#if you give him water in a pan and ask him to boil water

[rootedinrevisions]

Enough for You: Part 3

SUMMARY: After he showed up unexpectedly at your door trying to make amends, you and Tyler spend a cozy evening together, starting with making dinner in the kitchen as light banter fills the space. After a fun and easygoing meal, the two of you curl up on the couch to watch TV, enjoying each other's presence and sharing quiet moments. As the night winds down, you ask Tyler to stay the night, feeling comforted by his warmth and company. Tyler, happy to stay, holds you close as you both drift off into a peaceful sleep, deepening the bond that has grown between you.

WARNINGS: Fluff.

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

OTHER PARTS: PART 1 I PART 2

NOTE: There will be a PART 3! I have it mostly written and just need to finish editing it. Part 2 got away from me so I decided to break it up as to not have one crazy long fic.

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87 I @callsign-diva I @starshinegrl I @willowpains I @beltzboys2015-blog I @fanficmom94 I @smoothdogsgirl I @djs8891

Later you and Tyler had settled into the comfort of your couch as the world outside seems to fade away. The warmth of his presence next to you, the way his hand rests on your knee, and the steady rhythm of his breathing create a bubble of serenity around you. Time feels like it’s slowing down as you both get lost in the closeness and talk. The tension from the past week melts away as you slowly lean your head on his shoulder. You hadn’t planned to spend the past few hours on the couch with him, but it’s as though neither of you can bear to let go of the other.

It isn’t until the soft grumble of a stomach fills the silence that you both freeze, then exchange an amused look. 

"Was that you or me?" Tyler teases with a chuckle, his hand giving your knee a playful squeeze. 

You can’t help but laugh, realizing how long you’ve been so engrossed in each other that dinner slipped both your minds. “I guess we kind of forgot to eat,” you say, grinning up at him. 

"Guess it's time to get out of this cocoon and figure out dinner, huh?" Tyler jokes, but neither of you seem quite ready to move.

Tyler glances around your apartment and then nods toward the kitchen. “How about we cook something here? I’m no chef, but I think I can handle pasta this time.”

You raise an eyebrow, the memory of his past cooking adventures making you smirk. “Are you sure you’re up for the challenge? Last time you tried to make pasta, we almost had to call the fire department”

He laughs, shaking his head. You bite back a smile, feeling a sense of ease wash over you as you both drift toward the kitchen, the earlier tension between you replaced with a playful energy. It feels natural—like slipping back into a rhythm you didn’t realize you missed. Together, you start pulling out ingredients, ready to tackle dinner as a team, side by side.

“You’re actually going to follow the recipe this time, right?” you tease, referencing that one infamous night with the team when his attempt at cooking had been… less than successful.

He rolls his eyes dramatically but grins, a mock-serious tone in his voice. “I promise, no improvising tonight. We’re sticking to the directions like my life depends on it.”

You laugh, stepping up beside him as he starts boiling the water. Together, you work on the sauce—chopping garlic, stirring in tomatoes, and adding the perfect amount of seasoning. The kitchen fills with the rich, savory aroma, and the easy banter between you feels as natural as breathing. You catch him stealing glances at you now and then, the soft kind of looks that make your heart skip a beat.

At one point, you’re standing close, both concentrating on the sauce. Tyler hands you a spoon and nods toward the pan. “Go on, taste test. Let’s see if we nailed it.”

You take a bite, humming in approval, but before you can respond, Tyler’s gaze sharpens. His lips twitch into a grin. 

“You’ve got a little… right there,” he says, gesturing to your lower lip where some of the sauce must have landed.

Before you can wipe it away, Tyler steps closer, his eyes fixed on yours as his hand reaches up. His thumb brushes gently against your lip, lingering for just a second too long. There’s a charged silence, the air between you suddenly thick with tension.

Then, in one smooth motion, Tyler’s lips hover over yours. Instead of wiping the sauce away, he closes the distance and gently kisses it off, his lips brushing yours in a brief, heated moment. His mouth lingers for a beat, as if considering whether to deepen the kiss, but he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

You feel your heart race as his thumb traces a light line across your lip, and you both let out soft laughs to ease the tension, though neither of you moves far away from each other.

“Well, I’d say that’s pretty good,” Tyler says, his voice low, and the double meaning doesn’t escape you.

After a second, you step back, breaking the tension with a smile. “Let’s see if the rest of the meal lives up to that standard.”

You sit down together at your small dining table, a cozy space that feels perfect for the two of you. The pasta is simple, but delicious, and you both dig in, the conversation flowing effortlessly.

Tyler leans back, twirling his fork in the pasta. “So, be honest… was the sauce better than last time?” he asks with a grin, clearly referring to his past kitchen disasters.

You smirk and tilt your head. “It was way better. This time, I didn’t feel like I was risking my life.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Nope,” you say with a grin, taking another bite. The warmth between you isn’t just from the food—it’s from the way you feel sitting across from him, sharing something simple, yet meaningful.

The conversation meanders from lighthearted memories of the team to more personal things. Tyler shares a little about his week, and you talk about yours. Every now and then, he’ll throw in a joke that makes you laugh, and each time, his smile grows wider, like your laughter is exactly what he needed to hear.

At some point, the meal slows down, and the pauses between words become longer. But the silences aren’t awkward—they’re comfortable, filled with the sound of utensils against plates and the occasional soft smile exchanged between you both.

Tyler leans back in his chair, watching you for a moment before speaking. 

“This feels good,” he says quietly, almost to himself. His eyes linger on yours, and you know he’s talking about more than just the dinner.

You nod, your heart swelling with a quiet happiness. “Yeah,” you agree softly. “It does.”

With dinner finished and the dishes stacked in the sink, the atmosphere between you and Tyler has settled into something soft and warm, like an easy current pulling you both along. The quiet hum of the street outside your apartment window is a gentle backdrop as you both make your way to the couch, the leftovers tucked away and the weight of the evening hanging in the air like a comfortable blanket.

You grab a couple of throw pillows and settle into your usual corner of the couch, feeling the softness beneath you as Tyler sits next to you, his arm casually resting along the back. His presence feels different tonight—not distant, not guarded—just close. Like the space between you both has finally disappeared, leaving only a warmth that feels entirely new but somehow familiar.

“You know,” Tyler says, leaning back, “this is probably the most relaxed I’ve felt in a while.” He tilts his head toward you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Though that might be the carbs talking.”

You laugh, the sound light and effortless. “I guess a successful meal can do that.”

His eyes twinkle. “I told you I’d follow the recipe this time.”

There’s a pause, the kind where neither of you feels the need to fill it. The quiet hum of your living room lamp and the distant sounds of life beyond your apartment windows make the world feel small, like it's just the two of you in this cozy bubble. You pull your legs up underneath you, feeling the comfort of the moment settle in.

Tyler glances over at the TV remote sitting on the coffee table. “Movie?” he suggests, though there’s an undertone in his voice that says he’s just as content to keep talking, to keep soaking in this rare and quiet space you’ve found together.

“Yeah,” you nod, reaching for the remote. “Something light.”

As you scroll through your options, you feel Tyler shift closer to you, his knee gently brushing against yours. It’s subtle but enough to send a pleasant warmth coursing through you. You glance over and catch him looking at you, his expression soft, almost thoughtful, as though he’s savoring every second of this moment.

“You pick,” he says softly. “I’ll watch whatever you want.”

You smirk and raise an eyebrow. “Even if it’s a rom-com?”

He chuckles, leaning back. “Even if it’s a rom-com. I’m trying to earn brownie points here.”

You laugh, and before long, you settle on a movie—a lighthearted one neither of you has seen before. But as it begins to play, you find that you’re more aware of Tyler’s presence next to you than anything happening on the screen. 

His arm eventually slides down from the back of the couch, wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side. The contact is natural, easy, like he’s done it a thousand times before. And maybe, in some alternate version of your life, he has.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You just sit there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the glow of the TV casting soft shadows around the room. At some point, your head naturally leans into his shoulder, and his fingers trace light, absentminded circles on your arm. You feel his steady breathing, his heart beating in rhythm with yours.

Tyler’s voice breaks the quiet after a while, soft and almost hesitant. You tilt your head slightly to look up at him. “I’m really glad I came tonight.”

His words are simple, but the weight of them lingers. You feel a swell of warmth in your chest, and you nod, a smile spreading across your face.

“Me too.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. It’s tender, full of unspoken promises that neither of you are rushing to put into words just yet.

The movie drones on in the background, but for the rest of the night, the only thing that matters is the quiet, cozy space the two of you have built together—one that feels like it’s always been waiting for this moment.

As the credits roll on the movie, the soft hum of the television is the only sound in the room. You glance over at Tyler, who’s been quiet for the last few minutes, his arm still wrapped comfortably around you. The warmth of his body feels like an anchor, keeping you grounded in this perfect, simple moment.

Tyler shifts slightly, and with a gentle touch, he reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger there for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes searching yours. “You okay?” he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid to disturb the peace you’ve found together.

You smile, a soft, genuine smile, and nod. “Yeah,” you whisper back, the word carrying more meaning than its simplicity suggests. Everything feels right in this moment—more right than anything has in a long time.

Tyler’s eyes flicker with something deeper as he leans in, brushing his lips gently against yours. The kiss is slow, tender, as if he’s savoring it, committing every second to memory. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he asks again, quieter this time, “You sure?”

You look up into his eyes, feeling a rush of emotion well up inside you. You could pretend to be calm, but the truth is, this moment feels like a turning point, like everything you’ve been waiting for is finally within reach. “I don’t want you to leave,” you confess, your voice soft but filled with vulnerability. The words hang in the air, delicate and full of meaning.

Tyler pauses for a beat, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek. His gaze holds yours, as though he’s searching for any hint of uncertainty. “I can stay,” he says, his voice low and careful, “if you want me to.”

You feel your chest tighten at the tenderness in his words, and you nod, your heart racing. “I want you to stay,” you murmur, the vulnerability in your voice now mirrored by the warmth in his eyes. 

You smile, and without saying anything more, you take his hand, leading him down the short hallway to your bedroom. Once inside, the atmosphere shifts slightly—more intimate, more real. You reach for a pair of soft pajamas while Tyler tugs off his shirt, the sound of fabric falling to the floor barely registering as you change. When you turn around, you find him standing there, stripped down to his boxers, watching you with that same look in his eyes—like he’s seeing you for the first time.

You both climb into bed, the sheets cool and inviting. Tyler lies back, his arm automatically reaching out for you, an open invitation. Without hesitation, you curl up into his side, your head resting on his chest as his arm wraps around you, holding you close. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, a calming rhythm that makes you feel completely safe.

For a few moments, the two of you just lie there, the silence between you filled with the kind of comfort that doesn’t need words. But eventually, Tyler’s fingers start tracing lazy patterns on your back, and his voice breaks the quiet.

“This feels good,” he says softly, his breath warm against the top of your head.

You nod, your eyes half-closed, the weight of the day finally catching up with you. “It does,” you agree, your voice thick with sleep.

There’s a brief pause before Tyler speaks again, quieter this time. “I’ve missed you.” His fingers continue their gentle path along your back, his voice carrying the weight of everything unspoken between you.

You tilt your head slightly, just enough to look up at him. His expression is soft, and in the dim light of the room, you can see the tenderness in his eyes. “I’ve missed you too,” you admit, the words coming out in a sleepy murmur as you feel yourself beginning to drift off.

Tyler’s hand stills on your back, and you feel him press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, the warmth of his lips lingering against your skin. “Get some sleep,” he whispers, his voice barely audible now. “I’ll be right here.”

And with that, you let the last of your worries fade away. You’re safe, comfortable, wrapped up in Tyler’s arms. The world outside can wait—right now, all that matters is this moment, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, and the warmth of his body next to yours.

Tyler stays awake for a few minutes longer, watching as your breathing evens out and your body relaxes against his. A small smile tugs at his lips as he presses another kiss to your forehead, his heart full. “Sweet dreams, beautiful,” he whispers, though he knows you’ve already fallen asleep. He closes his eyes then, pulling you even closer as he finally allows himself to drift off too, knowing that when morning comes, you’ll still be right there, next to him.

[revasserium]

Okay okay hear me out Rain: reader watching Sanji cook, just sitting, waiting, maybe reading a book but catching glances at him every so often and he knows they're looking at him and just smiles....sorry I love that man

accidentally in love

opla!sanji; 2,569 words; fluff, banter so much banter, flirting, flustered!sanji, whipped!sanji, no "y/n", confessions, "sweetheart", fem!reader, straw hat"!reader

summary: in which sanji is trying to cook dinner but you're very, very distracting. or, sanji finally meets his match.

a/n: i know i said i might not write for anyone other than zoro but i lied. i guess i'm a sanji bitch now too. fuck.

Sanji’s always liked to say that he can cook anywhere, anytime, given that he’s got something that resembles heat and a smattering of ingredients — like any great artist, he knows how to make do. But, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy this — the quiet of a ship’s kitchen, the gentle sway of the ocean, the simmer and pop of fat on a pan, the soft bubbling of boiling water — and you.

You, perched on the counter with your legs hanging off the side, hair piled up and pinned with a chopstick, a book in your hands or on your lap, the early afternoon sun spilling in to caress your skin like so many loving fingers. Sometimes, he’ll glance over while chopping onions or mincing garlic to catch a glimpse of you, and he’d find himself stilling, his fingers slowing, his breath suspended in his chest, caught like an insect in amber: held weightless and perfect.

“You’re staring,” you say, flipping a page without looking up, a smile twitching at your lips.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve found that admiring beautiful things helps me in my creative process,” he says, his grin going lopsided as he lowers his eyes to the ingredients on the cutting board — tiny, plump cherry tomatoes ripe to bursting. He resumes slicing each in half with swift, decisive cuts and relishes in the sound of your laughter.

“Careful with that mouth of yours — someone might accidentally fall in love with you,” you flip another page.

Sanji slides the cut tomatoes into a bowl and wipes a hand on the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Accidentally? C’mon, you gotta gimme some more credit. But if anyone’s fallin’ in love, it’s gonna be with you.”

Another page. Sanji plucks a few zucchini from a large bag and starts to julienne them into thin strips.

“What are you making?” you ask, finally setting the book down in favor of peering at all the ingredients he’s got laid out. He quirks an eyebrow, glancing up.

“What, finished with that book already?”

“Nope — just found something more interesting to look at, that’s all.”

Sanji blushes.

Let it never be said that Vinsmoke Sanji can’t take as good as he gives but by all the gods and monsters and sea kings — you’re a damn good flirt. Almost as good as he is, he used to think. Now, as he covers up his rapidly darkening cheeks with a chuckle, turning away to grab a potato for skinning, he wonders if you might just be better.

“You never answered my question, y’know.”

He looks up again, his tongue feeling strangely swollen and uncoordinated in his mouth. You’re grinning at him, your legs still swinging, but in the few seconds he’d looked away, you’ve inched closer, your outer thigh now almost pressing against the edge of his cutting board.

The first time he’d found you perched up on his long work table with a book in your lap, he’d blinked, crossed his arms, and debated on asking what on earth you thought you were doing. Chefs generally do not take kindly to their prep spaces being treated like free real estate for sitting, but he’d never been able to say no to a beautiful woman, now has he? And least of all you.

“Thought you could use the company,” was your answer to his then-unasked question. He’d laughed, nodded, and gotten on with his breakfast prep. But that was months ago and since then, it’s become something of a habit; a ritual, almost.

“What question was that? I was —” he asks, clearing his throat, his fingers almost slipping on the freshly peeled potato, “distracted by your —”

“What are you making?”

“Oh —” Sanji returns his gaze to the cutting board, now acutely aware of the smell of your skin, creamy and warm. He swallows, trying to focus on slicing the potato.

“Just a cherry tomato and zucchini noodle pasta — not often that we get such fresh produce. But Luffy’d asked if I can make chips from scratch the other day so that’s what this bad boy’s for,” he says, holding up half the potato.

“You sure one potato’s gonna be enough?” you shift your leg to cross one above the other, and Sanji has to swallow passed the thickness building up in the back of his throat at the sight of your soft, smooth thighs.

“Good point,” he says, laughing as he bends down to grab a few more.

You fall into a companionable silence, the quiet only punctuated by the tack-tack-tack of his knife on the cutting board and the occasionally shunk-thump of ingredients being swept into a metal prep bowl.

“You’re staring,” he says. And this time, it’s Sanji who grins, keeping his eyes fixed on the remainder of the herb mix he’s chopping up.

“Yeah, I know. I’m making a habit of admiring beautiful things. I’ve heard that it’s good for me.”

Heat bursts in Sanji’s chest as if he’d swallowed a shot of whiskey or gin or perhaps something even more potent. His head spins, but he steadies himself before letting out a soft, low whistle. He fights the urge to look up just to check if you’re as affected as he is.

“Keep talkin’ like that and falling in love with you’s not gonna be an accident.”

When he finally looks up to shoot you a flirty smile, he finds himself faltering as he meets your eyes.

“Who said I wanted it to be an accident?”

The knife in Sanji’s hand slips and he swears as it knicks the skin of his forefinger.

“Ah, shit —”

“Oops.” You have the decency to look sheepish as he shoots you a mildly reproachful look. But you shift your legs and tug open a drawer that had been tucked beneath where your knee had been, pulling out a small bandage.

“Come here,” you offer, reaching out as he stares at you for a second before moving forward to give you his hand. You gently wipe away the blood before pressing the bandage to the small cut, running a thumb over the edges to make sure it’s sealed.

The air hangs between you like dust motes trapped in sunlight, like first snow caught in the silvery breaths of awestruck children.

“There,” you say, the word no more than a whisper. Your hands linger over his, his skin burning where you’d touched him. Shivers skitter down the length of his spine as he gulps in a breath of air that tastes faintly of fairytale endings and happily-ever-afters.

“Thanks.”

He doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

Like this, he can count every single lash that frames your doe-wide eyes. Like this, he can feel the static thrum of electricity threatening to jump from his body to yours, and all at once, he understands why lightning always tries to reach for the closest thing to its storm-ridden skies.

Perhaps it, too, yearns for closeness — for that infinitesimal moment of connection.

He wants to reach for you.

Your lips hover a kiss’s-breadth away.

An alarm goes off.

“Oh fuck —”

He jerks away from you, the world clanging rudely back into focus as he reaches for the lid of a large pot, his heart hammering something fierce inside his ribcage. He nearly burns himself on the thick fog of steam rising from inside the pot to reveal six flat-face crabs, freshly caught that morning.

Behind him, he hears the distinct sounds of you slipping from the long work table.

“Leaving already?” he asks as he turns back around with a stab at his usual light-hearted cheek.

You lick your lips, grinning, “I feel like I’ve caused enough damage for one dinner service. If I keep hanging around, you might lose a finger next.”

“Small price to pay for the company of a beautiful woman,” but there’s a gravel and grit to his voice that wasn’t there before, and he looks away first when this time your eyes catch. He tries to busy himself with prepping the pan sauce for the crabs.

“I’ll let Nami know that the next time she wants to peek in on you cooking.”

“Hey —”

You pause at the sound of his voice just as you reach the door. You turn.

Sanji’s expression flickers between caution and anticipation as he opens his mouth, his eyes somehow sharper and darker than they usually are.

“We’re not done talking about this.”

You cock your head, “About what?”

But there’s a smile teasing at the corner of your lips and Sanji lets out a good-humored sigh.

“Alright, go. Or else I might lose more than a finger.”

Like a heart, he thinks as you close the door behind you with a soft click.

Dinner is an appetizer of cold zucchini pasta followed by a warm, tangy tomato veloute. Then come the crabs — freshly steamed over a bed of risotto and served with a lemon and rosemary pan sauce so delicious it has even Zoro sighing with satisfaction.

“Wow, special occasion?” Nami asks, looking up as Sanji comes around with a tray full of cocktails, complete with blood orange slices garnishing the lip of each glass.

“Ain’t every day a special one with this crew?” he asks, winking at Nami as she takes her drink.

Everyone laughs, but as he sets down your drink, you notice a tiny note tucked beneath the base of your glass.

You take a sip of your drink, glancing down at the note. It has three simple words written in Sanji’s unmistakable, slanted handwriting:

Kitchen — after dinner.

You tuck the note away in your pocket with a secret grin, taking another long sip of the cold, refreshing drink.

The final course is a heaping pile of home-made potato chips with garlic and cheese dip, and Luffy wastes no time in shoveling half the batch into his mouth, crunching loudly over a series of vague, animalistic hums and grunts that all seem to denote happiness.

You finish your drink and slip away under the guise of going for another.

When you get to the kitchen, it's to find Sanji already cleaning up.

“Need a hand?” you ask, setting your empty glass on the counter before lightly hoisting yourself up onto it.

Sanji shakes his head, turning off the water and wiping down his hands. He pours you another drink from a large pitcher before setting it down and pursing his lips.

“This afternoon —”

“I meant what I said —” you say, cutting him off as you look away, eyes fixed on your knees as you swing your feet away from the table’s edge, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sanji clears his throat, reaching into his pocket to grab a cigarette and a lighter, if only to keep his hands busy. The thing in his chest that he’d been so convinced was his heart for most of his life now feels very much like a ticking time bomb. Or perhaps a hand grenade, with the pin held precariously between your teeth.

One word from you and —

“So? What about you?” you ask.

Sanji sucks in a long breath of smoke, holding it in his lungs before letting it out. The familiar sting grounds him as he looks at you and wonders if you know all the things he’d do for you. All the things he’s already done.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yeah — did you mean it?” And for the first time since he’s known you, you sound uncertain, “All… all those things you said? All the things you’ve been saying?”

He takes a few steps forward, finally allowing himself to breach the delicate circle of your personal space, his free hand coming to rest on the counter next to your thigh, his palm pressing flat to keep himself from going too far, too fast.

“Three guesses,” he says, letting his eyes flicker down to your lips and linger there, “You guess right… and there might be a prize involved, hm?”

A small, knowing grin spreads across your lips even as you quirk an eyebrow.

“Three guesses to a yes or no question? C’mon, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch.”

Sanji leans in and you can almost taste the smoke on your tongue.

“But you do know better, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You suck in a breath, reaching up to tug the cigarette from his lips.

“Yes.”

You catch a flash of his smile a second before his lips find yours. He tastes of salt and tobacco and lemon-rosemary sauce.

“That’s one,” he says as the pair of you break apart. The cigarette lies forgotten on the counter.

Somehow, his hands have found their way to the bend of your waist, settling there as naturally as the tide might settle against its favorite stretch of forgotten beach.

You smile as you reach up to tug him closer, “Yes.”

Another kiss.

Sanji notes with a satisfied grin that your cheeks are just as flushed as his feels when he pulls away this time. He nods, trailing long fingers up your side, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, the other pressing at the small of your back.

“That’s two.”

You nudge his nose with yours and he feels his hand-grenade heart leap into his throat.

“And…” you hum, letting your head lilt to one side as you ghost your lips over his, “Hm, lemme think about this one…”

Sanji rolls his eyes, tugging you forward by the back of your neck, crushing your mouth to his. It’s more insistent this time — the kiss, the breath, his fingers, your hands — more desperate and fumbling, fueled by the ever-growing heat bubbling at the base of his spine.

“Yes —” you hiss, panting as the pair of you pull apart, your pupils blown wide and dark in the dim kitchen light.

“And that’s all three,” he says, his smile going wide with warmth, “See? You’ve got it. Knew you’d get there.”

“Did you ever doubt?”

Sanji shrugs, taking half a step back to admire the sight of you, with kiss-swollen lips and heat-flushed skin. Perfect might not be strong enough a word.

“There was a moment here or there,” he says, to which you respond with a light shove to his shoulder as you hop off the table.

“Oh, I meant to ask you — what’s for dessert?”

Sanji laughs, “What? Did my garlic-cheddar chips not satisfy?”

“Really? Chips for dessert? And here I was hoping for something sweet.”

You make to leave the kitchen but Sanji reaches forward, pulling you back all too easily, spinning you around and pinning you against the door. His eyes are soft with mirth but as he leans down, you can’t help but shiver at the promise of something more lingering beneath the smoke of his breath.

“Well then, sweetheart, I think I’ve got my dessert picked out already now, don’t I?”

recs r technically closed, but... if you have an opla!sanji one... send it here.

[lowkeyremi]

SWITCHIN' THE POSITIONS FOR YOU, COOKIN' IN THE KITCHEN !

pairing: s. gojo x fem!reader (drabble) note: i saw a poll asking who would be the worst in the kitchen and a lot of people (along with myself) voted gojo summary: satoru wants to make you dinner for a change but it goes terribly wrong for him ! content: fluff, gojo can NOT cook, established relationship (marriage), just cute stuff nothing crazy :3 wc: 783

An hour ago. That was when your husband told you not to worry about dinner, because, 'I've got it covered!' You've been married to Satoru for a long time, so you trusted his judgement. That was then, and right now you're worried because you are 100% sure something in the kitchen is burning right now.

If the groans and frustrated clanging of pots and pans weren't something to go by, then you weren't sure what was. As happy as you would have been to eat whatever burnt mess your husband made, you really didn't want the fire department to have to put out a fire in the building.

So, the only other option was to help him. He was bound to complain and tell you he can do it himself, but you won't have any of that.

"Baby? You okay?" All of the noise in the kitchen quiets when you call out for your husband.

"Yeah, I'm fine! Don't- don't come in here yet I'm not done." A loud crash sound ensues and a loud groan leaves Satoru's lips.

"I think I should come in now, yeah?" He sighs quietly. He's so let down that he nods forgetting that you can't see him before whispering a soft, "Yeah."

"What are you in here making, 'toru?" His blue eyes are just as pouty as his lips are. You find it hard to keep your own eyes on him when out of the corner of your eyes you can see something bubbling over onto the stove with a "psh" sound.

"Was making you pasta, but I burnt the noodles and now the sauce is burning." His voice holds none of his usual cheeriness, his lips hold a very deep frown, and his eyes droop down.

"Aww baby, that was really sweet of you. How about we clean this up and order takeout?" His frown deepens, if that's even possible.

"But I wanna cook you dinner," He whines quietly. Of course you're going to help him make dinner now, because he was so set on cooking for you. Satoru's never had to cook because of his family background, which is why everything in the kitchen is in the state that it's in.

An uneasy feeling washes over you when you see the amount of dishes that are in the sink and what time it is. By the time you guys finish cleaning the kitchen and buy groceries for dinner, it'll be late, but it's worth seeing a smile on his face.

"Well, let's get to cleaning if we wanna eat before midnight." His pout is immediately turned into a big, bright smile.

"Okay!!"

After much cleaning and a trip to the grocery story you and your husband are ready to cook.

"Okay, now that our hands are clean and we have everything that we need, do you mind passing me a tomato?" Without hesitating he picks up a the red fruit and slips it into your hand.

"Thank you, Honey." He smiles diligently as he watches you slice the tomato into halves.

Once he thinks he's seen you do it enough times he asks to give it a try.

"Careful 'toru. Don't cut yourself." With ease he slices through the tomato, keeping his hand away from the knife just as you had. Satoru Gojo is good at everything he does, so of course the cut is perfect.

"Look at you baby, you're a pro at this!" His ego is already pretty big, but it wouldn't hurt to let him feel some pride after his cooking disaster earlier.

While Satoru cut up the rest of the tomatoes, you started boiling the water and browning the beef. You make sure to season the meat with Italian styled seasonings such as oregano, basil, parsley, a long with the essential seasonings.

Satoru's attention is turned to you when he finishes the tomatoes. "Why didn't we just get the fresh stuff at the store instead of those seasonings?"

"Because I want to cut some prep time off. It does the same thing, don't worry too much about it. On top of that we're making homemade sauce so it'll be fine." He nods, but you're 100% sure he has no clue what any of that meant.

The pasta turned out way better this time and Satoru was so excited, "Okay okay, one more picture and then we can eat. It's just- gosh baby this looks so good. Thank you for teaching me how to make this."

It's not fair how he can easily fluster you. "Your welcome, 'toru. Now can we eat? I'm starving."

He lets out a laugh deep from his belly, "Yeah, let's eat before our hard work gets cold."

©𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈 All works are written by me! Please do not copy, translate, or upload onto other sites thanks!

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Look okay like I can't stop with the headcanons someone send help.

Between being married to a chef, and prior to that being the primary cook in my household from age sixteen to twenty-four, I absolutely love cooking. It's been one of my passions for years.

So we're doing headcanons about Reader asking the OPLA boys to cook with them.

Obligatory Sanji foodporn gif for purely aesthetic purposes

Not to be dramatic but I could watch that all day.

In the Kitchen

SFW

Definitely on the fluffy side.

LA!Sanji X Reader, LA!Zoro X Reader, LA!Shanks X Reader, LA!Mihawk X Reader, LA!Buggy X Reader

Sanji

"—and this is a boning knife, and this is a santoku, and this is a mezzaluna, and—"

Please.

Please please please cook with him. It will make his entire year.

You could wake him up out of a dead sleep at two in the morning and tell him you want to cook with him, and he'll be wide awake and literally dragging you into the kitchen in excitement.

You sharing in his passion is far more important than anything else.

And you'd best believe he's going to use it as an excuse to be even more flirty than usual.

Standing behind you with one arm around your waist while he shows you the best way to hold a knife to keep your wrist from cramping.

Kissing you on the cheek, brushing his lips to your neck, praising you for absolutely every little thing.

There's a very good chance this entire operation is going to devolve into a kitchen make-out session.

Zoro

"Hey, uh...is this supposed to smell like smoke?"

Just bear with him, he's trying.

Tells you he could probably burn a pot of boiling water if he tried hard enough.

You absolutely believe him.

Gets super frustrated about cutting his finger trying to dice an onion but absolutely refuses to give up. Unfortunately his frustration makes him even more clumsy with the knife and...oops.

Tries to multi-task like you do...and definitely ends up burning something.

Sitting at the table afterwards, tapping his foot and sulking about you having to put band-aids on his fingers. Says he's probably going to stick to swords after this...

...But secretly, he's pretty sure if you ever ask him again, he'll do it. He's too stubborn to give up for one, and for another he honestly enjoyed the experience with you despite the chaos.

Shanks

"Ooh, can we do that thing where you pour booze in the pan and it goes up in flames?"

So excited about this, living his best life like always.

Trying to flip the knife in the air and catch it and nearly dropping it on his toe instead.

Literally like a little kid.

He's got a little bit of know-how around the kitchen, but there's definitely room for improvement.

Gets beyond excited about getting anything right, especially if you praise him for it.

Standing behind you with his arm around your waist to watch how you do things, his cheek or his chin resting on your shoulder, just smiling while he listens to you explain the process.

Honestly he's just having a brilliant time doing anything at all with you.

Mihawk

"Are we absolutely certain this doesn't need more wine?"

He's way better at it than you expected, honestly—but then again, he has been living alone for literal years, so it's not that much of a stretch.

No, you may not use his cross-knife to peel potatoes with, no matter how much it resembles a paring knife, stop asking.

Cooking and wine absolutely go hand in hand with him—whether the recipe involves wine or not (but if he's choosing it probably does), he's still having a glass.

Pretty competitive about who's better at making what, but in a less serious and more playful manner.

Pulling out all the stops to ensure you're impressed—you're going to be making something incredibly fancy and classic, like Coq a Vin or Duck Cassoulet.

Absolutely iron focus—if he's cutting vegetables or seasoning something and you're trying to talk to him, there's a fair chance he won't even hear you at first.

Prefers slower methods of cooking—things that need to simmer for a while, braising, so on and so forth. More time to drink wine.

Buggy

"Penne for your thoughts? Don't give me that look, you know I'm hilarious."

An excuse to play with knives? Sign him the hell up.

Telling you he worked in the kitchen when he was on Roger's crew, but failing to mention all he did was wash dishes.

He has no idea what he's doing but he's having a simply marvelous time of it.

The food puns. Dear gods the food puns are unending. You're probably going to end up cutting yourself from either laughing or groaning incessantly.

He's definitely going to detach his hands and chill at the table or sit on the counter while they do the work for him.

Manages to catch something on fire within minutes (and you're ninety-nine percent sure it was intentional).

Just reveling in the chaos while you're rushing to get the baking soda to pour over said fire and clap a lid on the pan.

Don't leave him unattended if you value the continued functionality of your kitchen.

[monstersighing]

Frankenstein monster x Fem!reader

Uhhh, this is actually kinda sweet, but also horny.

NSFW, 18+, Minor Do Not Interact

Frankenstein's Monster/Creature x Fem Reader

Title: Home

Content: penetrative sex, masturbation.

+++

You find him in the forest. A man, but strange. He’s tall and broad. Covered with scars and stitches on the parts of him you can see under his dirty hooded cape. There are birds surrounding him that he is feeding with a piece of hardened bread, so he doesn’t notice you at first. When he does, he flinches and pulls his hood down.

He is huge and tall and hooded, but you are not afraid.

You coax him towards you with soft words. Promises of food and shelter. And he follows you home.

+++

He is gentle despite his size and hardly speaks.

When you ask his name, he doesn’t reply, so you call him Francis, after a statue of the saint you once saw with birds on his shoulders and little creatures at his feet.

Francis pulls pails of water from the well and chops firewood with an energy and strength that makes something turn over in your stomach. Sometimes, you see him looking at you from under his hood. His eyes are two different colours, and both are beautiful.

When you tell him that, Francis shakes his head, unbelieving, but you think you see a smile.

The next day, he leaves his hood down.

+++

One night, sat together in the glow of the fire, you ask Francis where he came from, where he was born.

“I was not born. My father, he made me. Out of many men.”

He looks at you then, as if waiting for your disgust and rejection.

“So, you are a miracle of science, then. How wonderful,” you reply.

The surprise on his face makes it light up. You think you would give him a thousand compliments if he would just look like that more often.

+++

It has been a long dirty day of planting in the fields, so you boil pans of water over the fire, empty them in the tub and sink into the water.

You can hear the rhythmic sound of wood being chopped. You think of Francis’s grating rusty voice, his muscular shoulders. You imagine what those shoulders would feel like under your hands. What your legs would feel like wrapped around his waist.

You are rubbing yourself dry when the door creaks. You turn automatically, and see Francis at the door, hand clenched on the handle.

You don’t cover yourself, just let him gaze at your nakedness.

You hear the crumple of metal as the door handle cracks in Francis’s hand and he bolts.

You dress quickly and run outside, wet hair running rivulets down the back of your neck.

You find Francis in the barn, on his knees. His eyes are closed, and he is biting down on one hand as he fucks his straining cock into the fist of the other. You watch: the heaviness of his cock, his clenched eyelids, the desperate twitches of his hips. He comes quickly, and cum spurts and dribbles over his hand. When he removes the other from his mouth, you see the marks of teeth there.

You must make a noise because Francis opens his eyes then and sees you.

His reaction is instantaneous, a pulling up of trousers as he leaps to his feet and pushes past you and out of the barn door.

You shout after him as he runs towards the forest, but he does not stop or turn to look at you.

+++

Francis does not come back that evening.

In the morning you go looking for him.

He’s in the clearing in the forest where you first saw him.

“Come home,” you say. “Come home with me.” You do not know how to tell him, and you do not know how to ask, so you rise on your toes, and pull him down by his cloak so you can kiss him.

Frencis’s kiss is uncertain, but when you coax your tongue into his mouth you can taste the berries that he must have eaten.

It starts to rain, and you grab his hand to run through the forest and across the fields back home.

Once inside your home, you notice that his cape has kept him dry, but your clothes are soaked. Your nipples are cold and hard.

You strip to nakedness under Francis’s gaze and place his mismatched hands - one broader, with callouses, the other with long fingers - on your breasts.  He kneads at them roughly, and you watch him spread his legs to accommodate his filling cock.

You splay your legs and show him how to finger your already leaking cunt. His eyes flick from your wetness to your face, his two different coloured eyes hungry.

“The bed,” you say.

He ignores you and pushes you down to the floor.

He’s still clothed and your legs are spread wide. He looks like he wants to devour you. He pushes his trousers down and pulls off his shirt with a rip of seams. There’s a neatly stitched incision on his chest, in the shape of a Y.

Then he lines up his cock with your cunt and pushes deep inside you with a grunt. You cry out at the feeling of fullness and he begins to thrust into you, each ferocious push feeling deeper than the last.

Your legs lock as far as you can over his back, holding him deep and your hands roam his skin, touching the rough stitches that joint his arms to his shoulders. Proof that this man was made of many men. Now just one, who wants you, desperately. Who is showing you with each jolting push of his cock inside you.

His thrusts ruck up the rug beneath you, and you brace your arms against the floor. The resistance pushes him deeper into you. He comes with a howl: satisfied, animalistic. You feel his come, warm and sticky, flood into you.

He rears back then, and with his cock still seated inside you, Francis presses a finger around the stretched rim of your cunt and then inside, crooking up, hard. The impossible stretch makes your walls flutter, your thighs clench and your back arch with your orgasm.

Francis watches as his cock softens, and then slips out of your cunt, come leaking from your entrance. You sigh at the absence until he splays over you, a heavy comforting weight, and you sleep.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

oh hi big sis hru just wanted to ask for bucky making out w reader and "choking" reader? ((not really choking, just his hand on readers neck 🧜🧜 need that metal hand inside me

big sis?! AW GET OUT THATS SO CUTE!! salivating bc it’s such a delicious idea. thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

VIBRANIUM NECKLACE.

bucky barnes x fem!reader — smut/ very suggestive

word count. 592

warnings. 18+ bit of a hand kink (self indulgent? no😏don’t be silly) light ‘choking’ (basically just throat holding) mdni

Picking up on hints is something Bucky does best - his prior life as a weapon coming in handy when it came to connecting dots. 

But he didn't need his training when it came to you. Your clues were far from decreet.

He had noticed the recent liking you had taken to his vibranium arm - the longing glances, the touches, that look in your eye when he skims you with his metal fingers. 

There was something so lewd and erotic about it: the coldness of the metal when it touched your skin or just the thought of the sheer strength he could wield with it - just knowing the amount of power he could muster and still be so gentle with it around you.

He noticed it more prominently now. Standing together in the kitchen as you prepped dinner, you on Bucky's side as he chopped the ingredients. His right hand skillfully gripping the knife, his left metal hand holding a potato, keeping it still.

You were supposed to be on peeling duty, but every time you caught a glimpse of his hands, all work got delayed, consequentially leading to him having nothing to chop. So you pass him another peeled potato, watching how he brushes your fingers in the process - his hands purposefully lingering longer than they're supposed to.

Bucky's not an idiot. He could see it clear as day: the way your ears pull back, the delayed exhale in your chest, even the dilation in your pupils. He could see it all. 

You continue watching the smooth, fluid-like motion of his hands - practically ogling him as he drops the cubed produce into the saucepan. You're utterly captivated as you gawk at him, following his every move as he effortlessly glides around the kitchen - watching him place the pan onto the heat to boil.

He gives the potatoes a stir —fully aware of your stares— and turns to face you, noticing that same glimmer in your eye. He takes a step closer and presses a momentary kiss onto your lips, then pulls back, picking up on that hint of desperation across your face. 

So he leans back in, kissing you again and again until it evolves into much more than a few chaste, casual kisses. All of it progressing into something hungrier, eager - heavily making out as his lower half cages you against the counter. His cock chubbing up against your lower tummy.

He tests the waters and decides to use the one thing you've been eyeing up all evening. So he teases his left hand over your shoulder, fingers steadily skimming along until he reaches that part between your collarbone and the base of your throat - a faint, whiney moan leaving your lips in the process. The soft dulcet noise muffling into his mouth.

With your silent agreement, he snakes his palm higher - fingers itching up the sides of your throat until they settled in a light, comfortable grip just below your jaw. His grasp is faint, just merely holding your throat as he deepens the kiss, groin pushing you up against the edge of the counter.

He nips on your bottom lip before pulling away slightly, both of your chests practically heaving from the desperate makeout. He grazes his thumb over your chin, itching higher to run over your bottom lip, the pad outing it slowly - his eyes following attentively. 

"Don't you go anywhere," he whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips - moving away to attend to the bubbling pot.

[thegnomelord]

sof and cute hcs of eldritch reader trying to learn how to people (and maybe some raunchy ones about learning how human "mating" works) hhhhnnnngggh

Imagine Learning To Be Human

CW: SFW and NSFW First TF141 with SFW, then NSFW headcannons, sexting, masturbation, sex toys, morning after (no sex), sexual nudity, nonsexual nudity, implied poly141. GN reader, 500-900 words for each blurb, so somewhere around 5.5k words. Imma be quiet for the next week or so as I prepare for an exam so I'm feeding ya'll :Dd

Imagine SOAP— It's safe to say you're not the best with expressing what you think, especially not in this hollowed out corpse a tiny fraction of your consciousness inhabits. The more you try, the less human your attempts come out, only remembering that humans don't bend that way or don't do something after you've done it. You find yourself gravitating to Soap because he is the opposite of you, so open and responsive like an open book.

Imagine; observing Soap as he tries to piece together the fragments of a bomb, muttering curses under his breath as if the object had just called football 'soccer'. He's so concentrated he forgets the rest of the world exists, oblivious to you sitting across from him. But that's not a problem as it gives you a chance to watch and try to mimic what his face does; the slight hint of teeth as he nibbles on his lip, the furrow of his brows, the tenseness of his jaw pulling on his throat muscles…

You try to mimic every emotion he goes through as he tries and fails and succeeds and fails again to fit the pieces together like a jigsaw, but the hardest one to do is that smile of his. For some reason you just can't get it right, lips pulling back too far, teeth too much on display and brows too furrowed so you end up looking like an old savage.

Then as if to spite you, Soap looks up at you and immediately snorts. "What're yea doin' there Bonnie?" He coughingly laughs as your facial features return to your statue like state.

"Trying to look like you." You huff; at least you can do that correctly.

"Oh, look strapping don't I?" He snorts, doing what Ghost calls 'fishing for compliments' (though you're unsure how one can fish for abstract ideas).

"No more than the rest." You shrug and see him roll his eyes, though the corners of his lips are still quirked up, a hint of teeth on display and vestiges of dimples framing his mouth. "How do I do that?" You ask and motion to his face.

"Do what? Smile?" You snorts, already beckoning you over like you're a dog. "It's easy."

You lean across the table, tilting your head to indicate confusion but leaving your face a blank canvas. It takes all of your presence of mind not to give an earth shattering purr when his hands cup your jaw, distant stars quivering as his blunt nails scratch at your throat for a blissful second.

"Here," His thumbs settle at both corners of your lips, putting gentle pressure until he pushes the flesh back and up in a way that's natural to the skin suit but not you. "There yea go." He grins and pulls his thumbs away after a few moments, grinning when you hold the expression.

"Now yea're as dashing as me." He chuckles and you two must look like utter buffoons just grinning at one another; you wouldn't have it any other way.

Imagine GAZ — You're not exactly alive, technically you're the antithesis to life and existence, so to you, simple rules like eating or sleeping are no more than chalk guidelines after a rainstorm. Gaz doesn't subscribe to this idea, he's always trying to get you to indulge in these human comforts and you always allow him, even if it does include eating more things in a week than most of your kin have consumed in a millennia, if that.

Imagine; wandering the halls on a lazy Sunday morning, no drills to run or missions to prep for, and being drawn to the communal kitchen by the sound of boiling water and banding pans. You find Gaz cooking breakfast for the boys; he's the only one who can cook (according to him) seeing as Price seasons his food with hope, Ghost burns everything into coal and Soap's not allowed into the kitchen after he'd tried to make tea in the microwave (which Gaz had later asked you to exorcise).

"Mornin'." Kyle yawns and smiles at you, dressed in shorts and one of your 'lost' shirts. You do your best to replicate his expression. "Help me, yeah?" He asks and nods his head at what he's cooking.

Your expression falls back to neutral. "You'll need to show me how." You admit as you get next to him.

"Not a problem," He chuckles as he shifts behind you, pressing his chest flush with your back with his hands hovering over yours. You feel his warmth when he rests his head on your shoulder, his hands firm and steady as he shows you how to chop tomatoes and sausages, how to hold the knife correctly and pulling your fingers back when the blade draws too close to the flesh, talking you through it until you can do it on your own.

After that he leaves you to your task as he almost dances around the kitchen, stirring a pot here then putting the kettle on there and so many more little things while you remain where you are because you, by nature, are slow; to adapt, to age, to change.

But you do it for him.

"Those look great." He grins when you're done and then herds you in front of the cooking pans, and you're a little apprehensive about the bubbling oil when he dumps what you'd cut up into the pan. But his warmth is at your back again, steady hands guiding you on how to cook the food without burning your skin and leaving you to it when you catch on.

Then you feel a tug on your shirt, his presence once again next to you, but this time he's holding a piece of sausage on the end of a fork, a hand beneath it so it doesn't drop, "Hey, taste this for me."

You contemplate arguing you can't actually taste food the same way he does, but he gives you a look that has you letting him feed you. Though it tastes no different from everything else, from his hand it may as well be sweeter than ambrosia.

"Tastes good." The way he brightens up at your words makes the food only taste sweeter.

Imagine GHOST —You and him are similar in some ways, you both prefer to stick to what you know, who you know. It's harder for you to contain what you are inside your flesh body when there is so much life around you that every additional heartbeat pulls at the edge of your cold existence. So you stick to close to the people who's warmth has grown so familiar it's indistinguishable from the burning starts making up your real body.

Imagine; attending a celebration held by both TF141 and Los Vaqueros after a mission gone well, loud music and lewd lyrics blaring in your ears as men drink like teenagers at their first frat party. You're in a more secluded part of the bar next to Ghost, both of you nursing drinks while you watch the rest act like fools.

You're a little confused when you see Gaz and Soap move in a strange way, grinding against one another and pressed so close you'd think they're trying to mate, their hands roaming the other's body so roughly you're surprised no pieces of clothing come flying your way.

"Got a free show for my drink." Ghost chuckles next to you.

"What are they doing?" You finally ask when you can't contain your curiosity.

"Dancing." He answers and swallows the last inch of booze in his cup, setting it down on the bar. "For fun." He adds, already expecting the line of questioning, as if that's supposed to make you understand.

"They just look like they're trying to mate." You point out, receiving a long sigh in return.

"How 'bout I just show you." Before you can say anything he nicks the cup of untouched alcohol in your hand and swallows it all down in one go, putting the empty cup next to his before grabbing you by the arm and pulling you outside through the back entrance. You go along with him, but you're confused when you catch Soap's eyes and he wolf whistles at the two of you.

The world outside is calmer than the busy bar, the air much colder; closer to what you are. You turn to him once he lets you go, tilting your head and furrowing your brow to convey confusion. "So…what do I do?"

"Just follow my lead." A gravely chuckle escapes Simon as he closes the distance between you two, his rough hands settling on your waist as he begins to slowly rock both of your bodies along with the music, though his movements are more contained than what you'd seen, a steady push and pull compelling you to follow him.

"Why is this different than what Soap and Gaz were doing?" You ask, clutching his shoulders in return, your forehead almost resting on his chest as you look at your feet so you don't step on his toes.

You feel his chest vibrate as he chuckles, "They set a low bar." He rumbles and his hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head up so you two lock eyes, the intensity in his brown irises drowning out the sounds of the bar. "Eyes on me."

You nod. Your eyes stay firmly on him as you sway together to a tune he hums, finding a common ground in the way your cold and his heat mixes together. Above you millions of your eyes peer down at him, for as vast as you are, for this moment your attention is on him.

Imagine PRICE — He can tell how tired you are, not physically but mentally; having to communicate and understand people without the use of a mental link, when even the most complex ideas can be conveyed easily, was starting to fray the edges of your control over your human body. He decided to do something about it.

Imagine; Price taking you and the boys fishing to a remote cabin next to a lake. Knowing you don't sleep he pulls you out by the lake at the ass crack of dawn, having you watch as he sits down on the dock, his pants pulled up to his knees so he can dip his feet in the water while he sets up the fishing rods.

"What are we doing?" You ask but follow his example and sit next to him, the cool water of the lake similar enough to the cold abyss your true body resides to calm your nerves, though you're unsure of what to do when he gives you the fishing rod.

"Fishing." He says as he shows you how to cast out the line. "You look like you need it."

You don't argue with him and just try focusing on fishing, letting him teach you how to watch the line to see when something takes the bait and when to reel it in. You’re unsuccessful your first few attempts, and you have half the mind to just jump in and wrangle the fish in the lake with liquid abyss, but he stops you.

"Catching isn't the point." He says as he smokes his cigar while he takes an old boot off your hook. "It's about relaxing, the fish are just a bonus."

You let out a low sound that vibrates the water, but you settle next to him and cast out the line again. You don’t know how long you sit there next to him, your sides touching with the fishing rod sitting loosely in your hands. After some time you manage to yank out your first fish, and you certainly don't gloat when you pull a few more fish out of the lake while he only pulls out seaweed, but the look of pride in his eyes makes it even better.

Any prospects of catching any more fish are dashed when Gaz and Soap wake up and take running jumps into the lake, scaring all the fish with their splashing. "Like school boys." Price remarks as Ghost comes up to you both, offering beers as he sits down on your other side.

"Summer vacation, captain." Ghost says and slips into the water, and you realize this is calming; in the way you haven't felt before, doing something familiar like watching Soap and Gaz trying to dunk each other in the water but feeling like you’re right there with them, laughing alongside them when Ghost scares the shit out of them by lunging out of the water.

“See sweetheart? ‘S not hard.” Price hums, adjusting his hat though his shoulders are already reddened from sunburns. He offers you his cigar and you accept it, breathing in the nicotine and smoke despite not having lungs or a circulatory system to be affected by it, before you give it back. “Taking it easy is good for you.”

You nod your head, content to sit next to him until something tugs on the line of your forgotten fishing rod and you scramble to reel it in. You give a small grunt as whatever is on the hook struggles, "Yank on it." Price tells you and you do, nearly toppling on your back when you finally win the tug of war. You blink as you look at what you've caught.

A Speedo.

"Well would you look at that." Price chuckles.

Judging by the way Johnny's suddenly bare assed and throwing obscenities in Gaelic your way, you assume that it's his.

“Caught a big one there.” Ghost notes, not yet laughing but his shoulders shake with silent laughter as he slaps Soap's cheeks (of his rear).

He yelps, confident enough to be naked in front of all of you, but not shameless enough to where his cheeks (on his face) don't redden from the way Gaz cackles and wheezes with laughter so loudly he nearly drowns. You give Johnny back his trunks before he can drown Gaz but, maybe you should fish any more.

NSFW:

Imagine SOAP— If anyone ever asks Soap why he would ever send a dick pick to an ancient god, he'll blame anything and everything; on being stood up, on loving himself a little less, on mixing up the numbers, in being black out drunk…

Imagine; him being stone cold sober when the thought invades his mind and he spends the next hour trying to take a good picture: in front of the mirror, on the bed, no clothes, some clothes, the list of positions goes on. He doesn't want to come across like he's compensating by just holding his dick in his hand like some cunt; as silly as it is, he wants the picture to actually tempt you, to make you feel something, though the question of if you even can doesn't cross his mind. He ends up with a picture of him on the bed, the tip of his hard cock peeking out from beneath the band of his boxers.

He won’t admit he holds his breath when he sends the suggestive picture to you alongside a ;) , watching the text bubble appear and disappear multiple times before you just leave him on seen. He deflates and has half the mind to delete the picture and chuck his phone to the other end of his bed but he’s stopped when he gets a message from Price.

‘My office. Now.’

Turns out you were with Price when you saw that photo and without a second thought had shown him it and asked what it meant. Granted Price had seen more than just his dick, but he was less than happy about Johnny sending you unsolicited dick pics.

You quiz Soap for nearly an hour, stone faced and unbothered while he gets redder with every question (what can you send, what not to send, how much to send, etc.) and he gets the impression that's how his ma' felt when she gave him and his sisters 'the talk'. “So, yeah.” He clears his throat, whole face feeling hot. “Don’t do it ‘lest yea’r asked or yea like ‘em.”

Thankfully Price finally lets you go when you’re satisfied with his answers and Soap can’t scamper fast enough out of his office with his whole face in flames.

He deletes the photo soon after but you've already burned it into your memory where it will outlast the stars, and the idea to reciprocate festers in your ageless mind like rot until you find yourself in front of your mirror after a shower. You play with the phone for a long time, snapping a few blurry close up shots of your face while you attempt to change it from the front to the back facing camera.

It takes even longer to figure out what to send as Soap wasn't that clear with his answers. Your siblings give you pointers, and first you attempt to take a picture of your most private part — bones snap as your rib cage splits open into a maw, vines full of eyes wrapping around your ribs like ivy as tendrils of darkness unwind just enough for the anti-light of your very essence sucks up all the light in the room — but the mirror cracks and your phone just shuts off with a pitiful whimper.

After fixing the mirror you end up doing what you do best; you mimic one of the statues you'd seen the Greeks make, the towel wrapped just along the V where your thighs connect to your pelvis, exposed from the waist up with your skin still wet. Your body isn't as demure as the muses that sculptor had used, but you hope Soap will appreciate it as you snap a few more photos and send them to Johnny with the same ;) he'd sent you.

Soap nearly chokes on his spit when he gets the photo, all the blood in his brain flooding south as his eyes rake over every exposed inch of skin, every curve and every dip in the muscles making him drool and cock harden and he's racing to your room before you even have the time to turn your phone off.

Imagine GAZ — For all of your pitfalls and misunderstandings he likes the little hints of inhumanity in your speech, in your mannerisms, in knowing you could be anywhere and anytime but you choose to be next to him. He couldn't imagine himself being enamored with an ant, yet you hang on his every word like he's revealing secrets you don't know, making him feel special; he feels so bad when his thoughts of you stop being innocent.

Imagine; He tries to keep things respectful, but his imagination runs wild when you do the simplest things. Bend down to tie your shoe? He's checking out your arse from the corner of his eyes. Stand behind him? He's suppressing a shiver just imagining your body draped over his in post-coital bliss. Check his skin for injuries? Gaz has to bite his lip to keep from begging you to touch all of him, to explore his body. Work out? Kyle's lucky if he doesn't start drooling imagining going over and licking the sweat off your skin, of feeling your muscles tense beneath his tongue while you continue to work out with him between your legs.

When he can't think of you without popping a boner he ends up having to compromise before the shame eats him whole. He goes on a random porn site; he usually prefers just using his imagination but when his mind keeps circling back to you he has no other option, and his conscience gnaws on him when he ends up finding a porn star with similar features to yours. It's not wrong if he's wanking off to a different person, right?

Heat's already burning in his stomach when he slouches in his chair, his back to his room and one earbud in his ear. Shame continues to eat at him when he's both delighted and disheartened by the fact the porn star sounds nothing like you, that his bones don't shiver like they do when you talk.

He keeps the volume low and instead focuses on rubbing and squeezing his cock the way the porn star does to a second actor, and he can't help imagining what you'd sound like; high pitched and whiny? Husky and low? Completely silent or animalistic? The idea of pulling sounds of pleasure out of your throat has him leaking. His head lolls back and he moans as he squeezes the base of his cock, his eyes open just enough to blur the fine details on the porn star's face so you two become indistinguishable.

His heart stops when you burst through his door, a random question leaving your lips before your ears pick up the moans and slick sounds coming from his direction. You're next to him in an instant, looming over his chair and caging him in with your eyes stuck to the screen. "What are you watching?"

"Get out!" He yelps and tries to push you away but it's like trying to move a mountain.

"Why does that human look like my vessel?" You persist, "And why are you watching humans mating when you told me it's wrong?" You tilt your head, luckily not seeing his hand on his hard cock, the porn reflecting in the blacks of your eyes.

“It’s on the net it’s different! People upload it for others' pleasure and-” He sputters and cuts himself off when he registers your words, freezing in place and that accidentally gets him to squeeze the head of his cock.

Your pupils widen like a cat’s when you hear the little moan escape his chest, your head automatically dropping down to see where his other hand is. "Oh,” is what comes out of your mouth when you see his hard weeping cock. “Can I?” You ask, making an odd motion with your head.

He thinks you're asking to leave and nods. "Yeah-" Gaz wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole, his cheeks burning red like he's a lobster in a pot. “-can you pl-please leave-”

He wheezes when your cold hand suddenly wraps around his cock, your hold firm and just at the edge of pain but still making him throb. A few more eyes spread across your skin to see him while you watch the video still playing on his computer, giving his cock a small pump and shaking the stars with your purr when he moans.

"What are-" He neck nearly snaps to look at you, a shiver raking his body and another moan escaping him as you squeeze the head of his cock, your skin like ice yet it makes him burn with arousal.

"Watch." You order and turn his head with your free hand so his eyes are back on the screen. You don't know why he's watching a fake 'you' mate when he could just ask you, but you know one thing; the person on the screen is competition, and by the way you roughly stroke his cock until he's whining and leaking like a tap, Gaz can tell— you don't like competition.

Imagine PRICE — He never imagined he'd need to have 'the talk' with a god; sure, you may understand how sex works, but you're hopeless in understanding the nuances of it all. If someone doesn't directly say 'let's fuck' you assume any touches from them, even groping, is just them being friendly. It makes his blood boil, seeing you be taken advantage of like that.

Imagine; You're in the bar with the boys and Price is a couple of drinks in when he sees being felt up by a stranger and you're oblivious to his advances. A green eyed monster nips at Price's heels and he doesn't notice when he puts himself next to you, 'accidentally' shoving the other guy back with just his bulk. His presence, his demeanor, and the few harsh words spoken in a clipped tone has the other guy scampering off.

He doesn't remember much after that, only the way you'd looked at him — with the intensity of a ravenous void, like he was a bright star you wanted to devour.

What wakes him isn't his clock, but the rays of sunlight gently streaming through the curtains. He groans as he registers the awful ache behind his eyes before he even has a chance to open them. He feels his bed shift and his eyes snap open automatically, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees you laying on your side as you stare at him.

"Jesus!" He jumps up, nearly topples over from the sudden vertigo but your steady hand on his shoulder keeps him upright, making him realize he's nude.

"He's not here." You shrug and as you sit up his sheets pool around your waist, making him realize you're naked from the waist up, though he doesn't want to think if you're naked naked. His fists clench when his eyes roam over your exposed body against his will, settling on the various hickeys decorating your shoulders and neck.

His heart sinks. "What…what happened last night?" He asks and doesn't want to know the answer, his stomach churns with shame.

"Oh, uh, you got drunk, I got you home, you started kissing and biting me." You say, tracing the numerous hickeys and indents of his teeth across your human form like they're medals. "Then you pulled me into your bed and wouldn't let me go. Then you passed out." You say as if nothing's wrong, and even if no sex happened it's little consolidation to the fact he took advantage of you.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” He asks as he takes a shaky breath, shoulders hunched up around his ears and eyes downcast, bile burning in his stomach.

"Why would I?" You tilt your head and shift positions to face him fully, the sheets falling away to reveal you are naked naked. "I may not understand you fully, but I would have stopped you if you did something I didn't want."

Price hates himself for how he can't tear his eyes away from your body. "But you let me." He insists and tries to get you to see reason, to be as angry and disgusted with him as he is with himself.

“Yes.” You are growing annoyed as well, silently cursing the frailty of the human mind; things would be easier to explain if you could just use mental communication… “You are less than insects to my kin.” You sigh and move to straddle him before he can get away, pinning him under you. “You are a sun to me.”

Even calling him a sun doesn’t do him justice; suns die out like firecrackers when your immeasurable body passes over them, when you devour them, him, you want to keep, to protect, to wrap in your cold abyss until he’s warm and safe.

He sucks in a breath, the gears in his head turning as he tries to understand. “What?-”

“Can I touch you?” You ask, your hands respectfully on your thighs as if you’re not pinning him in place with your weight. There’s a dark intelligence in your eyes, the same ravenous void staring at him behind the black of your eyes. You are not a child, you are a god.

"Why?" He sucks in a sharp breath as he breathes in your smell, the scent of dying stars and burn ozone tickling his lungs. "You don't have to." He says weakly, because what would anyone, god or not, want with him?

"You left marks on me, I want to do the same." The way you say it makes him think of godhood; not the bleak madness you are, but the type humanity romanticizes. Your lips part as if you're thinking of marking him, bits of oblivion staring back at him from the darkness of your throat when he looks too closely at your mouth.

He submits so fast. "C'mere then," He pulls you close by your head, kissing you like he's trying to steal your ichor, his body burning hot when your hands grip him tight enough to leave moon shaped bruises in his skin — the first of many you intend to give him, until you've marked him as yours and yours alone.

Imagine GHOST — Ghost prefers to show you rather than spend hours trying to explain things to you, he's more stricter with you when you try to do things you're told not to, both for your and everyone's safety. You never do quite learn.

Imagine; Ghost recently confiscated your phone when you tried to see what humans thought about you, or what they imagined you and your kin to be, on a website called 'Rule34'. Ghost had snatched the phone out of your hands before you could even click the link. After a week he gave you the go ahead to take it back, but got called to run a drill so just said to go find it.

Now, you've been told not to go rooting around other people's belongings, but while searching for your phone you'd fallen back into your old habit and snooped around until you found a small box in the bottom of his dresser. Thinking nothing of it you opened it and found…something. A lot of somethings; handcuffs, rope, weird egg shaped thing, a weird tube with a hole in it that squished like a stress toy but had a cunt molded at one end, but what drew your attention — was the dismembered black cock in the middle of the box.

You and all of your kin scratched your collective heads over the thing you now held in your hand, you'd been under the impression humans didn't carry around body parts anymore so you were stumped why Ghost had a dismembered dick and balls in his dresser. Besides the pitch black color and flat base it looked so realistic and the way it flopped when you turned it in your hand made you feel the same way humans did when seeing you.

So you got up and wen to ask Ghost about it, the thing held out in your hand when you found him with the rest of the boys. "Ghost, why do you a have body part in your closet?"

Your question made them all turn to look at you, Ghost made a strange sound like a strangled dog while Gaz and Soap fell over laughing and Price shielded his eyes with the rim of his hat.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” He snarls and before you know it he’s stomping over to you and dragging you by the front of your clothes, “What I tell you about snooping?”

“I couldn’t find my phone,” You try to argue but don’t struggle and just let him drag you somewhere like you're a kitten until you find yourself in his room with the door firmly locked behind him.

"Right." His tone makes it sound like he doesn't believe you, his rough hand pushes you down on his bed and he yanks the thing from your hold. “You want to know what this is for?” He asks and holds the the cock with the head pointed at you like a knife.

You nod your head and try to rise up but he pushes you back down, you're not even sure where he gets the handcuffs from but there's cold steel around your wrists before you can notice it. It's his order to "Sit and watch." that actually keeps you down, and you see the corners of his eyes shift to denote a smirk. "Do what you're good at."

You don't blink as you watch him disrobe until he's only wearing his mask, and your surprise is obvious when he sticks the thing on the floor and it stays up right. "This," He growls and sinks to his knees on the floor, a towel under him, "Is a fuckin' dildo." He reaches over and takes a small tube, squirting viscous liquid on his fingers. "You don't ever take it out of my room. Got it."

He leaves no room to argue and you rapidly nod your head. You find yourself breathless as you watch him reach behind himself and you don’t even notice how a bit of your oblivion leaks from your pores and spreads across the ground like spiderwebs, eyes blooming in the small pools all around him so you can see the way he roughly pushes a finger into himself, your hands clenching as his rim flutters around his large fingers.

"What is it for?" You find your voice, the sound ringing like the inside of a dead star the longer you watch him roughly stretch himself, pushing two then three fingers into his ass.

"Fun," He chuckles and feels so powerful when your eyes have all but turned black with hunger you've yet to notice. "It's a toy, for adults." He pulls his fingers out and squirts more liquid on the dildo, before sinking down on the toy in one fluid move that leaves him hissing at the stretch, his rim fluttering around the thick base.

Something about the way the toy is of a similar color to your real body has you wriggling beneath your human skin, the air vibrating as you groan and try to reach out to him, wanting to cover him in your body and have all of him feel all of you.

"No." Just one word has you sitting back on the bed like a dog, a pitiful sound rumbling across the void as you can do nothing but watch. "This is what you get for snooping." He's so smug with the way he has such control over you without even touching you, his thick thighs tensing as he slowly bounces on the dildo, "Now watch. Maybe if you're good I'll let you touch me."

You'll do whatever he says so long as you get to feel him.

[earthtooz]

x : I KNOW I LOVE YOU ! :*+ﾟ all or nothing, i want all of you!:

aka moments that the bllk boys knew they loved you ! ╰┈➤ with nagi, itoshi rin, and reo mikage !

warnings: gn!reader, no pronouns, mentions of food in all three, swearing in rin's + he's kind of mean but like that's just who he is and i don't want to fix him for it <3, fluff for all 3, sickness in nagi's, i think that's all the warnings, lmk otherwise!

a/n: last fic of 2022, i gasped when i saw that photo of beomgyu BYEEEE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH tumblr deserves to see him!!! reblogs appreciated :( the ratio of reblogs to likes is so sad sometimes so pls, if you enjoyed this fic, pls take the time to reblog - no matter how small or big ur blog is!!! rblgs is the best way to motivate ur favourite writers + help their works circulate around this site so always pls consider reblogging!

NAGI SEISHIRO: knew he loved you when you took care of him when he was sick.

nagi stirs awake with a groan, immediately engulfed by an insufferable warmth that caused him to kick the covers off his body.

as he shuffles to get comfortable again, he registers sounds coming from his kitchen, something he doesn't bother to investigate because he's hit by the dryness of his throat. glancing to his bedside table, there sat a glass of water that was practically calling his name, an offer he couldn't resist as he downed the drink in four seconds.

he then cringes at the stinging of his head.

so the headache still hasn't passed. what a pain.

he wants to go back to bed, to give in to the comfiness of his pillow and return to dreamland where his head wouldn't kill him. but, with the clanging and sizzling coming from the kitchen, it wouldn't hurt to check out what was happening, right?

dawdling out of bed, he slowly but surely makes his way to his door, opening it quietly before heading out into the kitchen, where you stood by the stove.

you were dancing to your playlist that was faintly playing in the background whilst tending to the pans on the stove top. one had eggs and spam, the other was boiling some instant noodles.

what were you doing here?

he's shortly flooded by recollections of what happened hours prior. nagi had invited you over to spend the day with him at his apartment but minutes before you arrived, he felt light-headed and dizzy. when he opened the door for you, he practically collapsed in your arms, and that was where the memory ended.

the fact that you stayed rather than simply going home to let him take care of himself warmed nagi, filling him with a feeling that he forgot long ago.

something like comfort.

"oh my god!" you exclaim, placing a hand to your chest at the sudden sight of a 6'3 man looming at the entrance of the kitchen. "sei, don't do that!"

turning off the fire, you quickly make your way to him, placing the back of your hand against his forehead.

it's still a little warm. he thought he just had a headache, did he have a fever? is that why he collapsed?

he should be grateful that he's not him taking care of himself.

"how do you feel?" you ask, brushing his hair back from his skin. he pouts slightly, leaning into your touch.

"my head is killing me," he murmurs, about to slouch on to you when you abruptly step away to fish for something in a plastic bag on the counter.

at the lack of your touch, he groans to protest, but you show him a small box you bought. painkillers.

did you go out and buy him stuff whilst he was asleep? just how good are you? what did he do to deserve you?

"take two pills and i'll prepare your food for you," you tell him before grabbing a bowl, a plate and chopsticks. nagi simply watches as you plate the goods, his stomach aching for your food whilst you sprinkle some nori over his ramen. the fried spam and eggs smelled divine.

soon enough, you sit him down at his two-person dining table before ambling away to clean up.

he misses you even more when he takes a bite of his food. nagi hasn’t had anyone take care of him in so long, not in the way that mattered at least. sure, he wouldn’t trade the world for reo and all he gives him, and he's thankful to his parents for the funds they've given him, but you take care of him because you want to. there’s no ‘dream’ you’re gaining using him as an asset, everything you've done, you've done for him to feel better.

and when nagi combines all the ingredients together in one bite, he’s filled with the love that homemade food provides, even if its just instant ramen with a little more nutrients. 

it’s more delicious than his ‘win’ yoghurts could ever be and nagi can’t go back now.

when you return, the white-haired beams at you as you take a seat beside him, your chin leaning into your palm as you brush a hand through his tangled locks. 

“how are you feeling, sei?” you question softly.

“amazing.” he says before digging back in. 

his eagerness causes a small laugh to slip and nagi perks up at the delightful sound, watching the way your nose crinkles and your lips part. then, he grabs some noodles and offers them to you, a gift you gladly take, humming at the taste. he does the same for the egg and spam and as he watches you with adoration in his eyes, he can't help but be overfilled with love.

“thank you,” mutters nagi.

“you’re welcome. now eat up and feel better, genius.” 

his words of gratitude have far deeper meaning than you realise, but nagi has a while to show you just how thankful he was for you.

ITOSHI RIN: knew he loved you when your company was something he didn't get tired of.

at 10 am, there’s a knock on the door to rin’s apartment.

he’s knows who it is before even greeting said person, and when your smiling face appears on the other side of the door, rin can’t help the excitement bubbling in his chest, signified through the small smile he tries to fight down.

“hi rin,” you greet, stepping forward to press a kiss against his cheek. that smile of his widens. 

“hello.” 

the dark-haired opens his arms expectantly and you drop three hoodies on them, all of them were his and freshly washed. he rolls his eyes.

“i wanted a hug,” scoffed rin.

“oh,” you laughed before throwing your arms around his torso, staying there like that for a few moments before separating. “anyhow, i should probably get going. i’ll see you-”

“why aren’t you staying?” he asks, coming off as more of a demand.

“because we didn’t plan for it?” 

“you should stay and watch a movie.” 

“aww does rinnie not have anything else to do?” you say with a mocking tone, but it’s all lighthearted and fun, especially when he pulls you in his apartment and locks the door behind you.

“shut up. go pick a movie.”

approximately ten minutes later, you’re curled up on the couch with rin lying over your body, peacefully splayed with his chest resting on your sternum whilst you absentmindedly play with his hair, too engaged in the movie. 

rin, on the other hand, didn’t find any enjoyment in your choice at all. “why the fuck are we watching ‘it’?” he asked, shuffling a little, causing you to stifle a giggle due to his movements. 

you shrug. “it just popped up. thought you liked horror movies.”

“horror movies that aren’t shit.” 

“touché. now shut up, i want to watch.” 

he grumbles something before relaxing into you again, more focused on the sound of your heartbeat than the events of the movie. eventually, the even beats lulls him into a light slumber, fast asleep despite the way it sometimes speeds in anticipation.

you, on the other hand, realise that he’s fallen asleep due to the slight wheezes he lets out, not loud enough to border a snore, but not peaceful enough to simply be breathing.

when the movie finishes, you shake him lightly to stir him from his sleep and when you meet his slightly hazy gaze, you feel a little bad for waking him. 

“the movie’s done, i should get going now,” you mutter, setting your hands on his shoulders as to push him off, but as soon as you announce your plans of leaving, rin holds on even tighter to your body. “hey! get off!” you try your best to push him away despite your laughter that ripples through the air.

“you should stay for lunch,” suggests your boyfriend, who rests his chin on your sternum. his eyes were practically pleading for you to agree, shining with hope.

he’s lucky you have nothing to do today, and that you were hungry.

when you roll your eyes and put your hands up in mock surrender, rin can’t help but smile a little, giddy at the idea of being able to spend more time with you.

hold on- since when was he happy at the idea of spending more time with anyone?

“shall we eat here or out?” you asked, your hands resuming threading through rin’s hair again. it was so smooth, what did he use in it? smelt nice too. 

“here. too lazy.”

after a few minutes of deciding what to eat, the delivery showed up rather quickly at his apartment. when you both settled down to eat, rin couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander, unable to help but think about how nice it was to be in your company and simply exist. he wants to do this for the rest of his life. 

you seem to have other plans. 

“so,” you begin, plate now empty. “i’m probably going to head home now-”

“wait, what? no.”

“no?” 

“i paid for lunch, you should repay me by keeping me company.”

with a huff, you cross your arms. “okay mr athlete’s salary, i’ll transfer you-”

“-can’t you just stay a little longer?”

“ask nicely.”

“can’t you please just stay a little longer?”

“if you insist,” you sigh dramatically, batting your eyelashes at him jokingly. rin scoffs. “what do you want to do?”

you actually ended up doing nothing for the next few hours, simply scrolling on your phone whilst laid on rin’s lap. he’s resorted to watching some past recorded matches, sometimes of himself, sometimes of other notable soccer athletes. 

the sun was now beginning to set and having been here since 10 am, you were beginning to feel bored out of your mind. 

you were also beginning to feel as if you were burdening rin with your company so, with a yawn, you begin to sit up. the athlete pauses his video and looks at you curiously. 

“i should get going now,” you say, rubbing your eyes.

“what?”

“i said i should get going now,” you repeat.

“no, no, i heard you the first time,” he mutters, a little bite in his tone. “why?”

“cause we’re not doing anything? plus i’m bored out of my mind and need some fresh air.” 

“then we can get fresh air together, you don’t have to leave yet.”

“you’re real insistent on keeping me here, guess you just like me too much, huh?”

rin leans in closer to your shit-eating grin, placing a hand on your cheek to press a fleeting kiss to your lips, one that leaves you wanting more. 

then you find yourself on the rooftop of his apartment complex, one that overlooks the beautiful horizon of tokyo and leaves you breathless as you gaze over the beautiful sight of the sunset colours bleeding together. with itoshi rin by your side, it feels even better.

leaning on his shoulder, you were not aware that your boyfriend’s eyes were admiring you instead of the sunset before you. he takes his time breathing the sight of you in, how beautiful you look with the hues of orange painting your skin. 

it’s funny. rin feels so purposeful with you, like he was made to be by your side and nowhere else.

maybe he should ask you to move in.

MIKAGE REO: knew he loved you when you cared about him, not his image.

he's not used to this, the feeling of being adored for who he was rather than what he was. you don't like him because he's rich, that he was a spawn of a billionaire, you don't like him because he's a talented soccer player either. you like him because he's funny, unique, generous, and despite his self-centred upbringing, ironically selfless in his own way.

the trained smile and behaviour that reo plasters on every morning crumbles whenever he's around you.

he greets you at the park you agreed to meet up at and you return his wave with a smile, pulling your scarf down from your mouth where you were attempting to warm yourself from the cold.

"hi," you mumble, dancing a little from side to side to shake the jitters of the cold away.

"hi, i didn't keep you waiting too long, did i?" he asks.

you shake your head. "no, i just forgot some extra layers. i thought my gloves were in this coat too but i must have been mistaken."

reo frowns at your ice-bitten demeanour, feeling a sudden urge to wrap you up, give you all his warmth and shield you from the winter weather.

"anyways," your voice breaks his thoughts. "have you eaten yet?"

he widens his eyes a little in shock, taken aback by your question, one clearly asked out of care and affection. you were the one freezing your ass off due to your own negligence yet you had the nerve to ask if he had taken care of himself.

instead of asking about the latest product mikage corporations released- a news segment that was taking the business world by storm, you ask reo if he had eaten.

strange. he feels strange. it's nice.

"no, not since breakfast," he coughs after his mouth had caught up to his mind.

you tug at his arm gently, "then c'mon, there's a nearby 7/11. i hope they have sweet potato, we can get two for the both of us!"

the purple-haired can't fight the smile that tugs on the corners of his mouth, obliging happily with your requests as he allows you to pull him in the direction of the store. before you could leave the park, however, reo skids to a stop, dragging you back to him.

ignoring your curious gaze, he nimbly goes to take the wool gloves off of his hands. when one is off, he swiftly grabs your wrist to thread your fingers through the fabric, all whilst you actively ignore how warm reo's hands are and how soft they are when they encompass your wrist. his fingertips leave trials of fire burning on your skin but you don't jump back from the sensation. instead, you let it happen.

his gloves are a tad bit too big for your hands, but you feel warm immediately. whether that's a direct result of the gloves or not, you don't really want to know.

"this okay?" asks reo, gaze meeting yours. you try to trick yourself into believing that the softness of his expression was because of the wind, and that the snow was playing tricks on your eyes.

swallowing thickly, you nod. "won't you be cold?"

he wriggles his fingers slightly before shrugging.

with a small chuckle, you grab his bare ones and bundle them together with yours, a weak attempt at sharing warmth.

but, reo appreciates it nevertheless, smiling at how focused you seemed to be when caring for him.

[cressidagrey]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 3

Summary: 

Shadowsingers were made, not born. Made out of trauma and loneliness and desperation.

So when Cilla and Azriel meet and their shadows entwine, they both meet the only other person that could understand these particular childhood scars.

The last thing Azriel had ever expected from his mate, however, was for her to have a surprising connection to his brother.

Warnings: 

Mentions of Child Abuse and Neglect, Mention of imprisonment, Mention of Hybern's attack on Velaris and death resulting from that

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

She was trembling. Even with blankets wrapped around her. Even while burrowed as close to him as she could get.

Azriel traced her features, with his fingertips—every single, perfect inch of her. 

These strong arched eyebrows, her nose, just so upturned at the tip… her full lips, near heart-shaped in the centre.… beautiful pointed ears, the long, black curly hair that had been held back in a braid that was falling apart…he took it apart in the end, Cilla pressing against his hand like a cat. 

She was beautiful. 

Beautiful and utterly exhausted.

And then he was ripped from his thoughts by the smell of burning chicken and he cursed. 

“Cauldron Boil Me,” he spat out as he needed to pull himself from his mate to make sure that he didn’t accidentally burn down the whole house. 

Cilla flinched and he hated that he had been the cause of that, that he needed to pull himself from her, throw on a pair of lounging trousers the shadows happily handed him, and look after his pot of soup with the shadows already pulling it from the burner. 

“What…?” Cilla asked him, her voice quiet and he sighed, running one hand through his hair.

“Soup. I was making you soup,” Azriel explained with a sigh. “You need to eat.”

More water in the pot, chicken out of it…he would need to take that apart, pull the flesh from the bones, something he went straight to just a moment later. 

“I am not hungry,” Cilla said softly at that moment. 

For just a moment he closed his eyes. Of course, she wasn’t. She was so thin that she was used to starving herself. Hunger pans probably didn’t even register to her anymore. 

They just were. 

“I know. But you still need to eat,” he said evenly. Keeping that anger out of her voice. Not anger at her but for her. She needed to eat. 

He probably had not helped with keeping up her strength. Not when… the possibility had not even registered in his mind…that she was a virgin. That she had no fucking idea what she had even started when she had held out that cracker for him to take.

He had just taken it. So over the moon that he had found his mate that nothing else had mattered. 

Now…now he wondered what her reason for giving him that cracker even was. Was it fear? Some kind of feeling that she needed to keep him content and happy because if he got angry she would be at the receiving end of it?

It curdled in his stomach. 

He heard Cilla’s quiet footsteps and then she was behind him, burying her head between his shoulder blades, his wings trembling at that intimate touch. 

She was searching out his presence, body pressing against his. Somehow she derived some form of comfort from it. Maybe he hadn't fucked up completely. 

“But I want you,” she mumbled into his skin. It was definitely unhelpful, mating frenzy fighting with instincts and his own fucking mind, because he didn’t know if this was even a good idea at all. 

He should have waited. He should have...He shouldn't have just taken her like he had...He should have taken his time...given her time...but he hadn't. 

He was already regretting it. 

Not regretting her. Never regretting her. She was a cauldron-given gift to him. But maybe it would have been better to take it slower, to...give her the opportunity to back out, to...

“After you have eaten, Sweetheart,” Azriel finally settled on gently. Maybe. Maybe after he had gotten some food inside her, after they had talked. “You are supposed to rest.”

“I am fine,” she disagreed with him quietly, but stepped back, instead settling next to him, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“You were nearly frozen solid when I fished you out of that lake,” he pointed out reasonably, as he looked over her. 

Cilla had found a blanket to wrap up in. Thank the cauldron for small mercies, because Azriel was not quite sure if he would be able to withstand her naked and bare to his gaze. 

Though if he just stared at her skinny and knobby shoulder poking out from her blanket cocoon…it was more likely. When was the last time she had eaten at all?

Go find her some clothing, he demanded from his shadows. 

From where? they responded nearly immediately. 

How about you have her shadows tell you where she lives? Azriel suggested. Some more intelligence, more information.... He could use that.

He poured half a package of noodles into that pot after adding the chicken back in, put the lid back on…and then turned to Cilla, who was watching him, a soft expression on her face. 

Azriel failed horribly with keeping his hands off her when he lifted her up on the counter, only so that he could kiss her gently, without her straining her neck. 

She kissed him back enthusiastically, hands burying themselves in his hair. Azriel did leave it at that. He crowded close to her so that she could feel his body warmth and cling tightly to him, but that was it. Nothing more. 

Food then Talk and then...then he could worry about it. 

Until then, he kissed her, gently, chastly, making her laugh as he pressed kisses against her cheeks and her forehead and every inch of hers that he could reach.  

Until enough time had passed for him to step back, spoon some of that soup into a bowl, and hand it to her. 

Some long-buried instinct in him was soothed by this. Soothed by having provided for his mate. “Eat, Sweetheart,” Azriel told her gently. 

Cilla ate. If one could call it that…and didn’t call it shovelling food into her mouth as quickly as possible. 

He should have recognised the signs before. He should have fucking stopped to think for just a moment. 

Stopped and thought about what it meant that she was a Shadowsinger like he was. But he hadn’t. 

Now it was starkly at the forefront of his mind. 

Azriel caught her hand. “Don’t burn yourself,” he said quietly. “I am not going to take your food from you. There is more if you want more later. Take your time.”

Her skin turned red and she looked everywhere but him. 

“I am sorry.” The way she said that hesitant and broken, made something inside him shatter. 

“Eat. Slowly,” he insisted quietly. 

Master. 

What’s with her apartment? he asked immediately, not liking the tone of their voice at all. He spooned soup in another bowl for himself, forcing himself to eat. 

It’s near Lady Death’s old apartment. The bad part of town, the shadows answer quietly. 

And?

She owns one other dress and one can of tomatoes, Master. 

He worked hard to keep his face devoid of emotions as he watched Cilla finish her soup out of the corner of his eye, holding out his hand for her to hand it over so that he could refill it. 

This was even worse than he had thought it would be, wasn’t it?

She went to demolish that bowl as well. 

Furniture? 

A bedroll. 

Anything else? He demanded. There must be something else. Anything. 

A note from her landlord that her rent is due tomorrow and that she owes him 6 gold coins or she can earn it on her knees, the shadows hissed in response. 

Right. 

Show her shadows how to play the lottery, he told them calmly, fury bubbling away underneath the surface. And bring that one dress and her can of tomatoes here. 

He saw how a shadow suddenly started dancing around Cilla, her eyebrows narrowing. 

“Your shadows play the lottery?” she asked him, sounding adorably confused and he bit back his amusement. 

“They do,” he answered with a sigh. “It’s their hobby of sorts. I am surprised that yours haven’t yet figured out how to get money on their own.”

She grimaced. 

“Do I want to know?” he asked her drily and Cilla shrugged. 

“They used to pickpocket sometimes,” she admitted quietly. “I made them stop.”

He imagined that the only reason the shadows had gone that far was to make sure that Cilla didn’t outright starve. 

Just one moment later, his shadows brought her that dress and that can of tomatoes, putting both on her lap, fluttering around, like they were waiting for her to either pet him or thank them for a job well done. 

She didn't flinch away from them, instead, staring on the dress. A drab blue colour, threadbare in some places, mended in others.  

“That’s my dress. You had your shadows get it?” She questioned him, eyebrows furrowing again and he nodded. 

“I did,” azriel agreed. “So you had something to wear if you wanted to.” She seemed to take that at face value. 

“And the can of tomatoes?” she asked him curiously. 

“They said that’s all you owned,” he said carefully. Cilla just shrugged. 

Like that was normal. Like she had never thought twice about the fact that she had two dresses, a pair of shoes and a can of tomatoes to her name. 

“My bag is still lying around outside,” she said, like that somehow made it all better.

It made Azriel want to kill somebody. 

“Tell me about your job,” he said instead because he needed to know what exactly she did for a living that resulted in this. 

“My job?” She asked him surprised. “I work in a tannery. I don’t really get along with some of the potions we use, that’s where these come from,” she explained holding up her hand, that red scratchy skin.

“How much money does that make?” He asked as he gently took her hand in his, looking at the scarpes in more detail. 

Her skin was red and inflamed, dry and cracked. It must hurt, but she seemed content to just ignore that. 

“8 gold coins a month,” Cilla answered. 

Which meant she had 2 gold coins each month, that didn't go to her rent, to feed herself, to clothe herself, to buy herself anything she needed.

It wasn’t fucking enough. He had no clue how she even survived on that. 

Especially when even the minimum wage in Velaris would supposedly make sure that she would make at least 15 a month if she worked a full-time job. 

“How much time off?” He asked, wondering how bad it could get.

“A half-day each month.” 

It wasn’t even a conscious thought when he told his shadows to get him the names of both her landlord and her employer. 

His anger must have shown on his face because suddenly her scent soured with fear. 

“I am sorry,” she apologised but he shook his head. 

“I am not angry with you, sweetheart,” Azriel assured her immediately. “I am fucking furious with both your landlord and your employer though.” 

“I need that job,” Cilla told him, biting her lip, desperation bleeding into her voice.

“The minimal wage you are legally allowed to be paid in Velaris is 15 gold coins a month. You worked for half of that," he told her, forcing his voice to be even. 

“I need that job!” Cilla repeated sharply. “I can’t read, I cannot write. I have no trade. What else was I supposed to do?” she demanded.

That desperation in her voice was not helping with his fury. She had done what needed to be done. Cilla should have never even fucking been in that situation. 

“Then I’ll teach you,” Azriel said, his voice forcedly calm. He could teach her to read and to write. “And we figure out whatever you want to be.” 

Anything was better than this.

Cilla stared at the floor, not looking at him. 

He reached out to cup her cheek gently. 

“Look at me,” he said softly. And she did. Dark brown eyes were filled with tears and he pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“You are my mate,” Azriel said quietly.

“That means that I will always take care of you. You could tell me you never want to see me again and I would still make sure that you have a safe place to stay. That you have enough food not to starve,” he told her fiercely. 

She stared at him like she didn’t quite see him, like she couldn’t believe the words that left his mouth. 

“You’ll find another job. Preferably something where you don’t spend your days doing back-breaking labour for not enough money to even feed yourself properly.” Literally, anything was better than that. 

“You will never need to worry about food again,” he promised her. “You can do whatever you want with your life.“

Even if that didn’t include him. He wanted her happy. Nothing else. 

“That apartment… There is no universe in existence in which that is a place for my mate,” he continued. “You’ll stay right here. At least for a little while…For the next few weeks or so. And then we can find you another apartment if you want to. Preferably something that’s not a downtrodden hovel.”  

He watched her swallow, watched one tear trickle down her cheek that he wiped away carefully. 

“I don’t need much,” Cilla told him softly. 

“A warm, safe and dry place is not much. That is the bare minimum,” he gave back immediately. That was the least everybody should have. 

And it had taken him years to realise that even he deserved it, but he was not going to have his mate stay somewhere like that if he had any choice in that matter. 

Still, as she leaned into his hands, she looked so impossibly young for just a moment, that his heart constricted. 

“How old are you, Cilla?” he asked her gently and she shrugged. 

“I don’t know,” she answered, her voice nearly listless. “20 maybe? 21? Could be a few years older though?” 

“You…don’t know.” He repeated unbelieving. Gods, she was still half a girl. A girl with clearly nobody that took care of her, and a lack of knowledge about her own age. Even Azriel knew his damn birthday! 

“Why don’t you know?” he asked her, forcing himself to be calm. 

“I…I didn’t really have a normal childhood,” Cilla admitted quietly, pulling back from him slightly.  “I…I was…My mother was high fae. My father must have been the one with the wings,” she said with a shrug. “I killed her. When I was born. My wings sliced her open from the inside out.”

She said that so matter-of-factly. Like she knew that this had been her fault and her fault alone. 

He swallowed. Hating how familiar these words sounded. That’s what had been their worry with Feyre and Nyx. Just that Cilla didn’t have a Nesta that had saved her mother. And instead gave herself clearly the fault for her mother’s death. 

Her wings trembled, caving in around her like she couldn’t bear to lift them up when she talked about it. 

“My grandmother raised me afterwards,” Cilla continued, her voice cracking. 

She didn’t need to say more. He understood. 

“She gave you the fault for her daughter's death,” he ended her sentence. She just shrugged. Again. 

“It was my fault,” Cilla agreed. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Azriel cut her off, sharply.

“Yes, it was my fault. If she hadn’t had me, she would still be alive.  I murdered her,” Cilla disagreed fiercely. “My fault. I should have never been born,” she spat out these words, and he just knew that these weren’t her words. It were the words that she had heard so often until she had started to believe them. 

“I am so sorry, Sweetheart,” he apologised.

“I lived in the attic. I wasn’t allowed out,” Cilla continued.  “The shadows kept me company.” 

She didn’t talk about the scars on her wings. Didn’t say how her grandmother had treated her…but Azriel could fill in the gaps. 

“How did you get out?” he asked her. 

“When Hybern attacked the city…the house got reduced to rubble. My grandmother died. The shadows dug me out,” Cilla said softly. So 2 years. She had been out of that attic for 2 years. And imprisoned for 18. No wonder she behaved…strangely sometimes. She never really had…any socialisation, any family, any friends...for so long.  

It was a miracle she wasn’t completely feral. He had been when he had finally gotten out of that cell…he had been…barely…a person. And it had only been 11 years for him.   

“Fuck, Sweetheart,” he cursed.  

“When did yours come to you?” She asked him, biting her lip, changing the topic and he figured that he owed her the truth just as she had given him. 

“I was 8,“ Azriel answered quietly.  “My father was a lord in an Illyrian war camp. My mother was his long-suffering mistress. I wasn’t supposed to exist. His wife agreed. They took me from my mother when I was a baby…You got locked into an attic. I got locked in a cell underneath his keep. Only taken out the bare minimum,“ he recounted. 

These days…it no longer hurt him. Not really. It was just…something that he had accepted had happened to him long, long ago. Not the most traumatising thing he had gone through either. He still didn't like the feeling of being caged, of darkness...but he could stand it if need be. 

“When I was 8…my half brothers decided to see what would happen if oil and fire mixed,” he continued, lifting his other hand and holding it out for Cilla’s perusal. “These were the results.”

She reached out to touch, her small hand wrapping around his and intertwined their fingers. 

“I am sorry,“ Cilla whispered but Azriel shook his head. 

“It was a very, very long time ago, Cilla. Over 500 years,“ he told her. Centuries. He should be well over it by now. 

But he wasn’t. He probably never would. Not completely. 

“You didn’t deserve that,” she insisted and a small smile lifted up his lips at that.  

“Neither did you.”

“I killed her,” Cilla disagreed.

“I killed people too. And I wasn’t a babe when I did it,” Azriel said drily. “I did it on purpose, Cilla. Hundreds of times. Sometimes in a war as a warrior, sometimes for this court, for our High Lord…I have killed, Sweetheart.” 

She stared at him wide-eyed, and he half expected her to flinch away in disgust.

Finally, she just shook her head. “That’s not the same,“ she whispered.

He just pressed a kiss against her forehead in response.

Only then did he feel the heat from her forehead that made him pull back. Her eyes were glassy and he pressed his hand against her forehead. 

“You’re running a fever, Sweetheart,” he realised with a sigh. Her bath in an ice-cold mountain lake had probably resulted in this. 

“I am fine,” Cilla mumbled, leaning against his hands. He just sighed.

“Let’s go to bed. You need to rest.” 

She just hummed, glomping onto him and he lifted her up easily, putting her back underneath all the blankets, and sliding in right next to her.

“Just sleep,” he told her softly, though she didn’t seem to even need that. 

At least that Mating Frenzy had abated, replaced with worry for her, because if she got sicker than a simple fever, there wasn’t much she could put against it. No fat she could pull energy from, no weight she could stand lose in the process. 

Right now, all Azriel could do, was to watch over her. 

He watched as her wings relaxed and her face slackened…as she curled up next to him.

He breathed in her scent, his nose tucked against her neck. 

If he took the proper time to parse her scent, he could pick himself up. Cedars and that fresh, watery scent of mist…and underneath that, her. 

Warm and still fresh, like a hearth on a dark winter day…underneath it all vanilla and over it, snow-chilled wind and crackling embers.

Wait, what?

He took another deep breath of his mate, her scent so similar to another that he had smelled day in and day out, again and again over 5 centuries.

No.

No, this couldn’t be.

He stared at his mate, deep asleep…took in these strong eyebrows, her cheekbones…the shape of her face… 

She must have inherited her mother's eyes, though the shape…

Her mother’s nose and lips definitely…but her hair…

Her hair and the shape of her face and the shape of her eyes…and these wings…

There were near invisible differences of these wings from Illyrian to Illyrian…differences in their shapes and the colours…Rhys had always had the darkest. 

Azriel’s own had a near-purple tint of the sun shining through them…but Cassian‘s… Cassian's wings had always been a near-black dark brown…reddish in the light of the sun.

And a near-perfect replica was stretched out from his mate's back right now.

How many Illyrians were there in Velaris 20 years ago….

He only knew two. One of them was Azriel himself.

And the other…

Fuck. 

[asdfghjklmals]

PINKY PROMISES✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff, angst. menstruation comment. WORD COUNT: 2.3k words. TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc, boyfriend!gojo, child megumi fushiguro x fem guardian!oc, adoptedkiddos!megumi & tsumiki

SYNOPSIS: it's been two weeks since learn to love, and megumi still hasn't opened up to oc gojo girlfriend or satoru yet. so oc gojo girlfriend decides to teach him something about promises. AUTHOR'S NOTE: i have a soft spot for gojo being megumi's guardian. oc gojo girlfriend is trying so hard, little does she know, megumi actually really loves her already, he's just too shy to show it. REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions instead, please do!

it was dinner time at the dining hall for all the tokyo jujutsu high school students. while the men were cooking dinner (and by men, that meant all the men were watching nanami cook dinner), you and shoko spoke about the recent gossip that spread like wildfire across campus: you and satoru gojo becoming parents.

“so, gojo brought these kids to your room and basically said that he’s taking them in?” shoko repeated. 

“yeah, crazy right? as of two weeks ago, i'm a mother.” you said as you watched megumi and tsumiki in the corner of the kitchen, they were coloring with crayons.

“do you really think that you and gojo can be parental figures in their lives?” she questioned as you were still gazing over at them.

“satoru seems to think so. i didn’t think he’d make me a teen mom.” you joked.

as you watched the two young fushiguros, you wondered if you would be good enough to give them parental advice as they grow up in yours and satoru’s care.

could satoru really raise megumi to be a jujutsu sorcerer? everyone knew that satoru gojo was the strongest, but could he raise a jujutsu sorcerer even if he wasn’t fully trained himself? satoru was still working on perfecting his own techniques like his long distance teleportation and his domain expansion. only you were second to him in laying out your domains.

who would give the birds and the bees talk to megumi? and who would be there for tsumiki when she starts to mature? when she gets her first period? that would be up to you to teach her about puberty and becoming a woman. god, satoru gojo couldn’t even talk about the reproductive system without giggling.

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

“how does (y/n) feel about you taking the kids in?” suguru asked as he and satoru watched nanami flip over gyozas in the frying pan. 

“she didn’t take me seriously at first.” satoru replied to him. his mouth watering at the sight of the crispy gyozas. the oil in the pan danced along with the sitting gyozas.

“i mean... have you seen yourself? we can’t even take you seriously.” nanami retorted.

satoru frowned, “thanks nanami...”

“(y/n) is kind. she would do anything to help.” yu haibara put in his two cents. he was a big fan of yours, it was because you were so nice to him and nanami when they joined jujutsu high. you were the one to show them around campus on their first day.

“haibara is right, (y/n) is the best. satoru is lucky to have her. i don’t know how she deals with him.” suguru laughed as he put his arm around satoru's shoulder, teasing him.

“she said she’d help, but that’s after i begged.” satoru grumbled. he hated to admit that he had to beg.

“you? beg?” nanami snorted. he flipped the last of the gyozas and put them on the shared plate. he turned back to the stove and stirred the soup that was boiling away.

“i told her the circumstances, it was up to her ultimately. i could've raised them myself.” satoru folded his arms in defense. he looked over at you and shoko and saw that you were watching the kids too.

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

you and shoko got up to walk over to where megumi and tsumiki were coloring.

“megumi? tsumiki?” you called their names. megumi continued to color and tsumiki looked over at you obediently. her smile could blind a country. she was such a happy child despite her situation.

“kids, this is shoko ieiri. she’s a second year like me and satoru. she’s studying to be a doctor, so if you guys get hurt, you’ll see shoko, okay?”

“hi kids.” shoko waved to the children. she was able to hold a steady conversation with tsumiki, but megumi continued to color and color and color. he didn’t pay anyone any mind.

“dinner’s ready!” haibara called out. 

“come on, let’s eat.” shoko grabbed tsumiki’s hand and guided her to the dining table. you were about to leave with them, but saw that megumi didn’t get up from the little table to join everyone.

“megumi, are you hungry?” you crouched down to ask him. he ignored you, like he had been doing for the past two weeks. you folded your arms in discontentment.

how were you going to get through to this kid? his walls were up and you didn’t know how to bring them down. how could you let megumi know that you were there for him?

“megumi! let’s eat dinner!” tsumiki called out to him, but he just brushed her off. 

“i'm not hungry.” he said quietly.

“it’s okay, shoko, tsumiki—go ahead.” you shoo’d them away.

you stood back up and let megumi color in peace. you made eye contact with satoru and frowned in defeat. you were worried about megumi. these past two weeks have been hard on you because you tried everything you could to get through to him, to build a relationship with him.

as you sat at the dining table with everyone, you couldn’t work up an appetite. you poked at your gyoza and sipped at your soup.

“you not hungry, babe?” satoru asked, putting his arm around your shoulder as you softly sighed, his free hand rubbing your thigh. 

“not really. i'm worried about megumi. something seems to be bothering him.”

satoru squeezed your hand as both of you looked over at megumi. he was still coloring. you saw him look over at the table a couple of times when tsumiki started to laugh while talking to shoko and haibara. 

you got up from the dining table as satoru’s arm fell from your shoulder to the back of your now empty chair. he watched you while you grabbed a small bowl of soup and a couple pieces of gyoza. you made your way back to the table where megumi was coloring.

you greeted him, “hi megumi, i brought you some food.”

“i said i wasn't hungry.” megumi repeated himself again, avoiding all eye contact with you. 

“well, you haven’t eaten since breakfast, you must be hungry.” you frowned.

“no, i'm not.” 

did you just hear some sass in his tone? you squinted at him.

“well, i'm not leaving until you eat your food.” you quipped back at him.

if megumi fushiguro wanted to have a stubborn competition, he was going to have a stubborn competition—and you were the reigning queen of this (satoru would know).

you watched him color. he was drawing two dogs, a white one and a black one. you remembered your older brother, touya, teaching you about the zen’nin clan and the ten shadows technique. the first shikigami a ten shadows technique user could summon were the demon dogs.

was megumi already seeing his shikigami?

“are those your dogs?” you asked him as you pointed at his drawing.

of course, he just ignored you. you dug deeper. “are they the demon dogs?” 

megumi stopped coloring and looked up at you, “what do you know about the demon dogs?”

“well, i know that it’s the first shikigami a ten shadows technique user can summon. they are used for many different things like tracking, fighting, or just being there by your side to keep you company.” you told him.

megumi put down his crayons—it seems like you finally piqued his interest.

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

“hmmm, it looks like she got the kid to stop coloring.” satoru announced, looking over at the table as he watched you and megumi.

he felt a weird feeling inside—it was a warm and fuzzy feeling. his heart swelled watching you with megumi.

all the second years and first years looked over at the table to watch you and megumi as well.

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

“can you tell me about the ten shadows?” megumi asked you quietly. 

“only if you eat your dinner.” you made him a deal, it was up to him to take it or not.

megumi furrowed his brows as he slowly reached for the pair of chopsticks to pick up a piece of gyoza. you felt that you could continue telling him what you knew now that he started to eat. 

“there’s a specific hand sign that you have to do in order to summon any of the shikigami.” you explained. 

“do you know the hand signs for the dogs?” megumi asked, chewing his food. 

you smiled softly. “i don’t, but i know who does.” 

“who?” 

“satoru gojo does.” 

“oh, the creepy guy with the white hair and sunglasses?” megumi’s comment made you laugh out loud. that was the first time someone called satoru gojo creepy.

“he does give you the creeps, huh? me too.” you joked with him. megumi cracked a smile. 

“oh, did i just get a smile from the megumi fushiguro?” you feigned with shock.

megumi started to grin, but he quickly contained himself. he ate some more gyoza and sipped at his soup.

“megumi... i know your father and mother left you and tsumiki—” you started to say, but megumi interrupted you. 

“and? it doesn’t matter—everyone always leaves in the end anyways.”

you blinked in shock at how straightforward this 5 year old boy could be. you actually weren’t even sure if he was 5 anymore with that last comment of his. 

“well, satoru and i won’t—we’ll always be there for you and tsumiki. i promise—and (y/n) (l/n) never breaks her promises.” you held out your pinky to megumi in hopes that he’ll pinky promise you back. 

“what are you doing?” megumi looked at you confused. 

“have you ever done a pinky promise before?” you asked him.

megumi shook his head—he hadn’t.

you explained the story of a pinky promise to him, “people make pinky promises so that they don’t break their promise—if you break your promise, you have to chop off your pinky.”

“you’re going to chop off your pinky if you break your promise to me and tsumiki?” megumi asked you with skepticism. he seems like he’s had one too many promises broken in his lifetime.

“yes—and satoru will too.” you answered back.

satoru would understand if you spoke for him. he softly intertwined his pinky with yours and you kissed your thumb to seal the deal. megumi didn't follow you on the kiss back though—it was okay, you'd get him to do it next time.

“do you and that creep pinky promise on stuff too?” megumi wondered. 

you smiled at him, “all the time.”

“on what?”

“well, satoru pinky promised me that he will be the strongest jujutsu sorcerer so that he can protect me.” you told megumi.

one day, satoru would have to tell him the story about megumi's own father and how satoru’s near-death fight with toji made him have an epiphany about his own powers. (read ‘the honored one’ here)

you looked over at satoru. he was watching you and megumi. he waved when you made eye contact with him. you winked at him and he blew you a kiss. megumi’s eyes wandered to him as well.

“so he’s the strongest?” he asked with uncertainty.

he couldn't believe that satoru gojo was the strongest. megumi thought he looked like an idiot, especially with the lack of tact he had when he first approached him and tsumiki. why couldn't you have been the one to find them instead?

“yes, he is,” you smiled brightly at your man, “—and he’ll be your sensei when you’re old enough to attend jujutsu high school.”

you thought about the conversation you had with satoru about him becoming a teacher once he finishes his third year. would megumi be okay with satoru being the one to teach him how to channel cursed energy and how to fight?

“are you strong too, (y/n)?” megumi questioned you.

“i'm the second strongest,” you looked at him intently with a promise, “—and i will protect you and tsumiki, just like satoru will.”

“why did he pinky promise that to you?” megumi changed the subject as he started to blush. he wondered why satoru promised to protect you if you were already strong enough to protect yourself. 

“well, megumi—satoru is something you call a boyfriend to me. he loves me. and well… you protect the people you love.”

“he was talking about you when he picked us up. he said you were his girlfriend. is that the same thing as a boyfriend?” 

“yes it is,” you said laughing. kids were so damn cute with their comments these days, “you might be too young to understand, but when you get bigger, you’ll find a someone you love and maybe you can be a boyfriend too.”

megumi ended up finishing his food. (y/n) 1: megumi 0. you had won the stubborn competition. he took the empty soup bowl and put it in front of you.

“can i have more soup... please?”

EXTRA:

the kids were sleeping in your room as you spent the night in satoru’s dorm room—this was how it had been for the past two weeks.

you climbed into bed as your boyfriend watched you. you sat closely next to him. he was expecting you to tell him the juicy gossip of what happened at dinner with megumi. after giving him a brief run down, he sighed.

“so, megumi is already seeing his demon dogs?” satoru asked. you scratched at the back of his undercut and tilted your head at him. 

“yes, baby, and you’re gonna have to teach him how to use them. i told him you know the hand symbols.”

“that’s fine, we can do that. the demon dogs are loyal and loving according to my sources—they would be good to have by his side.” satoru closed his eyes and sighed in bliss, he loved when you scratched his undercut. you stopped scratching as he hugged you close. 

“satoru... are you going to tell megumi about his father?” you quietly asked.

“you know—i tried telling him when i found him, but that little shit just cut me off. i told him that if he ever wanted to know about his dad, he can ask me any time.”

“you promise you’ll tell him the whole story?”

satoru intertwined his pinky with yours and kissed you firmly on the lips. 

“i pinky promise.”

© 2023 ASDFGHJKLMALS — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK.

DIVIDERS PROVIDED BY @/ANLIAN-AISHANG

[xoxoluka]

You comfortable with writing about reader having a semi mild belly kink towards schlatt? I just wanna feed him and take care of my tsundere teddy bear between my girlbossing times 🥰🥰💕

Only if you’re comfy ofc! ^^

yes of course! i’ve got a perfect idea for this!

"ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴇʏ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ'ꜱ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏᴍᴀᴄʜ"

jschlatt x fem!reader

summary: just cooking for him, like all the time. but he absolutely loves it.

warnings: fluff, reader is possibly an influencer or streamer or something

a/n: im cooking the best i can chat its past midnight (ps i don't mind the time that you send these! i'll still see them <3)

good god, it's freezing outside. you think to yourself as you reenter your shared apartment. the warmth you're met with inside allows you to shrug off your wet, rained-on jacket and hang it up on the hook, then slip off your shoes after. two sets of paws patter towards you, jambo and [REDACTED] greeting you happily at the door by rubbing up against your legs.

"hi, my babies," you coo to them, but your thoughts are interrupted by a string of profanities ringing through the walls. Jay must be streaming tonight. might as well make something warm for dinner.

you nod and travel to the kitchen, clearing a bit of counter space and pulling out the cutting board. jambo and [REDACTED] follow close behind, and sit next to the kitchen radiator as they watch you get ready to cook.

you figure you have at least two hours, if not more, until Jay is done streaming, so that should be enough to cook a warm dinner. you first pull out chicken, and put it in a pan for the oven. as the oven preheats, you get out your pot and get chicken broth out of the cabinet to bring it to a boil.

you cut up vegetables, including carrots and celery, as well as some chopped parsley. you put it all into the pot of broth, and when the chicken is done, you cut it up into cubes and toss it in as well. it smells amazing, and you add a tiny bit of onion and minced garlic into the mixture.

overall, it took about an hour and a half to cook up, which was enough time for your boyfriend to stalk his way out of his office to greet you in the kitchen.

"what'cha cookin', toots?" he asks, startling you as he wraps his arms around your midsection and rests his head on your shoulder.

"chicken soup, my mom's recipe," you giggle and rest your head on top of his as you stir the soup.

"smells fuckin' delicious," he says, standing up straight and giving you a kiss on the cheek before walking over to grab a water bottle out of the fridge. "i've got about an hour of stream left, that good for you?"

"yep, take your time baby, i'll be here." you turn to smile at him.

later, he meets you for dinner at the kitchen island. you plated the soup nicely, the fancy soup spoon and all.

he sits at the barstool next to you, where you waited for him.

"you didn't have to wait for me," he tells you, a tiny bit of confusion in his voice.

"i wanted to," you reply, a smile on your face. "you know i love eating dinner with you."

you ate mostly in silence for the rest of the time you sat, it was comfortable and warm, just like it always was with the two of you. as much as it didn't look like it on streams, or on the podcast, or to anyone you knew, it was always like this. the apartment was never rowdy or upbeat, the two of you and your cats lived comfortably and quietly with one another.

just like now, after dinner and the dishes that Jay so kindly helped you with, where you both laid in bed with the cats curled up between your legs. you laid on top of Schlatt, your head on his stomach and your arms around his torso, with jambo and [REDACTED] both curled up with each other between your intertwined legs.

it was like a quiet, quaint, happy little family. you wouldn't trade this for the world.

"i love you," you mumble, "..so much." you nuzzle into him further, wrapping your arms around him tighter, drifting off as you listen to his breathing.

"love you too, toots." he says, one of his hands coming down to caress the back of your head.

this was absolutely everything and anything you could ever want.

pls is this bad or what

© property of xoxoluka. do not repost.

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

Surprise

luke hughes x actress!reader

note: love them and this request 🩷

warnings: eating, food, calling kraft dinner bad even though i eat it like once a week

word count: 840

Y/n was so excited to see Luke, they haven’t been together in person for around a month because Y/n was busy in LA filming the next season of the Evelyn Hugo series. And now that that was done filming she quickly got on the next plane to New Jersey to see the boy. She purposely told him she would be there a day later than she actually was because she wanted to surprise him.

Just now she was in the elevator of the building, Jack had told her the code to get into the apartment building so as to not alert Luke of the surprise, when she got a call from the very boy she was going to see. Fishing the phone out of her pocket and glancing at the caller ID brought a soft smile to her face, “Hey, baby.” “Hey” 

She heard the sound of pots and pans crashing together in the background of the call, “What’re you doing, hun?” “I’m cooking!” “You know how to do that?” She said in a teasing voice as the elevator door opened to the boy's floor, she continued the conversation as she walked towards his door. 

“Yes! I do..” His voice slightly unsure, “Sounds like you’re having trouble.” She mumbles, now at his door trying to be quiet and waiting to knock, “Well the directions are unclear.” “Well, I’ll help you.” “How-” He was cut off by the sound of knuckles knocking against his door. He mumbled a small ‘one sec’ before making his way to answer the door which made the girl laugh.

The door opened revealing the smiling girl, and the very happily shocked boy. Almost without thinking Luke brings Y/n into a big hug, lifting her off the ground with his hand under her thighs. His forehead rested against her collarbone, as if he didn’t believe she was there, like she would slip away at any moment. After a few more moments, whispering their greetings small ‘hello’s and soft ‘i love you’s coming from both.

Luke finally let the girl slip down, her feet once again finding the floor. And as Luke goes to grab his girl’s suitcase, said girl did a once over of the apartment only to see water boiling over the pot and all over the stove, “Luke!” She rushed over to the stove a took the pot of the element and turned the heat down, “Who let you cook unsupervised?” “Jack usually does it.” 

He walked past her, giving her a kiss on the top of her head and walked down the hallway to his room where he set the girl’s bags down and came back to the kitchen to now find that Y/n had taken over the entire operation of making dinner.

“You’re not having boxed mac & cheese for dinner.” She muttered, shaking her head and placing the box back in the cupboard. Collecting a few things she sees in the cupboards and fridge to make him a good dinner. She found an onion, which she was very surprised by. It must have been the influence of Jack’s girlfriend. 

Y/n was already cutting up the onions when Luke came back into the kitchen, and ofcourse Luke came up from behind, his hands wrapped around her waist and his chin rested on her shoulder to watch her actions. He eventually asked to help so she gave him little jobs. Then they sat on the couch, Y/n between Lukes legs as they ate dinner and ended up watching ‘10 things I hate about you’ per Y/n’s request, really it was just because she loved Luke’s reaction when she wouldn’t shut up about how hot Heath Ledger is in it.

“-and he is just, like, beyond what should be humanly capable, y’know?” Grabbing his drink from the side table, Luke says, “He’s good as the joker.” This caused the girl to let out a small laugh.

After the movie the two turned on a show, and just cuddled and talked until they would hopefully fall asleep together.

“Why do all NHL players like golf?” “I don’t know.. It’s a sport to play in summer? And I guess you don’t have to think too hard, and we can just hang out and talk?” 

They were now laying across the couch, Y/n’s head on his chest, Luke’s hands running up and down the girl’s back under her shirt as ‘Bob’s burgers’ played in the background. She drew small doodles on his bicep, as they both lolled each other to sleep as they talked. 

“That makes more sense than what I thought.” “What did you think?” “I thought it was because it’s the same action.. Or close.” 

She didn’t expand thinking Luke understood, she assumed that was self-explanatory, but then Luke asked, “What?” “Y’know, like, shooting a puck and hitting a golf ball is the same action in the hips.” “Okay.” Luke said, softly chuckling as he brought one hand to the girl’s hair, giving her head scratches and twirling the strands between his fingers. 

~taglist~

@bunbunbl0gs @daisysthings

[incorrectbatfam]

Could you please do some headcanons about Batmans cooking disasters over the years?

Age 5: Bruce puts tinfoil in the microwave. Alfred shakes his head and laughs

Age 6: He decorates a cookie so badly another kid cries until they throw up

Age 7: He tries to make a PB&J and the countertop is sticky for a week

Age 8: He tries to make Martha's chicken noodle soup but ends up crying on the kitchen floor surrounded by half-chopped vegetables

Age 9: He tries to impress a houseguest by recreating Thomas's mixology tricks (sans alcohol). There's still a stain on the ceiling to this day

Age 10: He makes green eggs. It's not on purpose. He's never even read the book

Age 11: He makes lava in the school cafeteria

Age 12: He tries to make cheese bread by drilling holes into a baguette and filling it with melted nacho cheese

Age 13: He melts a cutting board in the oven

Age 14: He folds a Pop Tart

Age 15: The chocolate-covered bananas he makes for the school bake sale come out looking very very wrong

Age 16: He's asked to drop a home economics class after mistaking refried beans for pumpkin puree in a pie

Age 17: He boils eggs in the carton

Age 18: He makes his entire freshman dorm evacuate after burning his ramen to ash

Age 19: He sculpts a severed hand out of meatloaf and is sent to the university psychologist

Age 20: He tries to bake a cake but doesn't have a cake pan, so he pours the batter right in the oven

Age 21: He tries Thomas's mixology tricks again, this time with alcohol. One of the tricks is flipping it over his head. He ends up losing part of his vision for 3 days

Age 22: He burns water. Harley Quinn is there. She still holds it over his head

Age 23: He packs his first patrol snack as Batman. It's a chocolate bar wrapped in a tortilla. The chocolate melts onto his gloves and he drops the tortilla down a sewer grate

Age 24: He makes an ice cream cookie sandwich to eat while he and Batgirl work on a case, but he's so engrossed in the work that he doesn't notice it melt until Babs points it out

Age 25: He enters the first annual Justice League cook-off and immediately gets banned from ever entering again

Age 26: He tries to comfort little Dickie Grayson by making fried cornbread from a book of Roma comfort recipes. It turns out about as well as you'd expect when you give Bruce Wayne hot oil. Bruce is genuinely bummed out, but Dick says it's the thought that counts

Age 27: Clark delivers a huge hunk of beef from the farm. Instead of waiting for Alfred to come back, Bruce and Dick try to break it down with a power saw

Age 28: Bruce and Dick's latkes are burned so badly they can play floor hockey with them

Age 29: He makes stuffed mushrooms. Badly. Like imagine the worst way you can fuck up a mushroom. It still won't compare to what Bruce did. And it's for a potluck with the West-Allens that Barry won't let him live down

Age 30: Bruce sees Dick struggling to make ravioli and he's like "Let me show you how it's done" before proceeding to make it infinitely worse

Age 31: Bruce sees a hungry Jason Todd and the first thing he does when they return to the manor is make a double-decker bread sandwich. That's bread with two more slices of bread in between

Age 32: Bruce packs Dick and Jason's lunchboxes when Alfred is out of town. They're supposed to include a salad. Instead, Dick gets a whole head of lettuce and Jason's is just a bottle of ranch

Age 33: He makes hot chocolate after patrol... but forgets the chocolate

Age 34: The Manor is too cold, so Bruce tries to warm it up by making Jason's favorite soup. His hands shake the whole time. Suddenly, he's eight years old again, sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by scraps reminding him of his failure

Age 35: Jack and Janet Drake are out of the country again, leaving young Timmy by himself. Bruce decides to bring some dinner over. It's baked perfectly, but it's full of things that shouldn't be anywhere near a casserole dish. They end up ordering takeout and watching old detective movies together

Age 36: Steph walks through how to make waffles. Bruce is standing there, watching closely and taking notes. They still come out looking radioactive

Age 37: Cass asks if they can get smoothies. Bruce says he can make them at home. She gives him a warning look but that's not enough to stop him. Cue Bruce forgetting to put the lid on the blender

Age 38: Jason's first night back at home, Bruce tries to make that soup. It shoots out like a geyser and hits the lights. He's panicking until he hears Jason laugh, and then the soup doesn't matter

Age 39: Damian screws up hummus and he desperately tries to hide it so people won't see him as inadequate at something so basic. Instead of getting upset, Bruce assures him it's okay and offers to fix it. (He doesn't fix it, he just makes it worse)

Age 40: Bruce's birthday happens while he's fake-dead and away from home. He grabs a convenience store cupcake and sticks a single candle on it. Then he closes his eyes, pretends his family is around him, and makes a wish. (The candle droops and sets the hotel sheets on fire)

Age 41: Back at the Manor, he attempts to make lemonade on a particularly hot day. Selina offers to help, but Bruce declines, saying, "How hard can it be?" (Spoiler alert: it's not supposed to be full of seeds)

Age 42: Kate shows him a video of Canadians pouring maple syrup into the snow to make candy, so he gets her to boil the syrup so they can do it together. The problem comes when they can't control the pour and end up with a glob the size of Damian

Age 43: As part of a school project, Bruce and Duke try to deduce the Coca-Cola secret formula. Duke's teacher takes a point off because at the beginning he told her he'd taste the results, but there's no way he's doing that now

Age 44: The family gets together to make a full English breakfast Alfred's birthday. Each person takes a part—Dick has eggs, Jason has the grilled tomatoes, Tim has mushrooms, Duke has the bacon, Steph and Cass are tag-teaming the sausages, Damian just has to open a can of beans, and Bruce needs to put bread in the toaster. It goes South immediately when Damian reaches for his katana instead of the can opener

Age 45: Bruce puts tinfoil in the microwave. Alfred shakes his head and laughs

[adnauseum11]

Arrival and Assembly Operations (John Price x Reader)

John arrives unannounced, you make dinner.

This is really part one of a two-part scene.

less than 1k words

CW: swearing

Dinner gets pushed back when John arrives unannounced and upset. He’s abrupt and defensive, biting off the ends of words when you ask him what brought him by. He’s evasive about poker – he went but decided not to stay.  

“Bloody hell, I can’t stop by to see you without an agenda now?” He’s huffy, as if his honour is being questioned. 

“You can stop by any time you want, hot stuff. Are you going to be staying for dinner?” You clarify, not willing to give him the fight he is clearly spoiling to have. 

Some part of him must recognize he’s turned up empty handed and unannounced at dinner time because he attempts to course correct despite the lingering grump. 

“If you’ll have me, love.” Annoyance and contrition fight for the upper hand in his tone.

“Of course, it’s your favourite tonight, world’s worst pasta.”

The dish is an inside joke between the two of you, your culinary skills tending towards the improvisational. 

That finally cracks his sullen face with a small smile, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it off the back of a kitchen chair. 

“Do you want me to chop?” He asks, inspecting your recent handiwork piled on a chopping board. He absentmindedly pushes his sleeves up his forearms as he moves. You are a menace with anything sharp, just as likely to hurt yourself as do any real kitchen work. The veggies look so bulky they might as well be steamed and served as a side dish as opposed to anything resembling a proper ingredient for a pasta sauce. You smile at his skeptical look and shake your head, directing him to the table instead. 

“No, think I’ve got them right where I want them. Go settle down, I’ve got a handle on this, Captain. It’ll be edible, trust me.” 

John’s mouth kicks up in a lopsided smile at your misplaced confidence and he folds himself onto a chair at the kitchen table to watch. You hand him a beer in a familiar routine, chatting aimlessly about work while he listens and reminds you to stir this or add that. The bad mood finally shakes free after his second beer and your third, conversation coming easier. Soon his guffaws of laughter are nearly drowning out the fire alarm. 

Somewhere along the line you had grabbed a random saucepan and filled it with water to boil the spaghetti. You hadn’t paid enough attention to the size of the pot and the short-sided saucepan dropped the spaghetti noodles within range of the propane stove’s flame. The pot was nearly boiling when the noodles ignited, startling you into a shriek and making John roar with laughter.

“Fuckin’ hell, I knew coming to see you was the right call. Never a dull moment, love.”

“I’m glad you came over too, this always goes way better with an audience.” You pat his bicep as he carries the torched pasta out to the garbage bin on the front stoop. You can’t help but wonder what happened at poker as you watch his broad back disappear down the hall. A sudden wash of sympathy for your grumpy man comes over you. You know he looks forward to those nights, even if he wouldn’t ever say as much outright. 

The pot was still steaming when he returned, the grim look back on his face.

“Have I mentioned that I hate this place?” He asked, stepping up to the sink to refill the pot. You know that look on his face, the tightness around his eyes and the set to his mouth. He’s trying to keep a leash on his temper.

“It may have come up casually, yes. Are you coming off the bench to assist, cap? I’m assuming you know a trick.” You tease him gently when he replaces the sauce-pan on the burner, trying to pull him back to a better mood.

“Your front door is basically Balsa wood, it’s gotta be a joke, innit?” He grumbles, taking a handful of pasta and standing it on end in the new pot of boiling water and holding it upright. As it softens the pressure of his hand bends it, and after a few moments of swishing it around he is able to fold it enough to get it all inside the pot to finish cooking. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” You breath, impressed.

“Gotta improvise sometimes, love.” He explains, picking up his beer to lean against the counter and watch it cook this time. 

The long line of his muscular body gets your attention and you bite your bottom lip, picking up your own beer and taking a drink you don’t go wandering across the kitchen to press yourself up against him like an alley cat. He catches on to your line of thought quickly, his observational skills not dusty in the least.

“You truly are trouble in the kitchen. Let’s not spoil a second batch of noodles darling.” The smile he’d been wearing earlier flutters at the corners of his mouth again. 

“Did you think you were going to rescue dinner and get sexually harassed when you came over tonight?”

John tilts his head back and laughs, mirth returning to his eyes. 

“I can only ever hope, love.” He says fondly, smirking as your eyes connect. 

The timer for the pasta goes off and John turns the burner off, taking the pot to the sink to drain it while you watch, finding his competence compelling for some reason. After he finishes with the pasta he heads in your direction, corralling you against the table to kiss you. When he murmurs something about dessert later in to your ear, you wonder if you can convince him to stay the night.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast

[metalomagnetic]

Hi metalo! How are you? Hope your injury is getting better.

I wanted to ask if you had any scenes for Cannis Major, where V sees Sirius making an effort to support or show care to V. Like when Sirius tried to make tea for him when he was pissed off. Or took him to Black Manor and shared his childhood with him and maybe any other time where Sirius is obviously in love and showing it (whether V realises it or not)

Unfortunately, my injury got worse, but now it's slowly getting better again. I don't know what beef life has with me, but I hope it gives me some relief, eventually.

Let me look in my folder of all the deleted Canis Major scenes! I'm pretty sure I wrote something about the tea scene! Please don't mind if it's rough, I struggle to edit properly today.

There it is! Hope you enjoy it, even if it is a bit whimsy.

***

When he enters the house, he hears loud banging from the kitchen; he just managed to get his anger under control, but it's awakening again when he goes to investigate and see the mess- no, the destruction- Sirius managed, and in such a short time, too.

Pots, pans, plates, thrown around everywhere. Even the cutlery drawer is open and ravaged.

It puts Voldemort on edge, that part of his brain that cannot stand disorder.

"What are you doing?"

Sirius kicks a cabinet with his foot, trying to close it. It won't, because he shoved too many things inside it.

"I'm making you tea," he barks. "But your furniture refuses to cooperate."

Voldemort's dark mood vanishes, on the spot. Suddenly, the mess doesn't make him want to strangle Sirius, but amuses him, instead.

He's most amused that Sirius thought a cup of tea would calm Voldemort's anger, as if he's a moody old grandmother only appeased by tea and jam.

Bellatrix is the same; when she notices he is tired, or displeased, she offers him tea. But even she has the good sense not to think of it when Voldemort is in a rage.

Yet the fact that Sirius attempted it, nevertheless, that he wanted to lighten Voldemort's mood...

And it's not because he fears Voldemort's anger, no. This isn't motivated by fear.

"Go on, then. Make tea."

He tries. It only makes Voldemort smile wider. He doesn't know why this makes him smile, this level of incompetence was never something to amuse him, but Sirius- well, everything looks good on Sirius, even failing to boil water.

Sirius is a talented portioneer, but somehow it doesn't translate to the kitchen, even if these skills usually overlap. Perhaps this is the first time he is actually using a stove, because it seems to confuse him greatly.

"Spoiled, rich brat," Voldemort mutters, but it's with fondness, instead of his usual disdain for purebloods raised in luxury, with house elves to serve their every need.

He takes pity on Sirius- and on his kitchen- so he takes over, removing Sirius from the stove before he burns down the house.

When he serves the tea, and he's done cleaning up, Sirius frowns at his cup.

"I don't understand how you make it so good."

He remembers Sirius claiming he isn't a fan of tea, unless it's spiked with alcohol. But that was long ago, when they only just met.

These days, Sirius never refuses when Voldemort offers, even if he only adds a splash of milk to it, and not an ounce of vodka.

"It's made with love," Voldemort drawls, and Sirius rolls his eyes.

He watches Sirius enjoy the beverage. Voldemort doesn't quite taste his own. Hasn't, in a long time, but he still enjoys it because at least it's hot, and it warms him, even if there's only a hint of flavour, like it's the case with everything he eats or drinks.

He finds himself wondering, in case Sirius would have managed brewing it, if Voldemort would have tasted something, then. If he'd have found it better, if some Sirius-like essence would have transferred to the tea, and made Voldemort actually taste it.

[flowerandblood]

The Prince and The Fox (8)

[ modern! • Aemond x friend! • female ]

[ warnings: fingering, smut, mention of grooming ]

[ description: After the events of her childhood, despite her best efforts, her neighbor and the younger brother of her friend Helaena, Aemond, does not want to know her. This state lasts until a house party organized by his older brother, Aegon, during which an incident occurs that will change their relationship forever. Slow burn, angst, toxic ex-Alys, rough Aemond. This is several anon requests combined into one fic. ]

WARNING: The main plot between the characters takes place in high school. Yes, in high school. The belief that teenagers wait with an intimacy when they are in love in high school is ridiculous to me. Aemond and the character here are the same age. Don't ask me how old they are, in my country you are of the age of consent in your first year of high school and an adult in the last year of high school, so if it is more convenient for you, think about it that way and decide for yourself. In this story, I am not following the trail that they are magically friends right away, but how they become friends and what that even means. I'm writing this fic to give the perspective of young, lost people, not adult women who want to see exactly themselves in everything they read. If that's all you expect, this isn't the fic for you.

I don't want whining about this in my comments or asks. I will delete these and block you. You have been warned.

Aemond + Evans Series Moodboard

This is my first story that has its own playlist, but yes! Get in the mood!

Story Music Playlist.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She woke up hearing the clacking of dishes in the distance. She opened her eyes and furrowed her brow, not knowing for a moment where she was. She looked around and recognised Helaena's living room in confusion, only then remembering with a blush on her face the events of the evening before.

Their passionate kisses, his hand on her soft breast, his arms embracing her throughout the night.

He had slept with her on the couch, his face snuggled into her shoulder, his hands on her palms.

She thought they really were together.

She got up and followed the sounds that led her to the kitchen. In it she saw, amazed, Aemond standing over a frying pan, apparently just making scrambled eggs, next to him water was boiling in a kettle on the burner.

He heard her footsteps and glanced in her direction; she saw that he too was embarrassed and swallowed loudly, stirring in the pan with a wooden spoon.

"Will you eat with me?" He asked lowly, and she agreed with a smile, walking slowly closer.

"Can I help you somehow?" She asked and he nodded, pointing with his head to the mug standing on the countertop.

"Choose what kind of tea you want to drink. I don't know if you want sugar. There are plates upstairs in the cupboard, take three out, I'll ask Aegon if he'll eat with us." He said turning off the fire under the pan and went out into the corridor, shouting from downstairs to his brother if he would have breakfast with them.

After a while Aegon joined them and the three of them sat down at the table. Aegon looked at her wrinkling his brow, sleepy, not yet fully awake.

"Did you stay overnight?" He asked puzzled, and she lowered her gaze, embarrassed, swallowing the bite she had just eaten.

"Yes, I fell asleep on the couch and Aemond probably didn't want to wake me up again." She said in a slightly trembling voice, trying not to give herself away or look at them, taking another bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth.

Aegon raised an eyebrow and looked at his brother, then grunted loudly, clearly amused, already concentrating on his food.

"Helaena returned safely?" She asked uncertainly wanting to change the subject, worrying if anything had happened to her.

"She texted me a while ago that she was staying with a friend for the night and that she would be home this afternoon." Aemond replied, and she nodded.

Aegon left them alone, saying that he needed to sleep for at least another hour and Aemond looked at her uncertainly, fiddling with his cup in his hand.

"If you want, take a shower. I'll give you a clean towel. We can still play here or in my room. Or watch something." He muttered quickly, as if suddenly throwing out ideas and reasons why she could stay longer.

Her heart was pounding like crazy.

He wanted her not to go home yet.

She agreed and, at his suggestion, bathed, then they moved to his room to play games on his computer. They took their pads with them and spread out comfortably in two leather armchairs, one of which he had brought for her from Helaena's room.

She saw him looking at her, her hair was still slightly damp and completely loose.

She knew that, like her, he was thinking about what had happened between them and that for him it had been an equally groundbreaking experience.

He paused the game they were playing after a while and looked down at his thighs, his lips tightened.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asked without looking at her, fiddling with his pad in his hand, his voice trembling as he spoke the words. She nodded.

He licked his lower lip, as if he was gathering what he wanted to say with great difficulty. He was silent for a moment.

"Do you have any physical experience? I mean…one with yourself, for example." He mumbled embarrassedly, sliding lower in his chair as if he wanted to curl up and hide. She lowered her head feeling the embarrassment that was visibly painted on her face.

"…I've never had a boyfriend before, if that's what you're asking." She said quietly and he swallowed loudly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, pale.

"But have you…you know. Have you ever touched yourself?" He asked uncertainly, and she gave him a concerned look, furrowing her brow.

"Why do you ask about it?" She asked in a slightly trembling voice, and he looked at her surprised, feeling subconsciously that he might have crossed a line with this question, even though he didn't want to.

"I just…I just don't want to hurt you. I want to know what point you're at so I can…adjust to you. You know." He shrugged his shoulders pressing his lips together; she felt some kind of pain and at the thought that he was more experienced than her, that he had done it with his ex-girlfriend in all sorts of ways.

She lowered her gaze, looking at her pad with a blank stare, thinking about how she would be a disappointment to him.

How would she give him what she had?

She felt tears under her eyelids, her lower lip beginning to tremble a little. She heard him lean forward in his seat wanting to see her face and seeing her state he moved quickly towards her, touching his hand to her cheek, taking her hair back with a light flick of his fingers.

"− hey − what's going on? − tell me −" He mumbled out, frightened by her condition and the fact that he had offended her. She swallowed hard, looking down at her thighs and shrugged her shoulders.

"− it doesn't make sense − you'll be only frustrated with me − I can't give you what she had −" She uttered with difficulty, and he pressed his forehead against her temple, tightening his hand on her hair.

"− stop − okay? − you don't understand this − I regret a lot of things − I regret that I didn't wait with them − I regret that I couldn't erase all of this and start over, with you −" He whispered, and she felt a strong squeeze in her heart, breathing unevenly through her slightly parted lips.

"− I was proud of the fact that she treated me like a man − that she wanted me like a man − but inside I was terrified − she didn't care, she took what she wanted − I was left with this sickening sense that she used me, that I am just a flesh and nothing more −" He muttered, and she looked up at him, shocked by his words, her eyebrows arched in pain.

"Don't say that." She said softly, quietly, and he swallowed loudly, his jaw clenched, his fingers running over her cheek and lower lip.

"− but it's true − that's how I feel − I did fucked up things with her − I felt like an animal − when I came home afterwards I didn't know what my fucking name was − I couldn't look my mother in the eye −" He choked out with difficulty, his face and healthy eye red, his voice trembling making her feel a tightness in her throat.

"− but with you −" He stammered and chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, his thumb circled and returned back to her cheek.

"− I didn't know it could be like this − so tender − so peaceful, safe − − just your scent and your closeness makes me want you so badly that I can barely keep my hands off you −" He exhaled and bit his lower lip, sighing quietly.

"− that's why I just want to know what you need, how much I can allow myself − you're my girlfriend and I don't want to hurt you − okay? −" He asked in a trembling voice, and she nodded quickly, feeling hot in her heart at his words.

You're my girlfriend.

She looked up at him, swallowing loudly, her lips slightly parted.

"− I'd just like to please you − I'd like to be enough for you −" She whispered in a trembling voice, and he drew her to him, forcing her to sit on his lap and embrace him, his large chair creaking under their shared weight.

She felt safe in his arms, his hand stroking her hair, his lips kissing the top of her head with a tender click. She could hear his heart pounding fast.

"− I want you − I want to wait for you − I want to be worthy of you − make us slowly discover everything together −" He murmured tenderly, placing affectionate kisses on her hair again and again; she snuggled into him tightly, touched, lingering like this with him in the embrace, feeling that they were closer to each other than ever.

"− can you kiss me? −" She asked in a shy, trembling voice. He hummed contentedly and lifted his head, his nose gently rubbed against hers before his lips pressed to hers in a soft, innocent, warm kiss.

She hugged his neck and pressed herself tighter to him wanting to show him how much she needed him, how much she desired him, how happy she was. He murmured contentedly as he embraced her around the waist, their kisses loud, sticky and slow, she could feel his fingers trailing down her back.

She pulled away from him and looked at him with a misty gaze, thinking with a fast beating heart that she wanted to do this, she wanted to open up to him, she wanted him to think she was beautiful.

With a light movement of her trembling hands, she grabbed the material of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, exposing her bare chest to him. She saw the pupil of his healthy eye narrowed in shock, his breath caught in his throat, felt his manhood pulsate hard beneath her in his trousers.

She looked at him uncertainly, feeling a slight chill, feeling vulnerable, exposed, however at the same time realising that she was safe, that he would never hurt her.

She saw him swallow loudly, his gaze running from her face to her breasts and back again, his hand gently running over the side of her naked waist. She felt him slowly move forward and press his face against her sternum, placing his hands on the bare skin of her back.

She could feel him pulsing hard beneath her, his fingers trailing up and down her body, but beyond that he didn't move. She slid her fingers into his hair, stroking his head and kissed the top of it leaning over him, pressing her cheek against him with a blush on her face.

She felt his lips place soft, tender kisses on her sternum, and then he pressed the side of his face into her warm flesh, one of his hands tentatively running his fingers gently over her soft, plump breast as he looked at it.

He traced his fingers up and down, a pleasant shiver passing through her every time he ran his fingers over her nipple. He felt it, his thumb deliberately beginning to tease and play with it; she felt a pulsing between her thighs and a pleasant heat in her lower abdomen, involuntarily rubbing against his erection she felt underneath.

She heard him sigh softly, his hips responded to her movements with slow rocking, their bodies in some subconscious reflex begin to press against each other with their breaths speeding up.

He surprised her when he lifted his head suddenly, his lips finding hers in greedy kiss, his hands gripping her armpits in such a way that both his thumbs brushed and teased her nipples.

She moaned into his mouth, feeling a pleasant shiver that shook her whole body, she felt him smirk.

"− feels good? −" He murmured between one sticky kiss and another, and she only nodded, unable to focus on anything other than the wetness and pulsing between her thighs, her hands stroking his cheeks and hair, holding him close.

He pulled away from her and looked at her in a way that made her hot, and then he leaned over and grabbed her right breast in his mouth, sucking and licking her nipple, making her clench her hands in his hair and tilt her head back, a moan escaping her lips again, her thighs speeding up their movements, rubbing against his manhood faster and faster.

"− quiet −" He gasped out between one lick of his tongue and another, starting to suck her again, and she pressed her lips together with difficulty, remembering that Aegon was asleep in the next room. The tension she felt was indescribable, she had never felt this good before in her life.

She heard him let go of her breast with a loud click of his saliva only to deal with her other breast in the same way, making a quiet mewl escape her throat, his hands sliding down to her buttocks forcing her to press harder against him.

"− fuck −" He growled, panting loudly along with her; she had the feeling that they had both lost control and surrendered completely to what was happening between them.

She squealed quietly as he stood up with her, grabbing her under her hips and walked with her towards his bed, thrusting himself onto it with her pulling away from her breasts, looking at her.

"− did you ever touch yourself down there? −" He repeated the question in a trembling voice, and she swallowed loudly, embarrassed, feeling that she had never been so wet before in her life.

"− yes, but − nothing ever came out of it − I mean −" She mumbled out, feeling that she was red, though she didn't know how to put it into words.

She touched herself and it felt good, but she couldn't bring herself to orgasm and had no idea what she was doing wrong.

Never then, however, had her insides pulsed as hard as they did now. She saw that he licked his lips, breathing hard, restraining himself with all his might not to just throw himself at her.

"− would you like me to try? − you know −" He muttered, and she swallowed loudly, looking at him with wide eyes.

"− we don't have to − we can only do what we've been doing − I just want to know −" He added quickly, terrified that he might have imposed too fast a pace on her and frightened her. She swallowed loudly, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, feeling her heart pounding hard.

"− we can try −" She mumbled embarrassedly and saw that he swallowed with difficulty, letting the air out loudly. He nodded, laying down beside her.

"− lie with your back to me − yes, just like that −" He murmured, pulling her to him, embracing her with his arms, she could feel his hard length pressed between her buttocks.

She swallowed loudly as his fingers gently began to tease her nipple again, and his other hand slowly slid lower to the material of her shorts, his warm breath surrounding her ear and cheek.

"− tell me if you get uncomfortable, okay? − promise me −" He whispered in a trembling voice, and she nodded quickly, feeling like her heart was about to jump out of her chest.

"− okay −"

She drew in a loud breath as his fingers slid under the material of her panties, in a slow, unhurried motion sinking into her most intimate place. He stopped as her whole body tensed through this new, foreign sensation.

"− do you want me to stop? −" He asked uncertainly, but she shook her head.

He swallowed loudly, gently exploring her condition with his hand, sinking into her hot, soft folds, his fingertips ran gently over her slit, so wet because of her arousal; she gasped, hearing his sudden, surprised, quiet groan.

"− oh fuck − little one − what happened here? −" He asked with some kind of appreciation, spreading her moisture all over her womanhood, his fingers in gentle circular motions began to tease the space around the spot from which shivers ran through her.

"− I − I don't know −" She mumbled embarrassedly and he chuckled softly, his lips placing a gentle kiss on her neck.

"− but I know − my little fox got all wet for me −" He whispered, and she felt his words between her thighs, a wave of heat went through her, the space inside her throbbed hard.

"− ah −" She moaned helplessly, his hands simultaneously teasing her nipple and her clit made her body all hot, she felt like the tension in her lower abdomen kept growing, that she was no longer thinking soberly, her hips began to move to the rhythm of his hand.

"− that's it − just feel it − such a good girl −" He praised her, kissing her hair tenderly, obviously feeling her leaking onto his fingers.

She squeezed her eyes shut, panting loudly along with him, feeling him rubbing against her from behind, feeling his hardness pulsing aggressively pressed against her buttocks, feeling that he was turned on by what he was doing to her.

She shuddered and barely stifled a loud moan when she suddenly felt the tip of his middle finger slide into her a little, pushing her tight, throbbing muscles apart.

"− shhh −" He hushed her and she swallowed loudly clenching her lips, reaching back with her hand, grabbing his hair with his murmur of delight, with subconscious movements she sank down onto his finger, letting it fill her, both of them sighing loudly.

"− fuck − so tight − we need to prepare you a bit before you feel this inside you one day, hm? −" He asked, rubbing his hard erection against her buttocks. "− I wouldn't want to tear you apart −"

She let out a loud gasp at his words, all hot, moaning and panting as quietly as she could, his finger sliding in and out of her with a loud click of her moisture.

She arched her back as he found a spot inside her that every time he rubbed it made her go dark before her eyes, his thumb teasing her clit as at the same time the fingers of his other hand massaged and pulled at her nipple.

"− A-Aemond − I think − oh my God −" She mumbled out and opened her mouth wide with a loud moan, sensing that something was coming; he managed to cover her lips with his free hand before she whimpered again and again, her body shook with a wave of pleasure that took her completely by surprise. She breathed loudly, quivering and moaning his name, falling and rising on his finger.

"− oh baby − so much flowed out of you − fuck, I want to feel you so badly −" He breathed out into her ear as her body shook with convulsions, his hand still clamped over her mouth.

He let her go when he felt her calm down; she could feel him looking at her but she just lay there with her eyes closed, concentrating only on how wonderfully intense the experience was.

"− how was it? − did you enjoy it? −" He asked in a trembling voice with some kind of pride, and she just nodded, unable to get anything more out of herself.

"− I'm going to go to the bathroom for a while, okay? − I'll get you some tissues so you can wipe yourself off −" He said quietly and she nodded again. He kissed her on her cheek and got out of bed, walking quickly towards his door, closing it behind him as soon as he left.

He'd been gone quite a while, but she didn't think about it, happy and fulfilled, thinking about the fact that she felt a little more like a woman now, not a little girl.

That even though her whole body was trembling, it felt good.

She opened her eyelids when he returned and took the packet of damp tissues from him, slipping them individually between her thighs, wanting to get rid of that uncomfortable, sticky feeling.

She tossed them into his bin standing next to his bed and lay down again. He settled behind her back as before with his arms around her, kissing the bare skin of her neck and shoulder; she felt that the hardness in his trousers disappeared.

"− what happened to that? −" She asked with amusement, rubbing her buttocks against him; she heard him hum behind her, she knew he was smiling.

"− it's my dark secret −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes