#fork yeah foodies

[bryonyashaw]

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𝗔𝗶𝗿 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝗙𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀

𝙄𝙣𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨

• Fish - any fish works here except for lean fish such as tuna and swordfish as they tend to dry out. Here is cod, but feel free to use catfish, pollock, basa, halibut, haddock, hake, ling, or any whitefish.

• Breadcrumbs - use dry breadcrumbs and the key to extra crispy golden finger sticks is to use toasted breadcrumbs. To make your own homemade breadcrumbs, place stale bread in a food processor until coarsely ground then toast on a sheet pan in the oven at 280F (140C) for 15-20 minutes turning halfway through.

•Flour - use all-purpose flour, always season it with salt and pepper and any other seasonings that you like. Dredge the fish in flour, then shake off any excess flour before dipping in eggs.

• Eggs.

𝙈𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙙

If using frozen fish, thaw completely before using.

1) Season the fish with salt, and let it sit for at least 20-30 minutes (up to 1 hour). This will help to extract the moisture from the fish and make it firmer for crispy fish sticks. It’s also your chance to season the fish before breading.

2) Season the flour with salt and pepper, and you can do the same with the breadcrumbs. Also feel free to add other seasonings such as garlic powder, onion powder, chili powder, and smoked paprika. Or choose any aromatics that you like, I love adding fresh coriander.

3) Using the dry and wet hand method, dredge the fish in flour, and shake off any excess flour. Then dip in egg, and coat with breadcrumbs. To learn more about the ‘dry hand’ that works with the flour, and breadcrumbs, and the ‘wet hand’ to work with the eggs and avoid getting the breading to stick to your hands and cause a mess.

4) Once the fish fingers are thoroughly coated, place them in the Air Fryer basket, make sure that they’re not overlapping. You can spray them lightly with oil for extra crispiness and color then Air Fry at 400F (200C) for 10 minutes, flip, and cook for 5 more minutes.

5) Remove the fish fingers from the Air Fryer, and serve with a squeeze of fresh lemon juice for extra flavour, and whatever sides you like!

[crestapex]

Yesss we love a foodie simon!

Mans will tear up some fried rice and then fuck up some rotisserie chickens 2 min later. Yall stupid if u think u can leave 2 big plates unattended with him. 3 slurps and its gone.

If hes dating and u cant finish ur food he gladly finish it for u. Gets lowkey offended when i pull the plate back and tell him u just ate off that plate/fork. Like wtf u mean i cant eat off ur plate/fork it doesnt matter bc I kiss u anyways SO LET ME FUCKIN EAT😫

Hes the type to eat from the pot/pan. Like as soon as u tell him the food is ready hes already digging in the pressure cooker with a spoon.💀

Yeah-no, ‘cause he’s definitely the type to look at you all confused when you don’t just give him your plate and instead try to shove your uneaten food on to his. He’s quirking his brow, looking at you like, ‘Hello? My tongue has literally been inside you.’ 🤨 And he just gently takes your plate and fork out of your hands while staring at you, nodding in disapproval.

Update: sort of part two.

And “3 slurps and it’s gone” PLEASE, I’M DONE. Also, I just couldn’t stop myself from writing a (semi) little blurb. 🤭 Now introducing big boy helping you cook!

You stand at the stove, wooden spoon in one hand, and switching from spice to spice with the other. Your eyes stay focused on the silver pot below, nearly filled to the brim with hot, simmering soup. It’s one of your own recipes, fresh and homemade from start to finish. The savory smell fills the kitchen, and having certainly flooded into the other rooms of your shared flat. As it appears you’re not the only one who favors this recipe, someone else clearly does as well.

You try your best not to acknowledge the beast of a man looming over you too much, instead letting him quietly watch as you work your magic. Simon’s hand rests on the counter beside the stove, his other hand opting to rest knuckle-first on his hip. Sure, he mostly chooses to remain silent, but he has no problem reaching for and handing you a utensil or spice—often times before you can, and even before you can ask him to do so.

Every now and again you’ll find yourself having to step away for a minute, and a minute is all he needs. All the time he needs to inch over to your spot and take a hold of the wooden spoon, gently stirring the soup. All the time he needs to lift the spoon and bring it to his lips, slurping up the smallest amount it could possibly take to drench his taste buds, no matter how steaming hot it is. And all the time he needs to lower the spoon back into the pot and swiftly move back into position, just as you begin to turn around and make your way back over to the stove.

And you pretend you don’t notice, you like to pretend you didn’t just catch Simon from out the corner of your eye sneak a bit into his system. Though you can’t help but silently laugh to yourself as he lightly pushes a spice in your direction with his thumb, his own, kind way of telling you it needs just a little bit more!

[empresskadia]

Have a Jinda

Halo: Reloaded - Foodie

In the lively hub of the UNSC’s mess hall, where the air buzzes with the chatter of marines and the clang of utensils against trays, a scene straight out of a comic book unfolds. Linda and Kelly, Spartans extraordinaire, are engaged in a feast that would have lesser mortals waving white flags in surrender. Their table, groaning under the weight of an absurd amount of food, looks like it’s hosting a banquet, not dinner for two.

Linda has temporarily traded her rifle for chopsticks, navigating through her ramen bowls with a focus that’s borderline comical. It’s as if each strand of noodle is an enemy combatant meeting its doom. Meanwhile, Kelly’s tackling her slices of stuffed-crust pizza like there’s a prize at the bottom. She’s all energy and enthusiasm, her laughter echoing off the mess hall walls as she stretches the cheese to ludicrous lengths, only to snap it off with a chomp that’s decidedly un-ladylike.

The aftermath of their culinary carnage is a sight to behold: empty milkshake glasses standing tall among the ruins of boneless chicken boxes, the cheeseburgers demolished to the point of being unrecognizable, save for a few stray bits of lettuce and the odd sesame seed looking lost and forlorn on the empty plates.

Across from this spectacle of Spartan appetite sits John, his own meal laughably modest in comparison. He’s got a solitary bowl of roast beef, looking tender and juicy, sure, but lonely on its bed of mashed potatoes. The gravy looks like it’s trying its best to make the meal seem more substantial, pooling around the meat in a valiant effort. His drink? A simple glass of milk, standing there like it’s lost.

Catching John’s slightly bewildered gaze, Kelly can’t help but tease, “John, you do realize you’re a Spartan, right? Not a finicky cat.”

Linda, with a rare break in her ramen-slurping marathon, chimes in with a grin. “Yeah, John. That’s not dinner, it’s an appetizer. What’s the main course? Air?”

John, unfazed by the ribbing, leans back, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Well, I like to think of it as strategic eating. While you two demolish the food supplies like it’s the eve of an apocalypse, I’m here, savoring the finer things. Quality over quantity, ladies.”

The banter flows as easily as the drinks in the mess hall, the kind of light-hearted teasing that comes from years of shared experiences and battles fought side by side. Linda and Kelly, undeterred by John’s jabs, dive back into their feast with a gusto that’s both admirable and slightly terrifying.

“Strategic eating, huh?” Kelly says between bites, “Watch me strategically demolish this next pizza slice.”

Linda, ever the competitor, shoots back, “Race you to the bottom of the ramen bowl?”

John just shakes his head, chuckling at the spectacle before him. The scene is absurd, a reminder of the strange normalcy they’ve carved out for themselves in a life that’s anything but.

John’s gaze is an unwavering beacon of focus, fixed solely on Linda. She, unaware of the intensity of his attention, is wholly engrossed in the artful demolition of her meal. Her movements are fluid, almost graceful, as she navigates through her feast with the precision of a seasoned warrior. It's a sight that, for John, never grows old; every little thing she does, every small gesture or fleeting expression, holds him captive.

Caught in his silent observation, he watches as she deftly twirls her utensils, her hands sure and steady. To him, there’s a kind of poetry in the way she eats, a captivating dance of strength and grace that speaks volumes of the woman she is—fierce, unapologetic, utterly mesmerizing.

Linda, sensing the weight of his stare, pauses mid-bite, her eyes flicking up to meet his. There’s a moment, charged and electric, as their gazes lock. “Hey, Chief,” Linda finally snaps, catching the tail end of his stare with a fork mid-air, paused like she's about to conduct an orchestra with a piece of grilled chicken. “You’ve got that look again. Like you’re trying to unravel the mysteries of the universe, but it’s just me stuffing my face.” she teases, her voice a playful lilt that belies the heat rising in her cheeks.

Without a word, John rises. The suddenness of his movement draws the attention of those nearby, a collective pause in the hum of conversation. In a few strides, he’s at her side, his hands gently but firmly lifting her from her seat in a bridal carry that’s as unexpected as it is smooth.

The room falls into a hushed anticipation, watching as he plants a kiss on her, passionate and deep, a public declaration that’s as bold as it is tender. It’s a moment out of time, the world around them blurring into insignificance. When he finally sets her back down, the look in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent promise that needs no words.

Returning to his seat, John picks up his utensil as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Linda, on the other hand, is left utterly flabbergasted. Her usual composure is shattered, replaced by a flustered, bewildered state that’s as rare as it is endearing. Her face, a canvas of emotion, blooms with a heat that could rival the sun, her usual quick wit momentarily lost in the whirlwind of what just happened.

For a beat, the mess hall is eerily quiet, the collective breath of the audience held in suspense. Then, as if on cue, the space erupts into a cacophony of cheers and hoots, the Spartans and marines alike showing their approval in the most boisterous way possible.

Rubbing the back of her neck, Linda finally finds her voice, her words a mix of embarrassment and admiration. “Show-off,” she manages, though the warmth in her eyes and the quirk of her lips betray the affectionate undertone of her jest.

John, with that same undiminished smile, merely shrugs, a silent acknowledgment of the truth in her words. “Only for you,” he replies, his voice low but clear, a testament to the depth of his feelings, laid bare for all to see.

Stop dude this is so cute!! Also Kelly has me cracking up. The girls like to eat 🥺

AND I THOUGHT I POSTED THIS BUT IT WAS SITING IN MY DRAFTS. I’M SO SORRY

[vintagekittycom]

Chocolate Mousse Pie

[herewegoyumliciousfood]

とんかつ　かつ政

+ 886 2 2722 0178

台灣 台北市 忠孝東路五段8號B2(統一時代百貨B2)

沒話說的酥脆麵包粉配上厚實的豬肉=極品

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

美味指數：☆☆☆☆★

服務態度：☆☆☆★★

用餐氣氛：☆☆☆★★

環境整潔：☆☆☆★★

裝潢佈置：☆☆☆★★

by  cJ     h.

[chubmins]

candy bear, sweetie pie (i wanna be adored)

cw: feederism, belly kink, weight gain, burping, brief mention of body image regarding jimin’s family, streamer!jimin. 

“hello there... it’s manggae.” 

jimin’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as he laid back on one of his hands and appraised the rapidly growing influx of messages on his live’s chat. they weren’t quick enough that jimin would lose track, but nowadays he would have to scroll back up to catch something he missed a few times. his audience had been growing. 

“you missed me? cute. it’s only been a week.” his full lips stretched in a smile his viewers would be able to see and fawn over. jimin always positioned himself carefully, camera catching him perfectly from the lips down — not because he didn’t want the audience to see his face, they had seen him a handful of times now, but because he wanted his body to be the main focus. 

and his body explained why his nickname on the streaming website was manggaetteok. 

jimin had always liked to eat. growing up in an extremely rich family, food had never been an issue — until it started being taken away from him by parents and nutritionists who believed his chubby cheeks were something to be ashamed of. jimin spent his teenage years on diets, pills and stinky gym bathrooms. he almost started hating his body as much as his parents did. 

until he moved out. was moved out, to be more precise — an apartment bought for him in the heart of gangnam, too big for just one person, way under-decorated to look like a homel. jimin was twenty and out of his parents' claws for the first time in his life. 

it didn’t take him more than a year to figure out the most crucial things about himself: he prefered boys over girls, silk robes and lace over black pressed suits, and he very much prefered to stay home and order food to going out to a new bar every friday night.

jimin turned into the perfect definition of a homebody; and, soon enough, of a foodie. 

he didn’t hold back when it came to food, and the results of his indulgence after years of restriction showed on his body rather quickly. at least his parents were right about one thing — he really was prone to gaining weight, and a lot of it. 

sitting now on the floor of one of the three bedroom’s in his apartment, the one he had slowly decorated to be his streaming studio, jimin weight gain is nothing if not noticeable. nicely placed down on his fluffy baby pink carpet with thighs spread as wide as they would go, his belly hanged almost touching the floor. it looks so soft and pudgy now, bulging forward in an almost perfect round dome even when it’s empty. he has pink stretch marks from the top of his jiggly thighs to right under his belly button, which has gotten deep enough for jimin to fit and poke his entire pinky finger inside. his flabby tits rest nicely on top of his swollen gut, round puffy nipples a pretty light brown on display. 

“remember when i’d dress up all cute and pretty for these lives?” jimin practically purred at the camera, both hands heading to his breasts so he could squeeze and jiggle them while chuckling. “my bras don’t fit me anymore… i need to buy new ones.” 

as if on cue, the silent notification bar that signaled new donations started popping up repeatedly, each time with a different amount of the website’s currency he’d get to convert to real money later. jimin chuckled again, he knew how to play this game too well. he had indeed grown out of most of his fancy silk and lace lingerie, but he also didn’t want to repeat the same ones he’d still fit into. that being said, he had decided on his fit for today as being a pair of baby blue silk shorts that barely covered his ass when he stood up, and a matching silk choker with a small emerald pendant.  

“well, well, look at that! seems like i’ll have some new lingerie to show you guys soon.” His hands moved away from his body before he could get too excited, and moved towards the tray he had off camera. 

with a little bit of maneuvering, he pulled the traw towards himself until it was in between his massive thighs and the camera, positioned just so that his body wouldn’t be too covered up and his belly would still be on display. 

“as you can see” jimin praticaly purred, “i followed your requests and got a full american breakfast. there are pancakes,” he pointed at each and every item as he spoke, mouth watering just thinking about how he was finally going to eat “eggs, sausages, muffins, bagels and a berry smoothie.” 

that was probably enough food to feed a family of four — the chat flooded with excited messages of how they couldn’t wait to see jimin eating it all. at first his viewers’ excitement would startle jimin a bit, but now? now he lived for it. 

after all, he’d always get as excited as them. 

“should i start with the pancakes? they’re still warm.” he asked, reading all the messages he could, all of which were encouraging him to start eating.

jimin reached for the pancakes. there were six of them in total, fluffy and golden brown with melted butter running down on all sides. jimin’s fork was quick to make work through the first three layers as he balanced the plate on top of his belly, and once the big bite was inside his lips he moaned unashamedly. 

“fuck… so good.” he barely finished chewing before he pushed more inside his mouth, closing his eyes in bliss. “i could eat this everyday. imagine how much bigger i’d get.” 

his viewers got off on that, as he came to learn very quickly after starting to stream himself eating. jimin’s primary goal certainly wasn’t to gain weight, but it did keep the cash coming and he didn’t mind the plushness one bit. just a small price to pay for all the food he shoved inside himself, and he did look hot with all the extra pounds. jimin continued to shove the pancakes inside his mouth, barely chewing before swallowing, moaning almost obscenely throughout the whole process. it didn’t take more than five minutes for him to polish the whole stack. 

“kinda wish i had ordered more” he pouted, putting the plate away and lightly slapping his still very empty gut. the donations started popping up again, messages telling him to order more right at that instant, to order ten times more next week. “don’t worry everyone, i still have a lot more to eat!” 

jimin reached for the bagels next — there were 9 of them in a box alongside 4 muffins of various flavours, and jimin had started alternating between them while answering some of his viewers questions. 

“last time i went on a date? that was a couple months ago, actually” he answered between bites of a blueberry muffin. “made him take me to an all you can eat buffet, ate like a pig. had to unzip my pants for dessert and all...” jimin licked his fingers clean, making a little show out of it before reaching for the last bagel and all but eating half of it in one big bite before continuing in a lighthearted tone, cheeks full. “probably freaked him out, he never called again.”

the story was only partially true — taehyung had taken him to an all you can eat buffet for their first date, but he also had called again. they were dating, in fact, but had made an arrangement to keep it from jimin’s subscribers. as much as jimin didn’t mind showing his body and face online for thousands to see, his private life remained private, and he was a firm believer that nobody needed to know his real name, the city he lived in or his relationship status. 

“i need something savory, now. those muffins were really sweet.” jimin sighed, taking a big sip from his berry smoothie. one of his chubby hands played with his belly, caressing around the belly button before lifting the fat mass and letting it fall, sighing at the way it jiggled back into place. the movement dislodged a gas bubble, and he could hear the gurgling noise coming up his throat and feel the pressure on his chest right before letting out a loud belch. 

“oh, yeah… that felt good.” another burp made its way out right then, shorter and deeper than the first one. jimin bit his lip and smiled, playing coy. “excuse me!” 

he reached for the eggs, three full plates with enough spicy sauce on top that it dripped down Jimin’s chin at his first bite. he didn’t clean it at first, too preoccupied with stuffing his face until he could barely chew with his mouth closed. jimin still had a few steps to take before he felt actually full, but his stomach definitely felt a little bit harder at the top, now. he ate the first two plates mostly in silence aside from the casual moans and loud slurps from the berry smoothie, lips feeling tingly and swollen from the spice. 

“you guys remember last time i ate this spicy sauce, right?” jimin smiled, going for the third and last plate. “that day with the ten hamburguers. i downed almost the entire bottle with them, got so gassy afterwards. couldn’t stop burping.” the memory makes his comment session go crazy, talking about how hot it was, how he should do it again. jimin chuckles, happy his viewers don’t mind how much of a pig he can be sometimes.

he continues eating, barely stopping to breathe — there’s still two dishes to get done with, and his stomach is starting to protest about the eggs he just ate.  

“hmm… tummy is talking, you guys hear that?” jimin all but shoves a finger inside his belly button, moving the digit around in a movement that could almost be considered obscene. he feels so good, exposed like this, stomach gurgling away the fullness.

the donations keep coming at a fast rate as jimin keeps eating, pace much slower than when he first started with the pancakes, lips greasy and adorned with crumbles. his hands find his belly a plethora of times, caressing the stretched out skin, pressing against the swelled up gut as he unashamedly lets out moans and sighs of pleasure. that’s how jimin, sooner rather than later, finds himself out of food to eat, only half of his smoothie left. 

“so full…” he groans, leaning back to expose his full, rounded out fat belly. it gurgles audibly then, jumping out in an abrupt movement as jimin’s lips fall open and he belches again, a long and wavering deep noise that sounds both disgusting and relieving. only then he reaches off camera for a tissue box, cleaning his fingers and then his lips and double chin, laughing as he spots some muffin crumbles on his chest and wipes them away carelessly. 

“that was so—” jimin is interrupted by a small burp, cheeks puffing up cutely. “so good. but i can’t help but feel like i could pack more in here.” he pats his belly kinda harshly, the slapping sound loud inside his room. “should i go for 10 pancakes next time? or maybe only have pancakes, a huge stack of them… ah, bet i could eat 20.” 

the chat is, as always, extremely encouraging. the donations start coming at a surprising speed again, some messages attached about how the money is for his future grocery trip and for him to buy double of everything. jimin bathes on the attention for a little longer, answering some questions while trying to soothe his ful, oversized belly, chuckling every now and then and pointing out the gurgling noises it makes as it tries to process all the food he just ate.

he was not lying, though — it does feel like he could pack more if he tried. but that’s a thought for next time, and jimin stores it for next week’s stream as he bids goodbye and claims it’s time for him to get into his food coma and digest so he can come back even fatter. 

“this has been manggae… until next time, guys!”

[writer-k-pop]

Foodie

Description: After a game gone wrong, you pout and give Seungcheol the cold shoulder but he has a plan. A plan to get you to forgive him. It involves your favorite cake. But you aren’t about to let him off that easy. Warnings: None Genre: Fluff, BF!Seungcheol x Fem!Reader Word Count: 883

Seventeen Masterlist | Masterlists

"Oh come on," Seungcheol chuckles as he notices my grumpy expression. He walks into my apartment with a bag in his hand. "It wasn't that bad."

I roll my eyes and cross my arms. Seungcheol sets the bag on the kitchen counter.

"Are you really gonna be pouty with me?" He tries to stand in front of me and block my path but I press my lips together and blink at him before walking around him to the couch.

"Oh, (y/n). Come on." He drags out last word. "We were just playing."

I tilt my head away from him in defiance.

Were we just playing? Yes.

Were we playing a game? Yes.

Were we playing Mafia? Yes.

Did Seungcheol, a Mafia, use and then kill me, an innocent civilian, to ensure the Mafias' victory? Double yes.

He comes and sits next to me on the couch, a pout now on his lips.

"Forgive me," He whines, "I was forced too. Hoshi and Mingyu made me do it." Seungcheol throws excuses.

I look at him and he has the biggest puppies eyes. But this is kind of fun so I don't plan on breaking.

Shaking my head, I say, "Nope, you killed your own girlfriend. That's betrayal."

"We were playing a game!" Seungcheol barks out laughing and lays his head back on the couch.

A small smile extends on my face but I quickly regain control. Picking up the TV remote, I turn to a random channel and pretend to be extremely interested. However, my senses are narrowed in on the man sitting beside me.

Seungcheol sighs in momentary defeat then walks to the kitchen and begins to mess around with the bag he brought in. My eyes are focused on the TV but my ears hear every move he makes.

He sets a couple dishes on the counter then, loudly, opens the silverware drawer and, loudly, pulls out a couple. Opening a container, he tosses the lid randomly.

"I hope you're gonna clean that up later." I monotonely state, eyes still fixed on the TV.

"Yeah, yeah." Seungcheol disregards me and continues doing stuff.

At this point, my ears aren't good enough to distinguish what he's doing but he is moving. And a few minutes later, while boring commercials play, he comes back over, carrying the dishes he was preparing earlier.

He sets them on the coffee table in front of us and I look down at the two plates, each with a piece of my favorite cake from the bakery down the street. I feel Seungcheol's eyes watch me take in the pieces of cake but I return my gaze to the TV just as the show resumes.

"It's your favorite." Seungcheol says and takes a bite of his piece, "Mmm, I think this one's fresh. It taste so much better than last time."

I turn my head and look at him. His plate is held up to his chin and his fork is deep into his next bite. Seungcheol freezes mid fork dive when he sees me turn.

"You think you can win me over with food?" I ask with an eyebrow raised.

He looks down at the cake and then back at me with a sheepish smile, "Kind of."

I have to force down a laugh because with this specific cake, he almost did. Key word: almost. Smirking, I simply turn away and rest my chin on my fist.

Seungcheol doesn't move for a couple seconds but then resumes separating his next bite from the cake. I can hear the fork scrape against the plate. Assuming he's bringing the fork up to his own mouth, I ignore his movements.

But I'm surprised when the forkful of aromatic cake appear under my nose.

"You know you want it." Seungcheol bounces the fork a little. "How can you not eat your favorite cake?"

I don't respond and clamp my jaw shut in an attempt to ignore the delicious bite sitting just a few centimeters from my mouth.

Knowing exactly how to get me to crack, Seungcheol leads the fork and rests it, along with the dense cake, against my lips.

"(y/n)." He drags out my name, moving the fork and smearing a bit of frosting on my lips.

Without a second thought, I open and close my mouth around the bite of cake. Seungcheol, with a shout of joy, leaves the fork in my mouth and jumps to his feet.

"I'm forgiven!" He laughs while I pull his fork out of my mouth.

"Only until next time." I remind him, holding out the fork for him to take.

He plucks the fork out of my grasp and sits back down next to me. I, on the other hand, quickly pick up my own plated piece and take another bite.

"And for the record," Seungcheol leans closer and whispers, "I most definitely was trying to win you over with food. And it worked. Like it always has."

I use my shoulder to shove him away but he dives right back in and plants a long kiss to my cheek.

Pulling away, I shake him back, "I'm trying to eat my cake. And I hate that you can win me over with food so easily." I pout.

Seungcheol shrugs happily, "Oh, I love it."

[sims2bellaswan]

pas de deux X [Bruno Bucciaratti x reader|Risotto Nero x reader]

[SFW]

AO3 VERSION

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

You’ve worked your whole life to earn a place in the Rome ballet company, yet everyone seems to work against you.

Between the stress of working to match the other dancers to unforeseen romantic issues, problems just seem to pile up.

You weren’t happy with your outfit. The last one was too casual, but looking in the mirror, a dress felt too formal. Even joggers felt wrong.

Settling on something comfortable and somewhat flattering, you locked your door behind you lethargically. You weren’t necessarily excited for tonight, for no particular reason. You were just nervous. Bruno would be fine and everything will be like it was before all of this.

Taking a deep breath, you began the walk down your apartment stairs.

You had been here more times than you can count on two hands; there was no reason to hesitate at the door. You fully knew you had permission to walk in.

Quietly, you knocked.

No answer.

You knocked louder, pulling back a step. You rung your hands at the hem of your shirt. Maybe you should just leave.

The door opened, warm air pooling into the hall. Bruno smiled at you for a moment before opening the door wider.

Bruno’s kitchen was immaculately perfect, not in the sense of cleanliness, he was a maximalist and avid foodie. Rather, his kitchen, and whole apartment, exuded a feeling of homeliness. Pictures of family and friends, cards, keepsakes from his 21 years hung and perched on walls and shelves. He would be the first to say he is appreciative of sentimental value.

He also had a wonderful sense for interior decorating, something you did not have. So, everytime you’re here, you stand in awe for a moment of how someone’s apartment can look so put together, yet warm.

Heat emanated from the stove. Drawn to it, like a moth to flame, you leaned against the table. Bruno passed you to mind the stove. Your anxiety melted the longer you spent with him. It’s all better.

The two of you are quiet for a moment. Setting a wooden spatula down, Bruno turns to you, smiling. “I’m glad you were able to come.”

Pushing your hair from your face, “I was convinced Risotto would kill me right then and there.”

“Was he angry?” Bruno moved about the kitchen, knowing where everything was. Before you could answer, he hands you a glass of wine.

“Thank you,” You whisper. His hand brushes yours in the transaction. “Not angry, per se, just, ugh,” You sipped, taking a moderately long pause as you collected your thoughts. “He told me not to disappoint him again.” Bruno offered an empathetic smile while you tried to word your thoughts properly. “I just,” You cut yourself off. “Who says something like that?”

Bruno poured himself a glass, about half the amount he gave you. He looked at you, fingers laced between the stem of the glass. “Impolite, to say the least.” There’s a ‘but’, you could feel it coming like a train’s vibration on the tracks. You sipped your glass, waiting for him to continue his sentence. “But,” There it was. “Perhaps, it was a badly worded way of looking out for you.”

You blinked, letting out a curt and quiet laugh. “Don’t romanticize this.” Your words hit more rude than you intended, almost visibly wincing after the words left your wine-stained lips.

“I’m the last person to romanticize him,” finally, he drank. Then, left his glass on the counter to finish off the pan of food. Pressing further weight on the table, you watched him work. “What I mean is,” He paused for a moment to focus on moving the meal from pan to plate. “Carbonara.” He states, handing you a plate and fork.

You smile, moving to the chair beside you. He sat opposite of you, placing his plate down first. “You were saying?”

He stretches to grab his glass from the counter. “You have been stressed lately,” he started, “noticeably so.” You bit your inner cheek. “Perhaps, working at the company has become more than you can chew.”

You wanted to retort, wanted to spit back that he was the reason you were stressed today. You didn’t, but you certainly wanted to. Honestly, you would rather die than have another argument with Bruno over this ballet master situation. So, you simply replied, “You think so?”

He hummed, agreeing with you as he began to eat. “You should take the season off.”

Blinking once and pulling back from the table in surprise, you finished your wine. “That's very funny, Bruno, but I need a serious solution.” The fork now laid motionless in your hand, too focused on the conversation at hand to bother with the meal.

“I know it's hard to hear,” He finished off what would be a comforting sentiment with something that was half your name, half a sigh. It hurt your heart in a way. “But, I only want what’s best for you.”

You must have looked at him like he was crazy because he shook his head, downtrodden.

“It’s your decision, but please keep my advice in mind.”

You needed to change the subject, further prying would lead to the same argument as before. Sighing and pulling your fork from the plate, you hoped it would show your discomfort with the current topic if you ate instead of replying.

The dinner was silent now.

Which, you hated. This was supposed to fix things and it seemed it was only making things worse. Bruno didn’t look at you, not until you accidentally made eye contact. “Sorry.” Bruno kept a tight breath, “I invited you to apologize and we are back to square one.” His free hand moved to massage the bridge of his nose. “Can we start over?”

You smiled, almost apologetically. “Yeah,” your voice gives an air of exasperation. “Yeah, we can.” A big part of your mind was glad he felt the same way, but something nagged that he wasn’t being as genuine as you’d hoped. Your paranoid thoughts would not get the better of you.

And, he smiled in return. A full, warm beam that made it seem like his face was the reason smiles were invented. “I’m glad you agreed to come.”

You stood to pour yourself a second glass, fuller than what he had poured the first time. “Please, I’m glad you invited me.” You struggled, for a moment, to put together the words. Sipping gently once, then twice, you returned to your seat. “You’re an excellent chef, I’d never pass up the chance to eat your cooking.”

His laugh gently tumbled from his lips, “You’re more than aware that you’re always welcome here.” Bruno stayed in his seat as he watched you move about his kitchen, then return to yours. Quiet eyes transfixed on your movements as if he were watching you dance.

The pleasantries continued through the dinner. You felt the weight of anxiety lift off your chest as the two of you calmed down. Your nerves dulled from wine and carbs, you poured a third glass after dinner. Bruno nursed his second.

The sun began to set behind you, the curtained windows letting in slivers of golden light. Reflections shimmer on the table, over empty plates and stained glasses. It casted it’s aureate glow over the kitchen, making you feel warmer as the evening turned into night. Stars found their places in the sky, twinkling curiously, and watched the two of you get up from the table. Below the apartment, in the street, vendors made their final sales, while mothers shouted for their children to come inside.

Between you and Bruno, there could not have been a softer room in the world.

You convened at the counter, by the sink. Bruno leaned his weight against, while you stood aside. Dishes already stashed within the basin, the idle chat between you both carried on.

You laughed over your glass, a comfortable silence falling over the two of you. The distance between you had closed a half glass ago. Your head leaned precariously on his shoulder, only tipping up slightly to drink from your glass.

Your head was swimming, but thankfully didn’t hurt. “It’s getting late, Bruno.” Your words faded into a smile, “I should head back.”

His hand met yours and laced itself between your fingers, as he considered his next words carefully. “You’ve had too much to drink, cara mia.” His voice was so low it was near a whisper. “Stay the night.”

His hand in yours emanated heat. Your face felt just as hot, the alcohol contributing only in part to the rouge that dusted your cheeks. “I don’t want to intrude.” Continuously, your slurred words trailed off. The train of thought in your brain was constantly derailed by every moment in Bruno’s affection.

Above you, you felt his head turn towards your own, gently finding a place to lean into your hair. “For my peace of mind?”

You contemplated, as best you could in your inebriation, before you nodded softly.

Again, that silence fell over you. His hand left yours, leaving a cold space that you longed to be filled again. His elegant fingers tilted your chin up, finding your visage and keeping it where he could see.

There was a moment where you weren't sure what was happening. Your heart beat harder than a war drum, pounded against the wall of your ribcage and threatened to escape out your throat. Up until you taste wine on your lips again, do you have less than inkling of what Bruno has planned.

Your eyes fluttered shut, brain and body melting into Bruno’s touch. He wasted not a moment when the kiss broke, guiding your woozy form to the bedroom.

[bryonyashaw]

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[icharchivist]

First chopsticks and now a giant fork ^^;

He kind of reminds me of a really buff Captain Hook

Yeah we have quite the foodies along.

AND LMAO fair.

I only know him well from a foodie event about a year ago, he's a softie. A gourmet and a softie. Congratz on your pull!!

[fantasticstoryteller]

Adopt Me

“Because you’re pathetic!” roared the man.

Wade blinked rapidly at his (former) boyfriend.

{I told you we should have killed him.}

[We still can.]

No. Wade had fought the voices for a long time. There were only a few people he refused, no matter what, to kill. The voices didn’t like that; they didn’t like restrictions.

But he had to draw the line somewhere. It was his body, and they were just sharing it with him. He had the final say—even if he did, sometimes, wonder if they were right.

{Ha!}

Wade had apparently been silent for too long. He looked up into the rage filled face of the man in front of him before he was grabbed, towed to the door, and flung outside. “You useless piece of shit,” snarled the man. “Get out! See if you can find someone else to take care of you.” He slammed the door.

{Now can we kill him?}

[Forget that. We need a place to stay. A base. Those pretty little weapons of yours that are still in the bottom of that bastard’s closet.]

White had a point. Whatever happened in the future, Wade was going to need those babies—they were how he earned a living, after all. So Wade, ignoring the boxes, waited for his (former) boyfriend to leave the house before slipping in, grabbing his gear and some clothes (not a lot of clothes; he had a lot of gear), and slipping out again.

{So…where are we going to go? Weasel’s?}

[The fucker does still owe us.]

He did—but he wouldn't be happy to see Wade. He always knew that Wade coming around was a bother. In fact—in fact Wade couldn't think of a single person who would actually be happy to see him.

[Why would anyone be happy to see you? Everyone knows what you do for a living.]

{And you’re hideous. Seriously—think about all those poor people who recoil at the sight of you. It’s sad.}

Wade sniffed. It was sad. It wasn’t like he’d asked for this (well, certainly not the fucked up appearance part). Was it wrong to want someone to just—want him around? An image flashed briefly in his mind.

[I didn’t quite catch that.]

Wade ignored White as he scrambled to find some cardboard. And a marker. Definitely a marker.

[This is a bad idea…]

***

Peter fought to keep a blandly amiable expression on his face as the host of the show apologized—to the other guest. Not a word of apology to him, and he was the one who’d been insulted. Of course, he was merely an author on this week’s top-selling list. (Actually, every top-selling list for the last two years, but that would require admitting to his other pen names.) The other guest was the lead of whatever the parent-group-of-the-week was called now, and had gotten four shows canceled in the last month. Of course she was fawned over.

And Peter was very, very careful not to take his temper out on the poor people who were responsible for actually getting the talk show to run. None of this was their fault, and he cordially said his goodbyes (to them, and not the host) before he left. Without the “security” that the studio thought he needed (honestly, did they think he was five?).

Peter was smart enough to realize that most of his irritation came from his loneliness. Sure, moving had seemed a good idea at the time—he was closer to the publishing agency, had a more central base for these stupid publicity rounds his agency forced him to do to “brand” his image. (Seriously, most of his books didn’t even have his name on them, and they were selling perfectly well. Why was the “brand” so important?) So, in the interest of having a much shorter commute, he’d moved to a condo (soundproofed which—actually hadn’t been needed, but he was forever hopeful), and left his home behind him. Not entirely behind him; he still had video chats with Aunt May every weekend, and got phone calls—occasionally—from his old friend MJ (who was now in Paris managing her own brand)—but he had no one here. He couldn't even have a pet; the condo didn’t allow it.

He passed the usual bunch of people on the street with cardboard signs—begging, playing music, the usual—when a new one made him stop. He backtracked and read the sign again. In bright, shiny letters (not sure what it was written with), were the words, “Adopt me.” His eyes tracked from the sign to the large, scarred man behind it.

“All right,” said Peter looking at the sign as wheels turned in his head. “What does it mean to adopt you?”

“Well, you take me to your home, and we spend time together, and you’re happy to see me,” the scarred man said. A pause. “Well,” he growled, “it’s not like you had a better plan!”

Someone else might have cut and run—but no one had ever accused Peter of making smart life decisions. Not twice anyway. “Are you talking to yourself?” he asked curiously.

“Just the boxes,” the scarred man said cheerfully. “I have two,” he admitted. “One’s white and one’s yellow, so I call them White and Yellow.”

Not the strangest thing he’d ever heard. Back in high school MJ had sworn that Peter had a soft, silky voice, so he figured that assigning a color to a voice wasn’t that strange. And the guy was entertaining. “My name’s Peter,” he said. “Peter Parker,” he added as he picked up the cardboard sign.

“Wade Wilson,” introduced the strange, intriguing man. “Eee! We’re alliteration buddies!”

Peter gave the happy man a lopsided grin. “Is that a good thing?” he asked.

“It’s a great thing!” enthused the man—Wade.

“Great! Grab your bag,” Peter said as he noticed the duffel bag behind the man, “and let’s go.”

“Go?”

“I’m adopting you,” said Peter with a smile. He couldn't have a pet—but there was nothing that said he couldn't have a human.

The large man scrambled to his feet with surprising agility as he slung his duffel over his shoulder. “You’re taking me home?” he asked with an odd, pained hopefulness in his voice.

“First I was going to take you for something to eat,” Peter admitted as the large man (almost twice his size) fell into step beside him. “I don’t have a lot of food at home,” he admitted.

“I can make pancakes,” Wade offered.

Peter felt a grin stretch his face. He was not going to be lonely, and his new roommate (adoptee?) was offering to make pancakes. Life was good.

***

[I still think this is a mistake.]

{Yeah, why’d he choose you? You’re not exactly cuddly.}

Wade tried his best to drown out the voices by talking. True to his word, the guy (Peter) had taken him to a diner. It was a strange, hole-in-the-wall place, but Wade was not complaining. The food was good. “And you would not believe how many people just glare, or kick at, or pretend they don’t see someone on the street—holy cow! These are great! What nut got the bright idea of putting eggs on nachos? They don’t even sound like they should go together, but holy fuck these are good!”

Instead of being grossed out, or complaining about his terrible table manners, Peter just smiles. “I know,” he said. “I asked Mary Anne, the woman who owns this restaurant about it the first time I had them and she told me she first had them Down South.”

The waitress, a blond young woman about the same age, came over and refilled both their drinks. “Yes,” she said. She turned to Wade who froze mid-bite, wondering if he was going to be thrown out of the restaurant. It had happened before. A lot. Instead the woman simply jerked a thumb towards Peter. “First two weeks we were open he was here every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Worked his way right through the whole menu.” She snorted. “Had questions about every dish. ‘What made you decide to make this?’ ‘What was your inspiration for that?’ ‘Can I please have some tea that doesn’t taste like someone dropped half a gallon of sugar into it?’ Drove us all crazy.”

Peter simply smiled. “What can I say? I used to work for Foodies Unite.”

Wade gave a low, appreciative whistle. “That magazine that tracks the best food across the city?” he asked impressed.

Peter flashed a grin. “I put the really good ones,” he said in a loud, conspiratorial whisper, “on my blog.”

Wade burst out laughing as the waitress gave him a friendly swat. “You,” he said waving an egg-crusted fork at his dining buddy, “are an absolute trip.” Peter simply grinned and sipped his coffee.

[Careful Wade. You’re going to make him run.]

{We could kill him first. Then we won’t have to see the disgust later.}

No, thought Wade firmly, desperately. No killing.

{Not yet…}

Wade shoved the voices back as he realized that Peter was speaking. “… so there should be plenty of room in the closet for your clothes,” Peter said.

“I—uh, don’t really have clothes,” admitted Wade sheepishly. He had what he was wearing and his work suit—but nothing else. Peter’s gaze drifted to the huge duffel on the seat beside Wade.

[Still can’t do anything right. He’s going to ask, be horrified, and then what?]

{Out on the streets again!}

Yellow sounds obnoxiously cheerful about that. To his surprise Peter—doesn’t ask. Instead he simply nods. “Then,” he said with a sly smile, “it’s my job to get you clothes.” He paid for the food and the next thing Wade knew he was in a store with lots of mirrors, a plush couch that Peter was reclining on (with the duffel bag to his left) wearing a small smile as Wade was swarmed by what he swore were midgets.

[I don’t think that term’s politically correct.]

{Can we call them Munchkins? I mean, they’re about the same size.}

“I think the deep azure,” one Munchkin said to another.

“Violet,” argued the other.

“Azure will bring out the eyes.”

“Hmm.” Both little people turned to stare at him with a clinical expression Wade was more used to seeing on the other end of a scalpel as more of the little people swarmed around him getting measurements.

“Peter,” said Wade anxiously.

“Don’t worry,” reassured the other man. “You’re doing great.”

The first little person smacked Wade on the arm. “Come,” he ordered. “Time to try on clothes.” The tiny humans lead him off to a room, shove clothes at him, and leave him to change. He does, shakily, and then looks at his reflection in the mirror.

The deep blue shirt does bring out his eyes—and stands as a stark contrast to his mottled skin.

{Ask for a mask. A mask might help.}

[Oh, he’s beyond help.]

Shaking slightly he walks out to see Peter standing, pacing, and talking on the phone. “I just told the truth.” A pause and Peter sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tony Stark,” he said viciously, “is an alcoholic womanizing vampire having issues with his sexual identity. There is no part of that description that says, ‘Hey, I’m safe for kids, bring the whole family!’” Another pause. “Well, maybe it’s high time someone did.” He hung up, turned, saw Wade and—unbelievably—smiled. “You look good,” he said approvingly.

[He’s lying!]

{Aw! He cares enough to lie!]

Peter turned to the dwarf in charge. “I want four of those, another two in short sleeves, and—”

“And the dress suit will be ready in three weeks,” finished the dwarf, “all billed to your account.”

Peter grinned. “You know me well,” he said. The dwarf snorted as another one of its kind handed Peter a series of bags. Peter took the bags, slung them over his shoulder, and then hoisted the duffel in the air and towards Wade.

[Holy—twig-boy here is stronger than he looks!]

Peter smiled at Wade. “Ready to go home?” he asked.

***

Peter couldn't help but grin at how enthusiastically Wade ran around the condo, poking his head into almost every nook and cranny as he almost knocked the flat screen off the wall. “Baby Boy, you’ve got everything here!” the large man rambled as he wandered. “TV, state-of-the-art kitchen, bookcases and The Spider!” he exclaimed suddenly as he grabbed a book off the shelf. “You’ve got The Spider series!”

Peter chuckled as he pulled up and booted his laptop. It was an older model without internet capabilities, but it worked and he didn’t have to worry too much about hackers. “I have the whole series,” he said to Wade’s obvious delight as he settled down to work.

Wade gasped as he pressed the book to his chest. “Even the first three? No one has the first three!”

That was because no one had believed The Spider would be popular. Peter chuckled at the irony. “The early issues on the shelf to your left,” Peter said as he brought up the relevant file. Nothing soothed Ned like a new chapter.

Wade slammed himself down on the couch, hooking his legs over Peter’s lap. He managed to get his laptop out of the way just in time. “Oh, man, I’ve loved these since they came out,” Wade babbled. “There’s just something so wholesome about a guy working among killers and not killing anyone, you know?”

Peter smiled as he got to typing, words coming faster now that they weren’t stifled by loneliness. “Glad to hear it,” he said absently working on the newest chapter of his Stark novels. Wade’s constant commentary was soothing to hear in the formerly empty apartment.

The knocking came a shock. Even more shocking, was the way Wade was suddenly tense, in front of Peter, and pointing a gun at the door. Peter saved his work, printed the latest chapter (he was well into the next one), and gently pat Wade’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s probably just my agent.”

“Okay,” said Wade, gun not wavering in the slightest.

“That I should probably let in now,” hinted Peter.

“Sure.”

“Wade? Put the gun away.” The man blinked and obeyed and only then did Peter get up to let Ned in.

“You’ve really done it now,” Ned said as he came into the apartment. He fiddled with the edges of his scarf in agitation. “You’ve gone and upset the entire group! They’re calling for your head Peter!”

“And in doing so bring my books to the attention of whomever hasn’t heard of them yet,” Peter said as he walked over to the printer. He picked up the chapter and then walked back.

Ned came to a stop as he saw Wade, leaning against the couch with a book in his lap and the gun to his right. “Who are you?” he asked with a little trepidation.

“Ned, this is Wade, my new roommate. Wade this is Ned, my agent.”

Wade waved a single finger. “Hiyas,” he said cheerfully.

“Um. Hi.” Ned turned to Peter. “Where’d he come from?” he demanded.

Peter sighed. “I adopted him.”

“What?”

“Well, he was on the side of the road with a sign that said, ‘Adopt Me,’ so I did,” Peter explained.

“Peter,” sighed Ned as he rubbed his eyes under his glasses, “you can’t just take random people home. It’s irresponsible. It’s—what’s this?”

Peter grinned as Ned finally took notice of the typing paper. “My latest chapter,” he said smugly. “Unless, you don’t want it?”

Ned glared at him before snatching the paper and beginning to read. His expression quickly changed as he flipped through the pages. “Ugh! What? Oh…” The muttering sounded almost similar to Wade’s muttering as he flipped through The Spider books. “Holy shit!” Ned whirled to look at Peter. “For real?”

Peter smiled. “See what happens when I’m not lonely?” he asked mildly.

Ned turned to Wade. “I’m sorry for every bad thing I thought about you,” he said earnestly.

“Uh—”

“I see you have a gun, do you know how to use it?”

Wade was clearly on firmer ground. “Guns, knives, swords—if it can kill people I can use it.”

“Excellent,” said Ned with satisfaction before jerking a thumb towards Peter. “That idiot pissed off the head of Parents First this morning.”

Wade, to Peter’s surprise, winced. “That bitch?” he asked.

Ned reached over and pat Wade’s shoulder. “I’m counting on you to keep him alive. The new book must be published.”

“Hey!” protested Peter.

“I will do my best,” said Wade. “What? No, I wouldn't do that!”

Ned sighed. “Only you, Pete. Only you.”

***

After Peter left to go do Author things (it’s just an interview—they’re not going to tie me to a stake and watch me burn on live television unless the stake and flames are metaphorical Wade, and I can handle that) Wade decided to take it upon himself to make sure that his new bestie didn’t get killed.

[I’m not sure you can call the two of you “besties.”]

{He certainly doesn’t seem to have a lot of self-preservation. In one day he pissed off one of the most dangerous fanatical non-religious groups in the world and took us home with him. It’s almost like he wants to die.}

Wade frowned as he paused outside his old haunt, back in gear. Did Peter have a death wish? No, the guy was too happy for that—but he did seem rather lonely. Wade shrugged. He was just going to have to make sure that Peter wasn’t lonely, that was all. He waltzed into the bar and ducked as several knives were thrown at him. “Oh! Mean!” he complained as he made his way to the bar. “Gosh,” he said as he levered himself into a stool, “you’d think that people wanted to kill me!”

Weasel, the bartender, snorted. “Everyone wants to kill you Wade,” he said calmly as he filled someone’s liquor order before putting the glass on a tray for the waiter to take to a table. “It’s just that no one can.”

Wade nodded. “True that,” he agreed as Weasel slapped a beer in front of him.

“New micro-brewer,” he said. “I’m thinking of signing a contract with ‘em.” Wade made a show of tasting the beer by taking a sip and swishing it from cheek to cheek, even going so far as to gargle with it. “And?” asked Weasel.

Wade burped. “Tastes like beer.”

“Fuck you Wade.” Weasel calmly continued to make drinks. “Heard Nate threw you out. Surprised you didn’t come crash on my couch like usual.”

[I know I keep saying the whole thing with Peter is a bad idea, but not crashing with Weasel was a good one.]

{Why didn’t we kill the ex again?}

[Because Wade has limits, and he’s one of them.]

Wade ignored the voices as he glanced up at the bounty board. Most places had a digital website. Weasel insisted that was too easy to hack, hence the blackboard. (Everyone else called him cheap.) There, at the top of the list, was the name Peter Parker. The bounty was, of course, insanely huge.

Wade hummed before he grinned at Weasel. “Well,” he said brightly, “I got tired of people not wanting to see me, so I got a cardboard box and wrote ‘adopt me’ on it!”

“Sounds like the crazy kind of shit you’d do,” admitted Weasel calmly. “Then what?”

“Then someone did!” said Wade cheerfully. “A sweet, innocent little guy named Peter.”

Weasel paused in what he was doing. “Wade—” he said half in warning, half in fear.

“Peter Parker,” continued Wade. The bar was suddenly silent as he kept talking. “And if anyone,” he sang, “tries to lay a hand on that sweet, naive piece of ass, I will destroy theirs with a cheese grater.” A soft snort got his attention and he turned to look at the young woman at the bar next to him.

[Oh. My. God. Is that who I think it is?]

{Kill her! She’s after Peter!}

Karen Wishstone. The weirdest, strangest person he’d ever met. She was almost invisible—until she wasn’t. Her skill set would have made her a good assassin if she hadn’t made it a point not to kill.

{Oh! You think The Spider was based on her?}

Weasel sighed. “What are you doing here, Karen?” he asked warily.

Karen rolled her eyes as she swished the liquid in her bottle around lazily. “Relax Weasel,” she ordered. “I’m just in town to visit friends, and I thought I’d take a look at the bounty board while I’m here. See if there’s anything small to Stalk while I’m in town.”

“And?” demanded Weasel warily.

She held out placating hands. “It’s all too grand for me. This isn’t my town.”

[She could be lying. You know what they say about her. The first you know she’s there is when you wake up in Retrieval.]

{Kill her!}

Wade paused. Everyone knew that Karen was so good at what she did because no one saw her coming. If someone knew she was in town, that person was safe. “How do you feel about meeting my roomie?” he asked.

“Peter Parker?” she asked. He nodded. “The writer?” He nodded again. She sighed. “I’m not sure he’d want to see me,” she told him. “Last time I was in town we didn’t—exactly part on the best of terms.”

[Wait. She knows Peter?]

{I don’t like that she doesn’t want to see him. Can we kill her now? Please?}

“Why don’t I ask?” Wade thought the request was reasonable, but was checking to see how she took it.

To his surprise she seemed to mull it over. Then she smiled. “Okay,” she said. “Let me know what he says. I’m sure Weasel here’s already found out what hotel I’m at, how long I’m booked to stay, and where my dog is.”

Weasel doesn’t deny it. “I still haven’t forgotten what happened the last time you were in town,” he growled.

“And if you had proof that was my fault; I would be banned,” said Karen with a grin and a salute of her bottle.

***

Peter tried not wince as Wade mentioned Karen. He remembered the last time the two of them met. It certainly could have gone worse—but not by much. He looked over where Wade was shredding lettuce for their tacos. “I remember Karen,” he said evenly.

Wade chuckled. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s how she said you’d react, but I thought you’d want to see the person who inspired you to write The Spider.”

Peter paused. “You know I wrote that?” he asked looking at Wade in surprise. His name wasn’t the one on the spine of the books.

Wade instantly looked bashful. “Well—it fits,” he said nervously.

Peter grinned. “I’m shocked,” he said. He gave a low, happy hum as he sliced the olives. “You’re the first one to figure I wrote them,” he said. “I don’t think Ned even knows.”

“Who publishes them?” asked Wade as he grabbed a block of cheese and began to scrape it against the grater.

“Same people,” admitted Peter. “They’ve just never met me, as the author of The Spider. As far as they know the author of those books is a weirdo freak that always mails in his manuscripts.” He paused. “Actually, from listening to the gossip opinions seem pretty split on whether the author is male or female.” He reached over for some of the cheese and his hand brushed Wade’s.

Peter wasn’t sure what he was expecting—but it wasn’t Wade’s reaction. The man paled between his scars and then flung himself in a corner as he tried to use his shirt to cover all his exposed bits of skin. “Wade?” he asked as he looked at the shivering figure in confusion.

“—rry. Sorry,” whimpered Wade.

“What?” asked Peter. He gentled his voice as he turned off the stove burner before going over to Wade and crouching by him. “For what?” he asked softly, gently.

“Know it’s bad,” Wade whispered.

“Wade?” Peter reached out and the other man flinched. He paused, not certain of what the best thing to do was. His instincts told him to comfort the man—but how? He reached out a little further and rested his palm—gently—on Wade’s scarred cheek. “Wade? Are you okay?” Wide, frightened eyes looked up at him. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, Wade.”

Wade blinked as tears began to roll down his cheeks. Suddenly he threw himself into Peter’s lap, gripping the smaller man as though he was about to disappear. Peter, hoping he was doing the right thing, gently rubbed Wade’s back. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “See? Everything is all right.”

“…not,” Wade’s voice was soft, fragile—hurting.

The change in attitude bothered Peter more than he let on. He kept rubbing Wade’s back as Wade pressed his face into Peter’s stomach. “Everything is all right.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” said Wade a little more clearly. He held Peter just a little tighter.

“For what?” asked Peter. Wade mumbled something. Peter could only make out a single word. “Wade? What’s disgusting?”

“Me,” whined the man.

If Peter hadn’t been on the floor already, if he hadn’t been holding Wade, he would have stumbled in shock. What had happened to make this cheerful, happy man think so little of himself? Peter’s mind flashed back to finding Wade on the street with the cardboard sign. He should have asked more.

“Wade,” said Peter gently, “you’re not disgusting.”

“I am,” cried Wade. Peter was startled to see that the larger man was actually crying. “Disgusting, revolting, horrifying.”

“No,” protested Peter. He stroked the back of Wade’s head, fingers running along the scarred tissue. Wade didn’t even look up. “You’re not,” Peter said again.

Wade gave a dry, broken laugh. “I know what I look like,” he said bitterly.

Peter’s heart broke for the man. “Hey, Wade. Look at me. Hey,” he said as he pushed Wade’s head up to force the man to look at him. “Look at me. I don’t think you’re disgusting. I don’t think you’re revolting.” He snagged one of Wade’s hands and interlaced their fingers together. “You’re wonderful just the way you are,” he said firmly.

Wade looked into Peter’s eyes and the smaller man would swear he was trying to find the lie in the words. Suddenly he chuckled—but it sounded at lot less broken. “You must be blind,” he said wearily.

“No,” argued Peter firmly. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Wade’s head. “I just see better than other people,” he said. As Wade slowly calmed down Peter wondered: just who had taught the man to hate himself so badly?

He also wondered if he had enough to put a hit out on the person responsible.

***

“So this is where you get off to.” Peter turned, not particularly surprised to see Karen behind him. She shrugged. “Between books.”

“Karen,” he said warily as he faced one of two people who knew all his secrets. He wasn’t worried about it; Karen probably knew everyone’s secrets. She didn’t talk much.

Karen pat the seat of the bench next to her. “Have a seat. Jogging isn’t going to help,” she added knowingly.

About to ask how she knew he was trying to jog some sense into what happened with Wade, Peter sighed. She’d never tell. And she might not even be talking about Wade. “What brings you to New York?” he asked as he took a seat.

“Seeing old friends. Meeting new ones. Watching a familiar idiot get a bounty of almost four million put on his head.”

Peter didn’t assume the sentences were unconnected. “No one’s going to Stalk me, Karen,” he said wearily.

She watched him from the corner of her eye. “No, they’re not. Wade got in front of the whole bar and told them all they’d have to go through him to get you.” She chuckled. “No one can get past Wade, so it doesn’t matter how big the bounty gets; no one will be willing to try.”

“Wade did?” asked Peter. He felt a confusing combination of flattered and worried.

“Wade has his own secrets,” Karen said simply. She looked at him. “You might consider sharing some of yours. He’s one of three people who won’t judge you about what happened, Peter.”

Peter snorted. “You don’t judge me.”

“I don’t count.” When Peter opened his mouth to protest she added, “I don’t count, because you don’t care what I think.” She smiled—small, knowing. “You care what he does.” She stood up. “Keep it in mind,” she advised before walking off.

Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache. There was really no point in asking more questions of Karen. Not only was she gone, but she wouldn't answer. He’d have to figure out what she meant on his own.

***

Wade was worried. It was one thing for Peter to be okay with seeing his skin on a daily basis—

[The horror show that it is.]

—but it was another for the guy to actually have to touch it.

{Why do you think he was apologizing? It wasn’t his fault our hands touched.}

[Because Peter’s a nice guy and we were upset. That’s the only reason he said we weren’t disgusting to touch.]

{How far do you think that niceness goes? I mean, he did kiss us.}

[On the FOREHEAD Yellow. The same place parents use to check if their kids are running a fever.]

“Yo, Wade!” impact to the back of the head made it impossible to ignore. He turned to see—Karen?

“What’s up duck?” asked Wade curiously.

She rolled her eyes. “You wanted to introduce me to your author friend,” she reminded him.

[Didn’t she say that wouldn't go well?]

“I thought you said he wouldn't want to see you,” said Wade.

“One way to find out,” said Karen as she poked him again. “So? Where do the two of you lovebirds live?” she asked.

Wade and the boxes sputtered. “They’re—we’re not lovers!” he protested.

“And I’m not a spine,” said Karen agreeably.

{… Was that supposed to make sense?}

“I don’t understand,” complained Wade as he walked towards the condo building.

“Clearly. Have you told Author Boy what you do for a living yet?”

{Tell the writer of those sweet little books that we kill people for a living? I don’t think that would go over well.}

[I hate to agree with Yellow, but why don’t we kill this bitch?]

“Because I’d kill you and then disappear while you were fixing yourself,” she said calmly.

Wade paused. That was new. “You didn’t use to be able to hear the boxes,” he said slowly.

She shrugged. “I didn’t used to be able to do a lot of things. Now hurry up; my time in New York is coming to an end and I want to get this done.”

“You’re not Stalking Peter, are you?” asked Wade nervously as they entered the building.

“No, I’m applying the Hammer.”

“What?” They reached the condo and went inside.

Karen ignored him. “Hi, Peter,” she said calmly. She shut the door behind them, pulled a gun and blew Wade’s brains out.

***

Peter stared in shock before staring at her. “You don’t kill people!” he hissed shrilly.

She shrugged as she pocketed the gun again. “And I didn’t,” she replied calmly. “But this was taking too long.” She met his eyes as wet noises began to emanate from Wade’s prone body. “Both of you have secrets, Peter. It’s time to tell them.”

“Holy fucking shit-turds!” snarled Wade as his head visibly knit back together. “That hurt.”

Karen gave him a nudge with her foot. “Stop whining,” she advised him. “We both know you’ll be fine.”

“That hurt!”

“And you were dithering. I don’t have much time left in New York. And now,” she added firmly, “that the Hammer has been properly applied, I have a woman to see about a dog. Oh,” she said pausing before she opened the door, “there’s a chance the woman responsible for the bounty on your head might be dead tomorrow. Do with that what you will.” She turned and left.

Peter, watching the man he had just watched die get up from the floor and start muttering about bloodstains, collapsed to the couch. “What?” he asked, confused.

Wade began pacing. When Peter could see his back he could see that the back of the other man’s head was literally knitting itself together before his eyes. “No, that’s a terrible idea!” Wade complained as he rubbed hands over his head in agitation. “He’ll hate us!”

And again, Peter’s heart broke for the man. He got up, got into Wade’s way, and hugged the larger man. “I won’t hate you,” he promised.

“Peter, you can’t say that,” Wade protested. Despite his words his arms went around the smaller man and Peter quickly hugged him back. “You don’t know.”

“Then tell me,” Peter challenged. “Tell me everything.”

Wade took a deep breath. “After the Dark War,” he began, “my unit was called for some—some experiments.”

Peter could feel how Wade was shaking. “What kind of experiments?” he asked.

“They said they could make me unkillable. Impossible to defeat. Immortal.” He clutched Peter tighter. “I was young and stupid and didn’t ask—” He took several deep breaths as Peter began rubbing the man’s back, trying to soothe him. “It was—I’ll just say it was Hell. Every step of the way and when it ended—when it ended I looked like this.” Suddenly Wade gave a dry, broken laugh, eerily similar to the one he’d voiced before. “I killed them all,” he admitted flatly, no emotion coloring his voice. “But—I was trapped like this. Forever.”

“Oh, Wade.” Peter pressed his face into the man’s chest, feeling the rough scars beneath the thin fabric of the shirt. “I’m sorry you feel trapped,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re here,” he added.

Wade hugged him tighter and pressed his face into the crook of Peter’s neck. “You’re the only one who’s ever said that,” he admitted.

***

[I can’t believe he’s still here.]

{I can’t believe we’re still here. The stick boy didn’t kick us out! We don’t have to crash with Weasel and hope the bastard forgives us!}

[We should kill him.]

{That’s what I’ve been saying!}

No, Wade thought firmly, careful not to speak. Peter had (miraculously) fallen asleep in Wade’s arms. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had. Peter was a lot of firsts for Wade. The first to purely enjoy his company, without any monetary incentives. (Even the ex had demanded partial payment of Wade’s bounties—but Peter didn’t care.) The first to make someone else happy to see him. (He still remembered the happy, accepting look on the agent’s face after thinking that Wade was a danger to Peter to realizing he would protect Peter.

{The first not to think we’re disgusting.}

Yellow seemed to be coming to like Peter just as much as Wade was. As much as Wade did.

[There is something seriously wrong with this man. We should never leave.]

Wade blinked. Those two statements didn’t seem to mesh. Before he could try to interrogate White, Peter stirred gently. “I’ve got an idea,” the smaller man said.

“What is it?” asked Wade curiously.

“Wade, exactly what happens when a bounty is brought in to Retrieval?”

[I take it back. Ditch him. Ditch him now. This is a bad idea!]

“Why?” asked Wade curiously.

Peter shifted his head so that he could grin up at Wade. “Because I’ve got an idea,” he said smugly.

***

Peter grinned as he looked around the noisy, messy room. There was a high number of corpses, but that was to be expected. People were watching the two of them warily, but that was also to be expected. After all, it wasn’t every day that the most famous (notorious) Stalker in New York brought a living bounty into Retrieval. Even rarer that the bounty and the Stalker were flirting.

The woman working the desk sighed. “Deadpool,” she said wearily, “what are you doing?”

Peter looked at the costumed man next to him with curiosity, which was fairly normal, and no fear—which, given people’s reactions, was not normal. “Deadpool?” he asked his red leather-clad friend.

“Aw it’s—it’s just a nickname,” Wade said bashfully.

The woman at the desk snorted. “He,” she said pointing at the Stalker, “once filled a pool with dead bodies. Claimed he wanted to see if it really was possible to fill a pool with blood.”

“They deserved it!” protested Wade as he remembered the incident.

“What happened?” asked Peter curiously.

Wade stilled completely for a moment. “Something bad,” he said grimly. “Trust me—death was the least they deserved.”

“They were traffickers,” the woman at the desk explained. “I don’t know the full details, but Deadpool here killed them all, piled them into the dry pool at one of their homes, and got his moniker.”

Peter nudged Wade with his shoulder. “So you were protecting people,” he said.

“Kind of. Maybe. Almost?” said Wade. “They just—all three of us were really pissed off.”

All three of them. Wade and the two voices in his head, White and Yellow. Peter leaned against his friend again. He couldn't see through the mask that the other man was wearing, but he was willing to bet that he was nervous. He wanted Wade to know that it was okay, that Peter wasn’t going to abandon him.

And, once again, Peter felt a surge of rage at whomever had.

His musings were interrupted as a woman, the woman, sauntered over to where they were. He could tell, from the smug look on her face, that she was expecting to be identifying his corpse. She was about to be in for a big shock; it was high time she learned that the world wasn’t hers to run. Peter was more than happy to be instrument teaching that particular lesson.

The woman came to a shocked stop as she looked at Peter, still breathing, sitting on the bench next to one of the most infamous Stalkers in the city—maybe, if what the woman at the desk had been hinting at all afternoon was correct, the world. Her eyes began to narrow and she opened her mouth to speak.

Peter spoke first. “Hi,” he said brightly, in the over-the-top tone that most people (stupid people) used on small children and animals. “I’m Peter. This is my boyfriend, Wade,” he said gesturing to the costumed man to his right. Wade froze again. Calling him a boyfriend hadn’t been part of the plan, and Peter would figure out if he’d offended the man later. Right now the problem was that he had to do something about this woman. Peter stood up and put his hands in his pockets as he rocked from the balls to the heels of his feet. “You know, he told me that someone had put my name on the Bounty Board and you know what I said? I said, ‘Why don’t you collect it, Wade?’ And here we are.” Peter gestured to the Retrieval warehouse that they were in. “And you know what? Each and every single time that someone puts my name on that board, we’ll be here. So he can collect his payment.”

He knew; of course he knew, that it was impossible to insist that the person on the board being brought in be dead when they arrived. She knew, and he knew that she knew, that he now had a plan in place for when that happened to him. She couldn't use the Bounty Board to kill him.

She paled, paid, and left.

Wade and Peter left shortly after, giving her a little bit of a head start on them (they didn’t want to risk running into her). Wade walked in uncharacteristic silence for a moment. “You called me your boyfriend,” he said softly.

Peter peered up at him. He wished that Wade wasn’t wearing his mask; he would like to see the expression on his face. “Do you mind?” he asked anxiously. “If you do, we don’t have to—”

“Mind?” asked Wade. He hugged Peter close. “Of course I don’t mind! I’d love to be your boyfriend!”

Peter grinned and hugged back. A slight tingle of his spine had him throwing the two of them to the side as a large fist slammed into the ground where they’d been. Wade leaped away and pulled one of his swords (was that one of the things that had been in the duffel bag?) as Peter ducked another punch and landed on a tree.

The man glared at Wade. “I see you’re keeping busy,” he snarled.

“Had to leave,” said Wade.

Peter frowned. Wade didn’t sound happy, or quippy, or sarcastic—but defeated. He glared at the large man. Was this the reason why Wade had been on the street in the first place? Why he’d been so terrified of being touched?

The man opened his mouth to growl something—and his face went slack as he suddenly toppled over. Karen popped out of the bushes behind him and pulled a dart out of the man’s butt. “You still don’t have any survival sense,” she said calmly as she tied the large man up. A puppy, it looked young but came up to her knees, danced out of the bushes and towards them, yapping. “He’s been following the two of you since you left the condo this morning. Probably thought now would be a good time to make a move.” She tightened the leather restraints.

Peter looked at her. “Being a hammer again, Karen?” he asked. He still wasn’t entirely certain what she’d meant by that.

“No,” she said absently as the puppy danced around the man as if it was showing off a kill. “If I was, I’d point out to your shiny new boyfriend there how you’re sticking to the side of an oak tree by your hands and feet.”

A chill rushed through Peter’s veins as he realized that she was right. The danger had been familiar and the move so natural that he hadn’t even thought twice about it. Of course not. Why would he? He hadn’t been in that position for a long time now. He turned wide eyes to Wade to see the whites of the mask staring at him. He assumed Wade was looking at him behind the mask, but he wasn’t sure.

Especially since Wade addressed Karen. “So—are you taking him to Retrieval? What do you get out of it?”

Karen turned to grin at the two of them as the dog lifted a leg and peed on the unconscious man’s face. “Bragging rights,” she said smugly. “I was in the bar last night, trading verbal spars with Weasel, when this idiot came in bragging about how no quote, ‘prissy little bitch who can’t even properly kill’ could get him.” She wrapped the man’s legs with another leather strip. “Best part is, I won’t even have to stay in town. No one in that bar will let him forget it—he might even end up infamous on the ‘net if he’s not lucky.”

“And you hope he’s not lucky,” said Wade with insight.

Karen looked up at them again and Peter could see the amusement glinting in her eyes. “He’s an ass,” she said bluntly before pulling something from her pocket. It unrolled into a contraption with wheels and she maneuvered the large man (almost twice her size) onto it. The puppy jumped onto the body and sat, wagging its tail.

“Who’s the dog?” asked Peter as he climbed down from the side of the tree.

“Brucie. I’m training him to replace Brutus.”

“Ah—”

“He retired.” She grabbed a handle of the folding wagon and then waved at the two of them. “Nice to see you got your relationship stuff sorted out. Have fun you crazy kids.” She pulled the wagon and left.

Wade waved back and, without turning to look at Peter again, asked, “You—do you want to talk about it?” The words were tentative.

Peter sighed. It looked like it was his turn to talk about his past. “Wade I—you know The Spider?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, he wasn’t based on Karen.” There was a moment of silence and Peter sighed again. He wondered if Wade would decide to leave after this revelation. Not that Peter could blame him. “Everything in the books are true.”

“So, there really was an evil scientist trying to recreate the Dark War?”

Peter winced. He’d looked up to Norman as a father for years and it still hurt to hear the man called that. Norman hadn’t been evil—but he had been insane. “Yeah,” he said wearily. “When—when it all happened I had to write it down. I changed the names,” he added. He hadn’t thought changing the names would be enough to fool people—but he’d been wrong. “And I wanted everyone to know what had happened so I pulled three jobs and paid to get the first three volumes published. Everything after that was older stuff, remembered stuff.”

“Oh.” Wade sidled a little closer to Peter. “Are we—are we still boyfriends?” he asked.

Peter looked at the larger man and then smiled. “Only if you want to be,” he said with a smile.

***

No one knew why Deadpool suddenly joined The Spider on his adventures in the world of fiction. And, unlike his Stark novels and despite Deadpool’s attitude, they were still made for children. They were also, to no one’s surprise, popular.

[redheadcooks]

big ol' bowl of goods . . . 

{crispy @traderjoeslist wild silverbrite salmon 🐟, roasted broccoli, baked sweet potato, avocado + a bed of lemony arugula}

[fatgumxreader]

taste

hello again!

Prompt: soulmate taste AU, you taste what your soulmate is eating

reader: female

quirk: whatever you want

hero?: no, baker

Your mouth exploded into a flavor explosion what tasted like takoyaki , you hummed and held cheek “ah that’s so tasty! lucky~” scraping the sides of the big mixer, you wanted to taste the cupcake batter but you didn’t think that would go together.

You looked at the batter “who are you, foodie?” a sweeter flavor exploded on your tongue, vanilla ice cream. You dipped a spoon in the batter and tasted it, lush lemon cake batter swirled in your mouth. You smile hoping that they liked the flavor, pouring the batter in molds.

Hearing the bell of your shop ring, you look to see a three teenagers at your counter, and a young girl with silver hair holding hands with a older blonde haired boy. Smiling you greet them, you recognized their uniform from UA.

they look at the glass case of fresh baked desserts. the young girl looks unsure, “do you want a sample?” You pull out a cupcake and cut it up into cubes placing it on a plate. Almost all of them take a slice placing it in their mouth. The shyer black haired student looks at it and then looks away, the blonde steps in seeing his hesitation.

“Tamaki its really good try it!” he smiles. The black haired teen takes it, placing it in his mouth. His eyes kinda widen in surprise and smiles a bit, you smiled again seeing the smile. You turn your attention to the young girl helping her, picking out the sweets. Placing them in a box and that into a bag, ringing the total up. Waving as they leave, you walked back into the back placing the lemon cupcakes in the oven.

You saw the black haired teen a few more times with the same people, sometimes with a red haired teen from UA as well. Hearing the bell once again you saw the black haired boy tore you away from admiring the taste from your foodie, “hello! how are you today?”

A quiet hello escaped his lips, “can I place an order for a few cakes?”

You nodded and smiled “what would you like?”

“can I get one of each flavor in the large size in a couple days at your closing time?”

you smiled “having a party?”

he quieted down even more, ah, you went off script. See you and him had the same lines every time to make him more comfortable, “kinda.”

“that sounds like fun” you smiled

“yeah... do you deliver?” he spoke barely above a whisper

you nodded “where to?”

“fat gum’s agency.”

“alrighty” you smiled.

the days passed and you placed the cakes in the van and one for you in the front seat, humming as you locked the front door and back door of the bakery. you got in the front seat, tasting takoyaki again you giggled a bit, “you really like takoyaki I guess.”

Getting on the road driving to the agency, as it came into view you slowed down. turning into the parking lot. Tamaki looked at the van pulling in, “she's here with the cakes”

The two teens and the hero walked out, kirishima waving at you as you got out. You waved back and opened up the back of the van, fatgum looked you over. You wore a cute yellow apron on top of your dress that had some flower on it.

You smiled at him, his height shocking you after a double take. Fat gum laughed at the reaction you blushed out of embarrassment , “ah! sorry your height shocked me,”

“it’s alright I get that alot!” he laughed a bit as he picked up a few cakes, you closed the doors of the van with your hips after picking up the last two cakes. the teens ahead of you talking and excited to eat cake. Fatgum looked down at you taking in your curves and appearance.  

“how long have been running your bakery?” he looked at the boxes in his hands

“oh only a few years but im getting along, im finally gaining popularity, i’m so excited!”

“thats nice,” he opened the door for you. You slipped by and propped the door open for him so it wouldn’t close on him. “which room are we going to,” seeing you lost track of the two teens.

“ah they must have ran ahead” he spoke “follow me, it’s up at the top.”

Getting to the elevators you both entered, heading to the office you placed the cakes on a side table where the boys had placed theirs. Fatgum looked at you again, you smiled up at him “I hope you guys like that cakes.”

“do you want to uh stay and have some with us?”

“it’s tempting but i do have to clean up, but I don't think having a slice wont hurt I guess,” you smiled as you looked down at the table thinking about it, “oh I forgot the plates! I’ll be right back!”

You ran to the van, happy to get some cake. you looked at the one in the front seat, “i should bring this one as well, it is the new flavor.”

You grabbed it, walking back up to the building, hearing a “hey! You!” immediately picking up the pace thinking “aint no way in hell am i getting kidnapped.”

Hearing footsteps walking up to you, opening the door and locking it behind you immediately. the glass door wobbled as the man banged on it, you watched in horror making your way quickly to the elevator and going to the top floor.

Rushing into the office, “uh Fatgum there's a man at the bottom of the building banging on the door... i think he might be drunk.”

“what really?”

You nodded, clutching the cake and plates still. You watched as fatgum nodded, leaving to deal with it. you looked at the cake you held sighing, “I probably squished it.”

looking at the boys as the red head looked at you, “what flavor is that?”

“huh? oh it’s almond cake with a pear filling i’ve been working on I accidentally squished this one though” you say placing it on the table along with the plates.

the boy looked at the cake “can I try some?” you nodded and opened the box, cutting him a slice.

“I don’t know how good it is though, I only had a bit of it,” you smiled nervously.

“You don’t know what tastes good?” fatgum said as he entered the room again.

“oh a new flavor of cake I made,” you smiles and cut him a slice.

he put a bite into his mouth and your tongue washed over with the almond-pear taste. Your jaw dropped, “You’re...” Fat gum looked at you quizzically. you mouth wouldn’t speak out of surprise, grabbing a fork and opening another cake box taking some and putting it in your mouth, red velvet washing over Taishiros senses.

He pointed at you, “you’re my soul mate!”

You nodded a lot, he grabbed you by the waist and spinned you around.

[justjessame]

First A Moses, Then A Cooper Chapter 1

Making dinner as my son and daughter fought over one of their many shared tech gadgets, I had to ask myself if Will and I were sane for wanting a third.  With him working constantly, and me doing the brunt of rearing our little demons, I had to think that a third child might be outside the realm of my abilities.  

“J, Mira, stop fighting!”  I snarled it, causing both kids to look up at me from their spot just inside the living room and I knew I had hit my limit and also stopped being the mother they knew and expected.  “Dad called and we’re having guests for dinner.”  I hoped that helped them understand, but they continued to stare.  “WORK guests.”  That got them moving, suddenly they were working to straighten the living room and they were miraculously using their inside voices.  “Thank you!”  I went back to working on dinner, trying to decide if the last minute additions were foodies, or if they’d make due with comfort foods.

“Honey?”  I heard Will’s voice, and sighed as I put the finishing touches on the table.  “Michelle,” and then his warmth was surrounding me and a ton of my extra tension started to relax.  How he could manage to do that would be a mystery forever.  “Something smells delicious.”  He was saying it into the side of my neck so I had no doubts that he didn’t mean our dinner.

“Yeah, is that pot roast?”  Another voice, bringing me back to the reality that we were having guests for dinner and that our kids would be in attendance.  Damn it.  “Sorry,” the man didn’t look sorry, he looked like he was holding back laughter at Will and I wrapped up in one another.

“Michelle, sweetheart, I’d like you to meet Frank Moses.”  My eyes widened, I couldn’t help it, I KNEW who this was even if his face wasn’t familiar.  Will moved on, introducing the two other guests who made up the ragtag band who would add to our table.  I barely listened, even though their names were known to me too.  None hit me like Frank’s.  “Honey?”  I looked up at my husband, seeing him staring at me with confusion.  

I shook off my look of amazement, and smiled reassuringly.  “Welcome to our home,” I offered to the trio as our kids joined us, clearly hearing the additional voices.  “This is our son, James and our daughter Mira.”  I saw Frank look at both my children and then back at me.  Clearly trying to place me, but he wasn’t having much luck.  And he wouldn’t, because my mother made certain that no one would ever know just who I really was.  I gave a silent prayer of thanks and told everyone to get comfortable at the table while I brought dinner in.  Will was on my heels, offering to help, but I knew my very observant husband had questions.  

“Chell?”  I smiled up at him as I handed him the lined bread basket that I filled with warm rolls.  “Honey, why did you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”  Licking my lips, I carefully arranged the roast onto a serving tray, then moved to grab the dish I had ready for the potatoes and carrots.  “Michelle -”  

“We have guests, Will,” I reminded him, swallowing the dry lump in the back of my throat because I HAVE seen a ghost.  Just one that I knew about while no one else in the house did.  “We can’t be rude.”  

Of all the men I could have married, I picked William Cooper, one of the most observant men on the planet AND one who had the most in common with my birth parents even if he had no clue about that.  He was studying me while I carefully filled the bowls with starches, then vegetables, then made certain the gravy boat was filled just full enough, adding the silver ladle my mother had gifted us with on our wedding day.  

“Michelle Cooper, we will be having a conversation about whatever it is that has you on edge as soon as our guests are settled in for the night-” Wait, what?  “It’s one night, sweetheart,” one night, I thought, feeling my tension ratchet up to a fifteen.  “I know they look like a -” he stopped, considering how to describe the mess of a trio he’d brought home.  “It’s one night.”  I nodded.  “A nice long, hot bubble bath with your husband should do the trick,” I smirked, and they said torture was outlawed.  “You and me, Mrs. Cooper, after dinner.”  

Will’s voice, when he wanted it to, could take on an octave that I swore could make me do things that nothing else could.  He would laugh and say I was being silly, but I’d squint and challenge him back with the theory that he used it to get sources to do his bidding in all manner of terrible and wonderful ways.  Since I didn’t have the type of security clearance that could either refute or prove my theory we would forever be at a stalemate on this particular argument.  

“Take the bread out and come back for another load, Mr. Cooper.”  My order was tempered by the lingering kiss I couldn’t help but give him.  “Our guests will be more likely to settle in faster with full bellies.”  

Surreal, that’s how dinner felt to me as I sat at the foot of our dining room table while Will sat at the head, J and Mira sat on one side and Frank flanked the woman he’d brought along - Sarah Ross - while Marvin Ross sat on her other side, the last to taste any of the food set before him - as if I’d poison guests in my home.  Frank Moses, a man I’d heard stories about long before I’d met Will - I tried to show no extra interest in the man, not with my overly observant husband keeping watch, but it was a difficult thing.  How would anyone manage such a task after the hero in their bedtime stories was plunked down to have dinner with them?  

Lucky for me, Sarah seemed as ill at ease as I felt, and while I grew quiet, she grew talkative.  

“So -” she smiled across the table at my children, both sitting straight and behaving as they were expected with people from Dad’s work in attendance.  “What grades are you guys in?”  

James answered first, his voice loud enough to be heard, but not too loud - Will’s pride shining as he listened to his son answer without faltering.  “I’m in ninth grade.”  He’d put his fork and knife down and was looking Sarah in the face.  Eye contact was important when carrying on a conversation, something we’d worked on after the bullying incident when Frank Moses had first come into Will’s orbit.  “I’m first string on the football team this year.” He was proud of that accomplishment, and so were we.  It had been a tough won feat, and J had earned it.  

Not to be outdone, Mira waited until her older brother finished, since we did have guests and etiquette was important, at least around strangers.  “And I’m in eighth.”  I smiled at Will, his eyes almost glowing across the full length of our table in pride.  “I prefer dance.” Her tiny chin went up a notch as if daring any of the trio across from her to argue that dance was a lesser endeavor than football.  

“Ballet or -” It was Marvin, not Sarah who asked the follow up and I shot a look his way to make certain it wasn’t coming at her in a mocking way, but he looked both sincere and interested - well knock me over with a feather.  

“I do ballet, but also tap, jazz, modern, hip-hop,” Mira’s smile grew as she spoke and so did mine.  I loved the passion that my children showed for anything - be it J’s football or love of drawing, or Mira’s need to move, watching them light up just from discussing it was enough to make me happy.  

“You’re quite the accomplished tiny dancer,” Marvin’s smile wasn’t one I might find safe if seen in the wild, but at my own table with my husband close at hand I found it kind.  

“And what do you do, Michelle?”  I wasn’t expecting it.  The question nor the person who asked it.  I know I flinched and I know that it wasn’t only caught by Will.  “I’m sorry, was that too forward of me?”  

“Not at all,” managing to find my smile again by focusing on J and Mira I turned to face Frank.  “I take care of my family, Mr. Moses.”

“She’s being modest,” Will cut in and my eyes flicked to him.  “She’s not JUST a housewife, not that there’s anything wrong with that.”  My eyes narrowed at the implication that anyone who made their family’s lives easier by being a homemaker was somehow less than, it was something Will had pointed out to me on multiple occasions.  “Chell writes.  She’s a published writer.”  His eyebrows rose as if to dare me to contradict him, but I couldn’t, he was telling the truth.  

“What have you written?”  Sarah, clearly someone who couldn’t stand silence - awkward or not - wanted more information.  “Maybe we’ve read it.”

“I’m sure you have,” Will’s smile was growing and my eyes were narrowing again.  The tease.  “She wrote ---”  And there it was, him literally removing my mask and letting these three know my nom de plume, my secret identity - I should have told him I was going to have to kill him.  

“Wow,” Sarah’s mouth dropped open and a large part of me hoped this meant she would be rendered speechless and dinner could go back to being eaten.  “That’s -”

“Impressive,” Frank’s eyes were on me, and I inhaled deeply and met his gaze.  ���Where do you get your ideas?”  

Shit, I internally added money to the swear jar that we didn’t actively use anymore - and hadn’t for years now, but honestly.  Trust my husband to out me to this man, a man who he had NO idea was someone I’d known about for YEARS before he did, and now here were were face to face and HE wanted to now where I got MY ideas for books that - if someone wanted to hold a microscope up to them - bore a striking resemblance to a lot of what HE had a hand in over the years.  Fuck. 

“I have an EXCELLENT imagination.” I offered, thanking my genetics, my birth parents, and God above for the ability to lie the way I could.  

“Yeah, I guess you do,” he looked like he might believe me.  Maybe.  

I took a drink out of my glass of wine and swallowed carefully.  “Eat up, I’m sure you could use a good night’s rest.”  Because I sure as hell could. 

[herewegoyumliciousfood]

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[verai-marcel]

Life Level Up (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x F!Reader, Neighbor AU, Part 1 of 3, 18+)

Part 9 of Neighborly Affection. Read the other parts in the #neighbor au tag.

Summary: Your birthday is coming up, but with you and Arthur getting accustomed to living with each other and working out all your quirks and differences, you hadn’t really thought about it. But Arthur has given it a lot of thought.

Author’s Notes: This is it folks, this is the last part of Neighbor AU. I’ll be writing this in three parts, as a mirror of the first part: High Honor, Low Honor, and an epilogue that works for both.

Tags: finale, realistic relationship things, smut, slight breeding kink, rough sex, speedbumping, dirty talk, feels, HEA

AO3 Link is here, angel.

Word Count: 3201

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Chapter 1: High Honor

The past three months went by like a blur since you moved in with him, and at this point, you feel like you’ve been with him forever. The ease of switching from living alone to living with Arthur (and sometimes Isaac) had been smooth because the two of you had your big financial talk before you had agreed to move in with him. With both of you depositing an equal amount into a shared account from which you paid all your bills, food, rent, and an emergency fund, the rest of your money was yours to do with as you pleased. Things were going well. 

It helped that although the fire between you two still was burning, it had calmed into a cozy heat. The first week the two of you had the place to yourselves, you were sore as hell and tired everyday. 

But afterwards, the two of you would share more cuddles, more time just being with each other as opposed to fucking like rabbits. After a long day, Arthur loved to welcome you home with a nice meal and a hug. At night, he'd hold you in his arms and massage your scalp, or he would rub your back. You would do the same for him, of course, loving the feel of his muscles under your hands, his soft moans as you worked a knot in his shoulder blades. 

And so time passed. Without realizing it, your birthday was a week away. 

It had been a crazy year. A year of being with Arthur. Two years since you had met him. What would your life have been like if you hadn't said yes to him? What if you hadn't taken that chance? 

Still yearning, alone in your small studio apartment, that's for sure. 

Feeling grateful for this turn of events, you finished your last IT ticket and shut down your laptop. Leaving the bedroom, you blinked to see Arthur on his phone, intently reading something. He had I even looked up when you opened the door. 

"Arthur?" 

He suddenly looked up and saw you. "Oh, uh, you done fer the day, angel?" 

"Yeah. You alright?" 

Arthur's eyes flicked away for a moment before looking back at you. "Yep, just fine." He got up and walked towards you, slipping his phone into his pocket before pulling you into a big hug. "What do you want for dinner?" 

You eyed him suspiciously. "You sure you're alright?" 

He smiled, his eyes clear as a cloudless summer sky. “Yup, never better.”

***

You would eventually look back on that moment and realize that was when the gears started turning in Arthur’s head. But at the time, you just brushed it off as him having a moment of reflection and just carried on.

It was Friday and you were wrapping up your work for the day. Your birthday was tomorrow and Arthur hadn’t said anything other than asking you to keep your day open, which immediately clued you in on some kind of secret plan. You were going to groom yourself tonight so you could be ready for tomorrow, whatever his plan might be.

As you exited the bedroom, you smelled delicious food and walked over to the kitchen. You saw Arthur putting the last touches on two plates of grilled chicken and roasted root veggies, the scent of rosemary and thyme making your mouth water.

“Perfect timin’, angel,” he said as he turned around and saw you. “C’mon, let’s eat.”

You happily sat down and let him serve you, chowing down with abandon as the two of you shared your days with each other. He had a busy day at the mechanic shop as three people had rolled up right at the end of the day, leaving their cars overnight for the other team to work on tomorrow. But he stayed over an extra hour to take notes and write all the reports to make sure they knew what to look for.

“You work so hard, Arthur,” you said between bites of delicious chicken. “I really admire that about you.”

He bashfully looked down at his plate and pushed his potatoes around with his fork. “Ain’t nothin’, just tryin’ to do my best.”

You reached out and touched his arm, squeezing it gently. “Seriously, that’s one of the things that really drew me to you. Give yourself some more credit.”

Finally looking up at you, he gave you a wry grin before he continued to eat, asking you about your day. By the time you finished regaling him with a tale of a user who wrote every password down on a piece of paper and had lost said paper, expecting you to know all the passwords because you were ‘the computer person’, you both had finished your food and were washing plates.

“So… what are we doing tomorrow?”

Arthur turned to you and smiled. “Oh, just thought I’d take you out to dinner tomorrow night. For your big day.”

You grinned. You knew he had something planned. “Where are we going?”

“That, my darlin’, is a secret.”

“Aww, come on Arthur!”

“Nope, you hafta wait until tomorrow night.”

You glared at him, but his mysterious smile stayed on his face, undeterred by your stare.

***

The next day couldn’t go by fast enough. Arthur had to work an extra morning shift at the mechanic’s, so you cleaned the apartment, and you may have surreptitiously looked around his desk for any clue of where the two of you were going. You didn’t dig in too deep; after all, you respected his privacy. Besides, you knew hacking into his computer would be pointless, since he barely used the thing. His plans were probably handwritten somewhere, or all up in his head.

You didn’t find anything, no receipts, no print outs, nothing. You sighed after you finished cleaning and plopped down on the sofa in the living room to play video games until Arthur came back from work.

***

When he called saying to eat without him, but eat light, you were a little annoyed. He said he’d come back and hang out with you, that he would try to not let work talk him into staying longer.

Of course he’d stay longer. You knew this going into the relationship. But on your birthday, the fact that he couldn’t come back on time hurt just a little bit. You fixed yourself a salad and continued gaming until about 3PM, when you heard the door open and close. You kept your attention on the game, trying to not let yourself get more annoyed; you logically knew it wasn’t his fault. Emotionally though, you felt a little bit abandoned.

“Sorry I’m late, darlin’.”

You huffed. “It’s fine.”

Arthur toed his boots off and looked at you. “You mad?”

You sighed. “No, I’m not mad. Just… a little disappointed, I guess.”

He came over and sat next to you. You still hadn’t looked at him.

Arthur reached out and gently began to rub your shoulders. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” you replied immediately. “I’m just being selfish. It’s fine. I’ll get over it.”

You heard him sigh. Hitting pause on your game, you finally turned to him. Seeing him look at you with such remorse made you feel worse.

“Arthur. It’s fine.”

“You keep sayin’ that…”

“Because it is!” you snapped.

Arthur blinked at your outburst, then he held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Just… let me know if anything changes.”

You sighed, upset with yourself. “I will.” You turned back to your game. “So where are we going tonight?”

“You still want to go?”

You thought about it for a few moments. “Yeah, I do. I’m just feeling immature. Like I know you have work and stuff. I just wanted you back home sooner.”

Arthur suddenly wrapped his arms around you in a big hug. “Oh, angel,” he murmured into your ear as he held you. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

You melted into his arms. Such an earnest man. Turning your head, you kissed him. “I love you.”

“Love you too, darlin’.”

***

Arthur drove you out towards the beach, and when you saw the restaurant you were heading towards, you gawked at him.

“You… you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You got a reservation?”

“Ayup.”

You said nothing more as Arthur parked his truck, got out, and came around to the other side to help you out like a gentleman. You would normally scoff at such treatment, but he had asked you to wear something a little fancy, so you had on heels and a cocktail dress, which weren’t the easiest things to move around in.

Arthur looked delicious in his navy blue blazer, black polo, blue jeans, and boots. It was hard not to drag him back into the bedroom after seeing him in that outfit, but you knew you had to be patient; after all, there was always tonight.

Holding onto his arm, you let him escort you into the fancy Lakehouse Restaurant.

***

Dinner was wonderful; the foodie in you would always remember how scrumptious everything was, how beautiful all the dishes were, and you lamented how you would probably not go there again for a very long time. Arthur wouldn’t let you see the bill, which was probably for the best, since you would probably have a heart attack.

The drive home was relaxed, the negativity of earlier in the afternoon having faded away now that you had some distance from it all. Arthur was always good about letting you process your emotions, giving you time to recover. You would always be grateful for Arthur being patient with you.

His hand was on your knee, his thumb drawing circles on your skin the entire drive home. By the time you got back, you were craving his touch on all of you.

As the two of you entered your apartment, you kicked off your heels and turned to kiss him. He was surprised at first, given that he had barely gotten his boots off, but soon his hands were on your ass, lifting you up. Immediately you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom. Setting you down on the edge of the bed, Arthur suddenly let go of you and stepped back.

Looking up at him, seeing his eyes turn very serious, your heart stuttered. “Arthur?”

He got down on one knee.

“Ar-Arthur?” you said again, your voice high pitched and breathy.

He said your name, your full name, and you knew what was happening. Your eyes began to water and he looked blurry, so you blinked quickly. You wanted to see this moment clearly, burn this into your memory.

“I’ve messed up a lot in the past. I’ll probably mess up even more in the future. But even so, I would be honored if you’d be by my side through it all, just as I’ll be by yours.”

Arthur reached into a pocket inside his blazer and pulled out a small, black velvet box, and opened it, presenting you with a beautiful silver ring with a dark blue gemstone.

Your vision blurred again.

“You don’t have to answer me now. This ring is my gift to you, whether or not you’ll have me.”

You tried to speak, and choked on your words. He knew you always wanted time to think. He had waited to propose until you were safely at home, away from public eyes, because he didn’t want the pressure to force an answer out of you. He understood you more than anyone ever had before.

“Yes,” you finally said. “I never want to be with anyone else.”

You felt Arthur take your hand and slip the ring onto your finger, felt his stubble cheek brush against yours as he kissed away your tears. “My sweet angel,” he murmured. “What did I do to deserve you.”

You giggled as you reached down and brushed his inner thigh. “You make me feel good.”

He grinned. “That I can do, birthday girl.” Reaching around you, he slowly pulled down the zipper of your dress, unwrapping you like a present as he kissed your exposed skin. Each kiss lingered as if he was savoring each moment of contact, his warm breath making you shiver with desire. Sliding your bra off, he stared at your bare chest with a lustful look, taking your breasts in both his hands and squeezing, teasing your nipples with his fingers and thumbs, drawing out your soft moans.

“Lay back, angel,” he directed quietly. You did as he said, laying back and lifting your hips so he could slide off your dress. With just your sky blue colored panties and bra, you looked at him with a smile. He smiled back, bent down to kiss your inner thighs as he worked his way towards your center before moving the fabric aside, dipping his tongue inside of you.

“Ahhh!” you gasped when his lips made contact with your sensitive bud, your heart rate rocketing when he sucked on it. It was too much and you nearly kicked him, your body writhing madly under his touch. A strong hand gripped your ankle before you could move any further, and he trapped your other leg under his arm as he continued to pleasure you with his talented mouth.

“Keep moanin’ darlin’,” he said before he delved back between your legs. He drove you to the brink, over and over again, before easing off, kissing you everywhere else for a little bit as you caught your breath, pushing your hips towards him, begging with every fiber of your being for completion.

“Please baby,” you begged, “please make me come.”

“So sweet of you to ask,” he said teasingly before letting go of your ankle to slip his finger inside of you. He stood up and bent over you, his eyes capturing yours with his intent stare as he pushed a second, then a third finger inside of you, all the while thumbing your core until your fingers dug into his shoulders and your hips jolted upwards.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” you cried out, your body not ready for the intense climax rushing through you, as if it was coming from both Arthur’s fingers and his gaze. You were trapped by his beautiful eyes, his lips curved in the sexiest, most confident grin you’d ever seen on him as he watched you fall apart from his touch.

“That’s it darlin’, you look so beautiful when you come,” he said in a low voice, filled with love.

When his fingers finally left your body, you felt like you were floating on a cloud, pleasantly buzzed, your muscles relaxed.

Then he took off his jacket.

Your eyes zeroed in on him as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, taking off his clothes, knowing how hungrily you watched him. His hands purposely slowed as he undid his fly, dropping his pants and his boxers, letting you see all of him. Your mouth watered at his hard, thick cock as he took it in his hand and stroked himself lightly.

“Hungry, sweetheart?”

You nodded as you got onto your hands and knees and took him into your mouth. The salty taste of him hit your tongue, eliciting a soft moan of enjoyment from you. Licking him like a popsicle, you reached around him with one arm, grabbing his ass and pushing him towards you.

“Whoa there, darlin’. Careful,” he chuckled as he dug his hands into your hair. He let you dictate the pace, letting his head fall back as he made wordless sounds of satisfaction.

“Gettin’ close,” he said as he stepped away from you, slapping your ass playfully. “Git on the bed, lemme make love to ya.” 

Rolling onto your back, you spread your legs for him, crooking your finger in a ‘come hither’ motion. He smiled and grabbed your legs, settling your ankles on his shoulders before he pressed his cock against your slit.

“Love you,” he said before suddenly thrusting into you, filling you so full that you cried out. 

“Yes, yes!”

Towering above you as he rocked his hips, he looked at you like you were his whole world. "Darlin', you feel so good," he said, his voice low and raspy as he thrust his cock in and out of you, faster and faster. 

Then he suddenly leaned down and pulled you into his arms, folding you in half, and stood back up, still inside of you. With his hands gripping your ass solidly, he pumped you up and down, using you like his fuck toy. 

Your head rolled back and your heart raced at the show of his immense strength. There was no way he would drop you; he held you as if you weighed as little as a feather. 

As your eyes met, he grinned. "I think you should get to ride for a bit," he joked as he sat down. Laying onto his back, he let you maneuver yourself more comfortably. Once you were in position, he gripped your hips. "C'mon cowgirl," he murmured. 

You lifted up, smirked, then slowly lowered yourself onto his cock, teasing him by circling your hips, earning you a snarl. 

"You goin' to tease me like that? After all I done fer ya?" 

You laughed and let yourself drop onto him. Placing your hands onto his strong chest, you started to ride him hard, rubbing yourself frantically, chasing that sweet high. Watching Arthur's eyes flutter shut and his head roll back as he thrust upwards into your tight heat was a sight you wanted to remember forever. His body was covered with a light sheen of sweat and his muscles flexed as he reached for you, pulling you into his arms and taking control. His hips pistoned relentlessly, and all you could do was hold on as the tide of pleasure came rolling in. 

Your climax took you hard, making you shake and shiver in his arms. Your mind blanked as you stared into his beautiful eyes, words spilling from you in your delirious haze. 

"Arthur, please, fill me up! Breed me," you moaned.

"Oh, fuck, darlin'," he gasped as he came, your words pushing him over the edge. His fingers gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he lost himself inside of you. Rolling you over, he pounded into you a few more times, crushing your body into the mattress, desperate to get as deep inside of you as he could. 

He stayed that way on top of you, catching his breath. You wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tight. 

“I love you,” he murmured as he slipped out of you. Rolling to his side, he held you close, running his fingers up and down your back. 

“I love you too, Arthur.”

He kissed you gently, full of love and devotion. Taking your hand, he held it up between your faces so he could admire the ring on your finger. He kissed the back of your hand before holding it to his heart.

“I’ll do my best to make you the happiest wife in the world.”

You believed he could do it too, because he always made you happy.

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

Part 2 here.