#enjoy the domestic thoughts

[leathfaic]

"So what do ye eat then, when ye get the choice?" Soap is opening two bottles of beer handing one over to Ghost. He's clueless about what to cook for dinner, might as well ask Simon for some input.

"Chicken and rice. Or I order something." Ghost's tone is nonchalant as he studies the label of the beer he was just handed and Soap decides immediately that he's not gonna follow the plain suggestion actually. He's on leave and deserves some flavour in his food, thank you very much.

"Single malt whisky cask matured?" Ghost' sounds slightly disbelieving. "That is very Scottish.", or disapproving, who knew with the English.

So Soap just snorts, "Had to get ye some of the local stuff, eh? If ye behave ah'll make sure we get some of the beer with tea in for ye." 

At that Simon, who was sniffing his beer, looks up, pure horror in his eyes and Soap's snort evolves into a full-on cackle. 

He catches himself a moment later, inspecting the almost pouting look behind the mask and decides to drop the topic for now. Instead, he raises his bottle at Simon, "To leave, aye?".

Ghost does the same, their bottles clinking. 

"Cheers."

"Slàinte Mhath." 

Crisp and cold. Fuck he'd missed beer. Missed a lot of things during that last OP. Food that tasted like actual food was one, bringing him back to his original line of questioning. It shouldn't be surprising that Ghost is not into cooking. He's the only person Soap has ever seen eating anything from the mess with true enthusiasm. Sorts his MREs by how much he likes them too when he thinks no one is looking. Always eating the best first.

"Not much of a cook then?" he keeps his tone light and innocent while sipping his beer. Trying to observe Simon's reactions without making him feel watched.

"I can handle meat," There's a stupid smirk traded between them and Soap would roll his eyes if he didn't have to reign himself in, immediately set ablaze by the stupid joke.

"Learned at a butchers before I joined." Ghost offers up by way of explanation, sounding almost sad. Something must've happened there, something that had Simon ending up in the force. Something that led to him becoming Ghost.

"Well perfect, I'm not terrible but I do handle meat way better in the bedroom." Soap winks at him and this time, to make sure the innuendo lands painfully enough to pull Ghost out of his head. 

It does and earns him an exasperated look. Might have convinced him if those brown eyes weren't full of fondness. 

He's gonna leave Ghost with the belief that he's not learning to see behind the mask for a little longer: Wants him to feel comfortable. No need to divulge that his tone clearly betrayed that he's got no idea how to cook apart from putting some meat into a pan and put all his hope into some cook in bags. Lots of people couldn't cook, it wasn't a big deal.

Only that it is not just that. From the few things he's told Soap about himself, it makes sense, in a sad way.

Simon, who confronts being gay like being in battle, all hyper-masculine energy focused on fighting through all the hurtful stereotypes and insults his father planted in his head, probably never got to do a lot of things that weren't 'manly'. Makes him wonder where the needle skills come from but only for a split second before he decides he's gonna do something about this then.

"So what is yer favourite food then?" 

"Don't really 'ave one." the stoic bastard answers and Soap has to think about the MREs but also has no trouble believing that that is a luxury the other man doesn't allow himself to ponder. Thinks he doesn't deserve it.

Not that'll stop him. Quite the opposite, now he's motivated.

"Alright, anythin ye could be doin with right now?" 

He watches Ghost's eyes dart through the kitchen seemingly looking for a clue. Bouncing of cabinets and shelves before he takes a swig of his beer.

"No." he finally answers, sounding like he's withdrawing into himself again. For fucks sake.

Soap smiles at him hiding his exasperation away before it can reach his face, doesn't need his emotions to make this harder on both of them. 

"Well too bad, yer at ma mercy." He lets his smile dip into something devilish and revels in the note of alarm in Simon's lovely eyes. It's quickly replaced with confusion as Soap presses a knife into his hands. He stands there, looking for all accounts like a very misplaced ghoul. Very deadly but also kinda endearing.

"Ye can cut the onion, garlic, are chilis fine with ye? If so, cut two of those too and make sure ye wash yer hands after tha'. 

They work in silence for a moment, Ghost's dutifully following Soap's command without any complaints. When Soap begins to sear the meat he explains what he's doing and asks for input from Ghost. He's rewarded with warm surprise on the mostly masked features before Ghost starts talking, softer than his usual tone when he's guiding Soap through something job-related, becoming almost reverent when he sees Soap adjust to what he just said. And Soap tries to be careful with his usual ribbing jokes, not wanting to disturb the equilibrium that is Ghost relaxing in his flat.

When the other ingredients are added he takes over again. Talking the lieutenant through the process. Explaining his steps when he knows why they're important and freely admitting defeat when he doesn't. 

They drink their beers and cook, Ghost once more following every step that Soap lays out for him and Soap silently trying to impress him. Not that he was gonna admit that to either himself or anyone else.

"Who taught you all tha'?", they're just waiting for the pasta now, the sauce down and bubbling away on low heat, leaning against each other, Soaps head resting on Ghost's shoulder. Outright domestic. 

"Ma grannie," Soap smiles fondly at the memory of the tiny woman with her sincere blue eyes. "Told me being a lad was no excuse and Ah'd better know ma way around a kitchen for ma future burd." he winks at Ghost who goes surprisingly red surprisingly fast clearly visible even behind the mask. "When Ah told her Ah'm a buftie she doubled down. Ian she said, refused to call me John ye see forever angry tha' ma da went with the anglicised version, anyways, Ian she said if ye're bringing home another man one of ye will need to know how to cook or for all yer gay love ye'll focking starve." he can almost hear hear as his accent gets thicker and something between wild joy and bottomless sorrow tears through his chest at the memory.

There's a beat of silence before a weird noise breaks it. It's a rough quick sound and it takes Soap a second to realise that Simon just snorted. 

"Well thank fuck for grandma MacTavish and her foresight!" he pulls his almost empty beer bottle into the air dramatically and they toast again. 

Soap's smile is wide, imagining what his nan's reaction to Ghost would've been. 

They might have gotten on entirely too well. 

[hinamie]

alongside someone like you

[wyrmswears]

the fact that a year has passed in the time between s1 beginning and s2 beginning means that at some point, while the majority of the ninja were reunited at the monastery, it was the missing teammate's birthdays

how much do you think that hurt? an entire day that should be spent celebrating someone who isnt there

[shalomniscient]

ALL I SEE IS RED LIGHTS || rahu x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

Control. This was the singular order that woman gave her before getting herself locked away by Paradeisos. Always, always remain in control. But there was a limit to just how much control Rahu could exert over herself before she needed an outlet. And as it just so happens, her most willing (and favourite!) one happens to be you. Or, Rahu comes back to the MBCC pent up and frustrated from her time in Paradeisos. To relax, she fucks you silly in the Archives.

cw. [NSFT][MDNI] rahu has a dick in this one (she also tops for once), rough sex, handjobs, degradation (whore, slut), breeding, choking, biting, belly bulge, semi-public sex, dacryphilia, discussion of anal, creampie

notes. god forgive me

wc. 3k

Being the Chief of the MBCC is a difficult, difficult job. There’s dealing with shitty higher ups, placating manic Sinners, stopping city-destroying threats, and worst of all, paperwork. Mountains and mountains of dreaded paperwork. There’s so much of the damn stuff it makes your brain numb–and not in the fun way. More often than not, you end up just waiting for something exciting to happen. 

Speaking of exciting, you glance at the clock on the wall as you sort the files in the Archives. It’s thirty minutes to five, and you’d be off the clock soon. Rahu should be arriving back from Paradeisos any minute now–

“Chief?”

Your lips twitch upwards in a wry smile at the sound of that familiar voice. Speak of the devil, indeed. “I’m in the Archives,” you call back to Rahu. You hear footsteps echo in your office, stopping just short of the heavy Archives door. 

“Are you alone in here?”

There’s an undercurrent of tension in her voice, but you brush it off in favour of focusing on the wall of files before you. You slot another file back into its place on the shelf and nod. “Yeah, it’s just me.” 

You’re entirely too preoccupied with your filing to notice Rahu striding towards you until a firm hand is gripping your waist, forcefully spinning you around to face her. You squeak in surprise as Rahu presses herself bodily against you, until you’re sandwiched between the shelf and Rahu’s firm, warm body. Your brows knit in confusion as you stare up at her, noting the stormy look in her silver eyes. 

“Is something wro—“ you ask, only to be cut off when Rahu discards her mask with a flick of her fingers and crashes her lips against yours in a bruising, claiming kiss. Rahu swallows any sound you make with her lips, her tongue forcing its way into your mouth greedily. She kisses you so forcefully it’s like she’s trying to draw your very life from your lips. Her teeth scrape your bottom lip before she pulls away, leaving you flushed and breathless. 

She doesn’t stop, though. She presses more burning kisses along your jaw and over what little exposed skin there is of your neck, growling as her teeth ghost over the thin fabric of your undershirt. Your arms loop around her broad shoulders as you pant and sigh in pleasure, feeling almost unbearably warm. But you retain enough brain function to at least try and ask her what she’s doing. 

“Need you,” is all she says, her voice low as she moves up to kiss you again. The request doesn’t surprise you–in fact, you had an arrangement with Rahu. Every few months, when Paradeisos loosens their leash, she’ll visit you and the Bureau. During these visits, she’ll update you on whatever new intelligence she’s managed to glean from the secretive Paradeisians, which is followed by the filthiest, raunchiest fucking as a way for both of you to de-stress. Of course, normally, you’d at least get to your chill-out room for some privacy, but not today, apparently. As if noticing the way your thoughts are straying, she takes your lower lip between her teeth and bites, making you whimper and squirm, the stinging pain surprisingly pleasurable. 

“H-here?” you manage to gasp out between the kisses Rahu steals from you. This side of Rahu is entirely new to you–and fuck if it isn’t hot. “Now?” 

Rahu leans bodily against you, her free arm bracing her on the shelf, caging you in. This close to her, you feel something poke at your inner thigh through your slacks, and you suck in a breath. You know Rahu and her pretty cock well enough to tell that she’s already at full mast and probably leaking into her boxers. The thought makes you shiver. 

“What if someone walks in?” you ask, resisting the urge to moan as Rahu rolls her hips against yours. 

“Locked the door already,” she says simply, the hand on your waist already moving forward to toy with the buttons of your shirt. The fact that she hasn’t ripped it off you yet means she’s giving you a choice—she would take you right here and right now, but only if you want. 

And despite yourself, despite the risks, you’ve never wanted something more in your entire life. 

“Okay,” you breathe out, sliding your hands on Rahu’s shoulders down lower and lower until you reach the buckle of her pants. Her pupils dilate and she makes a low, feral sound, watching as your hands unbuckle her pants, then slip past the waistband of her boxers to finally pull her aching cock free. 

It slaps against her toned stomach, leaking pre-cum like a fucking faucet and your mouth waters. Slowly, you swipe your thumb over the swollen tip, spreading her sticky pre-cum around. It coats your hand, slick and warm, and Rahu groans as you slide your hand down her shaft. You fall into a languid rhythm, obediently pumping her cock, intermittently moving up to the tip to collect more beads of pre-cum. Rahu pants lightly against your ear with each slick pump of your hand up and down her cock. When you squeeze lightly, Rahu’s breath hitches and she twitches in your grasp—she’s already close. 

You move to sink to your knees, to let her finish in your throat, but Rahu grabs you by the shoulders before you can get all the way down. Before you can even ask her anything, she spins you around and forces your front against the shelf, your cheek pressed against the files you just arranged. The sudden display of force makes your traitorous cunt clench, and you feel a surge of wetness drip into your panties. 

Rahu stands flush against you as her hand shoots down to unbuckle your slacks, while the other deftly undoes the buttons of your shirt. The presence of your undershirt makes her snarl against your nape and you whine when she rips it off, the fabric now hanging in tatters from where it’s tucked into your slacks. But even those are soon gone, leaving you in nothing but your underwear, and your shirt that hangs limply off your arms. The position is unbelievably compromising, but it makes your core throb. 

“Going to take your pretty pussy,” Rahu hums against your nape, ever so briefly biting down on the sensitive skin and leaving the imprint of her teeth there. She slots her cock between your thighs, moving her hips lazily, smearing pre-cum all over the soft flesh. When you look down, you can see her tip peek out with each thrust, and you whine, pushing your ass backwards against her, the need in your lower belly starting to make you lose it. 

Rahu makes a noise almost like a sneer, and trails a hand along your clothed cunt. She brushes your clit through the soaked fabric and scoffs as you moan, light and breathy. “So wet already,” she says, slipping her hand past the waistband of your panties and dragging a sinfully long finger along your cunt, from your hole to your clit. “Dripping like a whore and I haven’t even done anything yet.” 

The filth that leaves her lips makes a strangled moan leave yours. “Rahu, please, please, I need—“

Your pleas are cut off when a firm hand connects with your ass, the slap echoing in the room. You practically squeal, both in surprise and pleasure, your body jolting forward from the sheer force of it. Rahu gropes your ass shamelessly, taking handfuls of flesh into her large hand and squeezing before relentlessly raining more and more slaps on your ass until it’s the same flushed shade of red as your face. 

“You like that, don’t you? I can feel you get wetter on my fingers,” Rahu growls, briefly curling her fingers, the pads catching on your aching, needy clit. But then her fingers move backwards, and her thumb brushes against your ass. “You’re dripping so fucking much, Chief… at this rate, you’d be wet enough for me to take this hole too.” 

Another broken moan leaves you as the thought of Rahu fucking your ass makes your knees quiver. Rahu snickers behind you, but doesn’t go through with it. As much as she’d love to, taking your ass would really take more prep and she needed you now. Instead, she angles her hips, and slots a leg between yours, nudging you to spread your own a little wider. Rahu tugs your panties aside, strings of your own slick clinging to the ruined fabric, and then she hilts deep inside of you in one smooth motion. 

If it weren’t for Rahu’s hand that shot up to cover your mouth just in time, the scream you let out would’ve certainly alerted the entire MBCC. Stars danced behind your eyes at the sudden, immense fullness, your cunt fluttering. She’s so fucking deep in you, her tip ever so slightly brushing your g-spot as it rests in you. Rahu swears against your shoulder, her other hand bracing herself on the shelf. 

“Fuck, you’re so damn tight,” she says, giving an experimental roll of her hips that has you whining into her palm. She barely gives you any time to adjust to her size, immediately starting to pound away inside you. She fucks you with a brutal, animalistic pace, bullying your cervix and going balls deep with each thrust. The squelching sounds ring throughout the room, accompanied by the slapping of skin on skin. At the rate she was going, it was no surprise that your peak was almost upon you already. “F-fuck, you’re squeezing me so tightly, Chief…” 

Rahu still hadn’t moved her palm from your mouth, so all you could do was whimper pitifully as you felt your climax build in your belly. But she seemed to get the hint, the hand bracing herself on the shelf moving down to toy with your swollen clit. 

“Gonna cum already? Gonna make a mess on my cock?” Rahu breathes against your ear. You nod desperately, your pussy clenching with each powerful thrust. You’re so, so, so close—

“Chief? Are you in here?”

Nightingale’s voice makes you both freeze. You don’t know if you want to sob at the loss of your orgasm or the fact that Nightingale was about to catch Rahu balls deep in you in the Archive. Rahu’s hand drops from your mouth, settling on your throat instead. 

“Chief?” Nightingale calls again, knocking on the door. “Is everything alright?” 

“You should answer her,” Rahu says, but makes no move to pull out. Pulling yourself together, you do your best to sound like you weren’t just having your brains fucked out. 

“Yes, I’m in the Archives, adjutant. I’m alright,” you call back to her. Your voice is, thankfully, somewhat even, though you do sound a little breathless. 

“Are you sure?” Nightingale’s tone is worried. “You’ve been in there for a while…”

You smile. Nightingale may seem like a hard-ass sometimes, but that was only because she cared. “I’m sure, adjutant. I’m just—mmhm!”

Whatever you were about to say was cut off by Rahu suddenly thrusting up into you. Her cock presses right on your g-spot, but you somehow manage to smother your moan with a cough and glare over your shoulder at the sinner, who just smirks in response. She thrusts again, another sinful roll of her hips, and you press a hand against your mouth to stifle more of your moans. 

“Chief?” 

You shoot a glance at Rahu, but she doesn’t stop. No, she wants you to keep talking to Nightingale—all while she fucks you. The thought shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does, but your cunt gushes around Rahu’s cock, and she grins victoriously. 

“Sorry, I’m just—mmff—having a bit of a migraine,” you lie, gritting your teeth as Rahu languidly fucks into you. Her other hand resumes playing with your clit and you cover your whine with another cough. 

“Oh… are you sure you’re alright? Should I get you some painkillers?” Nightingale asks, still worried, and hopefully unaware. 

“N-no, I’m fine, adjutant,” you gasp out. “J-just need some—mm!—time alone.” 

“If you’re certain,” Nightingale sighs, though she sounds unconvinced. “I’ll leave these papers on your desk for when you feel better.”

“Thanks, adjutant.” 

Finally, Nightingale’s steps recede, and you slump against the shelf, feeling boneless. The only thing holding you up right now was Rahu’s dick buried inside you, honestly. An amused smile tugs at the sinner’s pretty features. “You were clenching on me the whole time,” she says lowly, scraping her teeth along the shell of your ear. “Did that excite you? Almost getting caught bent over for one of your sinners?”

“Fuck, Rahu, please,” you beg, the need in your core almost painful now. “Please just fuck me, please, please.” 

Rahu snarls, and the hand around your throat tightens. Then she’s fucking into you, resuming her brutal pace from before. Your breath is forced out of you with each ruthless rut of her hips, coming out in pinched wheezes as Rahu squeezes your neck–not enough to completely cut off your air, but just enough to certainly make you feel it. Her other hand leaves your clit to splay across your belly, her touch like fire on your already heated skin. Then she’s pressing down, right over the bulge her cock forms as it’s nestled deep in your cunt. 

“Can you feel that, Chief?” Rahu breathes, “the outline of my cock inside you? Filling this cute cunt up?” 

Your eyes flick down, and though the angle makes it difficult, you can see the slight ridge on your abdomen—and that’s all it takes for you to cream all over Rahu’s dick, eyes rolling back into your head. Rahu grunts as she feels you suddenly bear down on her, thrusting jerkily up into you while the hand around your throat tightens, stifling the cute, pitiful whines you make. She wasn’t expecting you to cum so quickly, but the feeling of your pussy wrapped around her is so downright heavenly she isn’t complaining at all. She’s getting closer and closer to her own peak, the hard muscles in her abs tightening. Her rutting reaches a fever pitch as she chases her high, uncaring of the way you’ve started to squirm on her cock from overstimulation.

“Just a little more,” she gasps out, burying her face in your shoulder, blunt teeth teasing your skin. “Just a little more, taking me so well, such a good little slut for me–”

The hand on your belly moved back to toy with your clit, harsh flicks that makes each nerve in your body jolt. Your mind feels like it’s breaking in half as Rahu uses your body for her own pleasure, your world narrowing down to the neediness between your legs. You’d barely come off the heels of your first orgasm and you were already starting to careen headfirst into the second. Your brain had long dripped out of your pussy as Rahu fucks herself deeper into you, her thrusts starting to get choppy and uneven until–

Rahu’s teeth sink deep into your shoulder and she hilts as deep as she can go, her tip smushed against the tight ring of your cervix as she spills hot cum deep into you with a growl. Your lips part in a soundless wail as you cum again on her cock, creating a white, frothy ring around the base of it. Rahu keeps driving her hips as she floods your cunt with white, as if she’s trying to fuck her cum right into your womb. 

The intensity of it all must’ve made you black out, because when you come back down to Earth, Rahu’s already slipping out of your abused cunt with a loud squelch. The drag of her softening cock as it retreats from you makes you shiver nonetheless–and you both groan as your mixed cum starts to leak from your hole and down your thighs. Globs of it, thick and creamy, spill from your gaping pussy and you shudder against the shelf, bracing yourself completely on it. Your hips jerk as Rahu’s fingers reach out to tug your drenched panties back into place, ensuring whatever remaining cum left in your pussy stays there. She even affectionately pats your cunt, which makes you whine, but Rahu makes it up to you by turning your head to gently kiss you. 

When she pulls back, there’s a mildly guilty look on her face as she takes in your disheveled state. “Sorry… about that.” 

You mumble out an incoherent answer, your thoughts still scattered around in your skull. Rahu tucks herself back into her slacks, then takes the initiative to help clean you up, gently turning you around so your back is resting against the shelf. She helps you back into your own pants, and buttons your shirt up as best she can, glancing apologetically as you shift uncomfortably. 

“Let me help you get back to your quarters,” Rahu offers, standing by your side as you shuffle out of the Archives, squeezing your thighs together. You nod, moving to grab your coat from where it hangs on your chair, resting it on your shoulders and letting it drape over your body. But before Rahu can lead the way out of your office, you wrap your fingers around her wrist and tug her back towards you. She stumbles in surprise, and you take the opportunity to pull her down by her tie so that she’s face-to-face with you. 

“I hope you know what’s waiting for you, puppy,” you say softly, your voice a low, sultry promise despite the hoarseness of it. Rahu’s pupils dilate, and you see the way her throat bobs. “Bad dogs should be disciplined, right?” 

(Once you get back to your quarters, you push Rahu onto her back and ride her until she’s shooting blanks and crying so prettily beneath you. So all in all, you’d say it was pretty worth it—even if you had to endure the knowing, disappointed look Nightingale will give you when you step into the office the next morning.)

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic april 27 - diplomacy - 1117 words

aka there’s a few unexpected babies in a shed and regulus is a master of persuasion

It starts with Harry.

He’s running around in the back garden as Regulus peeks outside to call him for dinner.

When Regulus calls him he comes bounding over the meadow, red cheeked and flushed and a little sweaty.

Regulus bends down to smack a kiss on his damp hair and presses a glass of water into his small hands.

Harry gulps half of it with vigor, breathing loudly and then puts it back down on the table with a thunk. “Uh- Paps.”

“Mhm?”

“Where’s Mochi?”

“Mochi?” Regulus hums, realizing he actually doesn’t know where their cat is, “I haven’t seen him in the house today.”

“Oh,” Harry makes, his brows drawing together.

Regulus’ chest tightens, “I’m sure he’ll be back by bedtime, pumpkin.”

The rest of the afternoon passes, the sun sets and Mochi still hasn’t shown.

Harry gets ready for bed worried but James makes up a bedtime story about adventure cats with supernatural powers and all’s well.

That is until it’s two days later and Mochi still hasn’t wound up yet.

Regulus gets actually concerned and quietly talks to James in bed at night about the possibility of Mochi having been hit by a car. James is optimistic though, gently stroking through his curls and kissing his forehead, reassuring Regulus that their cat will be back.

True to his fiancé’s word Mochi turns up just another day later. Safe and sound, no wounds or scratches and bonking his forehead against their legs like nothing was amiss.

Harry is ecstatic and Regulus sighs so heavy in relief he feels 10 pounds lighter—that is until Mochi keeps flitting back out into the garden, mewling loudly.

James and Harry go out into the yard to play on the trampoline, thinking their cat may just want some company out in the nice weather.

“I dunno, love,” James shakes his head, clambering down from the trampoline, “It sounds like something is bothering him. He keeps walking around, yelling at us.”

Regulus combs an errant strand of James’ hair back from his forehead, frowning slightly. He sighs, “It does seem like he wants something from us.”

Harry is still bouncing on the net, then he announces suddenly, “I think maybe he wants to show us something.”

James and Regulus exchange looks and then they help Harry put on his shoes again and start following behind a relentlessly meowing Mochi.

Their cat takes them out back towards the end line of their property to Monty’s old shed they don’t really use for anything.

Mochi squeezes right through a broken panel of wood inside, still meowing.

Regulus throws James a skeptical look but James just shrugs and rattles and yanks at the old door until it swings open.

That’s when Regulus hears it.

More meowing. Tiny, high mewling.

Baby kittens.

His eyes meet James in an instant as a small gasp elicits from Regulus’ throat, eyes widening in adoration and teeth digging in his lower lip, ridiculously excited.

James takes Harry up on his hip with a grin and nods Regulus to enter first.

With the help of the sunlight streaming in through the open door they find the little family in an instant.

The mom is a beautiful grey-ish tabby and there’s three little furballs attached to her stomach.

There’s one similar to Mochi with all black and white spots, another tiger striped one with an orangey undertone and then an entirely black one safe for one white spot around its ear that immediately has Regulus breaking out into coos.

Mochi runs around between Regulus’ legs all excited, screaming still, and he gently shushes their cat with head scratches. He bends down to say hello to the mom while James explains everything to Harry behind him.

It takes a few contemplative sniffs from mom before she takes a careful lick at Regulus’ finger. Mochi smells like them so Regulus is glad the mom realizes they’re family and not a threat.

Regulus beckons James and Harry over and pulls the latter between his spread knees, murmuring quietly, “These are Mochi’s babies, Harry, just like you are ours.”

Harry nods importantly, eyes fixated on the kittens.

“We have to introduce ourselves to the mom first though before we get to say Hello to the babies. Like this,” Regulus takes Harry’s hand in his and lets the female cat sniff him too.

Harry giggles when she licks him with her rough tongue and Regulus’ heart nearly bursts when she tilts her head into his little palm. James follows suit, stroking through Regulus’ curls with his other hand. It’s a marvelous moment shared between the three of them and Regulus desperately hopes that it’s going to stay a core memory in all their minds.

They run back to the house to get a pillowed basket and blankets for the mom and babies to transport back in. At the end of the day Regulus’ cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Until James comes up behind him while brushing teeth, arms wrapped around his stomach and asks who they want to give two of the babies to.

Regulus thinks he must be clinically insane for the suggestion but he doesn’t say so just yet. He has to play his cards right here to get what he wants and what his little family clearly deserves despite whatever James may think for whatever obviously illogical reason.

So Regulus just shrugs and spits into the sink.

The next morning when Harry is already in kindergarden he grabs James on his way out to door to work.

He drapes himself all prettily against the door frame, purposly toying with the ring on James’ finger. “So,” he starts, “About the kittens.”

James already slips into a playfully skeptical expression, “What about them?”

Regulus clears his throat professionally, “After diplomatic discussions we found that there was no way for us not to keep them.”

“A-huh?”

Regulus huffs, “Yes.”

“Just between the two of you…” James prods, one brow raised.

“Yes.” Regulus’ expression is unwavering stone. He’s so standing his ground. Not budging. He’s a wall.

“All 3 of them?”

“They have names, to your information,” Regulus spits. Then adds in a more quiet voice, “Strawberry, Vanilla and Matcha.”

James only hums in return, but the corners of his lips are already curling with a badly concealed grin so Regulus knows they’ve as good as won.

“So,” he sucks his teeth, cocking his head and blinking up at his fiancé from under his lashes, “We’re gonna need a bigger car tree.”

James’ grin blooms full force and he rolls his eyes behind his glasses. Then he smacks Regulus’ ass so hard, Regulus makes a sound that sounds embarrassingly similar to the ones the kittens make.

[g0nta-g0kuhara]

I realized two nights ago that I don't think ive ever heard Gonta swear. So. So

[risustravelogue]

I have to work tomorrow, despite tomorrow being a public holiday. (sob)

It got me thinking about Alhaitham's reaction to you having to work on holidays.

"Really? What a bother... Can't you get out of it somehow?" is his reaction when you tell him the night before said holiday.

You try to convince him that you really need to clock in, that there's this big project you need to talk about with your colleagues before the work week ends. By the end of the day, he is convinced.

... Or so you think.

Cue him trapping you in his arms when you try to get out of bed the next morning.

"Haitham?"

"Nnn."

"Let me go. I need to work."

"No."

"Come on, we talked about this already."

"No. Stay. It's a holiday. You're not supposed to work on holidays. Take a break."

"I told you I need to work on this today--"

His arms tighten around your waist. "No. Stay in bed. Stay with me. I'll pamper you all day. Anything you want... Just don't go."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Well, better use that Acting Grand Sage title of yours to get me out of work then!"

He chuckles and nuzzles your back. His fingers knead on your stomach and sides, the comforting sensation making you smile. He murmurs against your skin.

"Thought you'd never ask."

© @risustravelogue 2023 • no to reposting, yes to reblogging. feel free to send an ask to suggest, chat, etc. :)

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the ask game (3)

au where all robins develop a mental link after fighting some magical criminal of the week. what would they see in each other's minds? what secrets and repressed feelings do they discover? how would they deal with it?

for the ask game!

oooh, i love telepathic links that end up revealing secrets. especially with a family like the Batfam, who are usually so convinced they're good enough at reading each other to not have many secrets kept. so weird reveals are always fun

if i did this, i'd do DamiTim. just because of all the like, "deep dark feelings that are being hidden" for Robin shipping, DamiTim is the most fun for me. you expect DickTim or DickJay or JayTim, even DamiDick. but there's something that's so enjoyable about Damian having his feelings forcibly outted. not just to Tim, but to everyone. the way it'd be an active landmine none of them knowing what to say but all feeling each other's reactions. i honestly think Damian would try to punch somebody about it. (also, if you do a history of TImSteph where they've had sex, Damian would be directly linked to Steph's memories of how Tim was in bed, so that's fun as both something horrifying and enlightening just to screw with his feelings some more.) would they end up together? in my head probably, but it'd be weird and likely toxic bc how do you date someone you know inside out and know exactly what they think of all your flaws and what parts of you they obsess over. the answer is not very well but hey, the sex is good-

i think Jason *directly* feeling how everyone felt about his death would really rock him. he's heard all the apologies, but part of him isn't convinced there's truth to them. so to be crushed by Dick's *grief* over his death would be a come to jesus moment for him. but on the less fun flipside, you have him feeling how Dick feels about him *now*. because Dick doesn't really *like* Jason and deep down, sees Jason as a lost cause. that's his "deep dark secret". and Jason would feel and know that from the one person who he still wants to believe in him. i really do think Jason would have the Worst Time with all this, overwhelmed with everyone's intimate and complex feelings over his death. Jason is a very defensive person when it comes to his death and how reactionary he gets when other people make it about them, not him. so for Jason to have to constantly deal with that in his head, i truly do think he'd lash out a bit. the arguments. yelling at Dick and feeling Dick's guilt and snapping bc Dick has no right to feel guilty now. feeling that Tim viewed Jason as a failure. it's just a damaging mindspace to be in and man do i think Jason would take a While to recover.

oddly though, i think it'd be a good bonding moment for Steph and Jason. we really don't get much exploration of Steph and Jason bonding over dying. bc sure, Steph didn't actually die, but she *did* experience the social death where everyone believed she was dead and mourned her as such for a good while. she also felt *directly* responsible for her own death. a lot of blame falls on Steph for War Games (for the Doylist reasons of sexism but yk) and Jason feels responsible for his own death for walking into a trap. but unlike Jason, Steph had no suit in a case, no memorials, her name held no infamy. so i think she deserves just a bit of righteous fury about how dramatic Jason can be while she just has to move on bc hey, it's not like she *really* died. and she buries those feelings well, but not well enough to hide them from a mental link. and Jason, who hasn't really considered Steph before because he was so wrapped up in his complex over Tim, confronts those feelings with her. if anyone is going to know how he feels, it's going to be her. you could do it platonic or romantic, but i do think when Jason sinks to his lowest, she's the one who snaps him out of it, both with tough love and genuine compassion for his situation.

for the less serious crack of it all: they're all going to have far too intimate knowledge of each other's sex lives. everyone's gonna know Dick has fucked Slade. everyone's gonna know Jason has fucked Talia. in my heart, i believe Tim has slept with Anarky (Lonnie, not Ulysses) and everyone would *know* that too. absolute judgment all around. it's the spider-man meme of "wait you've done WHAT with WHO" and honestly, it gives a nice distraction for the more serious feelings. it's a palette cleanser they can default to. like when the fighting gets a little too serious and they're cutting too deep for comfort, someone's going to blurt out "well at least i didn't fuck Deathstroke." and the whole moment goes awry with laughter. bc i do think, at the end of it once they get through the worst of the angst, they'd be closer for it and self-aware of the ridiculous nature of all this. it's enlightening, in a way to see how they all felt about their time as Robin and the baggage/trauma they hold. even the ugliest feelings they hold for each other don't completely suffocate the fondness/respect.

that said, knowing the baggage/trauma. oof. i don't think Dick has ever fully opened up about his history with Mirage/Tarantula/Liu and now it's forced to sit in the open. Damian has never admitted the worst of being raised in the League. Tim hasn't fully faced the suffocating image of his dead father and his deep-seated want to kill Boomerang. all those ugly truths they stamp down bc well, either you're a vigilante or you're a well adjusted person, are out in the open now. and it's ugly and gruesome to force those thoughts to be shared. they all want to comfort each other for different reasons, while simultaneously not wanting their own trauma to be acknowledged. it'd be fun to see who'd instinctively react to whose trauma first. because it's an overwhelming rush of information, and you just naturally get pulled in certain directions. i think Damian would react to Dick's history of sexual abuse first, whereas Jason would be reacting to the murderous rage TIm is trying to fight off. Tim is reacting to just how much guilt Steph carries about War Games and all of it is very crunchy. there's so much they'd all have to talk about and it'd take days for them to address it all, between the arguments about the ugly parts. would they come out stronger for it? yes. but only if they didn't kill each other in the process. i hesitate to do a "and they come out one big happy family" ending, bc it's not very in canon, but i do think the bond of the Robin mantle is something special. even when the link is broken, they hold onto a freakish understanding of each other. they react and move in sync, can fight together without needing words. are they emotionally on the same page/have they forgiven each other for the worst of it? absolutely not. but they've got each other backs. it's a very much "if you called i'd drop everything to save you. but also we don't have it in us to hang out casually." bond, which i think is deeply underrated in fanfiction. sometimes, you can care about people but you have to do it from a distance.

[vwritesaus]

It is no secret to anyone who knows him that Alastair Carstairs is an exceptional cook. Armed with the knowledge passed down from his mother and Risa, he felt it was his duty to keep the Persian traditions alive in their family, and the only way he felt comfortable doing it was through cooking. It was his escape when the piano keys felt slimy and sticky under his fingertips, and when his thumb and index fingers slowly became more and more smudged with ink stains from the mundane newspapers. Cordelia was the taste tester every time, no matter how burnt or salty or under seasoned his food was. He could trust her to give him an honest critique—and she always did, without preamble.       ‘Dadash, did you empty the entire Dead Sea into this? My tongue is burning.’       ‘Oh, this is better than last time! Just needs more chilli, it’s a bit on the mild side.’       ‘Alastair, this is extremely chewy. It’s meant to be softer, no?’       Though he would roll his eyes and pretend to be offended by every one of his sister’s comments, Alastair was glad for it all. It was their little pocket of solidarity in an otherwise distant relationship. Alastair’s own doing, of course, but he felt it necessary at the time.       He was four years old when he first showed an interest, according to Sona. By eleven, Alastair was comfortable enough to cook a couple of simple dishes without any help. By fifteen, he was a self-proclaimed master. Yes, he made mistakes sometimes—as all good cooks do—but he knew his way around a kitchen, just as Cordelia knew her way around Cortana. Naturally it was something he kept to himself: if he had disclosed to any of the boys who bullied him at the Shadowhunter Academy that he, a male, loved and knew how to cook, and was taught how to by the women in his life, it would have given them yet another few reasons to belittle and assault him.       Being his father’s son and a boy with darker skin was already too many reasons. So Alastair kept his passion quiet, known only to his mother, his sister, and Risa. He’s sure Elias never knew, for if he had, Alastair is certain he would have put a stop to it somehow. All it took was one remark to have Alastair give up and push it down. His love for piano and singing, for instance.       But Alastair and Cordelia made it a regular occurrence to take over the kitchen and get under Risa’s feet, in her words. He cherishes those memories, where flour would coat the front of his waistcoat and parts of Cordelia’s hair, and the fragrant aroma of cinnamon, cardamom and clove would fill the entire room alongside their laughter. They were just some of the good things he held onto whilst at the Academy.       But the Academy days are no more, and Elias’s domineering presence has fizzled out through fire and ash. Alastair is free to do whatever he wants to do and be whoever he wants to be, and cooking is only a part of it.

continue reading on ao3

~

well well, it has been a long time, hasn't it??

but here i am, back for good hopefully!! and with a wee fic i wrote for my bestest girl @drunkonimagination for her birthday back in july ✨ it's based on one of our first interactions together before we hit the dms and the hill i will die on that is alastair carstairs is great at cooking but a terrible baker. only just got around it posting it jkahdjasd. hope you all enjoy it, and i'll be back with some more fics soon!!

also pls ignore the title, it's the best thing i could come up with :')

~

tagging people who might be interested: @edwinspaynes @purplebass @angeldaisies @faithfromanewperspective @tessherongraystairs @celias

let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list!!

[mars-ipan]

some postgame doodles for pride month

[journey-to-the-attic]

lucifer acts like he's the type of guy who'd be into dark comedy or high-brow satire, and he is to some extent, but he in fact prefers to watch michael mcintyre walk around on stage going "wooo wooo" pretending he's hoovering

[syn0vial]

many thoughts about boba fett..... none of them coherent

[sporco-filth]

wife on strike

This idea came to me this morning and I just had to start writing it down. I'm sorry if you've been expecting updates for my other series, especially because this is just the intro of this one and not much slob stuff happens yet.

Synopsis: Tiffany is tired of picking up of her husband Felix and decides to stop cleaning to show him how much work she does and force him to help with chores

Tiffany looked over the kitchen and sighed. Toast crumbs were scattered over the benchtop, a jar of jam was left open, the knife dripping the sticky, red goop onto the tablecloth, while a half-drunk cup of coffee sat cold and forgotten next to a dirty plate. As always, Felix left it to her to clean up. "It's not like he has to rush off anywhere," she grumbled to herself. "He works for home for crying out loud!" And so went her day, like every other day: dishes, laundry, vacuuming, ironing, dusting, shopping, cooking… Since she had married Felix, life had become one long list of chores. I feel like his mother, she thought as she sat on the bed, folding clothes, the last job of the day. Sometimes I even have to nag him to shower. Just then, Felix came into the bedroom. He flopped onto the bed, disrupting Tiffany's neatly stacked piles, and took her hand. "Tiff, love," he said, stroking her fingers. "What do you say to a bit of… you know?" Tiffany pulled her hand away and quickly reorganised the laundry. "Not tonight, Felix, I'm not in the mood." Felix looked disappointed, but he didn't argue. He got up and went to get changed into his pyjamas, leaving his clothes on the floor. Tiffany sighed and went to pick them up. It wasn't that she wasn't attracted to Felix: he was just as handsome as they day she met him. It was just hard to want sex when she was tired from cleaning all day, and even less desirable when she had to treat him like her child.

That night, while Felix slept, Tiffany opened up her laptop. Husband is a slob, she typed into the search engine and pressed go. After skimming over a few posts on forums and letters to agony aunts, Tiffany was feeling dispirited. So far, all the suggestions were things she had tried in the past to no avail. There had to be a better way. A news headline caught her eye: Wife on Strike. She clicked the link and found a story about a woman who refused to tidy up for her husband until he finally decided if he wanted a clean house he would have to do it himself. He came to appreciate the work his wife did and so they now shared the chores fairly. Tiffany was intrigued. It was an unconventional idea, sure, but perhaps that was just what she needed. After a week or two without clean underwear or home cooked meals, Felix would surely buckle and start pitching in. She shut the laptop and slipped into bed, smiling to herself. Starting tomorrow, I'm going on strike!

The next morning, Tiffany allowed herself to sleep in. Since she didn't need to unstack the dishwasher or do the laundry, she had no reason to rush out of bed. Felix got up at his usual time and made himself breakfast and got ready for work. When Tiffany finally got up, she was greeted with the typical morning mess, but she ignored it and made her own breakfast. When she was done, she just left her dirty dishes on the table. No wonder Felix never does anything, she thought, chuckling. It's so freeing to just make leave messes for others to clean up. She spent the morning lying about on the sofa in her dressing gown. Eventually, Felix came out for lunch. "You look pretty comfy," he commented, smiling. "You know I always thought you need a bit of relaxation." Tiffany chuckled. Felix didn't realise what was in store for him and she wasn't going to spoil the surprise. He rifled through the fridge and assembled a sandwich on the kitchen bench. To his credit, he at least remembered to put away most of the ingredients, though he forgot the mayonnaise, but the chopping board was left covered in crumbs and dirty knives. Tiffany turned back to the magazine she was reading. It was going to be tough, but she knew she had to steel her nerves and plough onwards.

When the sun began to set, Felix entered the living room, stretching his arms. "Ah, another day done," he said with a yawn. "What's for dinner?" "I don't know," Tiffany said. Felix scratched his ear. "What d'you mean?" "I don't feel like cooking tonight." Felix smiled. "Ah, that's OK. We can order take away." Tiffany shook her head as Felix got out his phone and went to call the local Chinese restaurant. She'd hoped he'd offer to cook, but at least he was taking initiative.

Dinner that night was eaten in front of the TV. Felix joked about the show they were watching and without the list of things to do nagging at the back of her mind, Tiffany actually paid attention. She snuggled up next to him, just enjoying being with him. Felix belched mid-sentence. Tiffany bit back the urge to tell him to excuse himself. In fact, it gave her an idea. If I behave like a slob too, she thought. Maybe it'll make him realise how gross he is… She tucked this thought in the back of her mind for safekeeping and continued watching the show. They went to bed with the empty take-away containers on the coffee table. Before she closed the bedroom door, Tiffany took a look around their open-plan dining/living/kitchen space, taking in the mess that had already accumulated from a single day. This'll be easy, she thought. In a week it'll already be a pigsty.

[lesbian-kyoru]

Fandom: 人渣反派自救系统 - 墨香铜臭 | The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Luo Binghe/Shen Yuan | Shen Qingqiu Characters: Shen Yuan | Shen Qingqiu, Luo Binghe Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Foot Massage, Non-Sexual Intimacy, sqq is scared of vulnerability with his husband (unsurprising), canon typical bingqiu horny thoughts

Summary:

After lingering on his ankle, Shen Qingqiu grips Luo Binghe’s foot. Surely, then, his hand moves by some misfired impulse, for he starts to massage his foot with great care.

Luo Binghe goes, “Hngh,” but otherwise, he stays asleep. 

written for SVSSS gotcha for gaza

[seblrina]

i need a sebchal ice cream shop au STAT

[nocentis]

I am trying something new (to me) in regards to starters. In the past, I often found myself saying, "Well, my muse has no established relationship with your muse. They have never met." And thus nearly every thread started with formal introductions and slowly fizzled out from there because there was no real goal attached to the situation. While it makes perfect sense to establish that these characters do not yet know each other at some early point in these introductory threads, I feel that making that the entire focus of the thread doesn't lend to a greater story in most cases. As such, I am doing away with formal introductions as a starting point and instead throwing our characters into a fun situation with a lot of wiggle room!

This, of course, applies to pantsed threads with characters that my muse has no canon interaction with — or threads that have not been plotted. If this ends up working out, great! If not, that's perfectly fine, and I can always go back to introductory threads (ex. "Hello, how are you? I don't believe we've met."), but I thought this might be a fun little shift to help both of us keep the ball rolling.