#so well i turned the oven off and i have the microwave fan running

[orcelito]

Super sexy me is so sexy I accidentally set off the fire alarm while baking pie shells for my pumpkin pie. And now I don't know if I should've even baked them in the first place. But well. Too late now 👍

[petermorwood]

Microwave Sponge Cake (eventually)

Long ago, @dduane and I had a Whirlpool combi microwave - micro, grill, fan oven - and It Was Great, big enough to use as a proper oven when what needed cooked in a proper oven was small enough that powering up the big proper oven in the cooker was a bit much.

Still with me...?

IIRC it was one of those Christmas presents where Mum, ever-practical, told us; "get yourselves something really useful but not too expensive (I did say practical!) and I'll go halves."

In 2016, after something like 15 years of pretty-well daily use for one thing and another, the old thing expired by stages, micro first, grill second, oven last - it made great bread up until the end - and went to recycling heaven.

*****

We couldn't find a one-for-one replacement (we needed a free-standing counter-top appliance, everyone was selling built-in), so until once was available (optimism) we bought an ordinary microwave.

NB, this and its successors were only used for ordinary microwave things like reheating, defrosting and dealing with freeze-cook stuff. They got nothing like the amount of use of the old combi, mostly because of being incapable of doing a lot of it. As things turned out, this didn't help much.

About eighteen months later, we had to buy another. If a microwave's enamel interior develops a crack (to this day I don't know how), moisture gets in, rust begins and the enamel pulls off the bare metal. That's when you get "sparking".

This demo is deliberate; believe me, when it's unexpected it's even worse.

A private welder show or lightning storm at the end of the kitchen counter when all you want is a hot cuppa is distinctly unsettling. Also, it's only going to get worse, and we could imagine - boy, could we - what "Much Worse" might look like.

To the recycle dump!

(NB, micros with stainless steel interiors don't seem to do this, probably because they're already tuned to deal with the bare metal.)

The replacement, another ordinary micro, Just Up And Died after eighteen months and, guess what, the quote for a check-up and replacements-if-required was as much as the price of a new one.

(Inkjet printers seem to operate on this principal too.)

To the recycle dump again!

We got a third new one (which BTW is still running just fine, because it's been downgraded to Extra, read on), totalled up what we'd spent on ordinary microwaves, said a few well-chosen words about planned obsolescence and the "Vimes 'Boots' Theory of Economic Inequality" and got ourselves a pre-pay credit card whose top-ups were dedicated to Get A Combi Again.

We didn't bother with GACA baseball caps.

That would have been silly.

I don't know if these cards exist in the USA; we treat them as the modern version of a piggy-bank...

...except that to get at the money you need two people acting in accord.

*****

And in 2021 we got one.

Okay, this next bit is going to read like an ad.

It isn't, because the appliance is discontinued. (Whirlpool FINALLY do something similar but not identical.) It's just enthusiastic users discovering there's even more to a gadget than expected.

*****

The New One even bigger than the old one, which had 28 litres capacity; the new one was 33 L (was .99 ft³, is now 1.16 ft³). In non-tech terms, wow, More Room To Cook In.

Reading the figures was no help (to me, anyway) in visualising what a maw the thing had, but opening the door did that and no mistake.

I said something to DD about "bite radius"...

...and she instantly responded with "anyway, we delivered the bomb".

We're a quotesy household. ;->

BTW, The New One does a very good job on seafood, too...

*****

Since we got this, almost exactly two years ago, we've used it from reheating tea to roasting meat to making chilli / goulash / stew / curry (you can run the oven / grill separately or add simultaneous zaps of microwave for much less cooking time) to baking bread.

One of the best things about it is that when the set cooking time is done, the appliance switches off automatically. No risk of busyness, absent-mindedness or out-in-the-garden-ness ending in clouds of smoke, ruined food and possibly even worse.

As for breadmaking, it has a dough-rise setting which is a Time Machine, reducing a two-hour "doubled in size" rise time to about 35-45 minutes...

It also has the most reliable Defrost Butter setting either of us have ever encountered, turning a rock-solid butter brick from the freezer into something spreadable while never - to date - doing the "never mind a butter-knife, give me a spoon or a paintbrush" thing.

*****

However...

There's also a "Chef Setting" where there are some simple recipes. Here's the pastry page.

Basically, you assemble and mix the ingredients, input the correct settings and the machine does all the timing, heating and cooking.

We'd never used this until yesterday, when DD said, "Let's try the sponge cake..."

Yes, this post was entitled "Microwave Sponge Cake (eventually)..." and here we are...

We did all the measuring correctly and checked it by pouring the mixture into a baking container while on the scale, wondering betimes why the recipe says 900g, the ingredients total 925 and what actually poured into the container reads 906... Weird. Really weird.

Then we put the container into the oven, entered the correct code, and let things do what they were going to do.

A little later we discovered something else about the recipe besides a weight anomaly.

It didn't mention the required size of the container. Or or how much the mixture was likely to rise.

It rose...

Let's say more than we expected...

The fluted ceramic container used for baking this one makes it look like a Vesuvius cupcake; not quite a pyroclastic flow, but a lot of flow regardless.

Once it cooled we separated the sponge-cake from the escaped sponge in the same way as sculptors work with wood or marble - "Chip away everything that doesn't look like a cake" - and found that despite its misshapen looks, it tasted pretty good.

So today DD made another, this time using a larger container.

...and this time it stayed put until removed using the cunning base-and-lifting-straps of baking parchment.

It's not the loftiest or best-risen sponge cake either of us have ever seen (a smaller-diameter higher-sided container would probably deal with that) BUT if there's something needing sponge cake in a hurry - this went from cupboard ingredients to done and cooling in less than 55 minutes - that treatment seems to fit the bill.

We're now wondering what other secrets lurk in the simple recipe pages; falafel, quiche Lorraine, stuffed peppers, even Flammkuchen* from scratch.

(*Though I have my own views about Flammkuchen, mostly involving a plane flight...)

And we'll be paying a lot more attention to what size of dish we put them in. :->

[nycbaby21]

Quinn Hughes Imagine

prompt: “I’m sorry. I just had to see you.“

word count: 1,865

The final buzzer of the game was normally met with cheers and excitement at Rogers Arena, but tonight it was filled with heavy sighs and disappointed fans. This was the third game in a row they had lost and you can see how frustrated the guys were getting. Not wanting to bother watching the sad and irritated post-game interviews, I lean over and turn off the tv. I had never been a huge hockey girl, that is until I moved to Vancouver for work and moved in next door to one of the Canucks. Many months ago when I was lugging boxes into the apartment building I bumped into the tall blonde with a huge smile. He immediately stopped what he was doing and helped with what would have taken me hours by myself. After a repayment meal and a lengthy conversation about how it was truly criminal, I had never been to a hockey game, a quick and solid friendship was made with Brock.

I made my way over to the kitchen and turned on the oven for some cookies. Normally when Brock and the guys have a hard game he usually ends up over at mine. He says it helps him because he doesn’t feel like being alone after. Recently some of the other guys have started coming along, which I actually really enjoy. I was so scared that I wouldn’t make friends and be so alone moving to a completely new country, but I feel like I am a member of the team with how many hockey players file in and out of my place. Sometimes they show up even when Brock isn’t around. 

My phone rings when I am placing the cookie sheet in the oven. I reach over and answer already knowing who it was. It was a running joke in our friendship that Brock looked like Prince Charming from Shrek, so his ringtone was quickly changed from the default one to I’m Too Sexy for My Shirt from the second movie. I can’t help but smile when I hear the sound. “Hey B,” I say trying to gauge his mood based on his facial features. It was too dark in his car for me to tell. “Hey y/n,” he sighs and I can hear the disappointment in his voice. A frown appears on my face before I could help it. I didn’t know what to say to make it better so we just sat in silence, a comfortable one. “I have a batch of your favorites in the oven waiting for you,” I tell him hoping to bring a small smile to the blonde’s face. A big sigh leaves his mouth,” I’m not coming home tonight. Remember that girl I went out with last week,” he starts and I nod,” Well she came to the game tonight and invited me over.”

“That’s okay Boes. I’ll just put them up for you and drop them by sometime tomorrow.” That seems to lift his mood the tiniest bit. “So… you are staying the night,” I smirk while raising my eyebrows ridiculously. He glances down at the phone seeing my face and busts out laughing. My work for the night was done by making my best friend smile after a tough night. “Grow up dork,” he laughs and soon his whole face lights up when he parks and reaches for the overhead lights. He quickly fiddles around the car grabbing his bag and then turning back to face me. “Okay well I’m here so I guess I see you when I see you,” he says getting out and heading towards her door. “Okay bye B. And hey at least you can say you scored tonight, the other guys can’t,” I say trying to hold a straight face but failing. “Oh, my god. I’m hanging up now. I actually hate you,” his words don’t match the beaming smile on his face. “Love you too,” I say while hanging up the phone. 

The quick beeps of the oven alert me to the cookies being done. As I plate the last couple I hear a knock on my door. Glancing at the clock on the microwave, I wonder who it could be this late since Brock isn’t home. I head to the door quietly and peek through the peephole seeing one of his teammates. I stand back confused for one second and then quickly shake it off opening the door. I look up and meet the eyes of the last player I thought would show up after a bad game. Quinn Hughes stood in the hallway in his game-day suit and dripping hair. “Oh my gosh, Quinn. You must be freezing,” I rush to pull him into my apartment. “I’m sure I have something that will fit give me one second,” I say rushing off to my room and pulling out a pair of my dad’s old college sweats that I stole when I moved. I grab a random sweatshirt because almost all of mine are oversized anyway and find him in the same position I left him in. The only difference is the door is now closed and his hockey bag was on the floor.

“Okay, these should work. But if not I can always run over to Brock’s and grab something,” it looks like my words fall deaf on his ears because he hasn’t even looked at me the whole time I was talking. “Quinn, did you hear me? Are you okay,” I ask slowly walking towards him and trying to hand him the clothes. He finally lifts his head and I can see the tears in his beautiful eyes. “Oh Quinn,” I whisper as I take one final step forward and wrap my arms around him. Having known him for months now, I know Quinn isn’t the biggest fan of physical touch, especially with people he isn’t really all that close with. When I make it close enough to him, he collapses in my arms letting out soft sobs breaking my heart in the process. Quinn was the guy who always had everything together, and seeing him let down his walls was new territory for me.

Quickly circling my arms around the tall defencemen, I stand in the middle of my apartment with the boy letting all of my emotions out. I rub my hand up and down his back slowly and whisper small things to him like “It’s okay Quinn let it all out” and “I know I know.” My arms had gone numb five minutes ago but I was going to stay in his embrace until he pulled away. As if he had read my mind he shyly pulled away and looked down at me with red eyes. A stray tear falls down his cheek and without a second thought, I reach up and wipe it away with my thumb leaving my hand resting on his face. I go to pull it away feeling too intimate but he encircles my wrist with his hand and leans into mine more. A small smile faces upon my face accompanied by a red blush. Now was not the time to be thinking about how attractive I found him or how many times I had wished he would be the one to show up with Brock after a game.

“Wanna go sit down in the living room. I can turn something on or we can talk if you want to,” I speak gently eyes scanning his face. A small nod gives me his answer and I slip my hand from his cheek and lace our fingers together. After he left and changed I started getting him settled in the middle of my couch and I try to round the back of it to grab one of the thousands of throw blankets I have. His grip on my hand on tightens eyes jumping to look at me and figure out why I am leaving him. I laugh lightly and reach for the closest blanket and fall back into his embrace on the couch. I lean back into the corner of it and gently pull him back into me. He rests his head in the crook of my neck and I hesitantly run my fingers through his dark hair. He releases a small sound of enjoyment so I continue until my hand goes numb. 

Using the remote I turned on some Adam Sandler movie I had started the night before but fell asleep during. The only reason I even knew he was awake was when he let out a small laugh at the scene. My hand falls from his head when he looks up at me with childlike eyes. I swear even if he wasn’t so close he could have still heard my heartbeat increase. I sent him a smile and he returned it just as big. “Thank you,” his voice was rough from his recent tears. “You don’t have to thank me, Quinn.” He really didn’t need to thank me, I felt like I should be the one thanking him for letting me be the person he lets his walls down to. “Brock always talks about how you have these magical hugs. Like how after every win he feels so much better after hugging you in the halls, or how after every loss they make him feel just the smallest bit less shitty,” he says sitting up and looking anywhere but my eyes. I let out a laugh at this because I had heard Brock says this before, I’m sure everyone he has met has. “I’m sorry. I just had to see you and see if he was right,” he started,” and he was.” The smile that graced his face was one I wanted to freeze time for and just stare at it for a little longer.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of help. You don’t have to be sorry either. I am actually so happy I finally got a hug from the huggy bear,” I laugh watching his face fill with blush as he laughs too. We stare at each other for a couple of minutes only breaking eye contact at one of the many random noises Adam Sandler makes. We settle back into the couch sitting shoulder to shoulder, feeling so content. Neither of us speaks, we just sit there on the couch enjoying each other's company and watching the ending of the movie. I hand him the remote to pick the next one and while his eyes drift across the screen looking for something, I let mine land on his face trying to memorize every small detail of it. I break my gaze when I hear the opening to Mighty Ducks and laugh at him. He shakes his head and smiles,” What, it’s a good movie.” I reach to fix the blanket on our legs when he stops me and looks over. “Do I smell cookies,” he questions laughing as his stomach grumbles. I nod jumping up and bringing him the container I was supposed to bring Brock. At that moment I didn’t even care that I would have to make more in the morning. The smile on Quinn’s face made it all feel worth it.

[sheriiam]

Sherliam submission: modern au of sherly making a cake for Liam's birthday to surprise him but he puts the frosting too soon out of excitement while the cake was still hot and it starts to melt

(i know sherly is a good cook but is he a good baker?) (also i just have this thought of him sitting in the kitchen early in the morning with a pout trying to put cream back on the cake as its melting off and then ba boom liam wakes up and enters the kitchen)

Omg marry me thank you so much for the submission! Well, I can't promise a full fledged au but maybe you'll have some care for this one-shot. Your idea is lovely btw! Thanks again!

Request: modern sherliam one-shot where Sherlock bakes a cake for Liam and paves way for a melting disaster― he's a good cook but is he a good baker?

Melting in your love~

Sherlock woke up as soon as the first rays of sun started gently seeping into the walls of the room. Their room, he thought with a fond smile as he looked at the lean, petite figure of his boyfriend lying next to him, impossibly cocooned in the sheets. There was a thin, glistening layer of sweat on his forehead― a natural consequence of being so covered in all those sheets (he had snatched Sherlock's too, not that he minded much though).

Ultimately, after turning the fan's speed to full, Sherlock quietly entered the kitchen. There, he opened the fridge and pulled out a bowl of cake batter that he had prepared the previous night. He winced at how cold it was compared to his bed-warm hands.

It was his boyfriend's, William's, birthday today. Well, official birthday, Sherlock thought. April 1st was the date of birth on all his legal documents, and that's the date he liked to celebrate on― Liam never told Sherlock his true birthdate; Sherlock never questioned.

He slowly removed the plastic wrap from the bowl and transferred the batter to a round, baking container. Later, after putting the whole thing into the microwave oven, he took out the frosting-bowl from the fridge and whisked it for good measure.

Would Liam like it? Sherlock thought as he cut evened the warm cake surface with a knife. He had just taken it out of the MW oven and his chest fell swollen with pride of how golden and moist the cake seemed. "Leave it for about half an hour to cool properly before covering it with icing," he read from an online recipe. The sun was rising up in the sky. No matter Liam's bizzare sleeping hours, Sherlock didn't have much time at hand.

"Ugh dammit, let's get done with this." He put portions of frosting on top of the cake with a large spatula and began spreading it evenly. The smell of vanilla filled the kitchen as Sherlock covered the curved side with icing too. He smiled proudly as it all came together.

Until―

"Huh, stay in place," he mumbled while quickly fixing the frosting that kept dolloping down from the side. It had only been a moment since he kept down the spatula when he saw how the icing kept running down slowly, leaving botches of areas from where the cake bread was visible...

The room was bright with sunlight when William woke up. He'd have preferred sleeping a bit more if the rays hadn't directly hit his face and made him dream that he he was burning in flames. With a sigh, he threw his sheets away and kept lying on the bed for a while. Eyes still closed, he remembered what day it was today. More than that, what actually made him smile, were his thoughts of Sherlock running around the house, making coffee or eggs for them. Probably both. Hopefully.

He dragged himself out of bed, making much more noise than necessary to make Sherlock aware that he was finally awake. He left the room after turning off the fan and strolled around the house. A mindless tugging at heart drove him to the kitchen. There he is, he thought when he looked at his boyfriend sitting on the dining table with his back facing him. "Good morning love," he said dreamily.

Sherlock got up to face him, and William noticed how his index finger was covered in pale blue frosting. He titled his head fondly and said, "Aw, you made me a cake―" he clasped his hand to his mouth― "did I ruin your surprise?" Sherlock looked at him and gave a tiny, sad smile. "I was trying to. But I guess I ruined the cake and now I'm thinking if I should start all over again. Sorry, no surprise today," he said, shaking his head.

"I know it's April Fool's, Sherly, but you could lie better than that," William chuckled. But then Sherlock stepped towards him and embraced him with a heartbroken look. "Sherly," William whispered and held him tight. He peeked behind Sherlock's shoulder― he could see the cake. The icing had also disappeared from the top of the side and was now pooling at the bottom in a tray Sherlock had placed below it. Surely, it didn't look that ba―

"I'm sorry, Liam," Sherlock mumbled in his shoulder and William realized he was crying. He quickly stepped a bit away and cupped Sherlock's face in his hands. "Hey," he said with utmost fondness, "it's fine, really. I know how much effort you put into this. And I'm surely it'll taste great, you don't have to make a new one. It's perfect." He placed a finger on Sherlock's lips when he began trying to explain how he should have waited for the cake to cool before putting the frosting.

"Have you invited anyone?" he suddenly asked. Sherlock looked at him for a moment before answering, "I haven't, it didn't seem right to call anyone this early. There's no plan." A lie. Sherlock was supposed to take William to his home in the evening so that his brothers could surprise him― and to a restaurant afterwards― but he wouldn't admit to it just yet. "Then, since it's just the two of us―" William pecked his cheek― "let's cut the cake, shall we?"

It took some effort to drag Sherlock to the table and get him to grab a knife and candles but once that was done, Sherlock seemed to have returned to his usual self. Once he was done placing the candles― and a single cherry― where he wanted to, he stepped back and wrapped his hands around his boyfriend. "Cut the cake, Liam."

William blew the candles, and Sherlock gently sang happy birthday right next to his ear. "Have some," William offered a tiny piece of cake with a smile. Sherlock, in turn, made him eat it before having some himself. "Is it any good?" Sherlock asked nervously. "It's amazing, Sherly. And it allows me to do this―" William broke off to scoop some melted frosting with his finger and dab it on Sherlock's nose. "Glad to know you're having fun in my misery," he said and in return coloured William's face with icing at which the latter screamed.

"Happy birthday, Liam," he said.

William thanked him with a kiss.

[serendipity-writes]

In Which Steve Plots Robin's Murder

Written for Harringrove Week July 2022! Prompt: working at the car wash

Fics for this event: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Rated Gen, 2.2k

Summary:

“I’m sorry, a what?”

“A topless car wash,” Robin repeats gleefully, practically bouncing in place. “The band’s gonna make so much money off of this. Maybe we’ll even be able to ditch the decade-old uniforms.”

Unfortunately for Steve, his life is so batshit insane nowadays that once the initial shock wears off, he realizes this is like, the least concerning thing he’s heard in the last month.

read on ao3

--

“I’m sorry, a what?”

“A topless car wash,” Robin repeats gleefully, practically bouncing in place. “The band’s gonna make so much money off of this. Maybe we’ll even be able to ditch the decade-old uniforms.”

Unfortunately for Steve, his life is so batshit insane nowadays that once the initial shock wears off, he realizes this is like, the least concerning thing he’s heard in the last month. “Right, yes. End-of-year fundraising, that’s fantastic. How exactly did you get this approved by administration?”

Robin shrugs, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Well, you know, Jenny Fischer can be very persuasive.”

What she probably means by that is that Jenny stole her dad’s credit card and made a hefty “donation” to the school again. The rumor is that’s how she managed to convince the school board to hold prom at an offsite venue, which Steve definitely wasn’t upset about. And you know what? If the school okayed it, this car wash thing really isn’t his problem.

“Well, I hope you have fun,” he says, mostly trying to end the conversation because he somehow got roped into making a casserole for “family dinner” at the Byers’ and he really doesn’t know what he’s doing. Robin scoffs as he cracks open the oven. The edges look a little burnt, but the inside is still raw. Maybe he should turn the heat up?

“I’m not gonna be working it,” she says, as though Steve’s an idiot for even thinking that. “Besides, you have to come! We need some of that sweet, sweet blood money, Harrington.”

It’s smoking a little bit now, but like, not that much. “Sure, whatever,” he says as he fans the oven with a dishtowel.

“Great! It’s tomorrow from noon to three,” Robin hollers as she sprints out the door, her mission apparently complete.

Steve doesn’t really register her words. This casserole is looking more and more unsalvageable. What did his mom’s recipe even say? He casts about for it, but it’s nowhere to be found. Ah well, maybe the microwave will fix it.

He ends up buying one from the grocery store and letting Joyce cook it in her oven.

* * *

A knock, sharp and loud, echoes through Steve’s house at precisely 12:26 pm. He sets down the cereal he’d been shoving unceremoniously into his mouth and pads to the door, clad only in the shirt and boxers he slept in last night. It’s Saturday, who the hell is bothering him at this ungodly hour?

Robin, apparently. She doesn’t wait for a greeting or an invitation inside, just barges her way past Steve. “Ready to go?” she asks despite the clear evidence to the contrary, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the kitchen counter.

“Go where?” Steve asks as he reacquaints himself with his box of cereal. He leans his hip against the counter and raises an eyebrow at Robin when she just blinks at him, apple juice running down her chin.

“‘Go where?’” she repeats incredulously. “‘Go where,’ he says! Steve, Steve, Steve, did you listen to a single thing I said last night?”

He casts his mind back to crashing on the Byers’ couch for a couple of hours, before that to getting high with Jonathan on their front porch, even further to making that disaster of a casserole. That’s right, Robin was there for that bit.

“Yeah, your band fundraiser thing. The car wash, right?”

“Bingo,” she says, crunching into her apple. “And you said we would go today, to support your bestest friend in the whole wide world. So, here I am, ready for us to go.”

Honestly, that… sounds like something Steve would do. “Alright, give me a minute to put on actual clothes,” he says. Robin snorts. Before he’s even halfway up the stairs, she’s got her hand in his cereal box.

Five minutes later they’re on the road, heading toward the Hawkins High parking lot, which Steve thinks should be considered a crime on the weekend, even if it is the summer. About a mile away, signs begin appearing along the side of the road. Some of them are tame, advertising the band fundraiser aspect of the event, while others take a bit of a different approach. Steve’s personal favorite is the one that just says “TOPLESS CAR WASH” in big black letters on a white poster board. There’s nothing else on the poster, and for some reason Steve finds that hilarious.

Robin’s sporting a maniacal grin in the seat next to him, and he wasn’t terribly worried last night but now he’s starting to be.

As soon as they pull into the parking lot, Steve gets the joke. It is indeed a topless car wash, but all the washers in question are dudes. He thinks he recognizes a couple as band kids from the last few basketball games he played, but there are definitely guys out here that aren’t in the band. Steve wonders how they got roped into this. He has to give credit where credit is due, though; every one of them committed to the bit. He admires their dedication, even if there isn’t much else to admire.

He pays the two dollar entrance fee, then gets into the line. It creeps forward agonizingly slowly.

“This better be worth my two dollars, Buckley,” he threatens, and she chortles.

“Oh, it will be,” she promises, and suddenly Steve’s not sure he should be here.

But then he finds himself at the front of the line, and he’s waved all the way down to a spot at the very end of the swathe of soapy cars. After a moment, and what sounds like a short scuffle behind his car, a knuckle raps on his window. Steve obediently rolls it down, and this is where the problem arises.

Because Billy fucking Hargrove bends down to stick his head in Steve’s car, elbows resting on the edge of his door. And he is in fact topless, as the posters promised.

Steve is immeasurably glad he actually put on a clean shirt before walking out the door.

“Hello, valued customer,” Billy drawls, tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip. Jesus Christ. “I’ll be servicing you today.” Steve doesn’t know how a person can make a wink look that fucking dirty. He’s gonna have an aneurysm.

“Don’t break anything, Hargrove,” he says on autopilot, thank God. Billy shakes his head before straightening up, purposefully flexing his bronzed abs and almost certainly lingering to make sure Steve gets an eyeful.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pretty boy,” he says, thumping the roof of the car as if to disprove his point. “And you might wanna roll that window up, unless you wanna get wet,” he adds before sauntering around the front of the car to grab a sponge and a bucket of soapy water.

“Thanks,” Steve calls out sarcastically before doing just that. As soon as it’s closed, he turns to Robin, careful to keep his face neutral and his voice low in case Billy’s looking or listening in. “Hey, what the actual fuck.”

Robin looks like she’s barely holding back laughter. “You should have seen your face,” she hisses, smiling so wide she looks like she’s fucking insane. Steve isn’t quite sure she isn’t.

“Yeah, I’m sure it was a fucking riot. What the hell is he doing here?”

Of course, now Robin pulls her face into something resembling sincerity. “Hmm, washing cars I think. Yeah, that seems right.”

Billy starts wiping the sponge over Steve’s windshield, much slower than is really necessary. When he catches Steve’s gaze through the glass, he grins the kind of grin he likes to toss around near the mothers of Hawkins. Steve gives him a tight smile in return and pointedly does not watch the beads of sweat and water dripping down his toned arms.

“Okay, let me rephrase,” he starts, still very much not looking at Billy. “Why the hell is he here?”

Robin shrugs in his peripheral vision. “I’ve heard Jenny Fischer is quite persuasive.” He can hear the laughter in her voice. What a betrayal.

“That’s the same thing you said last night,” Steve grits out. He really wishes Billy would get on with it and move to the back. Of his car. The back of his car.

Robin claps, exaggerated excitement suffusing her voice when she squeals, “So you did listen to me!”

Steve rolls his eyes. Billy’s washing the driver’s side window now, and Steve has to physically turn away to hide the redness he knows is spreading over his face. “I don’t know what game you’re running here,” he says, even though he knows exactly what game Robin’s running here, “but you severely overcharged me.”

“Whatever you say.”

Robin’s undeniably smug as she settles back into the passenger seat, arms crossed over her chest. Steve’s going to strangle her. “I’m going to strangle you.”

“Better wait until we’re alone, pretty boy,” she mocks. Fuck his life.

Billy finally does get around to the back of the car, and for some unknowable reason, he seems to wash it much faster than the front. He still winks at Steve in the rearview, though. Steve flips him off in return, and he can practically feel Billy’s laugh even though he only sees it in the mirror.

Billy drags an upturned bucket over to use as a stepstool so he can get to the top of the car. Steve is one hundred percent sure it’s just an excuse to show off his ass in those fucking skinny jeans. They should be illegal. They’ve caused casualties before, Steve’s seen it. He does his time in the parking lot on school days.

But fortunately (or unfortunately, a traitorous part of his brain whispers), he only has to spend a few minutes trying not to make direct eye contact with the zipper on Billy’s jeans before he hops down from the bucket and drags a hose over from… somewhere. One quick rinse later, and he’s knocking on Steve’s window again.

“Clean as a dream, Harrington,” he says as soon as Steve starts rolling it down. “Hope you enjoyed your experience at the Hawkins High Band Car Wash.” Steve can hear the capital letters. It almost makes him laugh.

“Customer service could have been better,” he says instead. Billy raises an eyebrow.

“Is that so?” he asks, and there’s an edge to his voice that makes Steve’s heart race. “Do let me know how I can improve for the future.”

The easy answer is to complain that it took too long or the job was sub-par (which Steve is pretty sure it is), but Billy doesn’t go for the easy answers, and two can play at that game.

“You could have put on a better show,” Steve says, gesturing across the parking lot where several girls he recognizes from school, as well as some of their mothers, are desperately trying to look like they’re not watching Billy as they speak. “I don’t think every member of the fan club got to see you flexing your biceps.”

He has the satisfaction of seeing Billy’s eyes widen, hearing a surprised chuckle burst from his mouth, before he’s leaning forward, grin almost predatory. “I think the real fan club is in this car, Harrington,” he drawls. It sends a shiver down Steve’s spine.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he replies, but even he knows it’s not his best work. “Now back up so I can leave.”

Billy steps back, hands raised in a show of surrender. “You’re the boss!” he calls as Steve drives away. He sticks his hand out the window to flip Billy off one more time for the road.

He doesn’t understand the unusual number of people who snicker at him as he drives home until he parks his car in his driveway and actually opens the door. Or, tries to, because something’s holding it shut. Driving his shoulder into the door works on the third try, by which time Robin’s already out and collapsed in a fit of laughter on the pavement. Steve slams his door shut and stalks a few steps away to observe the full scope of what’s happened.

There, larger than life, across the whole side of his car, is a crude depiction of a penis made out of what appears to be masking tape.

For a moment, Steve’s almost impressed. He doesn’t know when or how Billy managed it; Steve was watching him the whole time. Wait, no he wasn’t. Billy had plenty of opportunities, definitely. Yeah.

So now he’s just pissed, stripping the tape off his car and rubbing at the sticky residue it leaves behind. “Robin, I swear to God—” he starts, then cuts himself off. Death threats are nothing new between them, and he needs to put the fear of God in her for pulling this shit on him. “I am going to lock you in a utility closet with Tammy Thompson for an entire week.”

“Oh my God, Steve, noooooo,” she whines from the ground. “Don’t do that to me! I don’t deserve to be bullied like this!”

She definitely does, but Steve thinks that walking into his house two weeks later to find him and Billy furiously sucking face against the kitchen counter, screaming something about her pure, innocent eyes, Steve! and promptly leaving the way she came might be punishment enough.

He searches Tammy Thompson’s number up in the phone book just in case.

[tobesolonely]

apartment 41

hi y’all! this is my very VERY late submission for @meetmeinfleetwood​ ‘s “To Lovers” challenge (thank u miss sadie for even still accepting this LOL) but here is some good ol fashioned strangers to lovers with the line, “will you stay the night?” . :D enjoy everyone!

warnings: mentions of alcohol, intoxication, smut :)

word count: ~5.2k

my ko-fi! thank you :)

There were many things you loved about living on your own. You loved that your apartment was always clean. You loved that at the end of a long day, you could come back and brood in peace. You loved walking around in nothing but your underwear without the fear of anyone seeing you. You did things when you wanted, how you wanted. As a self-proclaimed introvert, there was nothing you loved more than living by yourself.

However, during slightly inconvenient moments like these, you wished you had someone else in the apartment with you.

You swore you’d been trying to get your favorite jar of pasta sauce open for at least the past ten minutes. It had been a long day at work, and at the moment all you wanted to do was heat the entire jar of sauce, boil a bunch of pasta, and call it a night. You were growing beyond frustrated–– you even contemplated just breaking the jar open. Ultimately, you decided against it lest you be met with a mouthful of glass.

Feeling defeated, you pick up your phone in frustration and hurriedly punch in your father’s number. The phone rings twice before he answers. “Hello? What’s up, hun?”

“Dad, what should I do if I can’t get this jar open? Like, it’s seriously glued shut,” you set it down on the counter probably a little too hard considering it was a glass jar. “I’m so hungry.”

“Did you try running it under hot water?”

You did.

“Hm. Try getting a good grip on it with a dish towel or something?”

Of course, you did.

“Well, I’m not driving over there just to open a jar for you,” your dad pauses. “You have neighbors, don’t you? Why don’t you knock on one of their doors?”

“Isn’t that weird?”

“No weirder than asking to borrow a cup of sugar.”

You thank your dad for the suggestion and hang up with him shortly after. He was right. You just needed someone to quickly open the jar for you and then you’d be back in your apartment, secluded from society until the next morning when you went into work. Besides, you’d been in your apartment for roughly three months now and you didn’t have a relationship with any of your neighbors. You figured now was as good a time as any to at least meet the person who lived directly across from you.

You slide on your slippers and clear the few steps it takes to reach your neighbor’s door. A faded ‘41’ was on their door, and a cheeky mat that read, ‘Did you call first?’ was at your feet.

You tried racking your brain for any memory of what your neighbor may look like, but you were drawing a blank. You were more to yourself than you initially thought you were and made a silent vow to become more social from this point on. You situate the jar of pasta sauce under your arm before placing two firm knocks against the door. Moments later, the door is flung open and you’re met with the smell of something delicious cooking, and a handsome, tall man donning a dirty apron.

“Hi, is everything alright?” he has a concerned look on his face as he looks over the top of your head and into your apartment.

“I— This is a little embarrassing,” you mumble, feeling your body grow warm. “I live by myself and I’ve been trying to get this jar of pasta sauce open for at least twenty minutes and I can’t. Do you think you can?”

His mouth slowly turns upwards into a smile before finally nodding, reaching out his hand to grab the jar of pasta sauce from you. “It’s pasta night at your place too, hmm?” His tongue is poked out of the corner of his mouth as he focuses on the task at hand.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’m just gonna heat up the entire jar of sauce, boil some spaghetti noodles, and call it a night.”

The pop! of the jar causes you to jump slightly. “That doesn’t sound like very good pasta.”

You retrieve the pasta sauce from him, quietly thanking him. “It gets the job done.”

Your neighbor hums in agreement. “‘M sure it does. If you ever wanna taste some really good pasta though, y’know where I’ll be.”

“I do,” you nod. “Well, thank you again. I’ll let you go back to making your pasta sauce that is just way better than mine.”

He lets out a loud laugh. “I appreciate it. It wasn’t any problem at all, I’m here most evenings if you ever need help opening anything else, uh…” He trails off.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N. Beautiful name. I’m Harry, by the way.”

You look down at the dirty hallway carpet, a wide smile on your face. “Thank you, Harry. It was nice to finally meet you, by the way.”

“You too. Have a good night.”

You give him one more smile before turning on your heels and walking back inside your apartment, gently shutting the door. You quickly look out the peephole and catch him just as he’s closing his door, a dimpled-grin on his face.

It was Friday night when you finally got the chance to speak with him again. You were sitting on your kitchen stool nursing a glass of wine and waiting for your frozen pizza to heat in the oven when you heard someone coming down the hallway. As you had been doing all week since your interaction with Harry, you set your glass of wine down and shuffle over to your peephole, eyes scanning the small amount of hallway that was visible.

Harry comes into view seconds later, four overflowing bags of groceries precariously balanced along the length of his arms.

“Fuck.” You hear him mutter to himself. He attempts to reach in his pocket for his keys but once he realizes he can’t do so without setting at least one bag of groceries down, he lets out a loud huff in what you assume to be annoyance. You scuttle to your shoe rack and slip your shoes on before quickly flinging your door open.

“Hi! Need help?”

Harry jumps and you both watch as the contents of the bag he was getting ready to set down spill at his feet. “Now I do,” he’s already picking his groceries off the floor. “You scared the shit out of me. Also, were you watching me?”

Your face grows warm. “I heard someone coming down the hallway so I wanted to see who it was.”

“Oh, really?” Harry questions, pausing to look up at you. “You came out of your place so quickly, felt like I was bein’ watched or something.”

You know he’s teasing you but you can’t help but feel a little embarrassed that he caught onto what you were doing so quickly. Instead of dignifying his statement with an answer, you bend down and begin helping him pick up his spilled groceries. His hand grazes yours lightly as you both reach for a can of black beans, now slightly dented. It lingers for a moment before he retracts it to retrieve a different item. A quick, side-eyed glance reveals that his cheeks are tinged red.

“What are you making for dinner?” You ask him, standing up and dusting off the knees of your leggings.

“Uh, veggie chili. S’one of my favorites–– hey, is something burning?”

Your eyes widen and you abruptly turn away from Harry without so much as a goodbye, hurrying toward your kitchen that was starting to grow foggy from smoke produced by your oven. You were so preoccupied with helping Harry gather up his spilled groceries that you had totally forgotten you had a frozen pizza in the oven and if the smell was any indication of its current state, it was most likely inedible at this point.

Reaching for the oven mitt you kept next to the knives on the counter, you open the oven and fan the smoke out of your face, holding back a gag from the burnt smell. Your fire alarm immediately goes off once you open the oven and Harry appears a second later, a concerned look on his face. He looks around for your smoke detector and once he sees it he stands on his tiptoes to turn it off. You set your now blackened pizza on top of the oven and turn on the microwave fan. Harry’s already opening windows around your apartment, fanning the air with a throw pillow from your couch.

“Thanks,” you mumble, a wave of embarrassment washing over your body. You feared that Harry probably thought you were the most incompetent person on this planet–– first, you couldn’t get a jar open, and now here you are nearly setting your apartment on fire. “Guess I should’ve set a timer, huh?”

“Yeah, ‘spose you should’ve,” he replies. “It’s okay, though. ‘M about to get started on dinner, you can join me? If you’d like, that is. Maybe you’ll have a new recipe so you can stop eatin’ all this frozen shit.”

“Leave my frozen foods out of this,” you playfully scold him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Thank you for the invite though, that would be great, actually. I’m gonna get this cleaned up and then I’ll be right over?”

“Sounds good,” he neatly situates your pillow back on the couch. “I’ll see you in a bit, Y/N. Door will be unlocked.”

Once Harry’s gone, you move into action, quickly tossing the pizza into the trashcan before running to your bathroom. You try to remember if you brushed your teeth earlier that day but you can’t, so you brush them again just to be safe. You hastily examine yourself in the mirror before deciding you weren’t going to do anything more, not wanting to come off as trying too hard. You were almost one hundred percent certain Harry was just being neighborly–– nothing indicated that he found you attractive, so you didn’t want to make it too obvious that you found him to be the most stunning man you’ve ever seen in your life.

Locking your door, you clear the distance from your welcome mat to his in five steps flat, and take a deep breath before letting yourself in.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that Harry had more skill in the kitchen than an everyday home-chef did. He all but floated around the room, chopping with ease and finesse. The two of you had settled into a comfortable silence as he worked and you watched. Billy Joel played softly over his Bluetooth speaker, and he’d occasionally stop what he was doing to take a sip of his wine and look over his shoulder at you, almost as if he was checking if you were still there because you were being so quiet.

Your head was starting to grow fuzzy as you finished your third glass of wine that night, so you make the (responsible) decision to cut yourself off for the night. “Can I have a glass of water?”

“Course y’can,” he replies quietly, not stopping what he was doing. “Give me just a second and I’ll get ya––”

“Oh, I can get it myself. Just tell me where the cups are.”

Harry stops chopping and turns completely to face you, an amused look on his face. “You’re plastered, aren’t ya?”

“No? Why do you think that?”

Harry laughs. “You can’t hear yourself stumblin’ over your words, but I can. Jus’ stay right there and I’ll get your water. You want ice?”

“How do you know how to cook so well?”

“Culinary school,” he responds coolly. “Ice?”

You’re not sure if you are as drunk as Harry says you are, but you were currently finding the fact that Harry went to culinary school the coolest thing ever. “A chef? No way! What kind of chef?”

“I’m a Sous Chef. Gonna give ya a bit of ice.”

“I can’t believe I live across from a chef! No wonder you were giving me shit for eating canned pasta sauce,” you take the glass of water from Harry’s outstretched hand, thanking him. “Even your water tastes better than mine!”

“I think you’re just pissed, Y/N,” Harry responds, eyes crinkled from smiling. “Do y’like cooked carrots?” Your nose wrinkles in response to Harry’s question and he mutters something about how he’ll leave them out before turning back towards the stove to check on his food.

“How old are you, Harry?”

“Just turned twenty-seven. Yourself?”

“I’m twenty-four!” You exclaim, a little too excited. “Where are you from?”

He turns to look at you, eyebrow raised. “England. What gave it away?”

“Your accent.”

He hums, a small smirk on his lips. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from here. Just moved back home from my college town but didn’t wanna move back in with my parents, so here I am.”

“No roommates, you said?”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’, taking a big gulp of water. “You don’t either, do you? I just realized I haven’t heard or seen anyone else since I’ve been here.”

“I do not. I had a roommate when I first moved in but he ended up gettin’ engaged and moving in with his fiancée, so it’s just me for now. I think I like livin’ on my own better, though.” You watch as Harry reaches into his cabinet and retrieves two bowls and starts spooning your dinner into them. He sets the bowl in front of you and hands you a spoon, nodding at you to try it.

You bring a spoonful up to your mouth, blowing a few times before shoving it into your mouth. Your eyes widen at the amazing flavor that fills your mouth, and your eyes diverge to his. “This is incredible!”

Harry looks down at his bowl of food, a shy grin on his face. “Thanks, Y/N. Glad you like it.” He grabs his glass of wine from behind him and moves around to the other side of the island to sit next to you.

“Are you a vegetarian?” You ask, mouth full.

“Somewhat. I’m a pescatarian,” he shovels a spoonful of the chili into his mouth. “More wine?”

“I better not,” you reply, mind still fuzzy from all you’ve drunk throughout the night. “This is seriously so good, Harry. You’re cute, you can cook, you’re nice… you’re like, a triple threat!”

“Callin’ me cute?”

“C’mon, you know you are,” you answer boldly. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he takes a sip of wine. “You’re a pretty big looker yourself.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“You flirted with me first.”

“So what if I did?”

Harry lets out a quiet scoff, going back to eating his food. After a moment he says, “I wouldn’t mind.” You smile to yourself and continue eating, bringing the bowl up to your lips and tipping your head back so you could get every last drop of Harry’s veggie chili. He gets up to get another helping of food as you get up to place your bowl in the sink, lifting your sleeves to wash it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says as he brushes past you, going back to where he was previously seated. “I’ll clean up later. Do y’want some dessert?”

“I think I will take some more wine,” you grab the bottle from the center of the island along with your glass, pouring a generous amount. “This is good. Nothing like the cheap bottles I get from Target.”

“I’m glad you like it. Thought I’d pull this one out tonight, always pairs well with dishes like this…” He trails off. “Anyway, yeah. Glad y’like it.”

You and Harry finish off the bottle of wine no more than thirty minutes later, having by now situated yourselves on his couch. He turned something onto the television (you think it was Iron Chef), but neither one of you were paying any attention to it. Harry was asking about what you studied in college, how you like your current career and your favorite things to do in your free time. You were asking him about England, his family back home, and why he chose to go to culinary school.

He has a way about him that captivates you— just completely pulls you in— and you never want to stop listening to him speak. Harry leans close to you when you talk, almost as if you’re telling him a secret that he doesn’t want to miss out on.

“I think ‘m jus’ as drunk as you are now,” Harry whispers, letting out an adorable giggle. “Goin’ into work tomorrow is gonna be a proper pain.”

“No one told you to try and outdrink me!” You yell, tucking your knees under your bottom. “Now we’re both drunk, what good does that do?”

“Think it’s more fun this way, don’t you?” Harry lets out a little burp, his face flushing. “Wanna help me clean the kitchen?”

“What happened to cleaning it later?” You stand up from the couch, wobbling slightly before catching your balance.

“Well, I didn’t think we’d get drunk off our arses and sit here talkin’ til one in the mornin’, did you?” He stands up as well, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back as he scooches past you.

“There’s no way it’s that late,” you retort, checking the time on your phone. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to overextend my stay. I’ll help you clean this place up and then get going.”

Harry swats a hand in front of his face, shaking his head. “Overextend your stay? Of course y’didn’t, more than happy to have you here. Do you wanna wash or dry?”

“I’ll wash since I don’t know where anything goes.” You move to the sink and roll up your sleeves, moving the small number of dishes in the sink all to one side so you can fill the other side with water. Silence falls over you again as you clean the dishes from dinner and soon enough you’re done, drying your hands on your t-shirt.

“Thank you, Y/N. We make a good team, huh? Got that done quickly, didn’t we?” He folds the dishtowel in half neatly and hangs it over the handle of his oven.

“Yeah,” you yawn, slipping on your shoes that had been discarded earlier in the night by the door. “I’ll get out your hair and let you get to bed, then. Thank you for having me over and for cooking that delicious dinner, I enjoyed it. I owe you.”

“If it’s frozen food, don’t worry about it,” he jokes, moving to open the door for you. “If you want to cook me something, though…”

“How about I take you out for dinner? I stay out of the kitchen, and you’ll get something edible and halfway decent. A win-win?”

Harry laughs. “‘M lookin’ forward to it. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“I couldn’t decide between Italian or sushi but since you’re a pescetarian, I figured sushi was our best bet.”

Harry looks away from the menu and at you, clearing his throat before speaking. “That was really thoughtful. Surprised you remembered considering how loaded you were.”

“For the last time, I was not that drunk,” you defend yourself, gently kicking his calf from underneath the table. “By the end of the night, you had way more than me!”

“Maybe so,” he replies nonchalantly, looking back at the menu. “Let’s not forget who can handle their alcohol better, though.”

You let out an indignant hmph, and get to scouring the menu yourself. You didn’t eat sushi very often so you figured you’d probably just get whatever Harry got.

“Let’s do sake bombs.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Sake bombs? Are you tryin’ to get me drunk again?”

“They’re fun! Just one?”

Harry shakes his head at you and grins before waving over the waitress, asking her politely for two sake bombs. She comes back a few minutes later with the alcohol and chopsticks balanced precariously on a tray, setting them in front of you and Harry respectively.

The waitress stands back and says, “Ichi… ni… san… sake bomb!” The two of you pound the table until your shot glasses fall into the cup and then you throw your heads back, chugging down the cocktail. When you finally finish chugging your drink and look back up at Harry, he’s staring at his watch as if he’s been waiting for you to finish for ages.

“Oh, you’re finally done? I was startin’ to grow old,” he teases, taking a sip of his water. “Do you know what you wanna order?”

“You’re annoying,” you reply, narrowing your eyes at him. “But I’m gonna get whatever you get.”

“Really? You don’t have any preferences?”

You shake your head. “I don’t eat sushi very often so I honestly don’t know what I should get. I’ll try anything, though.”

“You really did pick this place just for me, didn’t you?” He has a teasing tone to his voice, but his gaze has softened.

“I told you I owed you, didn’t I?”

At this, Harry just gives you a small smirk and signals the waitress over once again to order for the both of you. While you wait for your food to come, you fall into easy conversation with Harry again. It seems like you can talk about anything under the sun with him–– no topic was off-limits, and nothing was awkward. He had to have been one of the most interesting people you’ve ever met in your life. He was well-traveled, knew several languages, and loved to sing and write music in his spare time. Although you felt your own life was rather boring in comparison to his, he made you feel just as accomplished and interesting as he was.

“That was good,” he tells you after you’ve both finished eating, wiping his mouth with his napkin and slouching in his chair slightly. “Think ‘m gonna need to unbutton my pants here in a second.”

“Me too,” you answer with a laugh, making eye contact with the waitress. You mouth, ‘check, please’ and she nods, reappearing at your table with the check. As you’re digging in your purse to pull out your wallet, Harry reaches over and grabs the check before you can even look at it. He reaches in his pants pocket for his wallet and slides his card in before you’ve even looked back up.

“What are you doing?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Did you forget that I’m the one that owes you?” He shrugs.

“You can make it up to me another way. Don’t worry about it,” his voice is low and gravelly. The waitress comes back to collect the check from Harry and after he receives his receipt, he reaches into his wallet to place a cash tip for her on the table. “Ready to get home?”

Home. You know he only worded it that way because you live directly across from him, but you would like going “home home” with Harry, at least for tonight. There was no denying the sexual tension between the two of you was electric–– anyone who was paying attention to the two of you could probably sense it. You wordlessly nod and follow Harry out of the restaurant, intertwining your fingers with his when he holds his hand back for you to grab.

He stands on the curb and expertly hauls a cab, opening the door and gesturing your in ahead of him. Harry’s hand moves to rest on your leg as he makes small-talk with the taxi driver, asking him if he was having a busy night and how much longer he thought he’d be out for. Harry pays the cab fare and wishes the driver a good rest of his night before all but dragging you out of the taxi.

“What’s got you in such a rush?” You ask Harry, a teasing

“Oh? Did I misread the situation? I thought–– this is embarrassing, never mind…” his tight grip loosens on your hand but you pull him back into you, laughing at how adorable he was.

“Harry! I’m joking, I know what’s going on,” you rub your thumb across the top of his. “I was just messing with you.” You see him visibly let out a sigh of relief.

“Don’t mess with me like that, Y/N!” You’re still standing outside of your apartment complex in the dark, as close to one another as you can be without completely melting into each other. He releases his hand from your tight grip and places it gently on your face instead. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

“Please,” you reply breathlessly, standing on your toes. Harry cranes his neck to meet your lips and presses them to yours softly, pulling back only when the both of you are near gasping for air.

“Was that nice?” He asks, thumb caressing your face. Your noses are pressed together and you just nod, still too breathless to speak. “Maybe we can take this inside, then?”

Once inside Harry’s apartment, he nearly rips off the new shirt you bought specifically for your date with him, discarding it by his door.

“Careful with that,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I just got that today. Tag is still onnit.”

You feel Harry laugh into the side of your neck, walking your backward towards his couch. “I’ll cover the cost if it’s ruined then, how’s tha’?”

Harry sucks harshly on your neck, causing you to let out a low moan. “I guess that’s fine.”

“That’s fine?” Harry mocks you, guiding you onto the coach. You hum in agreement as you sink further down into the couch, letting out a sigh of bliss as he peppered kisses along your breast.

Your movements are needy— desperate. Neither one of you were trying to hide how badly you wanted to fuck the other. Harry smashing his lips onto yours once more, his breath warm and tongue salty from all the sushi he had earlier consumed. He attempts to pull his own shirt from his body while not breaking the kiss, and you let out a satisfied hum when he succeeds. Now you’re both shirtless and the only thing stopping you from fucking each other proper is being still fully clothed on your bottom halves.

“Can we get these off?” You ask, tugging at your own bottoms. Harry helps you pull down your tight jeans, struggling slightly to get them off your sweaty legs. Once your jeans are off your underwear follows immediately after, carelessly strewn around the room like the rest of your clothing.

“Y/N…” Harry hungrily takes the sight of your body in, eyes darkening with lust. “You might be the death of me, did ya know that?”

“I do now.”

He sucks on his index and middle fingers and lowers them down to your core, slipping them inside you with ease. You hadn’t realized how wet you were until Harry was knuckles deep, curling his fingers tantalizingly slow inside of you. “Do ya?”

You bite down hard on your lip, nodding at Harry’s rhetorical question. “Obviously.”

He flips the two of you over, so that you’re now straddling him and he’s laying below you. “Take what you want, then–– oh wait, condom?” You nod and move as Harry digs around in his pants, pulling out his wallet.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys that keeps a condom in their wallet.”

He rips it open with his teeth in one swift motion and unbuckles his pants, giving himself a couple of quick strokes before sliding it on. “What if I am? Was quick and effective, wasn’t it?” He rests his hands on your hips and pulls you back on top of him, connecting his lips with yours again. “Now you can take what you want.”

Your hands move up to grip Harry’s shoulders as you slowly sink onto him, wincing at the stretch and burn an unfamiliar partner sometimes brings. You make eye contact with Harry as you take a moment to adjust to his size, noting how his grip on your hips gets even tighter.

“S’big,” you mutter, rolling your hips slightly. Below you, Harry squeezes his eyes shut. “So big.”

“Tell me how badly you want it.”

“You already know. Don’t feel like being teased.”

Harry juts his hips up to meet you slamming down onto him, groaning out loudly from the pleasure the added motion brings. At one point he situates himself so he’s sitting straight up, using his left hand as a support for him to rest back on while his right hand is tweaking at your nipples. He’s letting out a slew of curse words, letting you know it felt just as good for him as it did for you.

“Ridin’ m’cock so good,” he says under his breath, bringing the hand that was playing with your nipples to rest in between your legs. Whenever you slam back onto him you feel him not only deep in the pit of your stomach but also on your clit, bringing you maximum pleasure. “Don’t be so quiet, let me know when ‘m makin’ you feel good, love.”

“I’m already close,” you admit, feeling a bit embarrassed at how it took Harry doing next to nothing to work an orgasm out of you. Well, not literally–– but it felt like it. “Feel s’good inside me, you’re so big.”

Harry lets out a low moan from your words, throwing his head back in pleasure. It hits the arm of his couch with a quiet thump but his pace doesn’t falter in the slightest. “You’re gonna make me cum if ya keep strokin’ my ego like that.”

“You asked for it,” you reply, changing your move from riding to grinding as you were starting to grow fatigued. “I’m close.” You remove your hands from his shoulders and let them roam the expanse of your body, wanting nothing more than to receive maximum pleasure.

“Can feel ya squeezin’ ‘round me,” Harry says, taking his lip in between his teeth. “Know you’re about to come, pet.”

"Harry..." you warn, your movements growing more desperate and sloppy. You weren't normally a selfish lover but your head was so clouded from pleasure, all you could think about at the moment was your release. Harry leans his head back on the couch again and now uses his two free hands to bring you to orgasm–– one is rubbing circles on your clit and the other one is gripping at your breasts as you use your last bit of strength to swivel your hips on him.

You're coming undone not ten seconds later, loudly moaning out the man's name who laid under you. You don't slow your movements, knowing he was right behind you.

"Y/N, fuck, 'm gonna come-" he lets out a low, guttural moan, coming immediately after announcing it.

The sounds of you trying to steady your breathing are the only sounds that fills the room as you both come down from your respective highs. Harry runs his hands along your bare body, eyes hooded from the orgasm that just wracked his body. As you’re beginning to uncurl yourself from Harry, he grabs your hand, pulling you back down.

“Will you stay the night?”

You didn’t know what sleeping with Harry meant for your relationship going forward, but you were glad you knocked on Apartment 41. 

[delimeful]

to taste your beating heart (4)

warnings: nightmares, flashbacks, mind control/thrall mention, mental breakdown, blood mention, impalement/staking, upsetting thoughts, panic, ptsd responses

-

A plastic-sounding click, like someone pressing a button.

Anx took a breath, staring intently at the person bustling around across from him.

Patton was making tea like someone vying for a professional butler position: setting saucers and cups in front of each of them, managing the teapot with a steady hand, motions smooth and automatic.

“Sorry, I’m just so used to setting up refreshments for guests,” he chuckled nervously. “My sister always insists on tea when she comes by, so—“

Logan shifted next to him, impatient and more than a little irritated after every one of his inquiries had been deflected or outright ignored. Patton had invited them in, though, and he was currently their best lead on one of the most vicious cases they’d ever dealt with.

Even if he seemed utterly incapable of answering any of their actual questions.

That wasn't saying he wasn't willing to talk at all. Roman was chattering with him, their most sociable member easily drawn into discussion and more than willing to natter on in the hopes that Patton would let some vital information slip.

Anx wasn’t the only one who noted the way their host set an extra saucer and cup out, but when he met Logan’s gaze, the hunter only rolled his eyes, more than content to dismiss it as another element of the stranger’s apparent airheaded personality.

Patton was still speaking, discussing the many alleged merits of ignoring allergies for the sake of fulfilling experiences. Roman, who was lactose intolerant, was nodding along wholeheartedly. Logan, who was the one to deal with Roman’s post-dairy consumption whining, looked a lot less agreeable.

His own attention remained pinned on Patton’s movements rather than his words. There was a pattern there, a careful turn of the cup so the handle was facing the right side, lift the teapot from the warmer, and pour. One by one, he went around the table.

Anx was the only one watching when the man finally fumbled. After pouring each of their cups with surprising grace, he reached that final, fifth teacup. He twisted the handle so it was right-aligned, lifted the teapot, poured— and then reached for what looked like a cream pitcher.

A beat late, Patton’s hands suddenly swerved to the side, and he pulled them back as though he’d been burned. His voice didn’t even falter.

Anx reached across the table lightning-quick and seized the pitcher, knocking a few of the porcelain jars over and effectively cutting through the conversion as he did. Roman was asking something, but Patton only stared at him, something both fearful and grateful in his gaze.

Anx pulled the lid off, and the thick smell of blood hit him, like iron and rust.

“Your sister, you said?” Logan asked, and Patton bit his lip hard enough to bleed.

Click.

He was in a different room of the same tiny apartment, though it took him a moment to recognize the interior.

Put bluntly, it looked as though a miniature hurricane had torn through it.

The wallpaper was shredded and splattered. The cute decorative furniture had been thrown askew at best, smashed to bits at worst. Everything was in disarray, the valuable and mundane targeted indiscriminately. An entire life torn to pieces.

In the eye of the storm, Patton stood, hands fisted in his hair and eyes bloodshot.

They’d known the backlash of the bond breaking would be hard on Patton, but they hadn’t been prepared for this. It was entirely possible that they had never run into a thrall this strong, one maintained for so long, in their entire hunting career.

Most aggressive thralls would attack relentlessly to defend their master from harm. Seeing as they’d been the ones to kill his “sister”, if Patton was going to vent his ire on anyone, it would be them. Roman stepped forwards carefully regardless, knowing that they owed it to him to at least try to help him recover. “Patton?”

“I should have helped her,” he replied tonelessly, voice half-ruined from screaming. He picked up a broken chunk of a table leg, and they all went tense, but all he did was slam it against the wall.

“I should have saved her!” he cried, punctuating every word with a swing. “Where is she, where is she, what did I do to her?”

“A better question would be: what did she do to you?” Logan asked, ignoring the sharp look Anx sent his way. They’d all been unsettled at the way the vamp had talked about Patton, like someone possessive over a favored plaything, but that didn’t mean they should be bringing it up now.

They’d finally gotten Patton’s full attention, as he turned to them with angry tears in his eyes. “She did everything for me! And I— I gave her away, I betrayed her…”

“She was hurting people,” Anx cut in, voice firm but not unkind. For all that he’d been through, Patton didn’t deserve unkind.

“I could have fixed it, I thought I was— I was getting through to her,” he pleaded, his voice unsteady and unconvincing even to himself. He dropped the wood, pressing bleeding knuckles against his face to stem the tears.

“It’s not your fault, Patton, okay?” Roman tried, stepping closer until he could reach out and set his hand on a trembling shoulder. Patton only seemed to bow further with the weight of his grief.

“Giving her up was supposed to kill me,” he said softly, the frenzy gone from him. “How am I supposed to live without her?”

“The same way everyone else does,” Roman pulled him in for a hug, his own eyes wetter than they’d been before. “One day at a time.”

Click.

The living room of the house— their house.

Perhaps more importantly, the smell of something burning.

Anx had always been twitchy about things like this-- a thousand potential disasters in mind for every little inconvenience-- so he bolted off the arm of the couch the moment the scent registered.

When he got to the kitchen, he heard the rattle of an active microwave, saw Patton standing and staring blankly at the display as the inside of the microwave clouded up with smoke.

Cringing at the thought of the smoke alarm going off, he turned on the overhead fan and pulled the window up before finally yanking the microwave door open.

A plastic takeout container was halfway to a melted puddle, mixing with whatever leftovers had formerly resided there. He slid on a pair of duck-themed oven mitts and grabbed the most solid-looking parts, quickly lifting and carrying the mess to the balcony where it could cool down without making their house smell like burnt plastic.

When he returned, Patton was still in that same spot, frowning slightly as though just realizing that something might be a little off. Like someone had pressed pause while the world fast-forwarded around him, Patton had described it once.

Anx flitted about for a moment, putting the mitts back and cleaning the leftover residue, and then finally faced his friend with a wry half-smile. Patton’s eyes snapped to him, as though just realizing he was there.

“Hey, Pat.” He reached out and set his hand against Patton’s back, watching as the touch helped ground him slightly. “Can you go sit at the table? I’ll bring us both something to eat.”

Without a word, Patton turned and walked to their little dining table.

Cooking was admittedly harder when he ducked away to check on the other room every few moments, but he managed alright, only singeing the eggs slightly where Roman would have incinerated them.

He set the table for them both, and sat across from Patton, who was motionless and quiet in his chair.

“Can we eat together?” Anx asked, offering Patton a fork so there was a physical prompt as well as a verbal one.

It took a moment, but Patton gripped the fork easily and started to work through the motions of eating, mirroring Anx. Whenever he faltered or seemed to forget what he was in the middle of, Anx would nudge his attention back on track.

Once they were finished, he gathered up his dishes and asked Patton to grab his, carrying them back to the kitchen together.

Patton paused for a moment at the sink, mouth twitching into a frown as he stared at his glass and the lingering layer of orange juice at the bottom.

“Does anyone want tea?” he asked suddenly, a well-practiced line in a cheery tone. “I’m very good at tea service, you know.”

Anx swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m good, Pat,” he declined instead of pointing out that they didn’t have any tea in the house.

Patton seemed to get a little hazier, his face going sad and then quickly lax again. Anx took the glass from him and offered him a hand to hold instead, squeezing his palm comfortingly when he accepted.

“I need help out in the garden today. Do you think you could lend a hand or two?”

He dipped his head in a nod, and as they made their way to the back door, Anx shot a text off to the group chat.

> nightmare on edge street: out in the garden with pat. bad day protocol, stat

When they came back in hours later, dirt under their nail beds and probably a little sunburned, Roman and Logan had already combined their talents to set up an elaborately decorated but still structurally sound blanket fort spanning the entirety of the living room.

Patton’s face twitched into a tremulous little smile as the others waved them over, and Anx felt him squeeze their joined hands gratefully.

Click.

The sequence rewound, restarted. Ran him through it over and over, the same scenes-- the same memories. Patton pouring tea with a determined, terrified glint to his eye. Patton’s mind struggling under the stress of the snapped bond. Patton working through a difficult day with the help of friends.

The scenery grew brighter and brighter with every repetition, like saturation turned all the way up on a screen, until they were as painful as sunlight on his bare skin. He tried to close his eyes, to move away, to change something, anything, but his body wasn’t his own.

Look at him, it seemed to demand, keeping him frozen in a sensory hell. Pay attention. Look what you did. Understand how you hurt him.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

Clunk.

Silence. The memories vanished, leaving him floating in an impossible, endless black space. Between one blink and the next, he was eye-to-eye with a mirror image, something about it just slightly off.

He didn’t notice the stake in its hand until it was too late.

---

Anx jerked upright, hands jumping to his chest as the phantom sensation of wood between his ribs faded. His breath stuttered painfully, as though he expected to feel ichor welling up in his mouth any minute.

Staking a vampire was an archaic hunter method. It was difficult to manage, it was messy, and it was the slowest and most painful way possible to kill a vampire. He knew this, though he wasn’t sure which life was providing the facts.

Regardless of memories, he couldn’t know how it felt to actually be staked. He’d been injured before, with a coven as temperamental as his, but nothing like that. Nothing even close to that. It was just a bad dream, an imagined pain.

There was a subtle shifting nearby, and his head snapped up, eyes bright and teeth bared. If those assholes thought he was in the mood to have his space invaded--

“Easy, Count Chocula.” Across the room, the sword-wielder-- Roman, that was his name-- settled back into the armchair by the door, watching him with narrowed eyes. “I was simply noticing your… abrupt awakening?”

Right. Because he wasn’t settled into one of the tiny, dark rooms reserved for the newly-turned and those who couldn’t shake off the urge to sleep. He was captured by weird hunters, who trapped him in their weird house, and asked weird invasive leading questions about his weird night terrors.

He was also tucked into a bed, for some reason.

The comforter had already slipped down halfway due to his sudden jolt into wakefulness, and he wasted no time in kicking free of the sheets. The room was surprisingly dark in both theme and lighting, with deep purple walls and heavy spiderweb-patterned curtains blocking out any potential sunlight.

There was also a warding circle of ash carefully smudged in a perimeter around the bed, the burning containment runes strong enough to make him want to sneeze even from this distance. The diameter of the circle was wide enough that he could theoretically keep away from any stabbings if he pissed Roman off enough, but add even one more hunter to the mix and it would take virtually no effort to pincer him.

Nothing he could do about the new cage for now, with the hunter staring at him expectantly from his sentry position. He sent a poisonous glare back and hissed, still crouched on the bed like an exceptionally angry gargoyle.

Roman pressed an offended hand to his chest, but was cut off by an inordinately cheerful knock at the door. His expression flickered to a sort of bitter resignation, and he shot Anx a much more serious warning look before unlocking and cracking the door open.

“Hey, Pat! I thought you were taking a nap?” he asked with impressively feigned lightness to his voice.

“I was, I just— Is he awake?” Another too-familiar voice replied, sounded distracted. “I felt…”

“Yeah, Padre,” Roman admitted after a strained pause. “He’s up. You remember your key?”

“Of course!” Patton said, and neither of them elaborated on what the hell that was supposed to mean. Roman stepped aside, and Patton beelined to the bed like a compass needle to true north.

He stopped just short of the circle, like a determined enough— or cornered enough— vamp couldn’t reach out and drag him in. “Anx! I’ve been so worried about you! You took quite a tumble, are you feeling alright?”

Anx stared at him. The words were bright, but there was a thread of something fervent and barely-controlled in them, something frenetic in the way he shifted from foot to foot. It sent a pervasive feeling of wrongness down his spine, like looking at an old photograph and realizing that something you remembered from it was entirely absent.

Anx didn’t— couldn’t know enough about Patton to recognize when he was acting off, but every piece slotted neatly into place anyways, dragging him to a conclusion he didn’t intend to realize; Patton was pretending, ignoring the parts of him that felt bad to reassure the rest of them. After everything he'd already gone through, he was bearing the stress of being thralled without a word.

He could feel the thrall tether pulled taut between them, already mentally frayed from both the time passed since feeding and the pain that had ricocheted through him at his last order. Looking at Patton like this, it was bizarrely easy to loosen his grip and let that last thread connecting them fall apart.

Patton’s shoulders eased, all of him sagging slightly like a puppet with strings cut. And wasn’t that just an uncomfortably accurate metaphor.

In the next moment, the hunter was stepping neatly over the line of ash and into the circle, arms lifted. Roman shouted something, but his alarmed words were meaningless noise against the roar of anticipatory fear that overcame Anx.

Get away, his instincts screamed, but his body remained stuck, stalled by a resentful whisper in the back of his mind: Doesn’t he deserve to get a few hits in though? Look at what you did to him.

A sudden touch made him curl in on himself, but the arms that folded around him were careful, even gentle. His head jerked up, and sure enough, Patton was hugging him. He froze, struck dumb.

Over Patton’s shoulder, Roman was stopped a few feet away, hand outstretched as though he’d planned to yank Patton back out of the danger zone. Anx met his stare, eyes round as quarters.

“I did not tell him to do this,” he blurted, and Patton’s chest vibrated with a little sniffly chuckle. The human was so warm.

At the door, Logan appeared, glasses slightly askew. “Patton? I heard—“

He paused, taking in the room. His expression grew more and more unimpressed. “... I see. Exactly what happened while I was away?”

[harryspet]

plaything | sebastian stan

[Warnings] dark sebastian stan x reader, dark chris evans x reader, lots of dub con bordering on non con, spanking (aftercare?), dub con sex/oral sex, humiliation, seb wants you to call him daddy, impregnation, over/stimulation, abusive relationship, seb domesticating reader, manipulation, seb being a jerk and chris being creepy

A/N: This is for @sherrybaby14​ ‘s Prompt Challenge! If you’re not already following her, please do! The original prompt was “ Bucky fic where the relationship is already well known to be dark. Maybe he views her as a plaything and likes to do things that set her up for failure so that he can punish her. Maybe some gas/lighting too”. I’ve been watching a lot of Sebastian interviews lately so this fic was inspired by that. I know both Sebastian and Chris a super nice guys in real life but I had a lot of fun imagining them as bad guys! 

In which you can’t seem to escape Sebastian’s punishments.

Please like, reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 3.1k

You watched Sebastian on the TV in your kitchen, licking a spoon covered in fudge batter. He was being interviewed by Jimmy Kimmel and he was as captivating as ever. You chuckled a bit as he made a joke and the crowd erupted in laughter. 

“Y/N, it’s not lady-like to lick the spoon,” Delilah, Sebastian’s chef, said to you. You were in the middle of yet another cooking lesson. You just could never get your food tasting the way Seb liked, “At this rate, I don’t think I’ll be getting fired anytime soon.”

The dessert was in the oven and now the older woman was placing the finishing garnishes on their steak, “He likes his steak medium-well, remember that,” Delilah went on but you couldn’t concentrate. 

You know you should’ve paid attention but you knew deep down you’d never be a good cook. At least, not in the way Seb wanted you to be, “You don’t think he’ll notice it’s microwaved?” You asked Delilah who had previously agreed to your scamming. You’d pretend that you made what she had. 

“He shouldn’t notice because my food is delicious either way. But, it may taste a little different and you can blame that on the fact that you made it,” You nodded nervously. 

“Thank you, Delilah,” The older woman only smiled as she began to gather her things. Everything was laid out and now you could put everything in Tupperware and microwave it tomorrow before Seb arrived. 

You put your oven mitts on and walked over to the oven. You lifted the pan of brownies out of the oven and set it on the stove. The interview on the TV was ending now and you watched as Jimmy told the audience the opening date for Seb’s new movie. 

Seb hadn’t been back to your million dollar apartment in two weeks because he was doing press all day and night.

You almost didn’t hear Delilah say from the foyer, “Mr. Stan, you’re home early,” Your heart dropped. 

“Delilah,” You were sure they were hugging now, “I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you for a while. You look as beautiful as ever.”

You quickly put away all the spices and cutting boards, just throwing them in a random cabinet. And then the plates of food … you stacked them and threw them into the garbage can. You panicked, he couldn’t know that Delilah had made the food after you promised you’d do better. 

“Well … I- oh look, my husband is calling me,” Delilah rushed out, “Have a good evening, Mr. Stan!”

When Sebastian entered the kitchen, you were smiling wide, a dash of flour on your cheek and apron that you had just put there, “I thought you were going to be in L.A. for the rest of the night,” You said to him, kissing his cheek as he approached you. He didn’t return the affection, his eyes tired from his flight. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, “I just watched you on TV … you did great.”

“I finished up earlier than I thought. I wanted to see you,” He looked down at you, his eyes burning holes into you. He knew something was up. 

“You look exhausted but I know what will wake you up. Your favorite midnight brownies! Because, you know, we usually eat them at midnight-” He took one look at the brownies and turned back to you.

“Why was Delilah here?” He interrupted, reaching a hand to wipe away the flour on your cheek.

Your smile fell, “S-She came to give me the recipe for the brownies,” He didn’t believe it and you bit down nervously on your bottom lip nervously, “I asked Delilah to make dinner and I was gonna pretend that I had made it myself.”

Seb sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips, “And where’s dinner now?”

You pointed towards the trash can, “And you wasted the food too?”

“I panicked,” You tried to explain yourself, “But I’m gonna make dinner for real tomorrow. I watched Delilah do everything so-”

You yelped as he suddenly grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you closer to him. His breath fanned over your face and then he leaned down to your ear, “You haven’t cleaned either, there’s dust on the painting in the foyer.”

“I-I was going to do it tomorrow before you got home,” You whispered, your heart pounding. 

“Do I ask for too much, Y/N? I’m not sure why you like frustrating me.”

“I-I don’t like frustrating you, Seb.”

“You do,” He insisted, “Why else would you throw schemes like this together?”

“I-” He shushed you and you swallowed your words. The look in his eyes was crazy and you weren’t sure what kind of beast you had awoken this time. You tried to remember a time when things weren’t like this. When he chased you and you thought you might be more than his plaything. 

+

You met Sebastian at one of his interviews. Of course, you didn’t expect him to spare you a second glance because he was the celebrity and you were the girl running to get everyone's coffee. You were practically an assistant to the assistants. You only did the job because it paid slightly more than minimum wage and you were late on your rent. 

You carried three different trays of coffee into the dressing room. It was a smaller production company then he was probably used to. There were at least three other Avengers in the room getting their makeup touched up. You handed the coffees to each of their assistants and then to your boss. 

You would’ve walked away but you saw him take a sip, his eyes still narrowed on you, “This is four sugars …” 

“Yes,” You said quickly, looking over the receipt. Your face visibly fell as you read it, “Well, it’s three but I can find you some sugar, sir. It’ll only take a moment.”

“You can’t seem to get anything right on the first try, can you? I order this drink a million times a week. The other coffee girls can get it right. Why can’t you?”

You took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re right because you’re-” You closed your eyes and waited for him to say you were fired. A tall figure emerged behind you and you slowly opened your eyes. 

“I’m sure one sugar isn’t the end of the world, sir,” Seb had said, a hand pressed to your lower back, “If you’re going to treat your staff so poorly, in front of everyone I have to had, then maybe Marvel shouldn’t be giving you their business.”

Your boss was practically jumping out of his skin, “I-I apologize, Mr. Stan,” 

As your boss scurried off like a mouse, he stepped in front of you, “I’m Sebastian.”

+

“I work such long hours, I have to fly around the world, but I take care of you, don’t I?” You nodded vigorously, “I just … don’t like to be lied to. You know what this means, don’t you, pet?”

Pet.

He loved to call you that when his temper got the best of him. Yes, of course, you knew, “Sebastian, not tonight, please-” 

He forced you to look into his eyes, “But I know you like it, Y/N,” With his other hand he gripped your waist, pulling up your skirt. You never seemed to avoid it. There was always something you did wrong that led to this. 

He pressed his lips to yours and you were surprised how gentle he was. Your lips moved in sync with each other as he pressed you against the kitchen island. He was untying your apron and it fell to the ground. Then he was reaching into your panties, easily finding how wet you were, “That’s my girl,” He smirked against your lips, starting to rub circles over your sensitive bulb. 

You ground against his fingers, wanting more friction between you. He kissed the side of your mouth, then your chin and down to your neck, “Ah,” you moaned as he played you like a piano, a song that he had spent the last year memorizing, “Seb, Seb …” 

“Call me Daddy,” He demanded and you moaned as you neared your climax. 

“Oh my god, Daddy,” You were about to tilt your head back when he suddenly removed his fingers. Not in a teasing way and your eyes widened you realized he wasn’t in a playing mood. He grabbed your hips roughly and turned you around. He pressed on your back until your chest was against the marble, “Only good girls get to cum, Y/N,” You felt him walk away and you didn’t dare look back at him, You heard a drawer open and slam shut. 

He lifted your skirt and as he pulled down your underwear, you closed your eyes shut. The impact didn’t come as you expected. You thought it stung much more than when he used his hand. You whimpered, your hands balled into a fist, “You remember what to say, don’t you, pet? I’m giving you twenty and I’m sure you don’t want any extra.”

“Thank you, Daddy!” 

He’d rub a circle and then hit your bottom with the wooden spoon again. You thanked him for each one. As the spanks increased, you squirmed around and Sebastian decided to pin your arms behind your back to hold you in place. 

When he was done, tears were streaming down your face, “Good girl, Y/N. Very good,” Sebastian let go of your wrist, gently helping you up before lifting you into his arms. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you out of the kitchen. 

You cried as he set you on the bed you shared and as he rubbed aloe vera over your bruises. Sebastian held you, placing a kiss on your forehead, as you cried yourself to sleep.

+

You thought your punishment was over but as you exited the shower the next morning, you found a surprise waiting for you on the bed. A “surprise” was probably the wrong word to use. You picked up the pair of black stilettos and set them by your feet before picking up the note. 

Wear this. No panties. Finish cleaning the house and then come meet me in my office. My bookshelves need dusting. - Your one and only love, Sebastian

You balled up the note, tossing it to the side, as you took a deep breath. You decided that he wasn’t going to break you down this time. You dressed in the black, satin, mini dress and your mouth dropped open as you realized it ended an inch after your bottom. The top was basically a corset that pushes your chest up and the clear straps that held them up were flimsy. A matching white apron accompanied everything but even that seemed to be mini-sized. You could barely get on the heels without your whole bottom showing. 

You gritted your teeth, pacing the room, as you tried to get used to the heels. You reminded yourself again that you’d do this with a smile on your face. You pulled your hair back with a tie and left the master bedroom. 

You cleaned almost the entire house with those heels on. Your feet ached and every random draft of wind sent you shivering. If you moved in a certain way, you could feel the satin rubbing against the bruises on your bottom, a reminder of the punishment you suffered the day before. 

You wiped a drop of sweat from your forehead as you finished wiping down the kitchen counters. After you carried the duster to Seb’s office and as you knocked you heard, “Come in, pet,” And you spotted Seb leaning against the front of his desk. 

His eyes were dark and as you met Captain America’s blue-green eyes, your heart dropped to your stomach, “Seb-”

“You know Chris, right, Y/N? You met at that wedding a few months ago?” Sebastian asked, gesturing over the muscular man perched on Seb’s leather couch. 

You remained silent, not wanting to meet the other man’s eyes. You shifted uncomfortably in your dress, pulling at the sides, “Y/N looked very different then … but I have to say that I prefer this look much more,” You could feel his eyes taking in your body. 

You had promised yourself you’d get through this unscathed but you hadn’t planned for this. You wanted to die of embarrassment and it was only as Seb said, “Don’t mind us, pet. We’re just talking business. You have a job to do.”

Your mouth was dry and you felt frozen, “Sebastian, please-”

You cut yourself off because the glare he gave you was deadly. It took you a moment to get the courage to take a step. Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor as you paced over the tall bookshelves that were placed opposite the couch Chris Evans was sitting on. 

You began to dust his collection of books and you cursed the fact that man loved reading about space so much.

Both of their eyes were raked in your body. They muttered a few sentences talking about some director but you knew they were just trying to fill the air. Their focus was you and only you. 

You reached the lower levels but as you had to reach the top one, your dress rode up. You quickly pulled it down but it happened a few more times, “I don’t think you’ll do a very good job if you’re pulling at your dress the whole time, pet,” You almost shot an accusing glance towards him. 

Instead, you stopped holding onto your dress before politely saying, “I don’t think I’m tall enough to reach the top shelves,” You spoke through gritted teeth. 

Seb glared at you sharply but Chris only smirked, “You might’ve hit the lottery with this one, Stan.”

In any other context, you might’ve appreciated the compliment. 

“The coffee table is a little dusty too,” Sebastian lied and you tried to scowl. You walked over to the coffee table, bending down to dust the table. You were close to Chris now and you saw him lean forward, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Look at me, Y/N,” Chris had told you and you did, keeping eye contact as you dusted all the knick-knacks that Seb kept on the coffee table. Yours were on him but he was trailing down to your chest. You guessed he had seen enough of your bottom while you were dusting. 

You stood up straight then looked at Seb, “Did he tell you to stop looking at him?” And you winced as you turned your head back to Chris. 

Seb moved behind you but you couldn’t take your eyes off of Chris. Seb pressed himself against your back, lifted up the skirt of your mini dress. He roughly stuck his fingers between your fold and his fingers were wet as he pulled them away. How? How could that happen when you felt sick with embarrassment. 

Your face was probably bright red by that point, “And I thought you couldn’t upset me further. Now you’re getting turned on by another man. Right in front of me, I should add.”

“S-Seb I-I-” He grabbed you by the front of your neck, pulling you further into him, “I-I’m not, I promise!”

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You love the attention. Does Daddy not give you enough?” He spoke huskily into your ear, “Now you have to show Daddy’s friend who you belong to. Bend over, hands on the table.”

As you bent over, you couldn’t help but wonder how things had become so drastically different. You placed your hands flat on the table and it wasn’t long before you heard Sebastian’s belt come off. You thought he might spank you at first but you felt the hard tip of his length press against your entrance. 

He grabbed your hair, forcing you to tilt your head up and look at Chris. He was leaning back now, his hand over his crotch. You could see the hard on beginning to form underneath his jeans, “Only Daddy gets this hole, understand?” And before you could answer, he entered you all the way. 

You gasped, unable to find the words as you screamed out. “Right, pet?” He slammed into you deeply.

You nodded, “Y-Yes, Daddy. Only you.” Seb pounded into you, animalistic growls in his throat as you squeezed around him. 

Soon, you had both fallen to your knees but he only went harder, “Seb, Seb!” You moaned his name, already nearing your climax. The angle you were at let him hit your most sensitive area with every thrust. And as he bent over your body, his fingers rubbing your sensitive bulb, it wasn’t long before that wave of pleasure ripped through you. 

Your body shook and you tried to run away from the full force of it, Sebastian pulled you back onto him. He wasn’t done yet. Chris had pulled his hard member from his jeans and was stroking it as he watched you react to the over/stimulation. Seb had even pulled down your dress so your breasts were fully out. 

Seb didn’t let up on stroking you and, as your second climax came, you thought you might fall apart. “You like it when he watches, don’t you?” Seb groaned in your ear, “You want him to see me put a baby in you.” Seb’s stroke slowed but they were still deep as his song neared its crescendo. 

Seb knew that you were in the middle of switching your birth control methods. 

“Beg me to put a baby into you,” He said, pulling your hair tighter. 

“Ah,” you moaned, “Please give me a baby, Daddy! Please!”

With that, Seb’s hips tightened as he released into you. You felt the warmth deep inside you and you were still shaking as he pulled out, “Good girl,” He said, out of breath. 

You looked at Chris who was thrusting into his own hand. Seb smacked your bottom loudly, “Finish him off, Y/N,” You turned to Seb with wide eyes. As if he hadn’t humiliated you enough. He hit your bottom again, “Now.”

You hesitated before crawling around the table. You felt your own fluids and Seb’s running down your leg. You perched yourself between the older man’s legs and he responded by grabbing your face, pulling you up to his member. 

You closed your eyes as you took him into your mouth. Chris groaned, leaning back as you took him in deeper. You remembered how Seb liked it. Whatever your mouth couldn’t cover, you used hand, twisting around his length, “That’s it, such a good girl,” You gagged as you took him in further. Sebastian loved when you gagged and now you knew Chris did too. As Chris finished, he forced your head down, and you thought you might run out of air as he released into your throat. 

You fell back, gasping after you were forced to swallow it all, “I think I’m going to come to New York more often,” Chris gave you a tired smile.  

You looked to Sebastian who was already up, buttoning his slacks, “Straighten yourself up, Y/N, don’t be rude to our guest.”

+

Hope you enjoyed! Check out my dark peter parker fics and my new Bucky fic called Obedience!

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳: 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐒/𝐎

Requested by: @seacottons

❄𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

Hongjoong smiled proudly at his work of art. He carefully picked up the gingerbread house and held it up.

"Look look baby!" He exclaimed, bouncing lightly on his feet as he showed you it.

"Oh my God! It looks amazing!"

The smile on your face that was happy for Hongjoong soon turned to a pout though as you stared down at your own creation. Hongjoong peeked over and noticed why you were sad. Your gingerbread house was falling apart, barely standing up, and the frosting was smeared all over the place, including your face and hair.

"Awww sweetheart come on." Hongjoong cooed as he began to wipe some of the frosting off your face.

"I suck and I hate Christmas." You huffed softly, your arms crossing over your chest.

"Stop you don't mean that." He said cupping your cheeks.

"Tell you what? How about we go back to the store and I buy you that spongebob gingerbread house you wanted and build it for you?"

Your eyes lit up at his comment.

"Really?!" You squealed.

Hongjoong kissed your frosted nose, licking some of it off and then winked at your blushing figure.

"Come on baby. We want to get there before it closes."

❄𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪

"Baby baby look!"

You rolled your eyes as your boyfriend once again got sidetracked from your task and began pulling you to see some of the items on display.

"Seonghwa! We're supposed to be shopping for gifts for the boys." You reminded him.

"I know, I know...but look how cute these are!"

Seonghwa couldn't help himself as he picked up some of the baby mittens and hats. He giggled as he held them out to you.

"Seonghwa? Who are those supposed to fit? Yunho?" You rolled your eyes.

"No silly! But I was thinking....you know.."

Seonghwa wiggled his eyes suggestively at you. When you caught onto his meaning, you smacked his arm and started walking away.

"You're....ugh!

Seonghwa quickly put the stuff down and walked behind you.

"Why are you against this?! I thought you wanted to give me what I wanted for Christmas and I want a positive pregnancy test!".

He cried out then quickly turned cause something caught his eye.

"Look this is perfect for Mingi!"

You sighed as you realized it was gonna be a long day.

❄𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸

You and Yunho were currently putting the finishing touches on the Christmas tree. You felt so proud at the color combination you picked out. You tilted your head when you heard a cluttering sound.

"Oops?" Yunho smiled shyly as he began to pick up some of the glass balls that he had accidentally dropped on the floor.

"Yuyu careful. I don't want you cutting yourself." You said as you helped him pick them up.

"I'll be fine love. They didn't even shatter." He assured you.

After you guys picked up the ornaments and finished putting them up, you both began clapping and jumping up and down.

"It's almost finished."

You picked up the last item, a shiny gold star to put on the top of the tree. You happily walked over to the tree.

"Baby? Need me to do it?" Yunho offered.

"I can do it!"

You reached up but unfortunately couldn't reach all the way to the top. You stood on your tippy toes, but still couldn't place the star on the top. Defeated, you turned with a pout to Yunho. He merely chuckled as he took the star away from you.

"Don't worry love. It's what I'm here for."

He kissed your cheek before proceeding to lift you up on his arm.

"Come on. Let's finish decorating the tree together."

❄𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰

"Yeosang. Can you please take out the cookies from the oven?" You asked as you assembled the frosting and the piping bags.

Making sure to put on oven mittens, Yeosang carefully took out the sugar cookies from the oven and placed the tray on the counter, fanning them out gently.

"Perfect! Now we can start decorating them!" You handed a bag to Yeosang.

Yeosang and you quietly began decorating the cookies, adding different figures and cute designs on them. You felt Yeosang tapping eagerly on your shoulder so you stopped what you were doing to see what he had done.

"Hehet." He chuckled as he showered you a blue cookie decorated with a white Hehetmon.

That wasn't the end, he then held up a cookie that resembled an angry bird.

"It's Seonghwa Hyung!"

You bursted out laughing at how cute your boyfriend was. You were so caught up in your task of decorating the cookies, you almost..... almost didnt notice the hands that swindled one of the cookies.

"Yeosang did you just ate one of the cookies?" You placed your hands on your hips.

Yeosang turned to you with a shocked look on his face.

"Nnno..." He muffled a lie, mouth full of the pastry he stole.

You shook your head and tried to hit him with the nearby whisk, but he quickly evaded you.

"You know I have a sweet tooth!"

❄𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷

San made sure not to hurt himself as he hammered the nails onto the wall. It wasn't easy considering a certain furry feline decided it was a good time to start rubbing her body on his leg.

"Byeol, babygirl. As soon as I'm finished I'll give you cuddles ok?" He smiled down at the cat.

The cat however glared at him. Hissing softly, she left to join you on the couch, where you were busy trying to finish filling the stockings with goodies and candies. Byeol began meowing at you, sprawling her body across your lap.

"Byeol, sweetheart. Soon ok?" You said as you gently put her down, which she did not appreciate.

Soon both you and San were finished.

"Ok. Let's hang them up now."

You two slowly placed two stockings first, testing the waters to make sure they wouldn't fall off or rip. You both stepped back and let it stay for a few seconds before deciding it was ok.

"We did it!" San clapped as he turned back to you and gave you a high five and then pulled you in for a hug.

"All right. Let's finish putting the others-"

You couldn't finish your sentence when you two turned around and saw that the rest of the stockings had been ransacked through, some of them even with a couple of tears. You guys then witnessed a very angry cat perch itself on the top of the couch, daring you to say something.

"Ah come on Byeol! We worked really hard on them!" San complained but was met by a low hiss.

You giggled. "Come on. Let's just drink some hot chocolate and give snuggles to our child before she decides to tear up the Christmas tree."

❄𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲

Mingi hopped from one side of the stove to another, peering down at your task of slowly stirring the boiling pot in front of you. He turned his face, bringing it really close to yours.

"Is it ready yet?"

You sighed as he asked for the 6th time in less than 2 minutes.

"Mingi, I told you the hot chocolate will be ready soon." You repeated to him.

He whined and shook his shoulders slightly. Rolling your eyes, you handed him the spoon.

"Stir this for a bit. I'm gonna run down to the bathroom for a while."

Taking off your apron, you made a quick stop at the restroom. As soon as you came out, you head Mingi yelp from the kitchen. Quickly pulling out the first aid kit, you ran back to see what happened. Mingi's bottom lip quivered as he held out his hand.

"I accidentally burnt myself." He whimpered softly.

You tried to be as careful as possible while you rubbed ointment on the red patch on his skin and finished bandaging it up.

"There. All better?" You asked.

Mingi smiled shyly. "Can you kiss it to make the boo boo feel better?"

You giggled and tenderly kissed his hand. "You know you're such a dork..."

Leaning up, you pecked his lips.

"But you're my dork."

❄𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰

"Wooyoung. Press start now." You urged him.

"No! I'm not starting the movie until the popcorn is ready." He wouldn't budge.

"You won't miss much of it." You shook his arm.

"I am not starting a movie until all the required snacks are in place."

Right at that moment, the microwave beeped and Wooyoung quickly sped over to retrieve the popcorn. As soon as he set it down, he jumped back inside the pillow and blanket fort you two created, effectively tackling you down, making you groan and complain when he began adjusting around.

"Cuddle me! I wanna be the little spoon." He grabbed your arms and wrapped them around him.

You rolled your eyes but nonetheless cuddled up to Wooyoung as you started your Christmas movie marathon. Wooyoung would occasionally make you feed him popcorn or chocolate, or he'd end up throwing some at your face when you thought he'd feed you as well. He'd laugh every time you smacked his hand.

"Look baby! You're on tv!" He pointed to the screen when the Grinch came up.

"You're so annoying!" You exclaimed as you got up and let go of him.

Wooyoung wasn't having it though. He quickly pulled you back down and wrapped his legs around you, making you the little spoon this time.

"Come on baby. You know I'm kidding. I love you so much." He confessed as he attacked your cheek with kisses.

❄𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸

Jongho carefully patted some more snow onto the snowman you were currently building. You had gone inside to get a hat and scarf to wrap around it. When you came back out and notices how focused he was, you decided it'd be fun to mess with him. Picking up some snow, you made it into a tiny ball before throwing it at the back of his head.

"Hey!"

Jongho screeched as he turned around, but was met with another snowball to the face that you threw at him. You giggled at him as he stared at you unamused. He bent down and picked up a large handful of snow and began walking towards you. You let out a squeal and began running as fast as you could, trying to escape your boyfriend's revenge.

"Get back here Y/N!" He shouted from behind, a smile plastered on his face.

Jongho ended up discarding the snowball and instead tackled you down onto the snow before proceeding to roll you guys around on it. He ended up pining you down and both of you were giggling like crazy.

"Oh..." You stopped laughing and looked at the tree above you.

Jongho followed your gaze to see a mistletoe hanging by one of the branches right above you guys. He looked back at you and smiled softly.

"I mean.....it is tradition." He mused as he bent down to tenderly kiss your lips.

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners

[id-rather-be-an-outsider]

Take Your Time

Bertholdt Hoover x nb!reader

word count: 2360

summary: the warriors are in uni together. reader gets the news their older sister’s cancer is back, bertie boi tries to be a grounding presence for them. did I say it’s a modern/college au? it’s a modern/college au. fluff, angst???

a/n: yessirrr it’s another fic I wrote to cope w not having a good support system irl, we love moving away from toxic home environments :))) also there will be a part 2 to this for a happy ending. if there are any pronoun inconsistencies LET ME KNOW!!! I would like to fix that, reader uses they/them uwu

tw: cancer mention, pre-mourning, poverty??? if that’s triggering for u

masterlist

Professor Erwin begins taking attendance, and I can’t help but feel like something is off. Missing. Annie nudges me and whispers, “Have you seen y/n?” I shake my head, no.

Reiner mentions, “Last I saw them, they got a phone call and looked like they’d seen a ghost when they answered it.”

Annie’s face drops. “It might’ve been something about their sister.”

“Something?” Reiner asks. “Or cancer again?”

Annie quickly elbows him in the gut. “Don’t talk about it like that. You know what they told us last time.”

His tone shifts. “O-Oh. Right.”

I rise from my seat. “I’m gonna go check on them. Can I copy notes later? I’ll be back soon, hopefully.” Annie and Reiner nod, content to take studious notes. I know I’ll owe them favors.

As soon as I’m out the door, I run all the way to y/n’s dorm. It’s across campus, and I have all my stuff with me, so five minutes later I’m sweating and out of breath as I reach their dorm. I can already hear their sobs. My heart drops.

I knock on their door as lightly as I can, cringing at the thought of interrupting them during such a private moment.

“I’ll be right there!” I hear them call as they weakly try to quiet themself down. As they open the door, they stare at their feet and say, “Hey Hange, sorry I’m being so loud, I know that’s-�� A gasp strangles its way out of their throat midsentence- “Probably why you’re knocking, I just got some bad news, but I’ll try to tone it down a couple notches.”

I’m not quite sure how to respond to their apology, so I stand there awkwardly until they look up at me. Their eyes have never looked so dark, and I’ve never seen their face look so sorrowful in the entire time I’ve known them. They stand there for a moment in realization, then launch into me with a hug that knocks me back a step and start sobbing again.

I return their embrace, and walk them backwards into the dorm they share with Annie, closing it behind us. They start to sink to their knees, but I pull them up. “Stay with me, y/n.” I guide them to the couch and they slump, beside themself, only held up by my arms around them. I push their hair back behind their ears, unable to say anything as their cries echo through the room, splotches of salty tears staining my pant legs and shirt. Their crying cuts off, turning into a coughing fit for a minute.

“It’s back.” They finally whisper, voice hoarse, neck muscles straining. “And it’s in her heart. We-“ They let out another breathy sob. “We can’t afford to buy her a heart. Even if we sold all of our things, it wouldn’t add up to a heart.” Their crying starts again, and another one of their gasps breaks off into a cough. Suddenly, their cough stops, and they cover their face, hopping up and running to the bathroom. I follow them, and watch with gritted teeth as they lose their entire breakfast in the toilet. They keep crying, using toilet paper to wipe the puke from their mouth, blowing their nose with another strip. I see blood and puke on the second strip and almost hurl myself, but I steel myself and keep it together. Coming undone right now will only make it worse.

“Y-you got vomit in your hair. Let me help.” I offer my hand and pull y/n up to their feet, flushing the toilet for them and maneuvering them around to the bathtub. They kneel, and I turn on the faucet, instructing them to tip their head over. I run the warm water over their head with a cup sitting on the side of the bathtub and pretend not to hear their whimpers. They either don’t realize the roaring water in their ears isn’t actually drowning them out, or they don’t care. Perhaps both.

Once the mess is gone, I turn the water off and grab a nearby towel, helping them wrap their hair in it. They sit on the bathtub edge, looking absolutely miserable and empty of all happiness, so I head to their bedroom and rummage through their drawers until I find the softest pair of pajamas they own and a pair of plush fuzzy socks. I bring them back to them, and they shut the door to change.

In the meantime, I text Annie to tell the profs I’m gonna be absent today, and y/n will likely be absent the entire week due to a family emergency, I order their favorite pizza, and find their favorite movie on Disney+. I peel back the covers of their bed and change into my own pajamas (they’re nice enough to let everybody in the group keep a pair in the extra dresser drawer in the event of an unexpected sleepover) and head back to the bathroom, tapping lightly.

Y/n opens the door, fully changed, so I help them remove the towel and comb through their hair as gently as I can, not wanting to yank on their scalp. I try to apply their serums and creams like I remember, but they step in after I almost do the wrong order. I just grab the towel and their dirty clothes and toss them in the hamper.

A knock at the door tells me the pizza’s here, so while they handle their curly mane, I find their favorite plates and serve us up slices. Chicken-bacon-spinach alfredo, just how they like it.

When they finally exit the bathroom, they eye the smaller serving almost like it’s poison, and whisper in a tone barely audible: “I don’t think I can eat right now.”

“That’s okay. I’ll come grab it if you get hungry later.” I say, sticking their plate in the microwave and putting the box in the oven to lock in their heat. I lead them into the bedroom and plop down on the bed, inviting them to sit between my legs. When they’re settled in, I pull the covers up and grab their stuffed animals for them when they can’t reach them.

The movie starts and eventually I find myself holding y/n and their head tucked into my chest. If I’m being honest, I’ve watched this movie with them a million times, so I don’t need to see it to know what’s going on. Good thing, too, because I can’t keep my eyes off their face even though it pains me to look at them. How can someone so beautiful know so much pain?

And their sister. They have two. I’ve seen them before, in pictures. Even when they’re mad at them, the way they talk about them, you can just tell how much y/n loves them. They’ve always been protective over them both, especially so their younger sister, but since their older sister’s first run-in with cancer, y/n almost talked about her like she was fragile, to be handled with care.

I can’t imagine what their sister’s feeling right now. Anguish, for sure. I’m sure losing your own life is worse than mourning. At least when you’re the one alive, you can remember them.

“Thank you,” Y/n says, voice barely above a murmur, “For helping me. I... I think I’m going to need a lot of help to get through this.”

I say, “It’s no problem, really. That’s what friends are for. I’m here for you, and so is everyone else.”

They wince. “Everyone else already knows?”

I shrug. “Well, maybe not everyone. But me, Annie and Reiner connected the dots when you didn’t show up to class.” They nod in understanding. “I don’t think they’ll tell anyone, though. Not unless you want them to.”

They suggest, “I think I should be the one to break the news. I’m probably gonna take time to visit, spend as much time with her as possible.”

I rub their back supportively. “We can visit you while you’re away. Or, if you’d rather, we can wait here for you to come back. When you’re ready, of course.”

“One of the two.” They murmur. They look up at me, eyes glassy. “I’m really glad you’re here, Bertholdt. You’ll never know how much it means to me.” We share a look, communicating what words don’t want to, and suddenly I feel myself leaning in, and I see their eyes fluttering closed, I feel their breath lightly fanning my face, then my lips as I get closer, until-

“Y/n!” Annie’s voice rings out as the front door all but slams open. We both sigh quietly, scooting away from each other. “Y/n, I’m so sorry, I came as fast as I could after class got out, where are you?” She pushes the bedroom door open, dropping her bag, then looks over and sees us, but not the tender moment we nearly shared. She runs over, sinking to her knees and pulling y/n into her signature crusher hug. “Y/n, I love you so much, you have to know that, and I’m here for you. Roommate or not, I’m here for you. You’re my best friend, don’t forget that.”

Y/n quickly finds themself and returns the hug with only half as much power, weakly saying, “Thanks, Annie. I love you too. Today’s been... tough.”

“It’ll be tough for awhile. The important thing right now is figuring out what you need and doing that.” Annie reassured them. “Also, if you’re worried that Reiner’s going to barge in here and say something stupid-but-well-intentioned, he’s not.” She pauses, looking y/n in the eye. “He’s waiting outside to do that.”

A knowing smile passes between them, and y/n actually huffs, the happiest noise they’ve made all day.

“Well.” Y/n says, “I can’t keep him waiting out there forever, now can I?” And pushes themself up off the bed. I follow, hoping against hope Reiner manages not to say anything insensitive. When they pull the door open, lo and behold, Reiner is indeed waiting outside awkwardly. He dips his head in greeting to me and pulls y/n into the gentlest hug I’ve ever seen him give.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I don’t know what else to say to make you feel better, but I’m here if you need me.” He says, and his eyes reflect the sincerity of his tone.

Y/n sniffs again. “That’s all you need to say.”

Annie interrupts, “I hate to be a downer, but there’s a pizza box in the oven and me and y/n had a movie night planned. Unless you’re not up for it anymore?” She turns her gaze to y/n questioningly.

“No, yea, a plan is a plan. I could never skip our movie nights!” They respond, cracking another small smile.

Annie returns the smile, then fixes Reiner and I with her signature cool stare. “Get out. Roommate night is commencing.”

Reiner mutters, “Don’t have to tell me twice.” And slips out the door, while I linger. Annie looks at me and arches her brow.

“I’d like to get a word or two in with y/n.” I input. She sighs, walking into the bedroom to afford us some privacy. She does mother y/n a lot, I think.

Y/n looks up at me expectantly. I start, “Y/n, I- I want to- I really like you. But I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

They nod, frowning a bit. “I figured you’d say that. But you’re right. Realistically, it just doesn’t make sense for us to jump into anything when I’m probably about to leave. But?” They perk up again, hope in their eyes.

“Eventually, yes,” I say, nerves making my stomach flutter a bit. “I’ll be waiting for you. But I only want to explore that when it’s the right time. I want you to *take* your time.”

They grab my hand. “And I will. I will take my time. Just- don’t forget about me.”

I laugh, the smile impossible to wipe from my face. “I can’t ever forget about you when you’re always on my mind.”

“You guys disgust me!” Annie calls from the other room. “Hurry up! The movie’s starting!”

Y/n laughs. “You better go, you know how serious Annie is about our movie nights.”

I give their hand a squeeze and say, “Try to have fun, okay? And eat some of that pizza. It was expensive, as far as pizza goes. Don’t neglect yourself.”

They walk me to the door as they say, “I’ll try. Don’t let Reiner get into any trouble. I’m pretty sure Annie’s not the only one eavesdropping on us right now.”

Annie calls again, “It’s impossible to not hear you guys! Learn to whisper!”

“You’re no fun!” I retort, a bit louder for Annie. “And I shall do. When can I see you again?” I ask y/n.

They smile. “Whenever you want. I’m gonna need the company now, anyway. Goodbye, Bertholdt.”

“Goodbye, y/n.” The door clicks into place after they shut it behind me. I’m feeling such a mix of emotions right now. Longing? Sadness? Sympathy? Happiness? It’s all so jumbled up. There could’ve been much better timing for me to admit that. Much better timing for everything, though I suppose just because there’s a better time for something doesn’t mean it won’t happen when it wants to.

There’s a slight bounce to my step as I meet Reiner who’s already halfway down the hall after he got all his juicy details. I’m not sure where everything is going to go from here, but I know my next step is going to be taking life as it comes, and doing what I can to be supportive of y/n. I smile to myself, ignoring Reiner rolling his eyes and saying something about me being lovestruck. As terrible as today’s news was, it wasn’t all bad. At least the person I’ve crushed on forever feels the same way. The hope I feel in my heart sparks something in me.

“Reiner... we have to help them.” I say, determination running through my veins.

“How?” He asks.

“We have to help them get their sister a heart.”

[hockeylvr59]

Secret Love Part 4 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: 

Warnings: cursing, discussion of sexual activities

Word Count: 3,911

~~~~

You’d tossed and turned for almost an hour before you had eventually drifted off to sleep, only to be awoken by the Denver sunrise spilling through the window. Groaning softly you made a mental note for the shopping trip...curtains...Cale definitely needed curtains. Laying on the couch, you played on your phone for a few minutes before the need to use the bathroom finally took over. 

After knocking quietly on Cale’s door with no response, you cracked it open hoping to sneak through to the bathroom without disturbing him. As you tiptoed across his bedroom floor, you couldn’t help but let your eyes fall on him. As expected, he was shirtless, blankets falling only midway up his exposed chest. His hair was a mess, and a relaxed expression covered his face. Quietly closing the bathroom door behind you, you chastised yourself for the heat that flooded through you. You were just friends and despite his now single status, that was all this was ever going to be. 

Relieving yourself, you then quickly brushed your teeth before quietly moving back to the living room, easing his door shut behind you. His parents were going to be here in about an hour and after starting a pot of coffee you examined the contents of Cale’s fridge and cabinets. Finding bacon, eggs, and pancake mix you decided to make everyone breakfast. It was as you were moving around the kitchen that Cale finally appeared, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“You’re making breakfast?” He murmured, leaning in to kiss the top of your head. 

“I am…” You smiled, checking on the bacon in the oven as you scrambled eggs in a pan on the stove. Cale poured himself a cup of coffee and you felt his eyes on you once more. 

“Anything I can do?” He questioned after a moment. 

“Get some plates?” You requested. “How do you want your eggs?” The clatter of plates filled your ears for a moment as Cale set plates beside you. 

“However you’re making them is perfect.” He insisted, sharing a warm grin now that he was a little bit more awake. Nodding you took one of the plates and scooped a hefty portion of eggs onto it before pulling the bacon from the oven and the pancakes from where they were keeping warm in the microwave and piling those onto the plate as well. 

“Eat up.” You grinned, turning to place the plate in front of one of the bar stools at the island. Doing another batch of eggs quickly you set everything aside to keep warm before serving yourself a much smaller portion. Taking a seat beside him, you shook your head as you watched Cale continue to dig into his breakfast. The moment felt a little too domestic and natural so you were thankful when there was a knock at the door that signaled that Laura and Gary had arrived. 

It wasn’t long after that before you were quickly getting ready and heading out with Laura to go shopping for things for Cale’s apartment. The first place you stopped was Starbucks and then you were off to a local shopping center to do some damage. 

“You seem more relaxed…” Laura mentioned as she sat waiting for the light to turn green. 

“Yeah uh...we talked after dinner last night. We’re good.” You shrugged. Yes you were close with Laura, but you really didn’t want to tell her the details of your friendship with her son. She seemed to accept that because she nodded and smiled. 

“Good. I’m glad.” Her response ended the subject and instead she focused on the task ahead. “So you’ve spent a decent amount of time in Cale’s apartment...what does he still need other than what he mentioned to me?” 

“Well curtains would be good. Waking up to the sun isn’t always ideal.” You said, a yawn slipping from your throat. “He could also use a throw blanket for the couch.” You added, pondering over what comforts Cale’s apartment seemed to be missing that would make it feel more like a home. 

Wandering through aisles, Laura did most of the shopping, occasionally asking for your thoughts on something before either tossing it into the cart or putting it back on the shelf. As you walked through the aisle containing photo frames you paused. 

“What do you think about surprising him with some pictures?” You suggested. He had a couple pieces of ‘artwork’ but there really weren’t any family photos to be found as far as you could see. 

“Why don’t you take the reins on that?” Laura replied, a soft look you couldn’t place filling her eyes as she handed you her phone. “Text yourself anything from my camera roll.” As she looked through possible throw pillows, you quickly scanned through the pictures, texting yourself a half dozen that would be perfect. Agreeing to meet up in about fifteen minutes, you headed back to the instant photo machine, plugging your phone in to print the pictures from Laura’s gallery as well as a couple from your own. Satisfied with what you had, you moved back to the frames, picking out one for each photo before moving to find some command strips to hang them with. 

On the car ride back to Cale’s place, you worked to get each photo into a frame. By the time Laura pulled back into the garage you were finished and you helped her carry all of the shopping bags inside. Cale had given his mom the spare key in case the two of you were done before he got back and after letting yourselves inside, you went to work on making Cale’s apartment feel just a little cozier. Together you hung curtains up in his living room, tossing pillows and the sherpa throw onto the couch. Then Laura helped you with hanging photos on his bedroom wall while a few of them were placed stationary on a side table in his living room. Laura unpacked the rest of the things Cale had asked her to buy and then the two of you settled onto the couch to watch tv until the guys arrived. 

Gary and Cale had picked up lunch on the way home, so the four of you sat down to eat. When you finished, Cale handed you a gift bag and though you had a feeling you knew what it was, you were still anxious to open it. Navy fabric accented with maroon and white spilled around your fingers and you gently ran your fingers over the number 8 and lettering of the nameplate. 

“Can’t have you come to the game tonight without proper apparel.” Cale murmured and you jumped up quickly, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. 

“It’s perfect.” You agreed. You’d packed the Makar home jersey that you’d bought yourself at the beginning of the season, but you had to admit the thirds were your favorite jersey and getting the jersey from Cale meant just a little bit more than buying one for yourself. 

As you cleaned up lunch, Cale started to settle in, getting ready to take his pregame nap. He had acknowledged the curtains, blanket, pillows and other things his mom had gotten him but it wasn’t until he disappeared into his bedroom for a moment that his eyes must have caught the photos. He’d only been gone maybe 30 seconds when he returned, pulling his mom into a huge hug, his eyes soft. 

“You framed pictures for me?” He muttered softly. 

“That idea was all Y/N.” Laura quickly clarified and immediately Cale turned to you, his arms wrapping around you just as tightly. 

“That’s incredible. Thank you.” He whispered into your ear, and when he pulled back his hands lingered on your hips for a moment more. 

Soon you were grabbing everything you’d need for the game because you were headed with Laura and Gary to play tourist while Cale napped and then headed to the rink. Laura and Gary had already headed downstairs while you debated on a shirt to wear and you didn’t even notice Cale come up beside you as you dug through your bag. 

“Wear that one.” He instructed, pointing to a wine red long-sleeved off-the-shoulder blouse. “We’re going out after the game if we win.” He clarified, rubbing the back of his neck. You were already wearing your favorite pair of jeans and had thrown on a cute pair of tennis shoes for running around. You weren’t exactly a club type of person but going out with Cale and his teammates did seem fun. 

“Okay.” You agreed, disappearing into his bathroom to change tops before returning. “Have a good nap. And kick some ass tonight.” You teased, grabbing your makeup bag because you’d barely put any on to go shopping and if you were going out tonight you were going to need to rethink your current makeup. With everything you needed, you snuck a kiss to Cale’s cheek before disappearing out the door to meet Gary and Laura down at the car. 

____

The last time you saw Cale play live was versus Calgary during the playoffs. So sitting in the stands of the Pepsi Center watching him warm up was an entirely different experience. You’d watched him on tv many times but in person it was clear to see just how much his game was growing every day. He was almost mesmerizing to watch and tucked in next to Laura, wrapped in his jersey, you felt at peace. Well, at least until the puck dropped for real. 

During a commercial break in the first period, the Avs announced a promo game. After the participant was introduced and the game was explained, a baby picture popped up on the screen. In it, a little boy, no more than 9 or 10 months old, sat between the legs of a little girl around the age of five who had a book in her hands. Immediately your own cheeks flushed as you recognized the picture, it was one of your favorites from when you and Cale were super little. The fan playing got one guess of who it was with no options to win an autographed jersey, but they were way off and guessed Nate for some reason. Then multiple choice popped up with Cale’s name, JT’s, and Gabe for a chance at an autographed puck. You didn’t even pay attention to the guess beyond hearing the boos signaling they got it wrong, but instead your gaze landed on Cale who was looking up at the screen, hiding a smile as he took some ribbing by his teammates. Eventually his eyes drifted up to where you were seated and he sent a little wink that you would have missed if you weren’t looking at him. From beside you Laura just smiled and bumped your shoulder, signaling without words just how strong your friendship with Cale really was. 

The Avs played a solid all around game and you cheered with each goal scored. Cale had two assists on the night and with the team coming out with the win you knew he was going to be in a good mood. Heading down to the locker room, you listened as Gary rambled on about the game as hockey dads do while sharing looks with Laura that made you burst into laughter. 

When Cale finally stepped out of the locker room he hugged his parents before lifting you up and spinning you around. 

“You ready to go have some fun?” He inquired, boyish smile on his face. 

“Don’t get into too much trouble.” Laura warned, though her expression wasn’t all that serious. 

“As if I’d let him.” You joked. For years Cale’s family had the running joke of you being the more responsible one keeping Cale in line. It wasn’t always true obviously, but for the most part the point stood. Still after the past few weeks Cale had had, you were willing to let him go just a little bit crazy tonight, knowing that you would be there as his safety net. 

“We’ll see you both tomorrow.” Gary grinned. “Go relax and have a good time.” Cale’s arm drifted around your waist as he tugged you to his car. Once there, you stripped off the jersey leaving you in just the blouse and as he pulled out of the garage you mussed up your hair just a little bit. Using the mirror, you carefully added a little more eyeliner before throwing on a dark lipstick, tossing both cylinders into the cupholder beside you. 

By the time you stepped out of the car at the club you felt ready for a night out and as you watched Cale shed his jacket, you felt his eyes on you once more. 

Waiting for him to be ready to head inside, you watched as a tall redhead approached, beautiful woman tucked into his side. 

“Y/N...this is JT and his girlfriend Lauren.” Cale introduced and you reached a hand out to shake theirs before tucking your hand back into your pocket. 

“So this is the best friend.” JT said, smirking. “Bout time Cale finally brought you around, he’s been talking about you for forever.” 

“Really?” You teased, ready to throw out a semi-embarrassing tidbit until Cale grabbed you by the waist, his finger falling to your lips to shush you as he guided you inside. 

“Can you at least let me get a drink or two in me before you start spilling the embarrassing stories?” He pleaded jokingly. 

“I suppose.” You conceded, smiling as he guided you up to the VIP lounge and over to the bar. Settling for a glass of wine, you watched him order a beer for himself before leading you over to one of the many couches. It wasn’t long before you were being introduced to all of Cale’s teammates.  

Gabe was boisterous and funny and the way that he looked at his wife Mel made you smile brightly. Josty was a character, he had you laughing almost immediately as he told stories about all of the media events he’d done with Cale and what he’d learned from residing in the same building. He was definitely giving you ammo to use later. Then again they all were, chirps had been flying left and right all night. 

You’d been nursing the same glass of wine for about an hour, watching as Cale downed another 2-3 beers as well as a shot that Burky handed him. It was nice to see Cale out with people that clearly cared about him and you knew this was probably the first time he had really been able to let go of all of the stress since the pregnancy scare. 

Eventually Mel and Lauren dragged you out onto the dance floor with the other better halves and even though you’d barely had anything to drink, the beat of the music had you relaxing, enjoying the time you had getting to know the people who were part of Cale’s other family. 

“You know his eyes haven’t left you all night.” Mel eventually declared, her voice barely audible over the loud music. 

“He’s always been a little protective…” You simply shrugged. The look Mel and Lauren shared suggested that they weren’t buying that logic but they didn’t push things. After a few more songs, you left the dance floor to head to the bar for a bottle of water. While there a tall….like really tall, dark haired man who looked like he should star in the next hollywood vampire blockbuster, slipped up beside you, his arm brushing against yours lightly. As you placed him as Cale’s d-partner you smiled up at him before looking back at where the bartender was rushing back and forth. 

“You know none of us have ever seen him like this before…” Ryan murmured. “He comes out but he never really lets loose. Now I don’t know whether that’s because it’s the first time we’ve been out since everything happened or if it’s because you’re here but I suspect it’s more to do with the latter.” You didn’t really know what to say to that so you shrugged. “And I’m not saying that in the manner of he feels like you’re the babysitter who will take care of him, I’m saying that he feels comfortable because you’re here in a way he was never comfortable either by himself or with Sara.” Ryan finally managed to get the bartender’s attention and he ordered your water along with whatever he was drinking before continuing. “And I’m sure Cale never said anything and neither did anyone else but...you should know everyone really likes you. And I can’t say the same for Sara.” Just as quickly as he’d appeared, Ryan had walked off and you glanced over at Cale to see his eyes planted firmly on you, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol. 

Water in hand, you moved to Cale’s side, his arm wrapping around you immediately. The redness in his eyes told you he’d had a little bit more to drink than he probably should have and you pushed your water his way, not wanting him to be completely impossible to drag home. The grin on his face was lazy as he took the bottle, showing how completely relaxed and at ease he was. 

His Adam's apple bobbed as he took a long sip of the water and you tilted your head to observe him, tie gone and the top few buttons of his shirt undone. His fingers slipped just under the edge of your shirt along your hip and you took your own sip from the bottle of water trying to hide the flush that filled your body at the feeling of his fingertips on your bare skin. Passing the water back to him, it was soon gone and once the bottle was empty you stood, looking over your shoulder. 

“Are you going to sit there all night or are you going to come dance with me?” You inquired, your tongue running against your bottom lip. Stumbling just slightly, Cale slipped out of the booth and his hand fell to the curve of your back as he guided you over to where his teammates and their significant others were dancing. 

With Cale’s chest pressed against your back, his hands fell to your hips once more and the pads of his fingers wandered over every inch of skin they could reach. His touch had never affected you like this before, he’d never been this brazen before, but you chalked both of those factors up to the alcohol. Though you’d only had two glasses of wine since you arrived, wine had always made you far warmer than any other form of alcohol so the heat in your skin was definitely just from that. 

“So I have a question…” Cale’s breath fanned over your ear as he leaned down to whisper yell at you, allowing you to hear him over the rap song that was playing. 

“Yes Cale?” You replied, tilting your body back against his so that you could see his face. It was even rosier than before and his soft smile was replaced by a serious and focused look causing your eyebrow to quirk at the sight. 

“Women like having oral sex performed on them right?” For a split second you were certain that it was only Cale’s hold on you that kept you from falling right over. Choking on your own saliva as you tried to swallow you quickly coughed, your cheeks even more flushed than you could attribute to the wine. 

“I...I mean from what I’ve heard yeah…” You finally stumbled out an answer. “Why?” Your question was ignored as Cale’s hands tightened around your hips. 

“You’ve heard?” Cale prodded. “You don’t know?” Cursing under your breath you shivered as Cale’s thumb stroked a sensitive spot along your side. 

“Cale…” You mumbled, not drunk enough for this conversation. He poked you in the side though signaling you to continue and you groaned. “I mean...I had sex for the first time freshman year of college and we didn’t exactly know what we were doing…” You explained, softly enough that only Cale would hear you. “And I mean I’ve only had sex one other time...it was a one night stand and we were both way too drunk to do anything but fuck. So yeah...I’m just taking other people’s word on it...why are you asking Cale?” You finished, twisting in his arms so that you could look at him properly. His head ducked to press against the crook of your neck and he hissed quietly as you drug your nails along his lower back. 

“Just curious…” Cale breathed. “Sara never let me...I mean I wanted to but...she told me she wasn’t interested.” For a moment you didn’t know what to say as that little piece of you celebrated the fact that it seemed there were a lot of things he didn’t do with his ex girlfriend. 

“Oh...I mean everyone has their own likes and dislikes…” You reminded him. “But generally equal reciprocation is definitely appreciated.” 

As the song ended, Gabe called Cale’s name to go take another shot and you pushed him to go murmuring that you were going to run to the bathroom. By the time you returned, you suspected it was definitely time to get Cale home, so you sidled up to his side, slipping your hand in his front pocket for his car keys. 

“I think it’s time we get you home and to bed rockstar.” You declared. Thankfully Cale didn’t put up much of a fight, closing his tab before letting you lead him out of the club. By the time you had parked in his garage, you could see how sleepy the alcohol was making him and you moved around to help him out of the car, his body nearly dragging yours down with its weight. 

Stumbling through the door, you urged him to start to bed while you got him more water and some pain killers. Gathering both, you moved to his room after checking to ensure the front door was locked. You found him sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in only boxer briefs and though you tried not to stare, your body couldn’t help but notice that gone was the teenage boy you once knew and in his place was a man plain and simple. Setting the water and pills on his bedside table, you urged him to take his contacts out. 

Once you were certain he was fairly settled, you turned to make your way to the couch. Instead, Cale’s hands reached out to pull you back to him and as he scooted to the far side of the bed, he drug you down with him. 

“Cale…” You mumbled in complaint but his eyes were already closed and his breathing was starting to steady out, his hands keeping your body pressed tightly against his. Sighing, you managed to work yourself out of your jeans before giving in and settling in his arms. 

Between your conversation with Gravy, the looks Mel and Lauren were giving you, Cale’s inquiry, wandering hands, and this, so many lines had been blurred tonight that it was making you dizzy. 

For the second night in a row...your mind reeled as you fell into a fitful sleep. 

Blouse:

[hallowxiu]

Human Realm Delicacy

word count: 2.1k

summary: A thought pops into your head, and suddenly you have the urge to give the characters your favorite human world food.

a/n: this is pretty much just crack, but i got this idea in my head some time last week and i needed to write it lol

mc is gender neutral btw 

“Please?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Your cooking is horrific.” Alright, he sure isn’t holding back his thoughts today, you find yourself thinking.

“But it’s a human delicacy!” You stomp your foot on the ground, hands planted on your hips as you stubbornly stare up at the eldest demon. “Let me cook it for you! It’s all the rave with the humans! They love it! I bet Luke and Lord Diavolo would enjoy it too.” Maybe not Barbatos, but you decide to keep that to yourself. Lucifer’s looking at you with a look full of doubt.

“If you give Lord Diavolo food poisoning, I will make sure that I end your entire bloodline.”

“Deal!”

Lucifer sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t make deals so easily with demons.” He chides lightly. “And there was nothing to make a deal on, we didn’t agree to anything.”

“We did!” You immediately argue back. “I agreed to make a dish from the human realm and you agreed to end my entire bloodline if I poison Lord Diavolo.” Lucifer’s eye is twitching in annoyance but he decides to lay the matter to rest. He knew you could be just as stubborn, if not more stubborn, than his brothers and talking you out of your idea would be nearly impossible, even if he did bring up punishment methods in an attempt to intimidate you. You watch in triumph as Lucifer turns and walks away, muttering colorful words under his breath.

👽👽👽

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve gathered all of you here today.” You’re talking to an empty room. “Well, don’t worry! The answer is staring you right in your face.” It’s really a shame that no one can see the smug look of confidence on your face. You were also in your pajamas at the dining room table. That alone would earn you a scolding from Lucifer or Satan.

You were currently practicing the reveal of your… delicacy , to the brothers, the angels, Solomon, and Lord Diavolo and Barbatos. Although you could have spent this time preparing your dish, you thought presentation was also an essential part to a good meal. You were convinced none of them, with the exception of maybe Solomon, had tried this dish before, so you needed it to be perfect.

“What’s happening?” Beelzebub asks as he walks into the kitchen, opening the fridge to rummage for food. “Who are you talking to?” You feel your cheeks warm in embarrassment and freeze in place. Maybe if you stay still long enough he’ll forget you’re there. A few seconds of silence pass and just as you’re starting to think you got lucky, Beelzebub walks up beside you, staring at the empty table as he snacks on some food. “Are you feeling okay?” He looks over at you with a quirked eyebrow. “I don’t see anyone at the table.”

You close your eyes and inhale deeply before looking up at the red headed demon. “I’m practicing my presentation skills.” There wasn’t a point in lying, not after getting caught talking to yourself. You feel a sheepish smile form on your lips as you rock on the heels of your feet. You figured that out of all the demons you lived with, having Beelzebub be the one to walk in on you was for the best. You’re pretty sure Lucifer or Satan would have immediately lectured you on lack of sleep, and you think you’d get questioning glances from everyone else. “Lucifer probably told everyone by now, but I plan on cooking everyone a human dish and I want the presentation for it to be perfect. It enhances the experience, after all.” You nod firmly to yourself as if to confirm your own words.

“He did tell us.” There’s a look of excitement on his face and his stomach begins to growl at the mere thought of whatever dish you’d be cooking up for them. “I’m excited. It’s a special treat when you’re able to cook for us.”

You look up at him with a quizzical look. “Really? Because Lucifer said my cooking was, quote on quote, horrific.” He shrugs his shoulders in response before turning around and walking back to the fridge.

“It’s still better than Solomon’s though.”

👽👽👽

You scan the aisles of the market as you push your shopping cart, your eyes scanning the shelves for your special ingredients. You didn’t need a ton of ingredients, but maybe the brothers and other guests would appreciate some side dishes. At least, you knew Beelzebub would anyway. “How long do ya have to take? I have plenty of other things I could be doin’ right now!” You turn around to look at Mammon sulking behind you, hands buried deep in his pockets as he looks around with an uninterested expression.

“I didn’t invite you.” You gently remind the second eldest. “You invited yourself, insisting that I, a human, need guiding in the human realm.” You see a blush tint his cheeks and you chuckle to yourself quietly. “You can always head back if you want. I know my way around.”

“Are ya kiddin’ me? Lucifer would have my head on a stick if I left ya wandering around on your own.” The demon grumbles under his breath and catches up with you so that he’s walking by your side. “What do ya even plan on makin’ anyway?” He looks down into the almost empty shopping cart. “There’s not much in there. Ya couldn’t have found this stuff back home?”

“Nope!” Is your response as you continue to push the cart. “I mean, the Devildom might have something similar to what I’m making, but it wouldn’t be the same. You need the authentic human dish.” You send a wink in his direction, the white haired boy blushing and looking away from you, grumbling under his breath once again. You glance down at the several bags of frozen food in your cart, your lips pressed into a thin line as you think to yourself. You really only needed one bag as your dish didn’t require a lot of ingredients, but with Beelzebub to count for, you would need to double what you were making. Other than that, you were pretty sure you were done shopping for the day. “Honestly, I think we’re done.”

Mammon perks up at this, leaning into your side as he gazes down into the cart. “It looks… interestin’. Is this really enough for everyone?” He picks up the bag of frozen food, shaking it in his hands slightly. “It sounds… small. Is Lucifer going to be okay with this? Looks greasy.”

You snatch the bag from his hands, putting it back into the shopping cart. “As long as I don’t accidentally poison Lord Diavolo I won’t get into any trouble. He can dislike the food all he wants.” You say with a shrug of your shoulders. “I’m sure at least Luke and Beelzebub will enjoy them. I think Belphegor might like it too; oh- Leviathan will definitely enjoy them. I’d be surprised if he didn’t already try them before.” You snap your fingers at the thought of the third eldest. You were feeling more and more confident by the minute.

“How do ya make them?” Mammon asks with peaked interest as you two make your way to the express check out.

“Uh, you can just shove them in the oven or microwave, maybe a toaster oven.”

“And it doesn’t take long to make?”

“Not really. It’s pretty simple.”

“I like this already.” Mammon says with a toothy grin.

👽👽👽

You stand at the end of the table proudly, gazing at everyone’s plates while everyone looks at you curiously. “So? What do you think?” Your hands are on your hips as you look on with a grin. “Smells good, right?” Solomon has his face buried in his hands and Leviathan’s looking at you in amusement. “Hey, come on! Don’t be shy; I slaved away making these!”

“Slaved away? Ya just popped these in the oven and called it a day.” Mammon snorts as he pushes the food around on his plate with a finger. “They’re too hot! I’m gonna burn my tongue, human!”

“Then blow on it! It’s part of the experience anyway.” You mutter under your breath, an annoyed expression on your face.

“Burning your tongue is part of the experience?” This time it’s Lord Diavolo who speaks, looking down at the food curiously. “Humans never fail to amaze me! You guys are so funny.”

“What’s it called?” Simeon asks as he looks at you from where he’s sitting. “They’re so tiny and cute. Heat packets.”

“Are you asking if they’re called heat packets or are you describing them as heat packets?” Luke asks the other angel with a raised eyebrow.

“They’re called pizza rolls.” Solomon responds with a distraught look on his face, Leviathan snickering as he nods his head in agreement with Solomon.

“They’re little pockets of death, but they’re delicious.” Leviathan says before popping one into his mouth. “Your mouth goes numb after a while, so the burning doesn’t hurt anymore. That is, if you can’t wait for them to cool off, anyway.” He comments while he watches Beelzebub down the entire plate of pizza rolls.

“They’re too small.” The redhead complains. “But I like how they taste. Like pizza, but small and round.”

“You just described what they’re called.” Belphegor snorts while pushing his plate towards his twin, the brother happily accepting the offer.

“It’s too greasy. It’s terrible for my skin!” Asmodeus has a look of disgust on his face as he pushes his plate towards Beelzebub as well. “And since you didn’t technically make them, I don’t feel bad about saying that.” You roll your eyes from the blond’s comment, though you weren’t surprised by this outcome. You figured he wouldn’t like it due to the grease. You look over at Satan who seems to share the same opinions as his younger brother. A sudden gasp and pained moan grabs your attention, your gaze landing on Mammon.

“It- it fuckin’- it’s so hot!” He’s fanning at his mouth as tears form at the corners of his eyes, the demon trying to cool off his mouth.

“LMAO! You look like such a normie!” Leviathan cackles as he pulls out his D.D.D, more than likely updating one of his social media accounts on the incident. “You need to finish chewing it if you want it to stop burning! You need to swallow the food!” Mammon shoves the plate of food away from him hastily as he jerks out of his seat, grabbing his cup and chugging down the water.

“Well, you definitely provided us with free entertainment.” Asmodeus giggles as he looks over at you with a wink. You huff and plop yourself down in one of the empty seats, pushing at the pizza rolls that sit on your plate. You were hoping this would’ve been more of a success, but at least Beelzebub seemed to enjoy the food.

“I think they’re great!” Luke says enthusiastically, and you’re wondering if the small angel sensed you were feeling a little down about the outcome. Regardless, you couldn’t deny how cute the boy looked as he happily ate the food in front of him, his feet swinging from his chair.

“I also think it’s quite interesting.” Lord Diavolo says with a wide smile, half his plate empty. Interesting doesn’t quite mean good, you think to yourself as you lean back in your chair. Someone clearing their throat makes you look back over at the demon who’s sitting across from you. Lucifer looks unimpressed, but you notice that his plate is cleaned off.

“Did you like them, Lucifer?” You ask and lean forward, a smile on your lips as you inspect his plate.

“It was greasy.” Is all he comments, laying his napkin down on the table. You look around the table, mentally noting that besides Lucifer, only Beelzebub finished his plate completely while the others were still working on it (with the exception of Belphie, who fed his to Beel, and Asmodeus and Satan who were not amused, and Mammon who was downing as much water as he could). You think that’s a good sign, but you’re not sure.

“I’m just glad you finished it.” You say and lean back in your seat. “My cooking isn’t that bad after all, right Lucifer?”

“Shoving food in an oven doesn’t count as cooking.” The man snorts as he gets up from his seat. “But since you’re so keen on being today’s chief, you won’t mind cleaning up all the dishes then, right?” There’s a playful smirk on his lips, but one that tells you not to argue with him. So much for wowing everyone with your human realm delicacy.

[pixiegrl]

how about “this isn’t what i wanted.” with...cake! 💜💜 -molly

Molly! Weeks ago, I wrote you Shaking and Waiting for Something More with soft bakery Cake. Well, here’s a sequel to those soft, sweet boys. Inspired by Meg, the queen of Cake, because who else would help inspire something.

On ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29607654

Calum opens the door to Luke’s apartment to the muffled sounds of shrieks and barking. He’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to have a key to the apartment that Luke shares with Ashton. He’s not even sure if Ashton knows he has a key, but Luke gave it to him three months into dating with the excuse that “I want you to come by whenever you want.” 

Calum uses the key far more than he wants to admit. He likes being able to surprise Luke with drinks from the cafe or baked goods they have left over for the day. Sometimes, when he knows Luke’s stressed with school, he brings dinner over. One time, he’d found Luke asleep at the dining room table. It had been unbearably cute, head pillowed on his arms as he dozed. Calum had almost felt bad waking him up, but he managed to convince Luke to get into bed and cuddle with him, so Calum won either way.

Tonight though is not that. Luke’s standing in the kitchen trying to fan at the oven. He’s got flour on his cheeks and Petunia barking at his heels, pawing at his leg. 

“Tuney, not now!” Luke says, despair clear in his voice. Calum clears his throat, drawing both dog and owner’s attention to him. Petunia abandons Luke to run to Calum, sighing happily when Calum rubs at her ears. 

“Calum! When did you get here?” Luke asks, stepping in front of the stovetop to hide something. Calum stands up, inching closer to the kitchen. Luke takes another step, hiding whatever it is is on the stove.

“Luke, what’s that?”

“Nothing!” Luke says. He’s trying to use how broad he is to his advantage, hiding the burnt food. Calum’s a little quicker than Luke, getting his hands on Luke’s waist and spinning him out of the way. Luke’s too startled to put up a fight, letting Calum move him.

There’s a pan with brownies in it. Or rather, what might be brownies in it. It’s hard for Calum to see exactly they might be past the little puff of smoke coming off them. Luke sighs dramatically, picking up the pan. He’s wearing Winnie the Pooh oven mitts, covered in cocoa powder and Calum is helplessly in love. 

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Luke says. He sounds distressed, holding the pan in his hands. Calum looks down the brownies, which are somehow both burnt and yet, the middle looks uncooked. Calum pokes them, finger coming back covering in goo. He glances up at Luke, face creased in unhappiness, eyes a little wet.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. Do you still have the ingredients?” Calum asks, taking the pan from Luke. 

“I….I didn’t know what I needed?”

“What do you have?”

“Flour. Sugar. Cocoa powder. Eggs. Butter.”

“Did you not use chocolate in it?”

“Like the powder?” Luke asks, confused. Calum lets out a noise of horror and surprise at Luke. Luke blushes, rubbing at his nose, spreading around the flour.

“Luke, darling, let me teach you how to make proper brownies. Wash up, I’m dumping these out and then we’re grocery shopping to make real brownies,” Calum says. Luke smiles, sunshine coming back to his face. He leans over, kissing Calum’s cheek before darting off to the bedroom.

Calum pulls his phone out, making a small list of what he knows they’ll need, poking around Luke’s kitchen to see what he still has left. The biggest thing is all the bits of chocolate Calum wants to add into the mix.

Luke pops out from his room, curls pulled back into a bun, smiling at Calum.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” Luke chirps. He crosses the room, lacing his fingers through Calum’s and tugging them out of his apartment and in the direction of the grocery store. The walk isn’t too far, air crisp with the approaching fall. Luke swings their arms back and forth, humming under his breath as they keep walking. Calum can’t help but smile at Luke, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek at a red light.

“What was that for?”

“Just cause. You’re being cute. Tell me about how school’s going,” Calum says. Luke giggles, pressing a kiss to the back of Calum’s hand as they continue on their way. Luke rambles about classes, the music he’s been learning recently, the classes he’s been TA for. Calum nods along, pretends he understands any of the music things Luke talks about.

They make it to the shop, Calum grabbing the cart of Luke barrels off into the store. 

“Luke, hold on,” Calum calls to no avail. Luke’s already gone, disappeared down some aisle or another. Calum sighs, heading off to the baking section for the chocolate. He grabs a bar of dark chocolate to melt into the brownies and another bag of dark chocolate, milk chocolate, and white chocolate chunk to add into the mix. Calum just assessed his list, making sure he doesn’t need any other dried goods, when he hears Luke’s boots clicking on the tile. 

“Luke,” Calum says, exasperated when he glances up and notices Luke’s dropped a bag of gummy worms, microwave popcorn, vanilla ice cream, and a bag of pretzels into the cart.

“What?”

“We’re looking for brownie ingredients. Not snacks.”

“We can have both. What if we need snacks for the movie later?”

“Brownies are a snack.”

“They’re dessert. Snacks are different.”

“And why did we need ice cream?”

“For the brownies. Who ever heard of brownies without ice cream. Ooo speaking of food,” Luke says. Calum rolls his eyes fondly, trying to follow Luke as he darts off down the aisle on a mission. 

Calum finds Luke in the pasta aisle, standing in front of the boxes of macaroni. He turns to Luke.

“What pasta do you like?”

“Fusilli,” Calum says, reaching over to grab the box. Luke gasps in horror. 

“The proper answer is farfalle.”

“Farfalle holds no sauce Lu. The fusilli has all the twists for it.”

“That’s not true. There’s little nooks in the farfalle. Also look at the shape,” Luke says, shoving the box into Calum’s face. Calum takes a step back, startled.

“I’m going to break up with you for your taste in pasta,” Calum teases. Luke hushes, bopping Calum as the nose as he leans past him and grabs a different bag. Calum notices that it’s a bag of three cheese tortellini. Luke grabs another bag smiling.

“There, problem solved. Tortellini is best.”

“Agreed,” Calum says, putting the box back. He turns his attention to the jars of sauce, grabbing the first plain red sauce that he sees. Luke sneaks up behind him, wrapping his arms around Calum’s waist and resting his head on Calum’s shoulder.

“Hello,” Calum says, turning to his boyfriend. Luke rewards him with a quick kiss on the lips.

“Hi,” Luke whispers. Calum pats his arm, letting Luke give him a squeeze before he detangles himself from Luke’s arms. They proceed to the checkout, Calum trying to stop Luke from throwing more candy onto the conveyor belt. Luke sticks his tongue out in retaliation, grinning from ear to ear when Calum flicks him on the arm.

They gather their shopping bags and start to make their way back to the house. Luke interlaces their fingers again, humming quietly as they make their way back to his apartment. Like this, it’s easy to picture that this is something normal that they do every week. Calum can picture it, planning out their meals for the week, arguing over what to make, getting to go shopping for their groceries. He can imagine what it would be like, getting to rib Luke about his food preferences, pretending to be put out when Luke begs for Calum to make a different dessert each week. Calum knows they’ve only been dating for a short time, but it’s easy to imagine that this is his life, getting to do domestic things with him. The idea that Calum can go home with Luke and never have to leave. It’s perfect, picturing the life together that Calum wants to have. He wants to share his life with someone, get to have all the soft and intimate details with another person. It might be too soon, but he thinks he wants that person to be Luke.

They make it back to Luke’s apartment, dumping the bags onto the counter. Luke puts the ice cream in the freezer, flitting around his kitchen to put everything away, leaving out the pasta and the sauce. Calum gathers up the dry ingredients, setting them out with the bags of chocolate.

“So, the brownies will take about 30 minutes to bake after the prep. We can start the tortellini, so that way they’re ready,” Calum says. Luke nods, getting a pot and filling it with some water to boil for the pasta. Calum gets out the butter and eggs out of the fridge. He grabs a bowl, putting the butter and dark chocolate into it. He sticks it in the microwave, letting them melt, sets the oven for preheat while he grabs the sugar and eggs.

“What do you want me to do?” Luke asks.

“You can grab me a whisk and a bowl. We’re gonna mix the sugar and eggs together,” Calum says. Luke nods, grabbing both things. Calum cracks the eggs into the bowl, measures out the sugar and adds it in. He starts folding everything in, watching out of the corner of his eye as Luke dumps the pasta into the boiling water, sets a timer for it all. Calum starts humming under his breath as he keeps mixing slowly and deliberately.

“Let me put on some music,” Luke says. Calum nods, lets Luke mess around with his phone until the sounds of Taylor Swift fill the air.

“Really Luke?” Calum teases, pouring the chocolate mix into the sugar and egg mixture. Luke laughs, spinning around as he sings along to the opening notes of “Welcome to New York.”

“It’s fun Cal. Live a little,” Luke says. Calum rolls his eyes, folding the chocolate in with everything else.

“Be useful and measure out the flour.”

“How much?”

“Half a cup of that. And a third of a cup of the cocoa too.”

Luke follows Calum’s commands, measuring everything out into measuring cups. He watches as Calum finishes folding in the chocolate, picks up each cup and slowly adds them in. He holds the bowl out to Luke.

“You fold it in. Like this,” Calum instructs. Luke hesitantly takes the bowl, slowly starting to mix everything, trying to mimic what Calum was doing earlier.

“No, like this,” Calum says, getting his hands on Luke’s and guiding him through the motions. Luke blushes a little, letting Calum guide him through how to fold the dry ingredients into the wet. 

“How are you so good at this?” Luke mumbles. 

“Practice. I do own a bakery you know,” Calum teases, still pressed close to Luke, even though he doesn’t need it anymore. Luke’s a natural learner, picking up quickly on Calum’s instruction. They keep folding the batter until it’s nice and thick, evenly blended. 

“Now what?” Luke asks. 

“Now we add in the chocolate,” Calum says, handing the bags to Luke. His face lights up, giddy with excitement as he digs for a pair of scissors in a kitchen jar. He pulls some out, attacking each bag to open them and pouring out what is probably too many chocolate chunks into the batter. Calum can’t be bothered to correct Luke, watching him with fondness and love as he keeps going.

“Luke, that’s enough. You’re just going to have chocolate chips and no brownies soon,” Calum laughs, grabbing Luke’s hands. Luke pouts.

“Spoil sport,” he says. The timer digs, reminding the two of them about the pasta. Luke goes to take care of that while Calum greases the pan, pours the brownies into it. He puts them in the oven, watches as Luke struggles to open the jar of pasta sauce. 

“Give me the jar. Separate the pasta,” Calum says. Luke sighs in defeat, heading it over to Calum. He digs out a knife, tapping the edge of the jar lid and opening it.

“That’s cheating!” Luke says laughing. Calum shrugs, handing the jar to Luke, watching as he pours it over the pasta.

They eat standing up at the kitchen island, Calum telling Luke about how the bakery’s been doing, Luke bitching about Ashton and his study habits now that the semester is almost over. It’s comforting, bumping elbows with Luke, Taylor Swift playing in the background as they eat their food. Luke keeps laughing so hard he snorts, covering his face with his hand. Calum’s charmed, can’t stop smiling every time Luke laughs. 

Calum’s so caught up watching Luke retell a story from this week about his music class that he almost forgets about the brownies until the timer goes off.

“Oh! Brownies!” Luke cheers, abandoning the pasta bowls to rush to the oven. Calum dumps the finished bowls in the sink, grabbing the oven mitts and opening the oven door and pulling out the tin. They smell good, rich and chocolatey. Luke claps in excitement. 

“Get a knife, some bowls, spoons, and the ice cream. We can watch a movie while we eat,” Calum says. Luke does it, bringing them all over to Calum and bouncing on the balls of his feet while Calum cuts out a corner and a side piece from the pan, scooping some ice cream on top of each piece. He follows Luke into the living room, settling in on the couch. He hoists Petunia up onto the couch between them while Luke pulls up some rom com from Netflix up.

Luke snuggles into Calum’s side, sighing happily when he bites into the brownies.

“These are good. Sorry I couldn’t make you some on my own,” Luke says. 

“This was better. More fun. We got to spend time together.”

“Thank you. For everything. You’re always there when I need it, especially when I’m stressed. I love you.”

“What are boyfriends for?” Calum says. He’s content, getting to spend time with Luke and Petunia, wrapped up in their own little world of happiness and bliss. Calum wants this domestic bliss to neverend, but for now he’ll take this quiet quality time with Luke, taking a break from the world.

[goddamnitdazai]

Salt & Sugar 3 | October Heat - n.sfw

“Shit.” Chuuya couldn’t get comfortable much less find sleep despite his thorough exhaustion. Lingering summer (except it was October and Yokohama hadn’t accepted that yet) heat expands throughout the penthouse streaming bright golden rays of sunlight down through the floor-to-ceiling windows not leaving a trace of shadow on the first floor. The second floor was much worse. His top layers had clung to his skin instantly from the moment he stepped foot inside the apartment. Sweltering, miserable heat that choked the air right out of his lungs. Chuuya shifts and peels himself up from the sweat-soaked sheets teeth grinding down at the feeling. He just showered. “Fuck.” 

With a grunt Chuuya swings his legs over the side of the bed one hand curling up to push the bangs from his forehead retying the bun higher up freeing his neck from sweat and heat. Two weeks away and the air conditioning had taken a shit without notice. Apparently, Yokohama residents were suffering his same fate considering each place he called had a wait list. His rank barely got him moved up from waiting three days to waiting a few hours. Red brows furrow in irritation watching sunlight beam through the curtains laying halcyon at his bare feet and legs. Head turning with a snap when he hears the front door open. “____?”

Chuuya rises letting the sheets waterfall off the bed in a crumpled puddle behind him footsteps light and quick. You’d been gone too, off on a mission for longer than he preferred but it was work and he’d do the same. It was the only reason he’d taken his job to line up you both being away at the same time. A clear fucking mistake, he thinks. Now you were both stuck in proverbial hell and Chuuya didn’t want to spend another night in a hotel. He waits at the top of the steps clad in only tight boxer briefs that were ready to come off at any moment.

“Holy fucking shit.” You groan letting your bags drop as the heat encompasses you like you’d just opened an oven set at its highest temperature. “Chuuya are you trying to roast me?” Dress first, thigh-highs, shoes. All thrown off somewhere in a desperate attempt to cool yourself hands fanning your face as you walk in from the hallway searching for your boyfriend. Jumping in to an ice bath sounded heavenly at this moment, but you were more curious as to why your house had suddenly become an inferno. 

“You think I did this?!” Chuuya huffs, bounding down the stairs cheeks dusted in red. You turn his direction pouting at his tone. Grumpy, Chuuya was always grumpy when he was uncomfortable in his own home. “The damn air conditioner broke. Heat wave hit Yokohama while we were gone, asshats will be here in a few hours to repair it.” He states gruffly, skipping the last two steps hands finding purchase on your hips. Kiss soft, an apology for his tone. “Let’s go to a restaurant or something. Order chilled wine.” He mumbles fingers spreading and hands winding around to your lower back feeling the exposed skin greedily. 

“It’s worse outside. A lot of places are closed because of the heat.” You sigh against him looping your arms around his neck feeling him tense and frown at your words. Chuuya hated being too hot, it made him feel disgusting which made him even more of a grump. You’d realized this last summer when a heat wave had made his office a microwave. He’d nearly popped the head off of one of the affiliates during a meeting. It was rather adorable then, but now dealing with it directly while drowning in your own pool of sweat and misery gave a different vibe entirely. “Hey, grumpy,” You peck his lips a second time fingers curling up to scratch the back of his neck and up to the roots of his hair, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too.” Chuuya grumbles walking you backwards towards the couch. Flinching when you press your body up against his. “I’m fucking disgusting right now.” Sweat had caked his abdomen, little beads collecting at his collarbones then running down his chest. You bite your bottom lip left hand moving to trace the column of his neck down and over the curve of his shoulder. His brow arcs. “Oi, what?” He blinks.

“Baby,” you purr leaning closer to nibble his bottom lip other hand gliding down his back with the tips of your nails, “if you’re already covered in sweat might as well make it fun.” He shivers smirk beginning to tug at the corner of his lips, hands expanding up your back towards the clip of your bra thumb and index finger snapping it off with ease.

“Oh?” He questions, continuing to walk you backwards until your ass bumps the edge of the couch. “What fun did you have in mind?” Chuuya’s simper turns devilish blue eyes glistening with mirth in the sunlight as he bends you backwards over the couch keeping his torso molded with yours. One hand coming to rest on the edge ensuring balance for both of you. Butterflies cascade up your stomach to your throat while his lips descend on your neck. Skin indenting beneath sharp teeth landing directly on your pulse-point and the gasp he pulls from your body is nearly desperate. He chuckles darkly, fingertips pressing circles in your hip bone knowing it made your knees weak on impact. “Kitten, did you miss me that much?” He teases voice dropping to a tenor that vibrates in your chest.

Your fingers tangle in his hair pulling him higher to kiss your lips a second time. Savoring him. Distracting him from the discomfort. Chuuya bends to your will nipping and biting hungrily at your lips until they open enough for him to slip his tongue between. Craving your taste, your touch. His hands come down to grip your thighs and wrap them around his waist as he straightens up. Chuckling and swallowing the shocked gasp when you’re hoisted up and his hands wind up gripping your ass. Heat clings to his skin drawing more beads of sweat down his shoulders, the curve of his lower back, nesting beneath your thighs as the warmth of your body increases his. But, he didn’t mind it like this. 

Chuuya carries you with ease as if you were the same weight as a linen sheet. Dropping you on the extended chaise of the couch and letting out a dark chuckle when you bounce. His hands return between your thighs spreading your legs open. Both knees hit the carpet and before you can protest the lack of attention to your lips his mouth begins its work elsewhere. Suckling your nipple and then its twin. String of saliva connecting the two as Chuuya alternates giving the hardening bud direct attention. The valley between your shoulders widen with the arch Chuuya loved forcing your body into. A sign that you were loving the ministrations of his mouth and wanted more. 

 But, Chuuya had other plans. Sweat begins to trail down your stomach elbows digging wet indents in the cushion. Watching Chuuya play your body enhanced the thrill of it all. His smirk clearly visible now that his hair and bangs were pulled up and out of the way. Deep blue waxed over in a sheen of arousal that sent a bolt of lightening down your spine. “Lay back kitten.” Chuuya doesn’t wait for you to do as your told. Taking matters into his own impatient hands your legs are yanked up high then pressed down at the knee displaying you for his lascivious amusement. He moans teeth marking around the swell of your ass before Chuuya licks a wet, gentle stripe up your lips. 

Your back fully bows off the couch eyes blown wide before fluttering shut. “Shit.” You gasp loudly hands coming to tangle in his hair but there’s only his shoulders and bits of curled bang framing his face. Chuuya’s laugh vibrates on your lips, purposely, devilishly. “F-fuck.” 

“Not yet.” Chuuya grins, “I missed your taste too much to not enjoy this first.” Not that you’d complain. His tongue swipes up and down in languid strokes that make your thighs clench in his hand. Chuuya’s goal to taste every inch of you has you sweating, twitching, nearly begging for him to just fuck you after two minutes of torture. His tongue flattens at your clit and descends until the tip reaches your entrance teasingly poking in and out once, twice, before rolling and delving as deep as he can go. Fucking you with his tongue until you’re dripping down his cheeks.

“Ch--fuck!” Your nails rake red lines down his shoulders trying desperately to tug him closer. His nose rubs your clit, only adding to the growing torment that keeps tying the knot in your stomach tighter and tighter. Chuuya pulls his tongue out flattening it a second time ensuring the single swipe laps up as much of your arousal in one motion. His eyes flit up to your face smirk proud and smug once he pulls away licking you off his lips. 

“Yes baby?” He asks  standing and fully undressing himself cock hard and tip reddened when it springs free from his underwear. You force yourself up on trembling arms leg still spread wide. Moan deep and needy upon seeing him bare. It’d been too damn long without him. Chuuya’s desperation matches your own only hidden a bit better. Though, he loved seeing you like this. Dripping, arousal stringing from your lips and body flushed from being dragged so near to orgasm the lack of it keeps your skin hotter than the sun. Needing his touch. He kicks his boxers to the side and grabs your ankles easily flipping you to your stomach in one swoop. 

Oh. He was missing you. A salacious grin spreads chin tilted to look at him over a shoulder. His skin glistened under the sunlight drenched in sweat that rolled from the bumps in his abdomen to the carved v-lines framing his hips. “Fuck me.” You lay your cheek down and push your ass up purposely moaning his name. Chuuya’s grin spreads up the right side of his face hands gripping your hips and hoisting you to the end of the chaise. His thumbs dig circles in your hips forcing them to tilt down. The bulging velvet tip of his cock slips between your dripping lips rolling in the essence until it’s coated. 

“Whatever my kitten wants.” Chuuya’s voice carries like smoke over water. Husky. Deep. One thrust of his hips and his cock is buried to the hilt stretching you to accommodate his length, it’d been too long. The burn feels astoundingly lewd and if it weren’t for Chuuya’s grip on your hips you’d be flat on the couch out of shock. Chuuya groans loudly cock pulsating as your moistened walls stretch around him. “Fuck baby..” his chin tilts down when he starts to thrust watching his cock disappear inside you.

Chuuya’s pace is relentless, almost bruising, and it had you seeing stars. The ridge of his cock scrapes against your g-spot with each aimed thrust, the sound of skin slapping skin beginning to fall in the background as tangled moans grow louder. Chuuya moans your name between curses hips pounding hard into you. Less than two minutes of his unyielding pace has you cumming hard. Your toes curl, entire body tensing in the aftershock but it only fuels Chuuya to keep going. Chase the high of making you absolutely fall apart beneath him. Blue eyes center on the cum squirting from your pussy dripping down his thighs and coating his abdomen. The thought of tasting it makes his mouth water but feeling you squeeze his cock until it almost hurts keeps his focus. Late, he thinks, reunions like these were never a once off.

Pleasure bolts up and down your body as Chuuya fucks you through your orgasm. A thought, if you could muster the energy to flip and pin him. Fuck him hard and render him speechless the way he did to you so easily. Before the notion finishes in your head cherry red outlines your body couch creaking further and sinking beneath the added weight. Your eyes widen in realization Chuuya’s dark laugh cementing the little trick he loved to use when he wanted to fuck you senseless without interruption. Your body flattens down on the leather Chuuya’s heat and skin now pressed flush with your back one knee placed between you and the high-back of the couch. Larger hand titling your hips up just enough for dexterous fingers to slip between your legs and rub your oversensitive clit.

“F-fuck-fuck!” You gasp and choke on your words, new angle allowing Chuuya even deeper than before. Cock throbbing, stretching you in a new way that has tears dotting your lashes. Chuuya moans his satisfaction in your ear biting and kissing sloppily up and down your neck. Too much. Too sensitive but you didn’t want it to stop. Soaked in sweat with Chuuya’s chest rubbing up your back until he craves more. His own release starting to grow painful the longer he stalls just to torture you.

“Fuckbaby.” He groans, readjusting to stand kneel fully behind you on the couch. His free hand continues to grip your hip, middle finger still rolling your swollen clit beneath. Chuuya feels you twitching. Gripping him. “Fuck..fuck you’re so tight.” He moans your praises watching you through glossy, half-lidded eyes. “Cum for me. Cum for your king.” He growls, thrusts doubling in their intensity.

All you can do is moan and bite at the couch sloppily. Body rendered nearly useless muscles clenching the closer your second orgasm gets. Chuuya’s increased pounding mixed with the pressure on your clit is too fucking much and the sound you let out when you cum on him seems loud enough for the whole city to hear. His name comes out in a string of wanton pants and gasps. Pussy tight enough to feel the final throb of his cock before he releases inside of you. Hips stilling only to ensure he doesn’t lose his balance when you squeeze him. Chuuya’s eyes roll in the back of his head teeth cinching his bottom lip so hard it nearly bleeds. A few seconds drag by before he can move his hips again, tapering off his orgasm with gentle deep thrusts. The increased weight lifts and Chuuya collapses on top of you forearms on either side of your ribs and head lying directly in the valley of your shoulders. Breathing coming out in ragged pants across your skin.

Groggily Chuuya kisses the skin he can reach. “Fuck...baby..” he squeezes you gently. Your eyes flutter open haze finally thin enough that the functionality of language returns. Minimally. 

“Chuu..” a dreamy little sigh of satisfaction. When you say his name like that it makes his stomach tingle. Chuuya kisses your shoulder blade before forcing himself up on his forearms to pull out and scoot enough to lay on his back pulling you up on his chest. Legs tangle within each other. A habit of comfort. Your ear falls on his heart feeling the rapid pulse gently cascading to a normal beat. Chuuya kisses your sweat slicked forehead fingers trying to smooth out tangled, wet locks. “I’m hot.” You mumble. 

“And sweaty.” Chuuya comments with a soft smile. “Wanna shower?” He asks grin turning slightly dirty in thought. You could see it without looking at him. The tone. His fingers dancing back towards your thighs. A nod and bite to his neck is all he needs before you’re in his arms feeling his lips on your throat. 

[myreligionisrock]

As the Night Shakes

John Deacon X Reader one-shot

Summary: You’re traumatized from an earthquake and John tries to soothe you through it. 

Warnings: Traumatic experience, Anxiety, angst, and fluff. 

A/N: I apologize if I make too many angst stories. That’s just my thing, and NO, I will not do any smuts. 

Enjoy; Fan art done by me!

  ‌Both‌ ‌of‌ ‌you‌ ‌snuggle‌ ‌against‌ ‌each‌ ‌other‌ ‌in‌ ‌bed:‌ ‌you‌ ‌and‌ ‌your‌ ‌lovely‌ ‌boyfriend,‌  ‌John‌ ‌Deacon.‌ ‌He‌ ‌just‌ ‌got‌ ‌Disney+‌ ‌for‌ ‌you,‌ ‌since‌ ‌he‌ ‌noticed‌ ‌you‌ ‌were‌ ‌bored‌ ‌out‌ ‌of‌ ‌your‌ ‌mind,‌ ‌couldn’t‌ ‌think‌ ‌of‌ ‌any‌ ‌hobbies,‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌own‌ ‌a‌ ‌bike‌ ‌to‌ ‌go‌ ‌bike‌ ‌riding.‌ ‌You‌ ‌would’ve‌ ‌gotten‌ ‌one,‌ ‌but‌ ‌all‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌bike‌ ‌stores‌ ‌were‌ ‌closed.‌ ‌You‌ ‌also‌ ‌felt‌ ‌quite‌ ‌depressed‌ ‌these‌ ‌past‌ ‌few‌ ‌months.‌ ‌People‌ ‌all‌ ‌over‌ ‌the‌ ‌world‌ ‌were‌ ‌getting‌ ‌sick,‌ ‌which‌ ‌made‌ ‌you‌ ‌worry‌ ‌about‌ ‌your‌ ‌family,‌ ‌including‌ ‌Deaky’s‌ ‌family.‌ ‌You‌ ‌would‌ ‌even‌ ‌sometimes‌ ‌cry‌ ‌at‌ ‌ ‌night;‌ ‌bad‌ ‌memories‌ ‌were‌ ‌keeping‌ ‌you‌ ‌from‌ ‌falling‌ ‌asleep.‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌    

    ‌Sometimes,‌  ‌John‌ ‌can‌ ‌hear‌ ‌your‌ ‌quiet‌ ‌sobs,‌ ‌and‌ ‌when‌ ‌he‌ ‌did,‌ ‌he‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌hesitate‌ ‌to‌ ‌pull‌ ‌you‌ ‌into‌ ‌his‌ ‌naked‌ ‌chest.‌ ‌He‌ ‌would‌ ‌rub‌ ‌gentle‌ ‌circles‌ ‌on‌ ‌your‌ ‌back‌ ‌until‌ ‌you’ve‌ ‌run‌ ‌out‌ ‌of‌ ‌tears.‌ ‌The‌ ‌ones‌ ‌left‌ ‌on‌ ‌your‌ ‌face,‌ ‌he‌ ‌would‌ ‌wipe‌ ‌them‌ ‌away‌ ‌with‌ ‌his‌ ‌thumb‌ ‌and‌ ‌kiss‌ ‌them‌ ‌to‌ ‌make‌ ‌sure‌ ‌that‌ ‌they‌ ‌were‌ ‌all‌ ‌gone.‌ ‌He’d‌ ‌always‌ ‌ask‌ ‌you‌ ‌what‌ ‌was‌ ‌troubling‌ ‌you,‌ ‌and‌ ‌when‌ ‌you‌ ‌explain‌ ‌the‌ ‌thoughts‌ ‌running‌ ‌through‌ ‌your‌ ‌head,‌ ‌he‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌humming‌ ‌You’re‌ ‌my‌ ‌Best‌ ‌Friend‌ ‌over‌ ‌and‌ ‌over‌ ‌again,‌ ‌and‌ ‌he‌ ‌wouldn’t‌ ‌stop‌ ‌until‌ ‌you‌ ‌fell‌ ‌into‌ ‌a‌ ‌deep‌ ‌sleep.‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌     ‌This‌ ‌went‌ ‌on‌ ‌for‌ ‌a‌ ‌while‌ ‌which‌ ‌made‌ ‌John‌ ‌grow‌ ‌worried.‌ ‌He‌ ‌wanted‌ ‌to‌ ‌make‌ ‌his‌ ‌angel‌ ‌happy‌ ‌somehow,‌ ‌that’s‌ ‌when‌ ‌he‌ ‌thought‌ ‌about‌ ‌getting‌ ‌her�� ‌Disney+.‌ ‌Why‌ ‌go‌ ‌buy‌ ‌Disney‌ ‌movies‌ ‌for‌ ‌like‌ ‌$15.00‌ ‌when‌ ‌you‌ ‌can‌ ‌watch‌ ‌like‌ ‌fifty‌ ‌movies‌ ‌just‌ ‌$9.00‌ ‌a‌ ‌month.‌ ‌He‌ ‌thought‌ ‌it‌ ‌would‌ ‌only‌ ‌work‌ ‌a‌ ‌little,‌ ‌but‌ ‌it‌ ‌turns‌ ‌out,‌ ‌it‌ ‌worked‌ ‌a‌ ‌lot.‌ ‌You‌ ‌two‌ ‌would‌ ‌binge-watch‌ ‌classics‌ ‌and‌ ‌originals‌ ‌all‌ ‌day.‌ 

‌ ‌ ‌ ‌   ‌So‌ ‌there‌ ‌you‌ ‌two‌ ‌were,‌ ‌watching‌ ‌your‌ ‌favorite‌ ‌classic,‌ ‌Snow‌ ‌White‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌Seven‌ ‌Dwarfs.‌ ‌He’s‌ ‌running‌ ‌his‌ ‌fingers‌ ‌through‌ ‌your‌ ‌soft‌ ‌hair,‌ ‌sorta‌ ‌like‌ ‌brushing‌ ‌it‌ ‌with‌ ‌his‌ ‌hand‌ ‌like‌ ‌a‌ ‌hairbrush.‌ ‌Minutes‌ ‌had‌ ‌gone‌ ‌by‌ ‌when‌ ‌you‌ ‌feel‌ ‌the‌ ‌bed‌ ‌starting‌ ‌to‌ ‌shake‌ ‌a‌ ‌bit.‌ ‌Those‌ ‌shakes‌ ‌became‌ ‌stronger‌ ‌when‌ ‌you‌ ‌see‌ ‌the‌ ‌picture‌ ‌frames‌ ‌moving‌ ‌side‌ ‌to‌ ‌side‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌walls.‌ ‌You‌ ‌were‌ ‌realizing‌ ‌that‌ ‌this‌ ‌is‌ ‌one‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌scariest‌ ‌things‌ ‌that‌ ‌can‌ ‌happen‌ ‌to‌ ‌John,‌ ‌ever‌ ‌since‌ ‌he‌ ‌moved‌ ‌to‌ ‌California‌ ‌with‌ ‌you,‌ ‌but‌ ‌he‌ ‌was‌ ‌brave,‌ ‌he‌ ‌knew‌ ‌that‌ ‌he‌ ‌needed‌ ‌to‌ ‌protect‌ ‌his‌ ‌princes‌ ‌at‌ ‌all‌ ‌cost.‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌  ‌Even‌ ‌though‌ ‌you’ve‌ ‌always‌ ‌lived‌ ‌in‌ ‌a‌ ‌shaky‌ ‌state,‌ ‌you’ve‌ ‌always‌ ‌experienced‌ ‌little‌ ‌earthquakes,‌ ‌but‌ ‌this‌ ‌was‌ ‌the‌ ‌worst‌ ‌of‌ ‌all.‌ ‌There‌ ‌were‌ ‌objects‌ ‌falling‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌shelves,‌ ‌which‌ ‌was‌ ‌traumatizing‌ ‌you,‌ ‌and‌ ‌at‌ ‌this‌ ‌point,‌ ‌the‌ ‌rumbling‌ ‌was‌ ‌getting‌ ‌more‌ ‌intense.‌ ‌Deaky‌ ‌knew‌ ‌that‌ ‌you‌ ‌two‌ ‌couldn’t‌ ‌stay‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌bed‌ ‌any‌ ‌longer:‌ ‌you‌ ‌had‌ ‌to‌ ‌take‌ ‌cover.‌ ‌He‌ ‌quickly‌ ‌pulls‌ ‌you‌ ‌off‌ ‌the‌ ‌bed,‌ ‌and‌ ‌you‌ ‌both‌ ‌hide‌ ‌under‌ ‌the‌ ‌kitchen‌ ‌table‌ ‌to‌ ‌take‌ ‌cover.‌ ‌He‌ ‌looked‌ ‌at‌ ‌your‌ ‌face‌ ‌and‌ ‌couldn’t‌ ‌help,‌ ‌but‌ ‌feel‌ ‌heartbroken‌ ‌at‌ ‌the‌ ‌sight‌ ‌of‌ ‌those‌ ‌frightened‌ ‌tears‌ ‌start‌ ‌pouring‌ ‌out‌ ‌of‌ ‌your‌ ‌eyes.‌ ‌ ‌ 

 ‌ ‌ ‌“Oh‌ ‌Y/N,”‌ ‌he‌ ‌sighs.‌ ‌He‌ ‌gently‌ ‌grabs‌ ‌you‌ ‌and‌ ‌sits.‌ ‌Legs‌ ‌crossed‌ ‌so‌ ‌he‌ ‌can‌ ‌lay‌ ‌you‌ ‌down‌ ‌on‌ ‌his‌ ‌lap.‌ ‌He‌ ‌covers‌ ‌you‌ ‌with‌ ‌half‌ ‌his‌ ‌body‌ ‌and‌ ‌holds‌ ‌the‌ ‌back‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌neck.‌ ‌John’s‌ ‌there‌ ‌shushing‌ ‌your‌ ‌sobs,‌ ‌telling‌ ‌you‌ ‌every‌ ‌positive‌ ‌thing‌ ‌he‌ ‌can‌ ‌think‌ ‌of.‌ ‌ ‌ ‌“John,‌ ‌I’m‌ ‌scared,”‌ ‌you‌ ‌whispered‌ ‌with‌ ‌a‌ ‌sob.‌ ‌ ‌“Shh...Shh,‌ ‌there,‌ ‌there,‌ ‌sweet‌ ‌Y/N.‌ ‌Oh,‌ ‌my‌ ‌darling‌ ‌angle,‌ ‌everything‌ ‌will‌ ‌be‌ ‌alright.‌ ‌Just‌ ‌let‌ ‌this‌ ‌die‌ ‌down‌ ‌a‌ ‌bit,‌ ‌okay?”‌ ‌he‌ ‌cooed‌ ‌into‌ ‌your‌ ‌ear.‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌ ‌  ‌The‌ ‌shaking‌ ‌had‌ ‌seemed‌ ‌to‌ ‌die‌ ‌down‌ ‌a‌ ‌little‌ ‌until‌ ‌it‌ ‌had‌ ‌completely‌ ‌stopped.‌ ‌It‌ ‌gives‌ ‌you‌ ‌and‌ ‌John‌ ‌the‌ ‌chance‌ ‌to‌ ‌come‌ ‌out‌ ‌from‌ ‌under‌ ‌the‌ ‌table.‌ ‌John‌ ‌noticed‌ ‌as‌ ‌you‌ ‌got‌ ‌up,‌ ‌you‌ ‌were‌ ‌shaking‌ ‌a‌ ‌little.‌ ‌He‌ ‌couldn’t‌ ‌bear‌ ‌the‌ ‌sight‌ ‌of‌ ‌seeing‌ ‌tears‌ ‌of‌ ‌fright‌ ‌running‌ ‌down‌ ‌your‌ ‌cheeks.‌ ‌He‌ ‌pulls‌ ‌you‌ ‌into‌ ‌his‌ ‌arms‌ ‌and‌ ‌starts‌ ‌rocking‌ ‌you‌ ‌back‌ ‌and‌ ‌forth.‌ ‌He‌ ‌holds‌ ‌you‌ ‌as‌ ‌you‌ ‌feel‌ ‌like‌ ‌you’re‌ ‌falling‌ ‌apart,‌ ‌and‌ ‌as‌ ‌his‌ ‌heart‌ ‌shatters‌ ‌into‌ ‌a‌ ‌billion‌ ‌pieces.‌ ‌He‌ ‌pulls‌ ‌away‌ ‌from‌ ‌you,‌ ‌but‌ ‌you‌ ‌seem‌ ‌to‌ ‌still‌ ‌be‌ ‌shaking‌ ‌a‌ ‌lot.‌ 

‌ ‌   ‌“Oh‌ ‌Honey,‌ ‌you’re‌ ‌trembling,”‌ ‌he‌ ‌cries‌ ‌one‌ ‌eye‌ ‌out.‌ ‌It‌ ‌was‌ ‌breaking‌ ‌him‌ ‌to‌ ‌see‌ ‌you,‌ ‌so‌ ‌scared‌ ‌after‌ ‌a‌ ‌traumatic‌ ‌event.‌ ‌He‌ ‌places‌ ‌a‌ ‌kiss‌ ‌on‌ ‌your‌ ‌temple‌ ‌and‌ ‌carries‌ ‌you‌ ‌to‌ ‌your‌ ‌bed.‌ ‌He‌ ‌tucks‌ ‌you‌ ‌into‌ ‌your‌ ‌favorite‌ ‌wool‌ ‌blanket‌ ‌and‌ ‌kisses‌ ‌your‌ ‌forehead‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌second‌ ‌time.‌ ‌He‌ ‌rubs‌ ‌your‌ ‌forehead‌ ‌with‌ ‌his‌ ‌thumb‌ ‌after‌ ‌he‌ ‌marks‌ ‌it‌ ‌with‌ ‌a‌ ‌kiss.‌ 

‌ ‌ ‌  ‌“You‌ ‌rest‌ ‌here,‌ ‌Love.‌ ‌I’ll‌ ‌be‌ ‌right‌ ‌back,”‌ ‌he‌ ‌softly‌ ‌mummers.‌

 ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌  ‌He‌ ‌leaves‌ ‌you‌ ‌laying‌ ‌on‌ ‌your‌ ‌side‌ ‌so‌ ‌you‌ ‌can‌ ‌get‌ ‌the‌ ‌chance‌ ‌to‌ ‌breathe‌ ‌and‌ ‌free‌ ‌the‌ ‌anxiety‌ ‌that‌ ‌is‌ ‌trapped‌ ‌in‌ ‌your‌ ‌body.‌ ‌Thoughts‌ ‌went‌ ‌through‌ ‌your‌ ‌head‌ ‌for‌ ‌a‌ ‌while.‌ ‌Was‌ ‌your‌ ‌family‌ ‌okay?‌ ‌What‌ ‌about‌ ‌John’s‌ ‌family.‌ ‌Your‌ ‌friends?‌ ‌Was‌ ‌anyone‌ ‌hurt?‌ ‌You‌ ‌wanted‌ ‌to‌ ‌call‌ ‌them‌ ‌but‌ ‌you‌ ‌just‌ ‌felt‌ ‌too‌ ‌anxious‌ ‌to‌ ‌know‌ ‌If‌ ‌they‌ ‌will‌ ‌even‌ ‌pick‌ ‌up‌ ‌the‌ ‌phone‌ ‌or‌ ‌reply‌ ‌to‌ ‌a‌ ‌text.‌ ‌ 

‌ ‌ ‌   ‌It’s‌ ‌only‌ ‌been‌ ‌a‌ ‌minute‌ ‌since‌ ‌John‌ ‌had‌ ‌gone‌ ‌into‌ ‌the‌ ‌kitchen,‌ ‌but‌ ‌that‌ ‌minute‌ ‌had‌ ‌felt‌ ‌like‌ ‌hours.‌ ‌Why‌ ‌are‌ ‌you‌ ‌feeling‌ ‌this‌ ‌way?‌ ‌Why‌ ‌is‌ ‌every‌ ‌worry‌ ‌going‌ ‌through‌ ‌your‌ ‌head‌ ‌like‌ ‌there‌ ‌are‌ ‌many‌ ‌reasons‌ ‌to‌ ‌be‌ ‌in‌ ‌this‌ ‌state‌ ‌of‌ ‌matter?‌ ‌Your‌ ‌breathing‌ ‌becomes‌ ‌heavier.‌ ‌Horrific‌ ‌sobs‌ ‌escape‌ ‌your‌ ‌mouth‌ ‌as‌ ‌you‌ ‌start‌ ‌to‌ ‌feel‌ ‌overwhelmed‌ ‌with‌ ‌thoughts‌ ‌about‌ ‌your‌ ‌loved‌ ‌ones‌ ‌being‌ ‌hurt,‌ ‌or‌ ‌even‌ ‌worse,‌ ‌dead.‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌   ‌You‌ ‌curl‌ ‌yourself‌ ‌into‌ ‌a‌ ‌ball‌ ‌just‌ ‌to‌ ‌start‌ ‌crying‌ ‌into‌ ‌your‌ ‌knees.‌ ‌There‌ ‌was‌ ‌no‌ ‌use‌ ‌in‌ ‌wiping‌ ‌the‌ ‌tears‌ ‌away-new‌ ‌ones‌ ‌would‌ ‌just‌ ‌form‌ ‌anyway,‌ ‌and‌ ‌you‌ ‌really‌ ‌couldn’t‌ ‌do‌ ‌anything‌ ‌to‌ ‌stop‌ ‌them‌ ‌from‌ ‌falling.‌ ‌Even‌ ‌though‌ ‌you‌ ‌looked‌ ‌like‌ ‌a‌ ‌mess,‌ ‌you‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌care‌ ‌anymore‌ ‌if‌ ‌John‌ ‌had‌ ‌seen‌ ‌you‌ ‌like‌ ‌this.‌ ‌ ‌  ‌You‌ ‌suddenly‌ ‌hear‌ ‌footsteps‌ ‌coming‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌room‌ ‌and‌ ‌when‌ ‌John‌ ‌walked‌ ‌into‌ ‌the‌ ‌sight‌ ‌with‌ ‌some‌ ‌cookies‌ ‌and‌ ‌some‌ ‌chocolate‌ ‌milk,‌ ‌he‌ ‌just‌ ‌couldn’t‌ ‌bear‌ ‌the‌ ‌sight‌ ‌of‌ ‌seeing‌ ‌you‌ ‌so‌ ‌anxious.‌ ‌He‌ ‌speed-walks‌ ‌towards‌ ‌you,‌ ‌but‌ ‌sets‌ ‌the‌ ‌cookies‌ ‌and‌ ‌milk‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌table‌ ‌that‌ ‌sits‌ ‌by‌ ‌your‌ ‌bed.‌ ‌He‌ ‌hurries‌ ‌onto‌ ‌the‌ ‌bed‌ ‌and‌ ‌quickly‌ ‌pulls‌ ‌you‌ ‌into‌ ‌a‌ ‌tight‌ ‌embrace.‌ ‌ 

‌ ‌ ‌   ‌“Oh‌ ‌Love,‌ ‌it’s‌ ‌okay.‌ ‌I’m‌ ‌here‌ ‌for‌ ‌you‌ ‌now‌ ‌that‌ ‌it’s‌ ‌over,”‌ ‌he‌ ‌whispers,‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌makes‌ ‌you‌ ‌sit‌ ‌up,‌ ‌so‌ ‌it‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌easier‌ ‌to‌ ‌rub‌ ‌gentle‌ ‌circles‌ ‌on‌ ‌your‌ ‌back.‌ ‌ 

‌    ‌You‌ ‌sob‌ ‌into‌ ‌his‌ ‌tank‌ ‌top,‌ ‌which‌ ‌exposed‌ ‌his‌ ‌shoulder,‌ ‌but‌ ‌gladly‌ ‌he‌ ‌doesn’t‌ ‌mind‌ ‌you‌ ‌wetting‌ ‌his‌ ‌skin‌ ‌with‌ ‌your‌ ‌tears.‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌   ‌Your‌ ‌body‌ ‌continues‌ ‌to‌ ‌tremble‌ ‌which‌ ‌seems‌ ‌to‌ ‌be‌ ‌worrying‌ ‌him‌ ‌a‌ ‌little‌ ‌more.‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌ ‌    ‌“Babe,‌ ‌you’re‌ ‌still‌ ‌shaking.‌ ‌Have‌ ‌some‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌cookies‌ ‌I‌ ‌made‌ ‌yesterday,‌ ‌I‌ ‌heated‌ ‌them‌ ‌up‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌microwave‌ ‌so‌ ‌that‌ ‌they‌ ‌are‌ ‌nice‌ ‌and‌ ‌warm,‌ ‌and‌ ‌I’m‌ ‌sure‌ ‌that‌ ‌they’ll‌ ‌make‌ ‌you‌ ‌better,”‌ ‌he‌ ‌whispered‌ ‌into‌ ‌your‌ ‌ear.‌

 ‌ ‌ ‌     ‌You‌ ‌take‌ ‌a‌ ‌bite‌ ‌out‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌delicious‌ ‌cookie,‌ ‌feeling‌ ‌the‌ ‌warmness‌ ‌in‌ ‌your‌ ‌mouth.‌ ‌Of‌ ‌course,‌ ‌they‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌taste‌ ‌as‌ ‌delicious‌ ‌as‌ ‌when‌ ‌he‌ ‌took‌ ‌them‌ ‌out‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌oven‌ ‌last‌ ‌night,‌ ‌but‌ ‌they‌ ‌still‌ ‌made‌ ‌you‌ ‌feel‌ ‌better.‌ ‌You‌ ‌grunt‌ ‌in‌ ‌delight‌ ‌which‌ ‌made‌ ‌him‌ ‌smile.‌ 

‌ ‌ ‌ ‌  ‌“There‌ ‌we‌ ‌go,‌ ‌my‌ ‌cupcake.‌ ‌Come‌ ‌here‌ ‌now‌ ‌and‌ ‌give‌ ‌me‌ ‌a‌ ‌snuggle,”‌ ‌he‌ ‌coos,‌ ‌bringing‌ ‌you‌ ‌back‌ ‌into‌ ‌his‌ ‌arms‌ ‌to‌ ‌rock‌ ‌you‌ ‌back‌ ‌and‌ ‌forth.‌

 ‌ ‌ ‌    ‌As‌ ‌always,‌ ‌he‌ ‌hums,‌ ‌You’re‌ ‌my‌ ‌Best‌ ‌Friend‌ ‌to‌ ‌keep‌ ‌your‌ ‌body‌ ‌relaxed.‌ ‌He‌ ‌does‌ ‌this‌ ‌for‌ ‌a‌ ‌while‌ ‌until‌ ‌he‌ ‌asks‌ ‌you‌ ‌this‌ ‌one‌ ‌question,‌ ‌“Love?‌ ‌You’ve‌ ‌always‌ ‌lived‌ ‌in‌ ‌a‌ ‌state‌ ‌where‌ ‌you‌ ‌get‌ ‌sudden‌ ‌earthquakes,‌ ‌so‌ ‌why‌ ‌are‌ ‌you‌ ‌feeling‌ ‌so‌ ‌scared‌ ‌when‌ ‌it‌ ‌comes‌ ‌to‌ ‌this‌ ‌one?”‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌

You‌ ‌hesitated.‌ ‌It‌ ‌took‌ ‌a‌ ‌while‌ ‌to‌ ‌say‌ ‌it‌ ‌until‌ ‌you‌ ‌could‌ ‌get‌ ‌it‌ ‌out.‌ ‌ ‌ ‌  ‌“Well‌ ‌John,‌ ‌I’ve‌ ‌always‌ ‌experienced‌ ‌quakes‌ ‌like‌ ‌these,‌ ‌but-HELL-‌ ‌they’ve‌ ‌never‌ ‌been‌ ‌this‌ ‌worse,”‌ ‌you‌ ‌finally‌ ‌answer‌ ‌his‌ ‌question.

‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌He‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌expect‌ ‌you‌ ‌to‌ ‌hold‌ ‌him‌ ‌tighter‌ ‌and‌ ‌to‌ ‌let‌ ‌the‌ ‌tears‌ ‌fall‌ ‌again.‌ ‌He‌ ‌felt‌ ‌awful‌ ‌when‌ ‌it‌ ‌came‌ ‌to‌ ‌you‌ ‌crying.‌ ‌He‌ ‌pets‌ ‌the‌ ‌top‌ ‌of‌ ‌your‌ ‌head‌ ‌and‌ ‌mutters,‌ ‌“Love,‌ ‌you’re‌ ‌crying‌ ‌again.”

‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌   ‌“I‌ ‌know,‌ ‌Deaks.‌ ‌I’m‌ ‌just‌ ‌so‌ ‌grateful‌ ‌to‌ ‌have‌ ‌you‌ ‌as‌ ‌my‌ ‌partner,”‌ ‌you‌ ‌sobbed.‌ 

‌ ‌ ‌“Now‌ ‌give‌ ‌me‌ ‌my‌ ‌chocky‌ ‌milk‌ ‌or‌ ‌I’ll‌ ‌cry‌ ‌even‌ ‌more,”‌ ‌you‌ ‌wined,‌ ‌which‌ ‌makes‌ ‌him‌ ‌giggle.‌ 

‌ ‌ ‌ ‌  ‌He‌ ‌hands‌ ‌you‌ ‌the‌ ‌glass‌ ‌of‌ ‌chocolate‌ ‌milk‌ ‌and‌ ‌as‌ ‌you‌ ‌drink‌ ‌it,‌ ‌he‌ ‌runs‌ ‌his‌ ‌hand‌ ‌through‌ ‌your‌ ‌hair.‌

 ‌ ‌ ‌“Thank‌ ‌you‌ ‌for‌ ‌being‌ ‌here‌ ‌with‌ ‌me,‌ ‌John.”‌

 ‌ ‌ ‌“There’s‌ ‌no‌ ‌problem‌ ‌Y/N.‌ ‌I‌ ‌love‌ ‌you‌ ‌so‌ ‌much.”‌ ‌ ‌

[thebarefootking]

Food

As with many autistic people, my childhood was rife with battles at the dinner table over what I would and would not eat. (Or, in my case, the bar. Our trailer didn't have a dinner table, per se, and I ate on a tall chair in the kitchen, facing across the bar toward the living room TV, while my parents sat on the couch.) Some foods were fan favorites, some I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot fork. Tomatoes, I hated (and still hate!) One of my earliest memories is of a preschool teacher, so much bigger than me, coming up behind while I picked at my food.

"Don't you like tomatoes?"

"No. They're gross."

"Have you ever tried a tomato?"

"No. They smell bad and they're mushy."

"Well how do you know you don't like it, if you haven't tasted it?" she asked, ignoring the fact I'd just told her. "Try it. For me?"

"I don't wanna."

"Just one bite?"

"I don't. wanna."

"You need to try the tomato."

Of course, when I finally gave in to her badgering, I 'learned' what had already been apparent to me: tomatoes were gross.

Some foods, more interestingly, were one-day delights, preferred a couple times and then hated thereafter. Eggs, for example, were always a trial. A nice scramble was always accepted, at least for my youngest years, until I learned more about where eggs came from. After that, I swore I could taste the chicken embryos, and I didn't eat eggs for a good, long while. When I repented of my folly, fried eggs were the dish of the day, but only one way: cooked hard, with the yolk unbroken. That way, I could peel the egg white away and eat it, and leave the whole yolk on my plate to be disposed of or, more frequently, eaten by one of my parents.

For those of you who cook, you may know that this is a particularly difficult way to prepare eggs. Either the yolks stay runny and burst on the plate (bad), or they burst in the pan from heat and overhandling, and mingle inextricably with the white (worse). Dad claims it took him months of practice to figure out how to do it, and years to get really good… by which time I'd gone off eggs again, preferring a sweeter breakfast (probably for the energy boost it gave me. By the time 4th-6th grades rolled around, school was causing me to work up an intense appetite.)

Although I didn't have a very broad spectrum of preferred tastes, that didn't stop me wanting to experiment in the kitchen. Indeed, it was one of my favorite things to do! Unfortunately, I could rarely get an adult to allow it (partly because we, in our poverty, could not afford to waste ingredients. Partly because, again, due to poverty, everyone was just too damn exhausted to supervise something that potentially dangerous.) Instead, I usually ended up sneaking and doing it on my own, which invariably led to trauma of one kind or another.

One incident occurred one of the very first times my parents dubbed me old enough to stay home on my own while they went out to run errands. Having recently seen a news spot on dyed salt for those seeking to reduce their salt intake, I sought to replicate the stuff in my own kitchen. How hard could it be? I thought. Just add food coloring to salt.

Only, food coloring has water in it.

All the salt (and I do mean all the salt in the house) was now a dark blue-green color, and the texture of wet sand. I needed to dry it out! But I wasn't allowed to use the oven or stove unsupervised. What could I do?

I decided the best option was to microwave the salt. I spread it out on a large plate, and nuked it in batches until all the salt was dry. Unfortunately, for the first batch, I failed to realise how VERY FUCKING HOT the plate would be after several minutes spinning away in the microwave. I pulled it out barehanded, screeched in pain, and tossed the Perry-the-Platypus-colored salt all over the kitchen floor and microwave cabinet.

Not good. I was already beginning to worry about what my parents would think about all this business with the salt. Now I had a mess on my hands to boot. I tended to my (thankfully minor) burns, and then began swabbing the floor and cabinet with damp paper towels...

… which spread the food dye EVERYWHERE. Now the salt was teal, the floor was teal, the cabinet was teal, and I was teal.

And I had no idea when my parents would return!

I cleaned frantically, microwaving salt on the side the entire time. And somehow (perhaps Lot's wife was smiling upon me?) I got it all managed. My parents came home to a nice, clean kitchen (if you didn't see the small blue spots in the crevices at the very edge of one cabinet), and a calm, collected child (also slightly spotted, but only on the palms, easily hidden). Nothing of note occurred until dinner time.

"LAUREN!!"

Apparently, Dad did not like that all of his salt was turned 'blue'. My reasoning appeased his anger, but he was still pretty displeased. I was temporarily banned from using the microwave without permission. And they were far more cautious about leaving me alone, after that.

(These days, Dad frequently apologises for this. He says it was a creative and thoughtful act, and he shouldn't have gotten mad. I agree, but I'm also not mad anymore. The whole thing is rather funny in retrospect.)

A much more traumatic food event, much later, but still involving the microwave, was the first time I tried making microwave mac 'n cheese. It was around the inception of Easy Mac, so the idea was quite novel; it wasn't as if I had a backlog of knowledge on what not to do…

I followed the instructions exactly, with the single differing point of adding some dried parsley before cooking.

AND LET ME TELL YOU.

If you are going to add parsley to your Easy Mac, do it after cooking! Cooking amplifies and alters the flavor so that it tastes like you added some sort of cooked leafy vegetable, like spinach, except somewhat more like an inedible plant. The flavor permeates every nook and noodle, and even the cheese sauce can't mask it.

It was inedible. Beyond inedible; it was sensory overload of the worst kind.

And my parents, who had watched the whole thing, and warned me of putting anything in my food that I didn't 100% know would taste good, made me eat it.

At first, there was a screaming match, until I wore myself out with tears and begging. Then, I just sat there, defeated, thinking of ways I could get out of eating it. Maybe if I intentionally get choked on the food? Maybe if I shatter the glass of the coffee table, and then hurt myself with it? Something to make them care about something other than me eating this food. Anything to make them see how much eating the food was bad and wrong and how much it hurt me.

I was never, in my entire childhood, a willfully disobedient child. Well, small things, here or there, a child's innocent inability to self-regulate their impulses or understand the rules. Never did I knowingly and intentionally go against my parents' commands when I now feel like I had another real choice. But there were times, like these, when I didn't have a choice.

I ate three bites before my body rebelled and I threw up. Mom didn't follow through on her threat to make me eat the vomit and finish the food.

Instead, I got grounded for two weeks.

Incidentally, I've never gotten an apology for this little incident, despite it being the one I'm still angry over.

None of this is to say I was too picky to be fed, or that I ever went without (excepting that one night with the poison mac). If anything, I ate more than plenty in an attempt to offset the lacks in nutrition my pickiness inevitably led to. I'm sure that I was malnourished at times, despite eating more than my necessary share of calories.

And boy, was I aware of what that share was! My parents were and are avid yo-yo dieters, always on one plan or another to lose the weight they gained off a diet of poverty foods. All the while, frustrated by my pickiness, they fed me on breakfasts of whole packages of off-brand cinnamon rolls or apple turnovers. My lunch was usually whatever snack-foods I could convince the lunch ladies to sell me for the same price as a school lunch I wouldn't eat. With both parents either busy or exhausted, dinner was Taco Bell nearly every damn weekday.

It was inevitable that I would gain weight, with the genes, environment, and diet all inclined toward it. I was ten or eleven the first time my parents mentioned including me in one of their diet plans.

Not likely, I thought. I had long since decided that healthy food was gross, like school lunches and boiled vegetables and limp salads. And I wouldn't, couldn't cut my portions; not when I had to stay alert and concentrating while hauling all my books all around the school without a bookbag (which, after the Columbine shooting, had been banned at my school, lest we ten-year-olds have a place to conceal a weapon). I was already battling undiagnosed ADHD. I didn't need low blood sugar on top of it.

Still, if it gave them an incentive to buy more fresh fruit, I wasn't going to complain.

(And I didn't complain at all about any of their diets, until the one that consisted almost exclusively of boiled cabbage soup that stank the house to high heaven. I didn't even entertain joining them on that one.)

What it all added up to, though, was someone who, by the age of eleven, already had enormous issues with food and body image. And diet, for that matter, for we still hadn't found a healthy variety of foods that I would eat. By the time I was in high school, I was eating Cheetos and Little Debbies with Mountain Dew for lunch every weekday except Wednesday (chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes day in the cafeteria! Hell yeah!) I was also being (mildly) bullied for my weight.

Adulthood came after, with blessings and curses. When I moved out on my own, I had more opportunity (and income!) to explore what I liked culinarily. I got to employ the whole backlog of tips and tricks from cooking shows that I had watched for years. (At one point, during high school, I had wanted to become a chef. I gave up the idea when I realised how ill-suited I was to the job, but the education of the time stuck with me.)

I got to learn my favorite ways to cook food (pan fried, not baked. Baking unseasoned meat is not 'cooking', Dad.) I got to play with spices and flavors.

Or, I did for a while.

Very soon, my work at McDonald's caught up with me, and I found myself too tired to do much cooking. (Sorry, Dad! I understand, now!) More and more, my meals were eaten at work, from work. Over the next year, my stress increased, and my eating habits faltered along. And then, I began passing out at work.

Now, I needn't tell you this is a very dangerous situation, what with all the hot oil and ovens and lamps and such in a kitchen. I was sent home more than once, and it was becoming a danger not only to me, but to the state of my employment. I got in with a doctor as soon as I possibly could, and they determined that I had iron deficiency anemia.

No one was particularly surprised. I have a family history of the affliction, and I had basically been living off yogurt cups, Sausage Egg McMuffins, and chicken biscuits with cheese for months. My doctor suggested diet changes and high-dose iron supplements.

(One of these two turned my poop to black sin slime from a hell portal in my bowels. It was not the diet.)

Immediately, I switched over to a high-iron, high-protein, low-carb diet. And you know what? I felt fucking fantastic. I had energy for days, my mental acuity was improved, and my mood was better. I fell asleep faster and slept more soundly.

For three months, I kept it up. But then the financial burden became too much. Turns out, it's damn expensive to eat home-cooked meat every day when you're picky as hell. I was easily spending at least two to three times as much as I was when I was eating only fast food (on employee discount, admittedly). And soon, between the stress, the financial concerns, and my health problems, I had to move back in with my parents.

Honestly, I still haven't found peace with food and its place in my life. Coming to accept what my sensory needs mean for me has been difficult, and working around those needs in a productive way has been nearly impossible, especially with my other disabilities in tow. I feel that I'm learning to be kinder to my body emotionally speaking, but I could still be much kinder to it physically. 

If only I could figure out how.

I wish I could be that little kid who loved experimenting in the kitchen, again. But I'm not, and I can't. So I'll have to find another way to take care of me.