frenskcup - Tumblr blog

frenskcup · 8 months

Text

Itadori's Kitchen

Summary: think of Julien Solomita's cooking vids, specifically the one where he bakes a cake w Jenna. This plus Yuuji and Fushiguro :) no romance, just reader interacting with them in a highly specific scenario.

Warnings: silly goofy times, cursing

A/N: uploaded this on AO3, but thought tumblr users might enjoy it

The red light of the camera blinks to signal the start of the recording.

“Am I in focus?”

You step towards the camera to look at the viewfinder. Itadori’s scrunched-up face shows up on the screen with the background blurred. Giving him a thumbs up, he smiles and claps his hands.

“Awesome! Thanks for agreeing to this. No one else wanted to help out.” His little frown adds to his pity party.

“Don’t sweat it. Didn’t have much else to do today. Kugisaki dipped on our movie plans to drag Maki with her to the shopping center,” you say, rolling your eyes at the memory of her reasoning being the spring sales starting and not wanting to look through the ugly garments after the first day. Itadori rummages through the drawers of the kitchenette to find whatever utensil he needs.

“Well, no need to fret! I, Itadori Yuuji, shall be your entertainment!” he declares with spatula and wooden spoon held towards the ceiling. You chuckle at his excitement as he winks at you.

“Okay, okay. So what’s on the agenda, head chef?” you ask while grabbing your phone for the list Itadori had sent you a few hours before when you agreed to help him film for his YouTube channel.

“Well, I usually have Fushiguro help me stay on track with the ideas I have lined up on that list. I try to put them in an order that makes sense.”

The said list is composed of the standard ‘film intro,’ ‘make cake,’ and ‘get friends to try’ formula most of Itadori’s videos followed. The occasional ‘fart noise’ or ‘insert meme here’ was scattered in the list. It seemed easy enough to follow.

“This is doable. So I’m just your help? Or can I talk with you?”

Looking up from your phone, you see him struggling with putting the apron over his head. You wait it out and watch him try to stick his arm through the head loop. Visible confusion washes over his face when he realizes this. He sees a flash towards him and looks at you, a grin on your face and phone in hand.

“It feels like Fushiguro never left,” Itadori sighs, trying to fix his apron.

“Oh, I’m Fushiguro now? I guess I have to act all emotionally unavailable and pretend I’m uninterested in everything, huh?” you joke.

“Ah, don’t forget making me think I’m doing something wrong by giving me very vague responses,” he says matter of factly. “You act like you don’t even watch my channel!” Itadori says like you’ve told him his chicken meatballs are awful and also spit on them. His hand clutches his chest in pretend pain.

“Excuse you, I am Chef Itadori’s number one fan!” you retort at him, pointer finger showing up in the viewfinder.

“Says who?”

“Says my damn username!”

Itadori gasps, his hands coming together and sparkles appearing in his eyes.

“Show me! Show me! Show me!”

“Okay okay! Jeez, give me a second to pull it up,” you tell him. It’s almost like trying to get an overly excited puppy to sit and stay.

“Wait! You gotta show the camera, too! As proof,” he orders, threatening you with his wooden spoon.

“Here, look. My profile name is exactly what I said.”

Itadori leans over the counter to get a better look. His eyes squint to try to see the small text. The smile on his face after seeing your username rivals the sun and the ring light set up next to him. He does a little dance and makes you show the camera the screen.

“It’s actually “Chef Itadori’s Number One Fan,” guys! Pog!” he shouts.

“I’m glad I’ve entertained you so much. Now, entertain me with your baking, Chef,” you command. “I’m gonna sit my buns in this chair and watch. I feel like I’m in Jun’s Kitchen. Let me sniff that flour, nya.”

“Okay, dry and wet go together to form the superior cake batter. A cake batter to dominate the baking industry. I am the cake boss, now,” he says to himself whilst mixing the ingredients in a bowl.

“Oh yes. Bakeries around Tokyo are trembling now that they feel the power of your batter. You’re too powerful.”

“Thank you for noticing my magnificent batter and my baking prowess. They’re both quite impressive, yes?” he asks, accidentally flinging batter on the floor when gesturing to you. “Oh.”

“Which one of us is cleaning that up before Demon gets to it?” you ask, fully knowing that it’s you who’s going to do so. Damn Fushiguro and his very adorable, yet abnormally large canine.

“Well, you’re the sous chef here. How can I, the executive chef, be responsible for such a menial mess when I’m in charge of this powerful batter, the one to dominate and destroy all cake batters.” Itadori seems to be in his own world as he finishes his statement.

“I knew it,” you deadpan, standing up to get a paper towel. Itadori dons a playful smirk, satisfied at the outcome of his actions.

The layers of cake are carefully set into the small oven. Curse Japan’s lack of full size ovens. Itadori and you laze around on the couch, waiting for the timer to ring.

“So what do we do now?” you ask, sitting with your legs on the back of the couch.

“I guess just wait. We never film the little break that’s in between the prep and the decorating.” He looks towards the ceiling with pursed lips. “Do you wanna go annoy Fushiguro to let us play with Demon?” He knows the answer before he asks. Your struggle of an attempt to swing your legs around the couch confirms it.

“Where’s the damn dog?”

“Okay, now let’s decorate!” Itadori yells while throwing his arms up.

You move the camera towards the different sprinkles and icing splayed on the counter. Somehow, Itadori convinced Fushiguro to join in the fun, on camera. How would the viewers react to the appearance of the illusive cameraman?

“Yo, you want the day off after this? I’m willing to edit,” you offer, panning the camera to the two of them shuffling about, trying to kick the other’s foot. Itadori’s head shoots up and he grins.

“Bet! I need a break after doing all the work today.”

A slap to the head knocks the smile off his face.

“And what am I?” Fushiguro asks flatly. His face holds no emotion.

“You’re the eye candy. Duh,” Itadori states like it’s the obvious, wrist flicking an offset spatula with sass to match.

“What do you think this is? A magic show?”

“Well-” another slap.

You hold back your laughs at their interactions and struggle to hold the camera still. If Kugisaki was here, it’d be even more chaotic. Itadori’s little frown tells all as he starts to ice the cake with a crumb coat of blue icing.

“I guess someone isn’t getting a piece of cake later. And it’s not my fault in the slightest,” Itadori says with lips pursed. His concentration on not ripping any cake out has his eyes squinting as if it’d help his hands.

“Like I’d want to eat it, you big baby.” Rolling his eyes at his friend’s childish antics, Fushiguro grabs an offset spatula to help smooth out the icing.

“God, I hate it when dad and dad fight,” you groan behind the camera. They both look at you, one with disappointment and the other, distress.

“Look what you’re doing! Tearing this family apart? How could you?” laments Itadori. With puppy dog eyes, he stares at Fushiguro and pouts.

“Look what you’re doing. Tearing this damn cake apart,” Fushiguro deadpans, pointing out the obvious hole that has been left by Itadori’s distracted hand.

“Ah! My cake!” You share a look with the spikey-haired man, both of you shaking your heads while Itadori tries to salvage what’s left of the spongey cake to patch the hole.

“Hey, if this cake goes sideways, we can always turn them into cakepops or whatever-balls with icing.” You slowly pan the camera to the hole to show how Itadori is trying his hardest to make it look like nothing happened.

“But that’s not what this video is for! I made a cake. How could I betray those who depend on this cake for their mental wellbeing?” He slams his hands on the countertop while exclaiming.

Barking comes from the living room, Demon clearly upset at being woken up by the chaotic pink guy on the verge of fake tears. Fushiguro looks at his roomie before starting to count.

“Oh no…” Itadori’s eyes go wide. He carefully sets the tool down and books it for the window, narrowly avoiding Fushiguro’s grasp.

“No! Not there! I just-” you yell to the flash of pink, running towards him in false hopes of stopping him.

A crash of clay sounds out from the fire escape.

“Put my plants outside.”

Your defeated face looks toward the camera, exhaling deeply with hands on hips. Demon runs to the window before slipping on the hardwood because of lack of traction. Both you and Fushiguro wince as the dog smashes into the wall before scrambling to chase Itadori once more.

“Cut the camera! Deadass!” shouts the man in the window.

#gender neutral reader #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sfw #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction

2 notes · View notes

frenskcup · 8 months

Text

#not writing

23K notes · View notes

frenskcup · 8 months

Text

Call me times the way weak men make me hard

#not writing #don't apologize op

14K notes · View notes

frenskcup · 8 months

Text

yeah, i am not immune to propaganda. a propaganda at men's tits that is lol lift your shirt up boy

#not writing

20K notes · View notes

frenskcup · 8 months

Text

guts x gn!reader

Warnings: oral sex mentions, suggestive content (Minors DNI) Reader is fem leaning (takes shirt off for tighter top and can be "eaten out")

Summary: Modern!AU oneshot based around reikuto's sfw Guts hcs.

AN: i miss the gym so i wanted to write about Guts going to the gym w his s/o

The gym was always a place for Guts to relax, as odd as that sounds. But for a man like Guts, one could believe that. Going through the motions of warming up his body and the familiarity of the burn of lactic acid was an addiction of sorts. His demeanor in the gym was that of bang out the sets and leave, not allowing himself to chat with any of the gym goers. The volume that he lifted did leave him with moments of just sitting and catching his breath, yet his aura about him and his R.B.F made him seem like he couldn’t be bothered for even a spot for the most experienced of lifters.

You can imagine the look of confusion on the regulars’ faces when they see him walk in with a significantly smaller person, dressed in a large shirt with yoga shorts and Converse. You can’t help but feel eyes on you when you go to warm up with Guts in an empty corner. While you do your dynamic stretches with him, you get your gym playlist ready for the session - a mix of metal and early 2000s sounding club bangers, something for Guts and yourself. You knew he didn’t mind your music taste even with how he reacted to you skipping his late 90s numetal for a song about grinding and back-alley sex. You knew he especially didn’t mind when you would do a little dance to accompany it.

You took a last sip of your preworkout and got your earbuds out for you and Guts. Placing an earbud into his large hand as he got out of a lunge, you put yours in your ear and start the playlist. The start of Rihanna’s S&M makes you roll your head to the beat as you and Guts walk to the empty squat rack.

Both of you put a few more plates on each side of the bar after your set, alternating from your working weight to his, which was a significant amount more than yours. As Guts unracks the weight, you watch him squat and nod your head to the music. Your work schedule doesn’t allow for you to go to the gym with your boyfriend very often, so you take any time you find to do so. There’s nothing you enjoy more than seeing your mountain of a man sweat while lifting heavy items and setting them back down. You enjoy working out, too, but the views you get when Guts is with you make it all the more enjoyable.

He reracks with a grunt and undoes the collar to take plates off for your next set, and you copy. You continue this for a few more sets between you two, and you bask in the confusion you see on onlookers faces every time you reset. Like, yeah, that’s your man. Yeah, he’s strong and powerful. Those thighs and triceps aren’t for looks only.

The next few exercises have you looking for your water bottle. Leg day with Guts is torture, but you indulge in public masochism every once in a while. Your toes tap to the heavy sound of SOAD as you drink your precious water, and as Guts approaches you, you lift the bottle to him to offer a sip. He takes it from you with a nod and a thanks. Smiling, you take off your shirt to reveal your tight underlayer because of the lack of ventilation from the shirt. You stuff the shirt in your bag and take back the bottle to also place in the bag. You giggle at a thought that comes into your mind.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, already knowing you’re going to tell him the silliest shit imaginable like you always do.

“Ew, you just drank after me,” you sneer, not meaning it at all. “You just, like, kissed me technically. Gross.”

“I ate you out this morning,” he informs you, unphased and face stoic. “Grow up.”

“Shut up, asshole! We’re in public.” You push his arm hard, but even that’s not enough to make him budge.

“I’ll say worse if you keep stalling abs.”

“Ugh, fine. You’re lucky you’re so hot,” you say while poking him. He lets a small smile show.

The two of you work on core, all the while Doja Cat sings about getting naked. You mouth the words as you do hanging leg lifts. Guts keeps going when your grip fails and you have to jump down. The burn in your hamstrings and abs feels nice but awful at the same time. You’re getting bored of waiting and start to mess with him to get him to quit sooner.

“I know you’re tired. C’mon, your core couldn’t be more engaged right now. You two are practically taking a honeymoon. Ooh, I see your hand slipping there. You gotta listen to your body, babe. It’s telling you to stop.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“What? I’m doing nothing. Literally. I’m bored.”

He ignores you and keeps at his set, determined to finish all the reps left. As you wait more, an idea pops into your head.

“Hey, babe,” you coo. “If you quit now, I’ll have enough time to make those shumai you like.”

You can see the gears in his head turning before his hands let go and he’s grabbing your hand to pull you to the corner you started at. You laugh and allow him to guide you, just like his stomach guided him to stretch. He seems to rush through the movements, not stretching as deeply as you know he can. Just to be a pain, you complain that Guts isn’t being truthful to the workout, rushing and sabotaging your gains. The next time you see his face is after returning from your downward dog - he has your bag over his shoulder and the next thing you know, he’s got you over his other shoulder. It’s humiliating to be seen like this, but you know you asked for it.

“I’d complain more about this being humiliating, but the view of your ass is too good to complain,” you tell him, smacking one of his cheeks to emphasize how much you like his ass.

#reader insert #gender neutral reader #not sfw #berserk fanfiction #guts berserk x reader

3 notes · View notes

frenskcup · 8 months

Text

men are made to be shoved and grabbed and thrown around and pinned down. god told me that

#not writing

60K notes · View notes

frenskcup · 8 months

Text

i wish you guys lived inside my head the fics in here go crazy

#legiterally me right now. can't find the words for the fic i wanna write #not writing

32K notes · View notes

frenskcup · 9 months

Text

Head in the Clouds

Robert "Bob" Floyd x GN!Reader

summary: Flying is such a pain when you're already irritable and tired from multiple layovers. Airplane meet-cute :)

author's note: i might have not watched the entirety of TGM, but i sure did see videos of when Bob specifically is on the screen. that's all i need... and this tiktok reminded me of him

What were you thinking, taking a spontaneous trip back home? You couldn't have waited a few days to let the thought ruminate some to make sure it was a good idea? Yeah, surprising your best friend for their birthday was great, but at what cost?

This is what you're day has come to; sitting in the airport next to one of the only free outlets to charge your phone that you so carelessly forgot to charge before leaving. Thank all that's good you already had your passport and flying necessities packed from your last flight, only because you were so tired from flying and you couldn't be bothered to unpack. A few articles of clothing for simple outfits with toiletries and a small Lego kit you've been meaning to put together for a few weeks makes up your bag. Your most important items were all in your pockets.

You booked one flight, hoping to make it the day of, but as fate would have it, you would be offered your money back because of an issue with the plane. Too caught up in not wanting to disappoint your friend who knew nothing of this visit, you insisted to make the multiple layover trip. You had a few flights to let the regret sink in.

Scrambling after hearing your flight number called, you briskly walk towards the gate with others who are just as eager to step through the jet bridge.

You forget until you're on the plane that you'd probably be sat with someone you didn't know. The awkwardness of trying to be airplane friends with someone doesn't thrill you, and you hope that having earbuds in will cancel out that chance encounter. Single-serving friends with all the other single-serving items handed out on the plane.

Heading down the aisle, you stop at an empty row. You thank yourself for at least waking up early to sign up for the first group. Shrugging off your bag to open it up, you feel someone shove into you slightly. Not enough to knock you down, just enough that it feels like they weren't looking at you.

"I'm sorry, wasn't watchin' where I was headed."

The apology came from a bespectacled man with a small fanny-pack around his chest. He has his bag already in hand to store in the upper compartment.

"Oh, you're okay. Shouldn't be standing in the middle of the aisle like an idiot. Let me move so you can get past," you say, shuffling some to stop blocking the traffic.

"I might as well scooch in with you, I'm also in the way."

You scoot even more to let him in the row. Grabbing what you want from your bag, you place it in the window seat and wait for him to move. You catch a glimpse of him storing his bag in the upper compartment and can't look away.

His shirt slides up as he reaches to place his bag, giving you a peak of happy trail, along with his fanny-pack straining against his chest with how secure it was on him. When he finishes his task, he locks eyes with you. You've been caught.

"Did ya need me to, uh, put your bag up there, too?" he offers.

"Y-Yeah, sure. If you don't mind, of course," you play into what he thinks you were staring for.

"Wouldn't mind a bit."

You still can't take your eyes off him. His biceps engage when he takes your bag for you, arms looking absolutely wonderful as he places it above his head. He's having trouble rearranging something up there, to the point where he feels he must stick his tongue out a bit to help the process. The boyish grin when he finally gets the door shut has your heart fluttering a bit.

"Hope you don't mind if I sit with you. I don't really wanna search for another spot."

"No, please do," you insist a little too quickly for it to come off as nonchalant. You're being plenty chalant about it.

"Thank you." He takes his little pack off his chest and sits down with it in his lap.

You take the window seat and wait for the other passengers to be seated. As you look around, you see the man has taken the farthest seat from you, which hurts your feelings some. At the same time, you're glad because it'd be weird for him to sit right next to you, a stranger.

People keep walking up and down the aisle and soon there seems to be no one except the flight attendants strolling around.

"Do y'all mind if I sit here? I'm late gettin' on," an older man asks the two of you.

"Fine with me. You?"

Snapping out of watching the little people below load up the luggage, you see both pairs of eyes on you and forget how to speak.

"W-Wha- uh, yeah. No problem," you finally spit out.

"I'll scoot over so you can just sit down. Warmed the seat for ya, even," he jokes, but the man doesn't react, too busy storing his bag overhead. Glasses looks a bit disheartened from no response, yet still moves over towards you.

"I thought it was funny," you inform, trying to make him feel better.

"Ah, s'fine if ya didn't. Don't gotta lie to me, never was a charmer."

"Okay, it sucked then."

He looks at you, eyebrow questioning what you said.

"I'm sorry, I'm very out of it right now. Multiple layovers. If we were friends, you probably would've said something just as rude," you try to explain. "Not that multiple layovers should be an excuse, I just wanted to explain why I'm acting like this."

"... just like your mom."

You look at him confused. What?

"What?"

"You just said if I was your friend, I'd say something just as rude. So I did."

He can see the gears in your head turning. A bit of time passes and the other man sits down. Finally, you get it.

"Oh, you're so hilarious. Haha." A smile tugs at your lips, but you refuse to let him think you actually think it's funny.

He smiles at your reaction.

"So what's my new friend's name? And don't say Joe."

"Bob."

"You're joking."

"No, I said I'm Bob." He must think he's the funniest man alive with those dad jokes.

"This is gonna be the longest flight of my life."

The plane takes off without a hitch and you chat with your newfound friend. Talking for a bit, you're just now hit with the subtle scent his cologne gives off. It's not strong by any means, but the close proximity you two are in make it hard to ignore. He smells so nice, a perfect combination with the rest of him. Unconsciously, you lean in and sniff a few times. Enough for him to notice and look at you.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that." Your face is warm, and suddenly the clouds look very entertaining.

"It's my sister's body wash. Somethin' with "gingham" in the name, I think." He lifts his collar to smell himself better. "Bet you think I smell like a girl."

"No, no. You smell like a... man." You trail off because no matter how you answer, it sounds weird. "You smell pleasant."

"Well, thank you."

You remember your box you meant to open before you were paired with the man struggling to keep his eyes open. You pick it up from beneath your seat and set in on the foldout table in front of you. The jingle from the box stirs him from whatever sleep he was fighting.

"Don't mind me, go back to sleep. I swear I won't bother you," you sheepishly promise.

"No, not a problem. Do you mind if, uh, I watch?" he asks, just as sheepishly. "I love Legos. Even got some jets assembled myself."

"Not if you hold the instructions for me."

And while you assemble the penguin while glancing over at Bob, you find yourself in a pleasant mood despite all the traveling and planes. Your assistant seems to not be the most talkative, but you like the comfortable silence.

A small bit of turbulence makes your pieces jump, and a few fall to the ground before you can hastily grab for them.

"I got it," Bob tells you, bending over to pick them up.

"Thanks. Should've known it wouldn't be easy to build, but I've been waiting so damn long to put this guy together."

"Not a problem. Happy to see somebody else who enjoys small blocks being assembled into other forms."

He hands you the small orange blocks, placing the plastic in your palm with his fingers wrapping under your hand. He doesn't seem to move for a few seconds, and you feel light headed.

"Ya got 'em?"

Oh. He's just making sure they don't fall out of your hand.

"Y-Yeah, I think so."

You look up from where you're connected to find his eyes on you. Those glasses make him look dorky, but you brought Legos on a plane ride.

"Good. Feel free to drop as many as you'd like. Gives me an excuse to hold your hand."

Your eyes widen with the wink he gives you before he goes to open the instruction manual back up for you. The nerve, the gumption, the audacity. And you have nowhere to move unless you want to jump out the small window, which doesn't seem like a bad idea right now.

Time flies by when you're having small talk with a new friend. His little jokes that you're beginning to adore and the way he gesticulates when trying to help you out are not helping the fact that you're never going to see him again outside of this plane.

"I might regret this," you mumble more to yourself than him. He leans over some to listen closer. "Can I get your number?"

His eyes widen and he blinks a few times.

"It'll give me an excuse to keep talking to you after we part ways," you coyly explain, copying his little comment to you earlier.

A blush on his face, he nods. You hand him your phone and wait for him to punch in his information. As he places the phone in your hand, you quickly switch which hand is holding it, grabbing his hand.

"Now you don't need an excuse," you inform him, smiling at him while the blush reappears.

"What about your penguin?"

"It can wait. Feels like I've been waiting even longer to put myself together with you."

#robert floyd x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #sfw #tgm fic

2 notes · View notes