jake. You’re doing it again! Why are you glaring at me like that?” You have tried fishing it out of him more than once.

“Secret” and a wry smile were the answers you got every time.

Luckily, he didn’t keep you waiting for too long; it was only a few days later when you finally get to find out about it.

Neither Jake nor you are the type of people who would go overboard on Valentine’s Day. In the past, it has always been a cute dinner date followed by a night that is both sweet and spicy. You could tell Jake is up to something this time. He’s been dropping subtle (or so he thought) hints throughout the day.

Evening was fast approaching. You opted for staying in and cooking. Jake made an amazing chicken piccata. (He even used heart-shaped pasta!) Dinner was quick and delicious, Warren Zevon’s record was playing in the background as you did the dishes. A pair of arms wraps around your waist as you turn off the faucet. Jake’s curls tickle your skin. He is humming to the song, and it takes you a second to realize that he was humming along with the record to the lyrics of Dirty Little Religion.

“I have a gift for you, sweetheart.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, as if his intentions couldn’t be clearer. But who says you aren’t equally (or perhaps more) excited?

“Oh love, you’ve been so good to me all day, how could I ask more from you?” You sound innocent, as if completely unaware of the implications.

“M’not asking. I’m offering. My good girl deserves all my loving.” Jake replies slyly.

Jake calling you good girl will always make you knees go weak. You turn around in his embrace and willingly accept his affectionate kiss on the lips before pulling open the dishwasher. ‘Fine. I’ll just finish up here real quick, okay?”

“Of course, and when you do, come downstairs and find me.”

You quirk your eyebrows. “Downstairs, huh?” It looks like he does has some ideas.

“And you better hurry up, sugar.” He gives you a teasing smack on the butt before turning on his heels.

Downstairs means his studio. Your steps are a bit wobbly as you reach the bottom of the stairs and your fingers shiver as they come into contact with the cool metal of the doorknob. Calm down, y/n, you could be getting all riled up over nothing; knowing that couldn’t be further from the truth, your attempt to calm down sounds pathetic. Throughout your relationship with Jake, the last thing this man ever did was disappoint. And if your nose serves you right, you detect a faint smell of magnolia in the air—the scent that was only reserved for certain occasions. God, what has Jake been planning?

On a second thought, you retrieve your hand from the doorknob, choosing to gently knock three times. A gut feeling tells me that the man of the other side of the door would prefer some manners tonight.

“Come in.”

You push the door open. The room is warm and well-lit, looking the same as usual. Jake is sitting in his Corbusier-style leather chair in the corner, fingers steepling together.

“Hmmmm, a girl with courtesy I see. Very well.” Jake commends.

Bingo. You smile coyly. Your praise kink almost made you curtsy to him.

“Already so good, perhaps I have to find something else to reward you with on top of your gift,” Jake says thoughtfully as he approaches you and pulls you in for a kiss, “but first, my princess deserves to live out her fantasy.”

Fantasy? The way Jake says it gives the word a familiar twang that triggers something in your brain. Your mind is racing as it flips through memories from the past few weeks. Looking around you, most of Jake’s guitars are hanging on the wall instead of resting on the stand. A rather odd thing for him to do. And every guitar on the wall has the strap attached, hanging below them and casting snake-like shadows on the wall.

Then it kicks in. Memories of that Truth or Dare night rushes back to you. Your drunken words replay themselves in your mind, clear and loud: “I want you to tie me up with your guitar strap.”

“Oh, Jake, you didn’t—” Your hands fly up to cover your face in embarrassment.

“Oh, but I do,” Jake laughs, taking your hands in his and thumbing them in soothing circles, “no need to be shy, love. There’s nothing shameful about having desires; it’s a very human thing to do.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. I’m so happy that you feel comfortable enough to share it with me,” Jake smile reassuringly, “and I find it hot beyond words.”

Your eyes shot up at him upon hearing it, and Jake’s gaze tells you that he is being honest. Seeing that you’ve relaxed, Jake leads you to stand right in front of his guitar display, his hands resting steadily on your shoulders.

“I’ll let you take your pick, doll. Whichever one that has the honour to have caught your eyes.”

You take a deep breath, feeling like a child in a candy store. This is not the time to get overwhelmed. Your eyes first travel greedily between the guitars, linger over their smooth curves, then you divert to the straps. Jake’s signature ’61 Les Paul SG is standing tall and proud in the middle, paired with the most often seen thin leather strap in back. Moving further right is his SG Classic with the Pinegrove brown padded strap from earlier days, and there’s the black one with the broader shoulder pad which was once used to hold a double-neck but now used on his Coodercaster. You picture them laying over Jake’s shoulder, the way they strain and slacken with his movement, the umbilical cord between his body and his creation. You also imagine the what they would look and feel when wrapped around your waist. The slightly nervous you is inching towards the brown strap—it looks so comforting with its suede texture and its wrinkled surface, and its also wider, therefore leaning towards a cuff rather than a rope when tied; however, the bolder voice obviously prefers the black one—classy, timeless, direct and succinct like a command. It’s thinner, so it might cut into your skin if you are squirming too much (which you definitely will), but isn’t that what you are after? Isn’t that the gist—pleasure mixed with pain?

Jake is being unexpectedly patient, giving you all the time you need to take it in as he resumes his previous position in the chair, admiring your predicament from afar.

“I want that one.” You blurt out finally, pointing at his black strap.

The look on Jake’s face made you suspect that he has known what you’d choose all along.

“Nice choice.” Jake comments, stepping forward to remove the strap from the guitar. You know it’s most likely in your head, but the strap looks different the second that it was detached from the instrument; now wrapped around Jake’s palm, it looks more powerful, it looks like it is determined to serve its intended purpose well for tonight.

“Now go upstairs.”

This time, the command is brusque.

Oh, so the studio is not the final destination. You feel like being on a scavenger’s hunt, following all the clues and getting more snd more excited and impatient by the second. You can’t tell if you are disappointed or relieved that you are not doing…well, whatever Jake intends to do with you…in his studio.

You hands are already touching the door when you heard him again:

“While you are up there, princess, do yourself a favour and strip down to your bra and panties.”

You gasp, but chose not to turn around.

“Yes,” you murmur just loudly enough for him to hear you, “Sir.”

Upstair in your shared bedroom, you do not know how to position your body. You are naked except for your underwear, but the room still seems too hot. You tried laying in bed in a sultry pose—too pretentious, for fuck’s sake, you’ re not shooting porn. You sat down but you kept hugging your knees to yourself—you don’t want Jake to mistake that as reluctance. You are just a bit jittery. God knows how long you’ve been fantasizing this. You tried sitting on the ottoman, but the leather kept sticking to your bum, and it wouldn’t take long before you start sweating and leaving a shame-filled imprint on the seat. You’ve always wanted this, and it’s Jake, there’s nothing to be nervous about, just do what feels best.

Alright, alright.

Following the voice in your heart, you find yourself dropping down to your knees, kneeling on the plush beige rug by the bed. You have your back against the bedroom door. You know it would be impossible for you not to look at Jake’s reaction the moment he see you in this pose, but you are also not sure if you are ready to take that reaction. To you, for now, kneeling feels the most right. For you and Jake, the dom/sub thing in bed is never explicit. Sure, he enjoys you calling him Daddy from time to time and you definitely have got him all whiny and teary for more than once, but this would be the first time that you will be trying restraints. You guess you have always had this fantasy—there’s just something about Jake and his guitar that makes your knees buckle. You are secretly thankful for your drunk slip-up, because you are not sure if you will have the courage to stare into his eyes and say those words sober, even though you know that Jake would never judge you.

The sound of the door opening interrupts your thought. The room is so quiet that you can hear a pin drop, and you are holding your breath. Therefore, even without looking, you are positive that Jake hitches his breath when he sees you. You regret a little for facing away from him. Now you want to see his expression.

“Don’t move.” As if reading your mind, Jake orders. You straighten your back. Jake approaches until he is standing right behind you.

“What a good girl.”

Something touches you. You quickly realize Jake is using the bended strap to trace random patterns on your back. You feel the looped end of the strap at your cervical spine before it circles around your scapula, from where it travels down along your spine all the way to your hipbone, dipping a little into the elastic band of your panties. Jake watches the involuntary contraction of your muscles as they react to the touch, feeling satisfied as he sees the fine hairs on the back of your neck slightly perk up.

You just breathed a sigh of relief when you feel the smooth leather again, this time reaching in front and tracing your clavicle. It stops at the little indentation between the bones, right beneath your throat and inches upwards to your chin, tilt it upward, then finding leverage on the left side of your jaw, Using it to turn your head back.

You run straightforward into Jake’s eyes, which are now the colour of melted chocolate. The dark, mesmerizing, 80% cocoa type.

Your pouty lips and puppy eyes are silently begging him for a kiss. Jake indulges, catching your bottom lip between his teeth slightly as his pulls away.

“Already tasting so sweet, angel.”

Aside from the praise, the tenderness in his tone is unvarnished. This is the voice he uses whenever he checks up on you. This is a sign that you are about to have the talk—the sweet conversation with a fraction of awkwardness before you two try out anything new that gives consent and sets up rules and boundaries.

“I…I really want this.” You pre-empt.

“That’s good to hear,” Jake chuckles. Now he has came around, sitting face to face with you. What looks like a wash bag laying beside his knees. What? He has gone and got a bag for this? You wonder what the hell he has got in there.

“I know it’s been a minute, but do you still remember our safe word?”

“Yes. It’s ‘soundcheck’.” You answer, peeling your eyes away from the bag. The safe word was something you two has settled early on in your relationship. Neither of you has been in a position that requires the use of it, but the simple fact that such a word exists and you are comfortable using it when the situations calls for is reassurance for both sides.

“Good. Use it if you need to. Since we are trying something new today, I suggest we add on to it a bit more,” Jake holds your gaze steadily as you nod, “we are going with colours. Green means all good and continue; yellow means pause, say it if you feel like it’s too much, we will take a break, check in, work things out, and you decide if you want to keep going; red is the big ‘no-no’, say it and everything, I mean everything, stops immediately, no question asked. Copy?”

“Yes, green to go, yellow to pause, and red to stop.” You repeat it back, knowing Jake always requires a clear response at this point. This is starting to sound like those naughty romance novels, although you have a secret feeling that what you’re about to experience is going to be so much better.

“Clever girl,” Jake unzips the bag and takes out a pair of scissors, showing them to you, “these are safety shears. I feel like they’re necessary if I am tying you up today. They are medical grade and they cut through everything. Whatever the reason you need out of the restraints, they get you the quick release. ”

He places the scissors in your hands. You hold on to it, finding its curved blade and matte handle consoling. “Now listen up, if it comes to that,” Jake speaks slowly, his index finger tapping your naked skin with each accentuated word, “I will cut the strap. I don’t care how long I’ve had it or how much it costs. They are nothing compared to your safety. Do you hear me, love?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.” You heart melts at how serious he is taking this. You knew he must’ve done his research. The colour system and all. “Thank you, Jake.”

“No need to thank me for keeping you safe, doll,” Jake squeezes your hand gently, “now, are we ready?”

Part 2 out now

Yeah! you made it! Thank you SO MUCH for reading :))

any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated. I've never done a taglist before....does anyone want to be tagged for part 2?

my other works: Permission to Fall | Mariner's Complex | Ticked (all my boxes) | Love is a four-legged word | The Lucky Ones | Coming back to me | Warm Honey | He Would

[mamawasatesttube]

an excerpt of the kon & cass genderisms fic im very excited about but still nowhere near done with:

The idea of Kon looking like a girl is kind of absurd, when Cass first thinks of the word. It brings to mind Steph, first and foremost. Brenda, too, though. And others.

But some of Brenda’s friends were tall, or broad-shouldered. Some of them dressed like Kon. The thought brings with it a pang, as always; Cass wishes she’d gotten to know them better, before…

Before.

But anyway. Not the point. The point is, Cass has seen Barbara call people without skirts or breasts girls or women, sometimes, too. So maybe Kon looking like a girl isn’t as weird as he seems to think it is.

She hums, cocking her head to the side. “What is a girl?”

“Huh?”

Next to her, Kon blinks. He frowns up at the stars, then rolls over and props himself up on one arm, and reaches over to playfully poke her nose.

“Well, I dunno exactly. You were Bat-girl, weren’t you? Shouldn’t you know?”

But that isn’t because of any… kinship with the word. No… what’s the word? Affinity. No particular affinity. Or is it connection? Something like that. Regardless, Cass shakes her head. “Barbara’s name. I just kept it.”

“Oh.” Kon frowns slightly. “I dunno, either, honestly. I mean, TV will tell you a girl is someone who likes girly stuff, but that’s stupid, ‘cuz plenty of girls don’t like girly stuff, and I mean, I do like so-called girly stuff, I guess, like knitting or baking, and I’m not a girl. So…” He shrugs, rolling back over onto his back. A moment later, though, he picks his head up and peers at her. “Are you—is this—I mean, are you trying to tell me you’re not a girl?”

The way he holds himself makes it seem like that’s some kind of a big deal. Cass just shrugs. “Dunno.”

“Oh,” Kon says, again, more softly this time. “Hey, I mean—nothing wrong with that either. It’s cool.”

Cass shrugs again. “It’s just a word. To me, anyway.” It’s her turn to frown in thought. “What makes a boy a boy?” She lightly nudges his side. He’s warm against the slight night chill, and she scoots in a little closer with a hum. “You were Super-boy. Tell me.”

Kon blows out a breath. “Hoo, man. Now ain’t that just a fine pickle and a half?”

Cass wrinkles her nose. “What do pickles have to do with it?” She likes pickles. Ma Kent has a jar of crisp ones in the pantry, homemade from cucumbers grown in the garden out back. Cass likes the way they crunch between her teeth and splatter vinegar-juice on her tongue.

“Nothing. It’s… actually, I have no idea why that’s something people say.” Kon lets out a wry snort. “I came pre-programmed with slang and idioms, y’know.”

“I know,” Cass says, and pats his arm. “Pregnable.”

Kon lets out a bark of bright laughter. It reminds her of the stars. He seems so very at home here, under the night sky. The starlight matches the gentle glow of his eyes. When he isn’t wearing his glasses, it’s easy to see the inhuman blue.

“Aw, man,” Kon says, still grinning. “You remember that? I forgot I said that way back then.”

“It was…” Cass tilts her head. “New to me. Memorable, for that reason.” She grins mischievously. “A pregnable boy.”

Kon laughs again. Cass snuggles up to his side and throws her arm across his ribs. She likes to feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

[kentocalls]

the morning after | ryomen sukuna nsfw. spicy. lots of pet names. oral, p in v. probably ooc cuz i like my men sweet. part 1

he's up before the sun, a tight hold on your form, cheek squished into his shoulder. mind blank, washes the deep blue sky turn orange, your head twitches, tries to shuffle away from the light. that's the moment he allows himself to be free from your warm body. wanders around your bedside, drags the curtains forward until the sun is blocked from annoying your face. pads over to your bathroom, collecting his shoes and belt, he's got plenty on his plate. figures a slice of toast and he's off.

he notices a very captialized 'grocery list' with messy writing before opening the refridgerator to be met with one unopened jar of cherry jam. one smoke and then he's off.

eyes taking in the street you live on, questioning the structural integretiy of your balcony before he spots a 'grocery mart.'

-

your head hurts. no amount of rolling around the bed is going to rid the vibrating pain dancing in your skull. you blink open your eyes and shuffle your body upright. a shower, a nice warm shower and something to settle your gut. you spot two pills and a glass of water next to your charging phone and whoa. late night drunk you is such a smart gal. you thank her for good decisions and promise not to dwell on the rest.

heavy steps to your bathroom and a nice warm stream of water hits your face. his face flashs in your mind, his deep voice "tired?" you groan, the hottest man on earth was in your place and you were too sleepy to do anything. you're not sore, no aches or marks. minus the headache thats fading.

you slip out, dry your skin, use your favorite lotion, wash your face dilgently. and shake your head at your reflection; sighing. "didn't even ask his name!" you have a soft white robe on, know you're low on laundry and head to your kitchen.

and he's still there.

nods at your stool and places a slice of toast and orange juice in front of you. he's on the phone, talking loudly and you're too caught up in the fact that he's still here. take a bite of the bread, a sip of juice. when did you buy this?

"i've got company." hangs up instantly, eyes taking in your very clean face. you look better than earlier. he kinda hates. knows he should leave but there you are with a "thank you, for last night and breakfast."

so polite.

toast hardly counts as food. but your diety habits are not his concern. he nods, another name on his phone screen distracting him. you're not fiddling with your hands, you finish the toast, drink the juice start to clean the plates and inspect the bread. when did you buy this?

"it's been nice." he leans against the counter, sincere with his words. he needed the rest, feels refreshed and ready to haggle at tiny men in suits.

it should be awkward now, as you're supposed to shuffle out of his way and he leaves without looking back but you're frowning. take a step towards him, head slightly tilted up. "you didn't even kiss me."

he chuckles, shaking his head "don't kiss one night stands." keeps the word angel at the tip of his tongue.

"but it's the morning now." you counter, inching forward. tilting your head to the side, confused and hopeful. he isn't sure if you've fully sobered up. the scent of your clean skin close. he's tempted.

you're being bold, moving closer, your robe meeting his very fine silky clothes, his hands find your hips but he doesn't stop you. you're not going to find someone like him again, that's what you say when you push onto your tip-toes inching closer.

his lips brush yours before he's moved away, noses at your neck. "nope." fine, fine, fine. you won't kiss his lips, settle for a his collarbone. he pulls you closer, lifting you up a bit.

sukuna is absolutely sure your countertop cannot support the weight of two people. and he has time, he doesn't need to be at his meetings until noon. you pull him to your bedroom, his eyes on your thighs ; can't wait to bite and grip.

"no kissing, got it. can i leave a mark here? please." your fingers burn at his neck. so fucking polite, has him nodding along, hand already under your loosely tied robe as he takes in your scent.

feels you smile against him, feels your soft lips and wet tongue and teeth grazing. "please fuck me before you go."

yeah, he has time for this.

hands on your bare skin, he kisses down your neck, down your chest, nuzzles as your stomach before continuing down down down and the way your body shudders but he never reaches the destination.

comes right back up, latches onto nipple and sucks, bites, teases. pinches your other breast with his thumb and index finger, alternating until you're begging for more. no matter your babbling he doesn't let up, heat coiling inside you but the man isn't in a hurry. "please," fuck what is his name? you try to remember when he told you, last night, it was sultry the way he said it. "please su...sukuna..."

that has his attention, loves the way it sounds. "already close?" you whine in protest, "what, need you to say what you want." "please touch me, please." you know he already is, but it gets his hands moving to your hips and thighs and his thumb faintly brushes your clit, has you gasping. calling his names, eyes pleading and he likes it.

sukuna wants to hear more, has his lips trailing wet, hot, messy down again until he latches on where you want him and nothing is keeping him away from you now.

and despite all the moaning and gasping you're still polite. still formulating sentences. you don't need to ask him but gosh your voice rings a sinful alarm, "please, can I touch your hair?"

has him silently promising to ruin every other guy for you, kissing your wrist, he places your hand on his head, comes up to adjust an arm around your hips, spreading you open. "you'll be good now right? stay open like this, no pulling."

he's about to lean in but hasn't heard the crescendo of yes falling past your lips so he pauses. your hips try to push up unsuccessfully but that's not enough affirmation. waits for your eyes to land on his, "yes?"

"yes please." "you want this?" "yes yes, please sukuna, want this. please. thank you" so polite, so very polite. he hasn't even started and you're already such a mess. twitching and shaking. tongue laps at your wet heat. so sweet, so warm, so eager.

"perfect."

+

first it was his tongue, then a thumb brusing your clit so slowly while he sucked new marks down your chest. and now he has you spreading open on two fingers. insistent you need three to take him, he's not here to hurt you.

you pull at his shirt, need to feel his skin against yours. his tattoos peak out and set another fire in your belly. how the fuck is he so perfect? "can i touch here too please? can i scratch?"

too polite, you're too polite, pushes his skin closer to yours, your hands delicate at first then nails digging deep, dragging him in. pulling him close.

and you're such a good girl, leaving chaste kisses on his jawline, down his neck. not trying to kiss him, not trying to rush him. he can hear his phone ringing the kitchen, falling off the counter and he's not leaving now.

he finally slips in a third, reminds you to breathe, when it's shaky his face finds yours. "too much?"

"it's...ah, it's good. thank you." and if he kisses the corner of your mouth it's cuz he's pulling you higher, adjusts your position. it's not on purpose. he doesn't need to know how soft your lips are.

now with three he moves even slower, the stretch burns and he's so fucking deep. your fingers are never going to reach this far. you moan into his neck, scratch down his back, your hips bucking up. but the pace is still slow, you can feel his heat on your leg. why the fuck does he have such good control?

"now? please, i-ah, i-'m so..." wet, messy, ready. he curls his fingers up, brushing purposefuly on that bundle of nerves and you're biting into his shoulder. legs twitching, body shaking, a flush going down your face and neck and all he does is whipser perfect into your ear over and over again. until you see stars.

+

are you breathing? sukuna's hand is on your stomach, "deep breaths angel, there you go." watches your eyes flutter back open, kisses your forehead, your temple, your jawline and chin. let's you orient back to the room, back to him. your hand finally releases it's tight grip on his arm. "ready?"

"can..." you swallow drly, "can I please have water?" you're ready to hear a soon or just one more. know there's a limit to how tender and paitent a partner can be. he's made you cum four times now and feel so fucking good.

you don't realize he slipped away until he's back, helps you sit up, cool glass of liquid at your lips, your hand on his wrist looks comincally small. when you're done he takes a quick sip himself, catches your eyes watching him.

and it's too soft, the way he thumbs at your cheek, concerned. it's not needed, you feel very present and very ready. "i have condoms somewhere..." you start

he scoffs.

"you do now" he points at a box sitting on your nightstand, you don't recognize it. when did you get this?

he holds a packet with his teeth, his hands reaching for his slacks, you stop him "let me, let me please."

you do your best to move your hands at a normal place, but it looks eager anyways, has him smirking, dropping the condom packet into your palm as you do a very perfect job of not looking nervous at the girth or length of his dick.

you get why he insisted on three fingers, he grabs a pillow and places it behind you, "lay back."

"yes yes yes, thank you." as you watch him lean forward, muscles moving in a coordinated dance, rubs himself through the wet of your previous release. you both moan.

he still. takes. his. time.

moves his cock up and down your pussy lips, touching your sensitive nub, driving you insane. your hips buck up at nothing, want more friction, need him inside you.

"please, please, you're so close, please."

"please what angel?"

"put it inside, please fuck me."

and he's not slow when he does, that chant of 'thank you' will be embarassing tomorrow because everything feels right now. he's so big, you're stuffed so full and he's moving at such brutal pace.

you want to hold out longer, you're already so sensitive, you're biting your lips, trying to find purchase on his back, nails deep scratching, biting at his neck.

his name mixed with your please and thank you is putting him in a trance.

you're impossibly tight. sukuna's thrusting faster than he wanted, harder than he wanted. had planned a build up, wanted to make you beg over and over but he's already there. pulling him deep, gripping him tight. the sounds echoing in off the bedroom walls are filthy.

"so good for me, so perfect for me."

"told..ah, told you..." you're slipping, the familiar twitch in your hips, you're close again and he hasn't even cum once, has he? "with you, please, please, together please? sukuna please."

he picks up the pace, the hand on your hip will leave a bruise, the lovebites on your body glow red. he's so close, "with me, look at me, come on angel." you're both so close, hips rolling to match his thrusts.

your lips are so plush, mouth open a silent scream pushes you over the edge as he follows. hips stuttering, grinding, heavy. he let's his weight fall on you, hand grips the back of your neck and brings your lips to his.

so fucking soft, so willing. he pulls off to catch a breath, spit connecting your lips and silently you trail after his lips, he kisses you slowly. moves his hips slowly, still hungry, ready to feel you again. "thank you sukuna" you say between broken kisses, your eyes lidded, body heavy, just like last night.

too trusting when your body softens against him, too vulnerable when you nuzzle into his neck, another whisper of "thank you." and you have to be his. no one can hear you like this, see you like this. no one can touch your skin like he does, no one can know how absolutely etheral you are drifting off to sleep.

his lips dance over your face, he whispers "mine" into your temple, into the crook of your neck, at the center of your chest, above your sore nipples, into your bellybutton, above your sensitive clit, down your legs and he sits on his up.

comitting you to memory won't be enough.

he'll do this again. and again. and again.

+

part 3

[twst-drabbles]

Since we just had the piece about naughty naga Jamil stealing the surprise fuzzy. I was wondering do the house pets have favourite foods?

Alright, time to ramble about cute shenanigans!

The funny ones I can think of are that Lilia likes having his tomato juice frozen into a popsicle. Well he likes tomato juice in any form but when it's a popsicle, he pounces on it and licks it like crazy, like it'll evaporate into air if he doesn't. Because of that, he got his tongue stuck on it a number of times.

One time Riddle got himself stuck in a strawberry jam jar one time but was so lost in the sauce that he didn't make a peep until he passed out with a belly full of jam. Caretaker found him with his feet sticking out of the jar, snoring the day away. Ace never lets him live it down. Cater likes to play a game of stacking himself on his clones like a ladder as he slurps up the longest noodle the Caretaker can find. Ace like to pretend that his cherry concentrate is the finest wine with his tiny doll size cups.

Leona's favorite food is literally anything the Caretaker is having at the moment until the moment he gets it. He'll eat anything meaty but anything they have he's staring and glaring like his food was stolen, but then he'll turn up his nose when he actually gets it. Ruggie likes to wear a donut around his neck like those cones of shame and just bite into them like that. No need to worry if he trips and falls backwards, his tail is wagging like no tomorrow and he's munching. And sweet sweet Jack can and will share his pear compote with the Caretaker no matter the time of day or night when the craving hits. He tried to eat it alone in secret, but it just wasn't the same. So yeah, 3 am eating where it sounds like Jack is eating from a bowl of mac and cheese.

That's all the funny ones off the top of head. Can probably come up with more but that's about all the brain spat out.